Teen heartthrob and former boy band 'N Sync member Lance Bass lent his voice to this year's Day Of Silence , yet the event was anything but silent. The Day Of Silence is suppose to be a day when students remain quiet to bring awareness to the very real issue of bullying and harassment of GLBT youth in school. Christian groups would like to frame the event as a gay rights issue. Several community groups this year decided to protest the event, claiming gay rights were not a topic for school discussion. Excuse me, but the bullying and harassment that the event brings attention to is happening inside the schools.

GLBT people really like the net. And gay men really like hooking-up on the net. All this is now official as a new Harris Interactive poll has found that gay men are three times more likely to use online dating services when compared to heterosexuals. No offense, but didn't we already know this?

Federal hate crimes legislation is being picked up again this year, encouraged by senior Democratic Senator Carl Levine, chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee. You may recall that Democrats attempted to pass similar legislation last year, but backed down after Republicans balked at the bill.

In Singapore hate crimes are not being discussed, they need to achieve rights and visibility first. In this mostly Buddhist and Muslim country of 4.5 million censors still routinely ban gay films and festivals. And this week a television station was fined for airing a program which included a gay couple. The authorities claim an episode of a home and décor show attempted to “normalize” the gay lifestyle. And that's bad, I'm just saying, in case you're arriving late.

Last time I checked in on Democratic Presidential hopeful Senator Hillary Clinton, she was in debt and a paycheck away from homelessness. This week voters in Pennsylvania have managed to turn the tide for her. After her stunning victory in the state, Clinton now sleeps with sweet dreams of a white house and a padded bank account. Who says you shouldn't dream big.

Here's a picture of the Senator after her big win!

And it was our own Gay Entertainment Report that brought me news of all the premiere happenings at Miami's 10th Annual Gay & Lesbian Film Festival. Welcome to Miami!

[Editor's note: Walter continues to wrestle with his recent decision to re-acquaint himself with his bisexual boyfriend, Simon, who is unaware of the fact that Walter recently checked into a rehab facility.]

I'm stretching and roaming around in my hotel-inspired cloud-like bed. It's Saturday, 10:30 AM. Simon, I'm certain, left the house hours ago. Even on weekends he likes to wake up early. By now he's probably jogged 20 miles and washed his Audi. Twice.

After a shower and shave, I waffle around the house a bit, first checking email on my PC, then again on my iPhone. I check out some new soaps online at Lush.com and I decide I need $200 worth of soap overnighted to me.

Tivo is recommending The O'Reilly Factor to me again and normally I would simply delete the program, but the gay synopsis intrigues me. O'Reilly begins with, “There's no question that some powerful forces in America want to mainstream the gay lifestyle, and now, you can decide whether that's a good or bad thing, because it's all on the table.” Guest homophobe Marc, says, “I think we are promoting a homosexual lifestyle, and I fear for the consequences – the long-term consequences for children.” The anti-gay guest goes on to explain that a person might not know about a brain tumor until years after using a cell phone. O'Reilly tries to lead his second guest, Margaret, “...You're appalled by this mainstreaming, correct?” She is not, but O'Reilly insists, “Even – even when the mainstreaming now has become fairly intrusive?” “Is it really intrusive, though?” “To some people,” O'Reilly answers. This goes on for a while, then Margaret says to Marc, “...If you're going to be worried about the future of children growing up in same-sex couples, you ought to be a heck of a lot more worried about deadbeat dads and broken homes and inner city America, because there are a whole lot of people and kids that are growing up that don't have parents that love them.” “All right, I'm giving Marc the last word. Go ahead.” Marc repeats his previous hateful comments and the show ends.

I contemplate going to the gym or cleaning up, but instead I spend most of the day in coffee shops and restaurants offering surly servers sincere critiques.

While at Mothers I graciously offer my waitress helpful advice when she asks if I would like to keep my dirty fork. “No,” I say, “It would be nice to have a clean fork.” She agrees, and bring me a new fork with my cherry pie, all the while giving me grief with her smiles.

Later - about 2 hours in fact - I stop in at the Broadway Ave. Caribou where the A-list homos hang. I remember Ryan wanted me to check out a new album from a band I'd never heard of before, Ben's Brother. And while I have tons of good music on my iPhone, I decide to pull down samples from iTunes, in case I run into Ryan later. I choose sample track number 10, “God By Another Name.” A clearly white male with a raspy voice, whom I can only presume is the nameless brother of Ben, sings to piano accompaniment, “What if life was a car; and you didn't really know how to start it. Would you sit in your car like a clown? Or get out and walk to the nearest crowded bar; and kiss a mouth, make it smile and be proud that at least you had a good time for while?” I'm interrupted by an incoming email from Simon and I move away from iTunes. Simon's email is a response to my earlier email, “Sorry, love, with Liz 2nite.” And for a moment I imagine Lisa's long blond hair getting stuck in Simon's newly-washed car door and he doesn't notice this for a couple of blocks, by which point she has already destroyed a pair of high heels.

The iPhone rings and I answer Dan's call, “Hello!” I say, more a command than anything else.

“What's up brother?” Dan asks.

“We gonna burn the night with Valentinos and Double Trouble?” I ask.

“Where's lover...lover boy tonight?” Dan asks in a sarcastic tone.

