The storm came and went. The subways closed. The city basically shut down. I didn't go to work. The feared effects never materialized. The worst did not occur. I breathed a sigh of relief this morning when I was woke up by a bit of daylight through my kitchen windows, having slept on the living room couch for fear that my bedroom windows might shatter with these terrifying wind gusts breathless endless local news coverage prophesied. There was daylight. The world had not ended. My house was still standing. I was alive. None of my fears were realized, and this was a good thing.
The past couple days have been both nice and boring. I have felt trapped in my house because of the storm, because of the lack of public transit. I had stocked up on food before the storm and so spent most of the weekend on my couch eating various junk foods an watching various movies on Netflix. I jerked off a lot. I looked at a lot of porn. And I watched way too much local news, it on nonstop, every segment basically the same person out in the storm talking about nothing, getting wet.
I responded to some Craigslist ad, horny. A couple hours later, a surprisingly cute boy was waiting at my front door. I had never seen a face picture, didn't really care that much during this storm, was just bored, horny, and thinking the world might end for me and so I might as well get off one last time. He was blonde, which initially was a minus in his column, but he was cute enough and had a nice enough dick that I forgave him that. We sucked each other off, made out, and touched each other's bodies in this very intimate way that was somehow allowed by the storm, both of us I think looking for the same thing, coming to this encounter for the same reasons, just wanting some stimulation and physical contact in the midst of our cabin fever and so we took it slow, were delicate with each other, and fingered lovingly the bodies of our traveling companions through these end times. We both came finally and then I gave him some paper towels and turned up the music on my computer which had been playing lightly during our encounter.
He remarked that he had never gotten it on to this album and how he didn't think he ever would. The album was Madonna's Erotica, which, yes, I had been playing during our hookup on repeat, but only lightly, and only because I have recently fallen in love with the thing. We talked about our experiences with Madonna, our memories of her as a child, as a teen, and what albums we had allowed ourselves to like during those times, me explaining how it was only a couple of weeks ago that I had really listened to this album, and how now I could not get enough of it, played it continuously, the thing a beautiful thing that I like to surround myself with. He got dressed. He put on his glasses last. He left. I asked him to close both of the doors downstairs behind him.
I went back to the fridge and then back to the couch where I ate and watched more local news coverage of this storm. The rain at that point started to really pick up.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
At the Trader Joe's wine store, a cashier's nametag read "Diego Gabriel." My attraction to him came to a crashing halt at this flashing warning light.
It was a few days ago when I realized that next week would be September. I made immediate plans to go to Fire Island for two days with Jacob. I called in sick Monday night and on Tuesday morning I was on a ferry heading toward Fire Island, sunshine on my skin, wind whipping around me, a bunch of gays seated near me, everyone excited about being at the beach. I had to get in a little more summer before it vanished, before it was again some far off distant thing that I could not wait for, that I fantasized about through blustery, cold days. Best decision ever to call in sick, especially so given this insane hurricane that is barreling toward our city.
We ate lunch, had some Bloody Marys, looked at the cute boys that walked past us, and then headed toward the beach. We spread out our towels in the nude section of the beach, sexy sights on all sides of us. My goal was to get rid of my tan lines, and since I was naked just about every moment while the sun was out during those two days, I did a fairly good job of that. We smoked some weed, drank some Coors Lights, swam in the Atlantic Ocean, looked at the boys walking past through sunglasses while pretending we were just looking at the horizon, laughed while recalling dialogue from Smiley Face. At some point, there was an earthquake. We were on another planet though, and heard the news hour later from people more connected to Earth. Reports back, breathless evening news coverage, texts, Facebook status updates, etc. I felt like I had missed something, this collective moment that New Yorkers experienced and that I did not. I had a bit of earthquake envy. Just a bit though because the weather could not have been more perfect and I was on this beautiful island and there were no cars and no phones to answer and an abundance of beauty, both the human variety and the non-human variety: butterflies galore, green and flowering plants, deer, green ocean, and blue sky.
We checked into the Belvedere, showered off the sand and salt, and then went up to the roof deck to catch even more sun. We had the roof deck to ourselves and so jerked off up there while drinking cocktails. A bit later some other people came up to the roof as well and we watched the sun set over the bay, more insane beauty. Drunk and goofy, we hiked across the island to the Pines to go to tea dance. It was winding down, almost over, and a group of Pines boys wanted us to take a water taxi back with them to Cherry Grove so we could go out to more bars. We were getting wrapped up in something we didn't want to, getting stuck hanging out with prissy gays who didn't want to talk through the Meat Rack, and so we (very ridiculously) walked away pretending to look at something and then literally booked it down the path to the ocean to escape these boys. We walked back to Cherry Grove along the dark beach under a gorgeous night sky, so many stars, and the two of us talking about very earthly things. And why anyone would pass this up to take a water taxi I do not know; the most beautiful moments I have ever had at Fire Island have always been these slightly scary walks through the Meat Rack, trying to find your way in the darkness through the woods as you walk back and forth across the island. Back at the hotel, we hung out at the hot tub with some annoying older guys and then went up to the roof deck again where, alone again and left to our own dirty devices, we fucked, overlooking the bay. As we were finishing, this guy ended up coming to the roof. We kept on fucking, not caring because we were almost there. He watched and we kept at it until Jacob came. We then went downstairs, wiped ourselves clean in our room, and went to bed.
