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?
hate crimes legislation is being picked up again this year, encouraged
by senior Democratic Senator Carl Levine, chairman of the Senate Armed
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.
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
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
“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 email@example.com. The Gay Slant
pops-in most Saturdays at On Top Magazine.