“He's got a life. You know, we're not inseparable. In fact, I've only seen him once this week,” I respond, then add, “So 'za and trouble squared?” I notice Antonio walking by and I wave him in, but he's hesitant, and I insist by waving harder. Antonio enters the coffee shop and I put my hand on his shoulder, which he appreciates, and lead him to a chair next to a Chinese girl reading a college chemistry textbook and listening to what I presume is Chinese girl band music on a cheap mp3 player - which I notice does not even have video. “I can't. I have a date tonight,” Dan says. I recognize the girl and I think she works at this coffee shop. I remember throwing a cup of cold latte at her on a busy Monday morning after she refused to make me a new one. “Hello?” Dan asks. “I see,” I respond, “I'll speak with you later then. Have fun,” I add cheerfully before I hang-up the phone.

Antonio, as it turns out, is on his way home to produce some glamorous high-homo art dinner party. He asks me if I got his invitation, “Didn't you get the e-vite?” “I'm bad with e-mail,” I lie. I ask if I can get him a latte but he refuses, saying he's running late. I pressure him to stay a while, but he leaves.

Last night Simon and I connected in a way we had never before. With vanilla scented candles scattered around the room, we kissed and fondled each other to new heights. At one point I was on top of him, looking directly into his clear eyes, and my senses were elevated allowing me to hear my own heartbeat. He looked at me and asked if I wanted him. I was confused - of course I wanted him – I responded, “Yes.” He pulled me in tighter and asked me again, between kisses. I sensed that he was about to reveal something to me, that we were about to reach some critical milestone in our relationship, or breakdown a barrier, and my heart raced . But after I responded, he simply said, “I want you too. You're hot.”

At home I spend the next three hours watching exactly ten minutes of ABC's 20/20 about absolutely nothing, mixing various premium waters – Glace, Bling H20 – with tropical juices to create something totally new, and rummaging through past issues of GQ searching for an interview with George Clooney. Afterwards, I decide to go clubing.

X-Treme is a long galley style bar within walking distance from my house, but I choose to drive. The establishment is best known for its cheap drinks and cheaper pickups. While sitting on a bar stool in the rear of the bar I sense a young boy gawking at me. He moves up and down the bar a couples of times with the excuse of using the restroom, then, realizing that it's do or die time, he bolts right on over. After a quick intro, he asks, “Do you want to come to my house?” “What do you have in your house?” I respond, annoyed by his naive manner. “Me, for one,” he says, then adds sheepishly, “And I have a few other things...too.” I laugh at this. The kid, who is clearly mortified and unable to speak, slithers away quickly. I contemplate pursuing him and apologizing, but I'm distracted by four very thin boys in their early twenties who have began dancing in the middle of the bar where there is no dance floor to Vogue by Madonna – the best dance track ever recorded.

Almost as if on cue, and while drinking my third Trump water, a man a bit older than myself approaches me. I try to avoid eye contact, but after I realize he's a bit drunk I decide to talk to him. His name is Jason and I correctly guess that he's from the west coast, LA. I tell Jason that I'm not really looking for a trick. “You have a boyfriend?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, nodding my head.

“Then,” he begins, “what are doing at a dive bar on a Saturday night?” And he tells me he wants to kiss me. I refuse saying I have a boyfriend, more interested in the twinks who are now semi-nude and appear to be drunk or high or maybe a bit of both.

“Why are you being true blue?” He asks, annoying me.

“It's...we...It's complicated,” I stutter, then add, “He's got a girlfriend, too.”

This seems to satisfy him, but he still insists on a kiss, “One kiss and I'll leave.” I find this a bit sweet and I kiss him softly once and he leaves.

The DJ is mixing Madonna songs with samples from Vogue, “Vogue...Like A Prayer...Vogue...Papa Don't Preach...Vogue...Holiday!” This sends the foursome into some sort of dance craze where they start slapping each other on the ass and hollering. The two most effeminate boys begin making out. This disgusts me and if I had a wet blanket I'm certain I would throw it over them. Instead I just leave.

Outside the club Jason is trying to hail a cab. I tell him cabs are impossible at this hour and that I'll give him a lift.

As we travel in my Ocean Blue Volvo C70 hardtop convertible with black leather interior, Jason reveals to me that he once had a bisexual boyfriend.

“Really, how long did that last?” I ask.

“About 5 years,” he responds.

“And he loved you?”

“Yes and I loved him,” he says, then adds, “But he broke my heart, left me for a woman.”

I turn and look at Jason with a facial expression that shows both kindness and compassion. I sense some sort of solidarity with him – a bonding. We arrive at the Marriott and as he's getting out of the car he offers, “Listen to me. You seem like a nice guy. Don't waste your life trying to land a hopeless dream. The trick to all of this is knowing yourself.”

I nod in agreement, unconvinced.

It's dark in my bedroom and I cannot see anything, but my sense is I'm in a moving car. I must be inside a car, but I cannot find a window and there is no light. Suddenly, I realize I'm alone in the car. I search frantically for the steering column, the brakes, to no avail. The car thrusts forward faster, impatient to reach its destination. I sense I'm in the back seat unable to reach the driver's seat, a force is holding me back – perhaps the car itself. Then light from nowhere and I see I'm traveling through a tunnel. I'm panic-stricken as I reach for the driver's seat, the steering column, an escape. It's useless, I am totally pinned down. And I begin screaming with fright when the lights go back off as the car exits the tunnel at an alarming speed.

I wake up alone, feeling powerless.

Walter Weeks is a writer for On Top Magazine and can be reached at ww@ontopmag.com.  The Gay Slant pops-in most Saturdays at On Top Magazine.