The next day more of the same, more poolside time in the sun, more time by the beach, more looking at sexy men and beautiful nature. We stayed until our skin felt burned, seared, and then we left, boarded that ferry headed in the opposite direction this time, back toward New York City and all its own pleasures and all its own negatives, things about it, or my life there currently, that stress me out, and that for a good two days or so I had managed to put out of mind, managed to forget about for a little while. And today, back in those things, I approached them more joyously, having gotten my sexual fill for the first time in a while and also having gotten to swim in waves and lie on sand and to hold these memories fresh in my mind. Perhaps it's easy to make it through these days, through work and drudgery, if during those times we can still hold on to memories of good times recently had. Either I need to take some Gingko, work on building up my memory's skills, or need to continually replenish my short-term memory with fun moments, things that make me happy to be alive and here on this planet.
We ate lunch, had some Bloody Marys, looked at the cute boys that walked past us, and then headed toward the beach. We spread out our towels in the nude section of the beach, sexy sights on all sides of us. My goal was to get rid of my tan lines, and since I was naked just about every moment while the sun was out during those two days, I did a fairly good job of that. We smoked some weed, drank some Coors Lights, swam in the Atlantic Ocean, looked at the boys walking past through sunglasses while pretending we were just looking at the horizon, laughed while recalling dialogue from Smiley Face. At some point, there was an earthquake. We were on another planet though, and heard the news hour later from people more connected to Earth. Reports back, breathless evening news coverage, texts, Facebook status updates, etc. I felt like I had missed something, this collective moment that New Yorkers experienced and that I did not. I had a bit of earthquake envy. Just a bit though because the weather could not have been more perfect and I was on this beautiful island and there were no cars and no phones to answer and an abundance of beauty, both the human variety and the non-human variety: butterflies galore, green and flowering plants, deer, green ocean, and blue sky.
We checked into the Belvedere, showered off the sand and salt, and then went up to the roof deck to catch even more sun. We had the roof deck to ourselves and so jerked off up there while drinking cocktails. A bit later some other people came up to the roof as well and we watched the sun set over the bay, more insane beauty. Drunk and goofy, we hiked across the island to the Pines to go to tea dance. It was winding down, almost over, and a group of Pines boys wanted us to take a water taxi back with them to Cherry Grove so we could go out to more bars. We were getting wrapped up in something we didn't want to, getting stuck hanging out with prissy gays who didn't want to talk through the Meat Rack, and so we (very ridiculously) walked away pretending to look at something and then literally booked it down the path to the ocean to escape these boys. We walked back to Cherry Grove along the dark beach under a gorgeous night sky, so many stars, and the two of us talking about very earthly things. And why anyone would pass this up to take a water taxi I do not know; the most beautiful moments I have ever had at Fire Island have always been these slightly scary walks through the Meat Rack, trying to find your way in the darkness through the woods as you walk back and forth across the island. Back at the hotel, we hung out at the hot tub with some annoying older guys and then went up to the roof deck again where, alone again and left to our own dirty devices, we fucked, overlooking the bay. As we were finishing, this guy ended up coming to the roof. We kept on fucking, not caring because we were almost there. He watched and we kept at it until Jacob came. We then went downstairs, wiped ourselves clean in our room, and went to bed.
The next day more of the same, more poolside time in the sun, more time by the beach, more looking at sexy men and beautiful nature. We stayed until our skin felt burned, seared, and then we left, boarded that ferry headed in the opposite direction this time, back toward New York City and all its own pleasures and all its own negatives, things about it, or my life there currently, that stress me out, and that for a good two days or so I had managed to put out of mind, managed to forget about for a little while. And today, back in those things, I approached them more joyously, having gotten my sexual fill for the first time in a while and also having gotten to swim in waves and lie on sand and to hold these memories fresh in my mind. Perhaps it's easy to make it through these days, through work and drudgery, if during those times we can still hold on to memories of good times recently had. Either I need to take some Gingko, work on building up my memory's skills, or need to continually replenish my short-term memory with fun moments, things that make me happy to be alive and here on this planet.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Beyonce - Roseland Ballroom - 8/18/11
There were many moments last evening, while I was pressed in a sea of bodies in the overcrowded and hot Roseland Ballroom, that I longed for a past I only briefly got to experience. I didn't want to live in this world or the future world that was to come. I got incredibly depressed for brief moments when I realized that there was no going back, that a certain type of unmediated experience was now forever gone, and that this would be the future. There was a very brief few years in the late nineties and early aughts in which I went to concerts and could stand on tippy toes and see the performer on the stage without seeing the same image reflected back to me on countless small screens held in hands. This was before digital cameras dropped in price point to become common sights at concerts and also before smartphone was even a term. It is now near-impossible to attend a concert and not see lit-up screen after lit-up screen ahead of you showing you the same concert you are watching, or trying to watch, but the attempt at which is being hindered by raised phone after raised phone, preventing you from not only getting a good sightline, but also from perhaps losing yourself in the experience, instead having to see it mediated it on thirty or so screens ahead of you, all different angles, everyone trying to possess something unpossessable, the capitalist urge to acquire, to cage, to stockpile always unceasing. It is really a shame because there are moments when I get lost when I close my eyes and have a moment with the performer, a communion of sorts, on what level I am not sure, but a communion nonetheless, and then that is hindered by the crowd in front of me when I again open my eyes and see their urges to document, to already before the moment has finished think about future moments and uploading this photo or video to Facebook or Youtube, and as a consequence bring a future world into this one that is trying its best to create a present-tense moment.
I know I'm old for a concertgoer, now in my thirties, and that for some people young people this is the only concert-going world that they have ever known, but I got so incredibly sad last evening by thoughts of a bygone world and the realization that this irritant is not going anywhere, that it is only bound to get worse, that at this point there is no going back, the gates have already been breached. People already think this is acceptable behavior, they feel entitled to this, and there is no way to shift these now so prevalent habits. I am imagining an absurdist comedy from decades ago, one not written but which seems like it could have been, a futurist vision spoofing technology no one thought would ever actually be used as such, in which every member of an audience at a performance is taping the performance, everyone documenting the thing, various purposes stated to themselves, all of them however really having the same reason, not the one they stated. Meanwhile, not one of the audience members is actually watching the thing, everyone instead watching the performance on their screens, everyone missing the performance in front of them, too busy watching the simulacrum of it on their devices.
I am so sick of this urge to document - and yes, I am more than aware of the hypocrisy and irony of me saying such a thing here, in this web project documenting my life, me who has made a point of documenting my life in online diary form for the last ten or so years now at this point. But I do believe that there is a difference in reconstructing your memories, reassembling them after the fact as you stew over them and write about them in your diary, and that of the urge to photograph or record every piece of art you encounter, that snapping a photo is not interacting with the thing, and your snapping the photo actually hinders my own interaction with the thing, my own desire to get lost.
And so yes, there were these moments of introspection about what it means to attend concerts in these contemporary times of ours and these thoughts often led me down dark trails that had me lamenting the way we live now. There were those moments, yes. There were also, and of longer duration and greater frequency, moments in which I did not notice the people around me and their stupid cameraphones which they held out outstretched for the entire 90-minute concert, and instead perched high up on my toes and saw this lady, only a year younger than myself and with such a big body of work already and with such enormous talent, dance and sing and do so amazingly.
The concert was styled in this very hammy Broadway one-woman show style. It seemed like a Liza show for its first half, Beyonce recounting in humorous and linear fashion her rise from a child performer, being rejected by Star Search, her father getting her and her bandmates a record deal, the many member shake-ups of Destiny's Child, her switch to being a solo artist, and her parting ways from her father as her manager. She interspersed this history of her life with brief versions of songs from each of these eras, opening with a beautiful cover of Michael Jackson's "I Wanna Be Where You Are," the song that Destiny's Child first auditioned for Star Search with.
The song was a very appropriate song with which to open, especially since Jay-Z as of late has been trying to position Beyonce as the heir to Michael Jackson's unique pop skills. And as much as there is something a little brash about such claims, they are deserved. Beyonce is actually fucking incredible. I was blown away be her performance in this venue. To see such a massive pop star play a smallish venue is such a treat and that's why I bought tickets despite their expensive price, knowing that there was no way Beyonce would be playing any more small venues anytime in the near future, if ever. She was charming, energetic, and on point with every song. She sang and danced flawlessly for ninety minutes. I'm not sure how she did it. I am always amazed by performers that don't seem to get of breath and can not only dance in heels but also belt out tunes.
The first half of the show seemed to be the favorite part of most people in the audience, not surprising given the lackluster reception to her new album, even on my own part, but for me the second half of the show is really where she turned it out for me. An album that I had thought was fairly boring suddenly became this really beautiful and great-sounding thing in the renditions she performed. Highlights and all of which I think would be great singles were: "I Miss You," a gorgeous track co-written by Frank Ocean, surely why it's so gorgeous; "Party"; and the absolutely amazing "Love on Top." This was the highlight of the night for me when she performed "Love on Top." This was one of those moments where for a good three or four minutes I forgot about the many distractions around me and shared a moment with Beyonce. Her voice and her runs up and down the scales for parts of the song sent corresponding chills up and down my spine. It's a really fantastic song that has been growing on me more and more and her live version of it was absolutely incredible; the energy that seems a bit lacking on the album version is overflowing when she sings it live. The concert presented several songs like this, in which the live version had so much more energy and life and oomph than the album version, which is really too bad because the album would probably be doing a lot better if some of that same energy could have been transferred to the album. "Love on Top" was insanely amazing and I have been recalling this particular song a lot during the course of today, my spine again tingling, the memory still strong, me again biting my lower lip, in a mix of pleasure and disbelief that a person singing could bring about so much pleasure, that the human voice can do this to you, provoke such sensations, me shaking my head back and forth because when someone is so good all you can do is shake your head, say "Damn!," and be thankful that you get to experience such things in the course of your life.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
summer storms
Another rainy Sunday. I was woken up last night by the violent rain beating against my air conditioner unit. I ate some mozzarella and almonds, suddenly hungry. I looked at boys on Grindr, read Facebook, and decided three something is a little too early to wake up, and so smoked some weed so I could fall back asleep. Jacob is still asleep, a bag of piss on the floor next to him. He has a catheter in him until tomorrow due to recent surgery he has had.
His mom was here for the weekend and now thankfully is gone. I can again walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night naked, then snack on mozzarella and almonds while looking at what boys are awake in the middle of the night and kept awake by urges that, despite what they may think when looking into cruising applications on their cellular telephones, will not be easily sated.
I spent some time with my own mother as well this weekend. She came into town for a few brief hours, a free Amtrak ticket that was about to expire, and took my sister and myself out to dinner. Because of weird time constraints imposed my mom who wanted to leave town early and geographic restraints imposed by sister who needed to eat somewhere in midtown, I chose Ma Peche for us, a restaurant I have always wanted to eat at. Thankfully, ma was footing the bill at Ma Peche. The food was amazing. There are dinners that stay in your memory, the food so extraordinary, and this is going to be one of those dinners. Everything I ate was so terrific, each bite an orgasm in my mouth. It has now been two days since eating there and I still am recalling fondly some of the things I ate and drank. I drank this amazing wine, a trousseau, that was unlike any wine I have ever had. The server warned me that the wine would have a really funky, earthy taste as way of letting me know that I might not like it, but that only made me want to try it even more. It tasted like a smelly sherry. I need to find a bottle of this wine now and drink more of it. There was a crispy pig's head dish that was amazing, followed by great swordfish, and served along with this lettuce that had been smoked. This lettuce might have been the best thing there and that is not diminishing anything else I ate there to say that the lettuce was the best part because all of the food was extraordinary, but this smoked lettuce was like nothing I had ever tasted before, and combined with bites of the swordfish and avocado, there was a symphonic swelling of flavors within my mouth. For desert, I had peas and strawberries, a dish that was definitely showy, but still none the less delicious for being so. It was a riff on strawberry shortcake, except with a dried pea cake where the shortcake would be, and sweetened pea shoots as a garnish, along with pea mousse. It was an absolutely incredible meal. Now on my dining wish list is a meal at Momofuku Ko. Once I come into some money and don't have insane dental bills looming over me (about which another time), then I am definitely going to splurge on a meal there.
I made myself a halloumi salad last night and drank it with cheap white wine. That meal was also delicious. I ate it with Jacob at our kitchen table, looking out at the gray sky, storm still yet to arrive but definitely on its way, Neko Case as the soundtrack.
His mom was here for the weekend and now thankfully is gone. I can again walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night naked, then snack on mozzarella and almonds while looking at what boys are awake in the middle of the night and kept awake by urges that, despite what they may think when looking into cruising applications on their cellular telephones, will not be easily sated.
I spent some time with my own mother as well this weekend. She came into town for a few brief hours, a free Amtrak ticket that was about to expire, and took my sister and myself out to dinner. Because of weird time constraints imposed my mom who wanted to leave town early and geographic restraints imposed by sister who needed to eat somewhere in midtown, I chose Ma Peche for us, a restaurant I have always wanted to eat at. Thankfully, ma was footing the bill at Ma Peche. The food was amazing. There are dinners that stay in your memory, the food so extraordinary, and this is going to be one of those dinners. Everything I ate was so terrific, each bite an orgasm in my mouth. It has now been two days since eating there and I still am recalling fondly some of the things I ate and drank. I drank this amazing wine, a trousseau, that was unlike any wine I have ever had. The server warned me that the wine would have a really funky, earthy taste as way of letting me know that I might not like it, but that only made me want to try it even more. It tasted like a smelly sherry. I need to find a bottle of this wine now and drink more of it. There was a crispy pig's head dish that was amazing, followed by great swordfish, and served along with this lettuce that had been smoked. This lettuce might have been the best thing there and that is not diminishing anything else I ate there to say that the lettuce was the best part because all of the food was extraordinary, but this smoked lettuce was like nothing I had ever tasted before, and combined with bites of the swordfish and avocado, there was a symphonic swelling of flavors within my mouth. For desert, I had peas and strawberries, a dish that was definitely showy, but still none the less delicious for being so. It was a riff on strawberry shortcake, except with a dried pea cake where the shortcake would be, and sweetened pea shoots as a garnish, along with pea mousse. It was an absolutely incredible meal. Now on my dining wish list is a meal at Momofuku Ko. Once I come into some money and don't have insane dental bills looming over me (about which another time), then I am definitely going to splurge on a meal there.
I made myself a halloumi salad last night and drank it with cheap white wine. That meal was also delicious. I ate it with Jacob at our kitchen table, looking out at the gray sky, storm still yet to arrive but definitely on its way, Neko Case as the soundtrack.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Bodies in Bodies of Water
After work today, I rode the train out to Jacob Riis beach. I set down my towel and bag and ran to the ocean, made my way into its water, dove under. I dove under again and again, my body cutting through water, some things submerged, other things merging. Drying off, soaking up sun, a boy came to talk to me, a Russian in a G-string. We flirted some. He told me I was sexy. I told him he was. We went swimming together. I watched him walk ahead of me, his ass covered in sand. In the water, we took off our swimsuits and rubbed against each other, boners forming. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he rubbed his dick near my asshole. I loved the feeling of a large man, of someone bigger than me, of me being able to wrap my legs around him and for him to support me on his waist. Being tall, this doesn't happen often, but this guy was just as tall and more muscular, and so for a moment I got to play this role I often don't get to. I was about to cum. He told me not to. He told me he knew of a place. Where, I said. He said it was nearby, an abandoned building we could go in. I said that I couldn't, not really wanting to leave the ocean, and definitely not wanting to trek to some abandoned building with a stranger. I got what I wanted anyways - a bit of flirting, a bit of touching, a bit of nudity. I told him that I'd see him later since he was shivering and wanted to get out of the cold water. I continued to swim. I dove under and under, merging this human body with with that body of water, washing away things, namely a world on the shore.
Monday, August 1, 2011
august
I was on the Christopher Street piers catching some sun and chatting with Diego and two other boys I just met on the pier. We were talking about television a lot, an easy thing to talk about with people you don't know too well I guess. I laid on my back, not really looking for all this chit-chat, and watched the huge clouds slowly pass over me. There were explosions of clouds today, white plumes exploding out of white plums, a veritable fireworks show above my head. I also wanted to be in the ocean but had slept in too late today to make the long trip out to the beach seem worthwhile given the predictions I had been hearing of afternoon thunderstorms.
Hunger and boredom took me away from the pier. It was a toss-up between Spotted Pig and The Future. I had about ten minutes until the showtime at IFC Center and so I rushed over there, grabbed some popcorn instead of the burger I really wanted, and sat for the new Miranda July film. It's a lot darker than what I was expecting, but still beautiful, though there were a few moments that were nearly laughable in their bleakness. I think had I watched this film out of the confines of an indie theater where people take film seriously, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it nearly as much. The term blee popped in my head, a twee aesthetic at work but turned on its head and bleakness reigning, the same specific type of preciousness present though that twee works tend to have.
I left the theater feeling worse than when I entered it, which is not a complaint, a compliment actually to the work. I wanted to cuddle with Jacob and I also didn't. I hurried home to catch the evening news, ordered a burrito, and got so stoned that I enjoyed watching The A-List, but can we talk about the token black diva tacked on to this show about white gay men and how awkward/problematic it is? Um, or maybe we shouldn't talk about that.
I dream of the beach and I cannot wait to dive in to the ocean. I have my beach bag packed and hopefully I can go there from work tomorrow, swim and lose myself in water.
Hunger and boredom took me away from the pier. It was a toss-up between Spotted Pig and The Future. I had about ten minutes until the showtime at IFC Center and so I rushed over there, grabbed some popcorn instead of the burger I really wanted, and sat for the new Miranda July film. It's a lot darker than what I was expecting, but still beautiful, though there were a few moments that were nearly laughable in their bleakness. I think had I watched this film out of the confines of an indie theater where people take film seriously, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it nearly as much. The term blee popped in my head, a twee aesthetic at work but turned on its head and bleakness reigning, the same specific type of preciousness present though that twee works tend to have.
I left the theater feeling worse than when I entered it, which is not a complaint, a compliment actually to the work. I wanted to cuddle with Jacob and I also didn't. I hurried home to catch the evening news, ordered a burrito, and got so stoned that I enjoyed watching The A-List, but can we talk about the token black diva tacked on to this show about white gay men and how awkward/problematic it is? Um, or maybe we shouldn't talk about that.
I dream of the beach and I cannot wait to dive in to the ocean. I have my beach bag packed and hopefully I can go there from work tomorrow, swim and lose myself in water.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Paris
Again on a train, second one of the day – this time riding between London and Bath. We left Paris early this morning on Eurostar and arrived in London a short while ago. When we came out of the Chunnel into the English countryside I was so happy, so relieved to again be back in England’s arms. The sun is even shining today.
What best typifies Paris is perhaps our arrival into the city. We arrived in the afternoon to gray skies into Gare Nord. We were excited to get on the subway and head to our hotel. We waited in the insanely long queue at the subway ticket machine, for whatever reason there being only two of them at this huge arrival point for foreign travelers, all of them trying to understand this ticket machine and so the line taking even longer than it might otherwise have. While waiting, young Roma girls kept coming up to us asking us to sign some piece of paper for some reason, it clear that it was a scam of some sorts, a distraction to either pickpocket you or hit you up for money. Long into our wait, tired and aggravated with heavy backpacks on our backs, we see a police officer rip up one of these girl’s stack of papers and then from every corner of the station these young vagabond children took off running, a policeman chasing them through the station.
Finally, we make it the front of the line and of course it would turn out that the machine cannot read either of our credit cards. So off we go to find an ATM. And, as we soon would learn is typical of anything that might be convenient, there was no ATM machine anywhere in the entire station. So we left the station, into a sketchy area with more Roma girls with sheets of paper asking you to sign them, men selling random knick-knacks aggressively, and wandered for several blocks in circles before coming across an ATM. We take out cash and go back to wait in another line to buy subway tickets now. Finally once we reach the front of the line, we choose to pay by cash and attempt to insert our bills only to see that there is no place to insert them. The machines only take coins. Of course they do. So we wait in another line to see an actual subway attendant. Finally we have subway tickets and hours after arriving in Paris, arrive at our hotel, which is actually insanely cute and located on the Ile de Citie on one of the oldest streets in Paris, Place Dauphine.
We drop off our stuff and wander around the city. It starts to rain. This was my experience of Paris in a nutshell. The rain lasted on and off, mainly on, until our last day in Paris. It was chilly, in the sixties, and usually cloudy. I have a list of complaints that I could name about the city, and there are many, but rather than do that, I will try to instead talk about the nice things that occurred in this city.
That same first night, we saw the interior of Notre Dame, which is stunning, saw the Eiffel Tower (found out that tickets were already sold out to go the top of it though), and went to some fun gay bars. We went to Le Souffler in the Marais and soon met a cute boy, a Marc-David, and he took us with him to an underground dance den, the Cud, where we danced and drank and made out, the three of us. We left with him, went back to his massive apartment in a beautiful old building and had sex. Once we left his apartment, we were in the completely dark hallway of his building, unable to see the staircases, the wall, anything. We broke out a lighter to guide the way, a torch through the darkness. We walked home in the rain at five in the morning, continually getting lost, consulting our map, fighting with each other, hungry, wet, sleepy. It was a lovely evening.
And there were nice moments. There were moments when I was overwhelmed by the history and the beauty that existed within this city. There were also moments, many of them, where I was incredibly frustrated the huge crowds of tourists everywhere we went, had a bit of shame about being one of these foreigners on holiday collecting these cultural tokens, wanting to be able to either see or to say that I have seen these things – Notre Dame, Versailles, the Louvre, the Mona Lisa within it, Pere Lachaise, the Eiffel Tower, Centre Pompidou, etc. I felt like for a large number of these shutter-happy tourists everywhere we went, it seemed forced, more so to say one had seen it, notches on a belt, rather than to actually see it, experience it, and be moved by the contemplation of the history and beauty present in these objects. And so of course, I began to question my own participation in this, what it was for, and what, if anything, differentiated me from this chorus of foreign voices at all of the attractions in this city.
I do know that when I went to Pere Lachaise, my heart beat insanely fast when I was in front of Proust’s grave, that I had trouble breathing, that the entire cemetery had me on the verge of tears constantly, thinking about the lives of these artists, thinking about my own life, and thinking about the nature of life in broader terms, mortality standing tall above these trees with leaves that weren’t even green, the leaves getting an early start on fall, yellow and brown. The ground perhaps not giving these trees what they want, the freshly dead, instead these men and women dead for too long, entombed in boxes anyways. Moss covered many of the graves, leaves were strewn about, and there were parts of the cemetery (away from Jim Morrison’s grave of course) that were quiet and empty and one could get really lost in thought. I waited until no else was around, kissed Proust’s grave and had a moment that was absolutely magical.
And so there were moments like this. And then there were moments when I went to Versailles and my ticket didn’t work at the train station that dropped you off nearby, that I was unaware that you had to purchase a separate ticket to get there, and the lady at the ticket window that I tried to ask for help literally jumped out of her seat and shouted at me through the glass, pointing at it, ripping down a sign in French and pressing it against the glass like that should help me understand. Were it not for the glass separating us, I believe she would have beaten me up.
We went to more gay bars, one of them with a sex club in the basement, Le Depot, which was one of the most fun bars I have ever been to. Upstairs was a full throttle dance party to R&B and hip-hop with vogueing queens on the stage, while downstairs was a labyrinth of hallways and sex booths and dark rooms. I got my dick sucked downstairs in some room, hands all around me groping me. It was the next morning when I woke up to see how much money I had spent the night before that I realized someone had emptied my wallets of all its cash, about 95 Euros, while I was getting off in the dark.
At least they didn’t take my wallet, ID, or credit cards, I thought – just my cash, which Paris was doing a good job of already. I had always been told London was so expensive, but I actually found London to be fairly affordable, whereas prices in Paris were so much more expensive. London is also filled with corner stores everywhere in which one can purchase a mixed drink in a can or a beer, which one can legally drink of the street as they are walking to go out somewhere, making going out so much more cheaper. Paris has so few little small corner stores and none in the areas where we were staying or in the neighborhoods we went out in. There are not places to get late-night post-bar drunken snacks – no pizza or doners or even shops to buy chips. So much about the city frustrated me.
Even the sex club frustrated me. We went to Sun City, which is the nicest sex club I have ever been to, the interior decorated like a harem with a mishmash of any Eastern item they could cram in there. There are statues of Krishna all about, the lockers are all painted with Hindu religious icons, and then there are also Buddha statues thrown about. It is over the top and tacky but also so amazing – the décor made me so happy. There is a huge pool to swim in, a big gym, a huge steamroom, and lots of cruising areas and sex rooms. I saw the most beautiful men I have ever seen at a sex club here. These perfect little French gym bunnies, but they just walked laps past everyone, never making eye contact, just getting off on how desired they were. I don’t know – but the place was a bit frustrating as well with regards to the lack of sex happening at a sex club.
I finally gave up on the sex aspect, having done too many cruising laps throughout the sex area, passing the same pretty boys over and over again, everyone walking around, trying to look pretty, and no one getting it on. It was a mid-20th century French play being enacted, an existential take on the loneliness of man and his absurd folly in failing to recognize that loneliness. It was a play I wanted no part of; I went down into the steam room and started to jerk off while watching a blowjob happen in the corner. This started a bit of action and soon Jacob and I were both getting sucked off and people were jerking off all around and finally sex was happening.
After orgasming, we went into the pool, swam around, did headstands, dove underneath like seals, and had a lovely time.
And so again, it’s this jumble of narratives – really nice moments occurring as well as terribly frustrating ones. I wish the balance could have been more skewed to the nice moments, but it is what it is and Paris is what it is.
What best typifies Paris is perhaps our arrival into the city. We arrived in the afternoon to gray skies into Gare Nord. We were excited to get on the subway and head to our hotel. We waited in the insanely long queue at the subway ticket machine, for whatever reason there being only two of them at this huge arrival point for foreign travelers, all of them trying to understand this ticket machine and so the line taking even longer than it might otherwise have. While waiting, young Roma girls kept coming up to us asking us to sign some piece of paper for some reason, it clear that it was a scam of some sorts, a distraction to either pickpocket you or hit you up for money. Long into our wait, tired and aggravated with heavy backpacks on our backs, we see a police officer rip up one of these girl’s stack of papers and then from every corner of the station these young vagabond children took off running, a policeman chasing them through the station.
Finally, we make it the front of the line and of course it would turn out that the machine cannot read either of our credit cards. So off we go to find an ATM. And, as we soon would learn is typical of anything that might be convenient, there was no ATM machine anywhere in the entire station. So we left the station, into a sketchy area with more Roma girls with sheets of paper asking you to sign them, men selling random knick-knacks aggressively, and wandered for several blocks in circles before coming across an ATM. We take out cash and go back to wait in another line to buy subway tickets now. Finally once we reach the front of the line, we choose to pay by cash and attempt to insert our bills only to see that there is no place to insert them. The machines only take coins. Of course they do. So we wait in another line to see an actual subway attendant. Finally we have subway tickets and hours after arriving in Paris, arrive at our hotel, which is actually insanely cute and located on the Ile de Citie on one of the oldest streets in Paris, Place Dauphine.
We drop off our stuff and wander around the city. It starts to rain. This was my experience of Paris in a nutshell. The rain lasted on and off, mainly on, until our last day in Paris. It was chilly, in the sixties, and usually cloudy. I have a list of complaints that I could name about the city, and there are many, but rather than do that, I will try to instead talk about the nice things that occurred in this city.
That same first night, we saw the interior of Notre Dame, which is stunning, saw the Eiffel Tower (found out that tickets were already sold out to go the top of it though), and went to some fun gay bars. We went to Le Souffler in the Marais and soon met a cute boy, a Marc-David, and he took us with him to an underground dance den, the Cud, where we danced and drank and made out, the three of us. We left with him, went back to his massive apartment in a beautiful old building and had sex. Once we left his apartment, we were in the completely dark hallway of his building, unable to see the staircases, the wall, anything. We broke out a lighter to guide the way, a torch through the darkness. We walked home in the rain at five in the morning, continually getting lost, consulting our map, fighting with each other, hungry, wet, sleepy. It was a lovely evening.
And there were nice moments. There were moments when I was overwhelmed by the history and the beauty that existed within this city. There were also moments, many of them, where I was incredibly frustrated the huge crowds of tourists everywhere we went, had a bit of shame about being one of these foreigners on holiday collecting these cultural tokens, wanting to be able to either see or to say that I have seen these things – Notre Dame, Versailles, the Louvre, the Mona Lisa within it, Pere Lachaise, the Eiffel Tower, Centre Pompidou, etc. I felt like for a large number of these shutter-happy tourists everywhere we went, it seemed forced, more so to say one had seen it, notches on a belt, rather than to actually see it, experience it, and be moved by the contemplation of the history and beauty present in these objects. And so of course, I began to question my own participation in this, what it was for, and what, if anything, differentiated me from this chorus of foreign voices at all of the attractions in this city.
I do know that when I went to Pere Lachaise, my heart beat insanely fast when I was in front of Proust’s grave, that I had trouble breathing, that the entire cemetery had me on the verge of tears constantly, thinking about the lives of these artists, thinking about my own life, and thinking about the nature of life in broader terms, mortality standing tall above these trees with leaves that weren’t even green, the leaves getting an early start on fall, yellow and brown. The ground perhaps not giving these trees what they want, the freshly dead, instead these men and women dead for too long, entombed in boxes anyways. Moss covered many of the graves, leaves were strewn about, and there were parts of the cemetery (away from Jim Morrison’s grave of course) that were quiet and empty and one could get really lost in thought. I waited until no else was around, kissed Proust’s grave and had a moment that was absolutely magical.
And so there were moments like this. And then there were moments when I went to Versailles and my ticket didn’t work at the train station that dropped you off nearby, that I was unaware that you had to purchase a separate ticket to get there, and the lady at the ticket window that I tried to ask for help literally jumped out of her seat and shouted at me through the glass, pointing at it, ripping down a sign in French and pressing it against the glass like that should help me understand. Were it not for the glass separating us, I believe she would have beaten me up.
We went to more gay bars, one of them with a sex club in the basement, Le Depot, which was one of the most fun bars I have ever been to. Upstairs was a full throttle dance party to R&B and hip-hop with vogueing queens on the stage, while downstairs was a labyrinth of hallways and sex booths and dark rooms. I got my dick sucked downstairs in some room, hands all around me groping me. It was the next morning when I woke up to see how much money I had spent the night before that I realized someone had emptied my wallets of all its cash, about 95 Euros, while I was getting off in the dark.
At least they didn’t take my wallet, ID, or credit cards, I thought – just my cash, which Paris was doing a good job of already. I had always been told London was so expensive, but I actually found London to be fairly affordable, whereas prices in Paris were so much more expensive. London is also filled with corner stores everywhere in which one can purchase a mixed drink in a can or a beer, which one can legally drink of the street as they are walking to go out somewhere, making going out so much more cheaper. Paris has so few little small corner stores and none in the areas where we were staying or in the neighborhoods we went out in. There are not places to get late-night post-bar drunken snacks – no pizza or doners or even shops to buy chips. So much about the city frustrated me.
Even the sex club frustrated me. We went to Sun City, which is the nicest sex club I have ever been to, the interior decorated like a harem with a mishmash of any Eastern item they could cram in there. There are statues of Krishna all about, the lockers are all painted with Hindu religious icons, and then there are also Buddha statues thrown about. It is over the top and tacky but also so amazing – the décor made me so happy. There is a huge pool to swim in, a big gym, a huge steamroom, and lots of cruising areas and sex rooms. I saw the most beautiful men I have ever seen at a sex club here. These perfect little French gym bunnies, but they just walked laps past everyone, never making eye contact, just getting off on how desired they were. I don’t know – but the place was a bit frustrating as well with regards to the lack of sex happening at a sex club.
I finally gave up on the sex aspect, having done too many cruising laps throughout the sex area, passing the same pretty boys over and over again, everyone walking around, trying to look pretty, and no one getting it on. It was a mid-20th century French play being enacted, an existential take on the loneliness of man and his absurd folly in failing to recognize that loneliness. It was a play I wanted no part of; I went down into the steam room and started to jerk off while watching a blowjob happen in the corner. This started a bit of action and soon Jacob and I were both getting sucked off and people were jerking off all around and finally sex was happening.
After orgasming, we went into the pool, swam around, did headstands, dove underneath like seals, and had a lovely time.
And so again, it’s this jumble of narratives – really nice moments occurring as well as terribly frustrating ones. I wish the balance could have been more skewed to the nice moments, but it is what it is and Paris is what it is.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
london
It's my last night in London. Tomorrow Jacob and I leave for Paris. David is in the kitchen right now making a salad and the sky is preparing for sunset over London. I have a lovely view of it from his ninth floor apartment. Not much time to type right now, but to be brief:
-getting muddy at Lovebox, drinking vodka all day long, Beth Ditto being amazing, Kelis also being amazing, and Robyn really being insanely amazing. There was light drizzle during her performance, I was a couple people away from the stage, bodies pressed against each other, everyone wanted to be close, singing along, dancing. During "Indestructible," I looked around to see all the people there singing along to the lyrics, so sad and thinking of their loved ones or past ones or future ones, every person mouthing along so full of meaning: "I let the bad ones in and the good ones go, but I'm going to love you like I've never been hurt before. I'm going to love you like I'm indestructible." It was so beautiful and really made me emotional.
-drinking beers at the George and the Dragon, running into New York people.
-dancing like a maniac to cheesy pop songs at G-A-Y
-parks, beers on the street, art in museums, museums as art, beautiful buildings, life.
David has said, "Dinner is ready, boys."
-getting muddy at Lovebox, drinking vodka all day long, Beth Ditto being amazing, Kelis also being amazing, and Robyn really being insanely amazing. There was light drizzle during her performance, I was a couple people away from the stage, bodies pressed against each other, everyone wanted to be close, singing along, dancing. During "Indestructible," I looked around to see all the people there singing along to the lyrics, so sad and thinking of their loved ones or past ones or future ones, every person mouthing along so full of meaning: "I let the bad ones in and the good ones go, but I'm going to love you like I've never been hurt before. I'm going to love you like I'm indestructible." It was so beautiful and really made me emotional.
-drinking beers at the George and the Dragon, running into New York people.
-dancing like a maniac to cheesy pop songs at G-A-Y
-parks, beers on the street, art in museums, museums as art, beautiful buildings, life.
David has said, "Dinner is ready, boys."
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