gayly forward

I came home a day earlier than I had planned. I was going to come home Saturday, August 4. But Dustin's birthday was Friday, August 3.

And the whole week I had been gone was not a great week back in Topeka. When I left, we had one of Dustin's teenage daughters living with us. When I came home, she was living with her mom. There's was lots of drama that I don't need to go into here. And, no, Dustin didn't kick her out. But suffice to say, spending your birthday alone in a big house sucks.

So I made the 8 hour drive straight home from camp. But I had planned to pick up his birthday present, a specialty pair of boots, along the way on Saturday. And to make it on time, before they close, to the only store I know that sells them, I had to break the law.

I'm usually a very law abiding citizen. Or at least close to it. I may not agree with all speed limits, but I won't go more than 5 mph over what is posted if only because I don't want a ticket. I am a prime example that detersion works.

But to make it to the store, I had to go 20 to 25 miles over the 70 mph speed limit on the freeway. I was exhausted when I started the drive. But the adrenaline caused by going that fast minus a speeding buddy kept me WIDE awake.

I got there 15 minutes before they closed and resumed normal speeds the last 2 hours of the drive.

We needed a serious diversion from the home dramas. And the closet diversion from Topeka is a gay resort called the Habana in Oklahoma City.

Though many call it a resort, it's really little more than an old, well-kept Best Western. The grounds are nicely landscaped and maintained, but the rooms, especially the mattresses are largely ignored. I'm assuming it's because the owners know exactly what happens in the rooms and that most men do not go to that hotel to sleep.

But gay men must have a lush background when photographed by a pool. And there the Habana delivers.

We drove the 4 hours Saturday. Dustin gets upset because I'm still tired and being poky about getting ready. But we're still in time to get out by the pool and people watch.

OK. Let me be honest folks. There's a reason for many stereotypes. Gay men really are cruisey. Many many gay men just want sex. And the fact that they're cruising for other horny men doesn't help.

But you need to be honest too. If straight men could get away with it, they'd be just as promiscuous.

As we sit by the pool, surrounded by two stories of walk-out motel rooms, we get quite a show.

Men sit by their windows with the drapes open. Advertising.

Men walk around the balconies and sidewalks waiting for an invitation.

And all this at 5 p.m.

As I have always said: Hook-up early. Hook-up often.

But the best part of the show is the men. Old men. Young men. None too terribly good looking. Many look like the kind of guy who has a permanent lube stain on his couch from playing with himself too much.

Dustin and I guess that the two really good looking guys are probably call-boys.

At the pool there's a couple large men wearing way too little.

And then a 70 y/o, pasty, over weight man walks in. He takes off his shorts to reveal... I almost can't say it... a loin cloth.

With nothing under it.

We left the pool not long after.

After a short disco nap, we dressed in our best cowboy drag and headed to the country bar in the hotel.

I enjoy the bar for the same reason women enjoy the bar: Fishing.

But I have a catch and release policy. There's no harm in wetting your appetite at the bar and then going home to eat.

However, the catches weren't all that great. Dustin caught a guy I called greasy mullet. (let your imagination fill in the rest.)

I caught a group of friendly locals who invited us to a hot tub. We declined.

We go back to the room. And when I get up at 9:00 a.m. (on a Sunday, mind you) I'm more than shocked to find guys already cruising.

Let me stop for a second and get something gay: Not all gay men are like that.

But why are these guys cruising at 9:00 a.m.? Because they can? Because the society we live in still treats them like second-class citizens? Because they were denied the carnal pleasures that most guys get in J.H.?

I don't know. But I know it happens. All the time.

Most gay men I know have to go through a slutty phase when they first come out. They have to get all the sex out of the way that our straight counterparts were done with by 22. (hopefully) But most gay men, (at least the ones I associate with) grew out of that.

I grew out of it because I still believe in commitment and loyalty. Maybe these guys just haven't found a guy they want or can commit to.

Then again, maybe their just horny.

We head home around noon. Believe it or not, it was a great trip. Every once in a while, it's just nice to be around "family."

And you can't beat the people watching possibilities at gay hotels and bars.

maybe

Things happen for a reason. I know. No need to throw this post back in my face. I never said I didn't believe in karma. The more I thought about it, and the more friend Ted talked about it, the more I believed that the world/universe has a way of keeping itself in balance.

One could argue that the rise in gay population is due to mother nature trying to thin the herd. And Ted convinced me that there's really some science behind good and bad energy thing. And, you know, I love science. I don't understand it and slept through most of the science classes in H.S. and college, but Ted made it make sense.

But that would mean that the whole debacle over the cancer kids camp was because of some negative energy I had. OR, as trainer Beth suggests, some things happen to give you opportunities in other places.

In my angst over the what happened at the other camp, I called up the director of the poor kids camp. I know she's fine with gay folks. Hell, one of her favorite people is the gay, Jewish nurse at the camp I went to in Springfield. I even learned some gay Yiddish from the guy.

She has another camp for poor kids the same week as the cancer camp. I asked if she needed help. She said she could use me. And not in that freaky way some of you're minds just went. But I figured that maybe this was my chance to help out where help was needed where I couldn't help before. (follow that?)

I packed up my bags and headed for Illinois. It was just a bit nice to be behind the scenes for once. I didn't have kids waking me up to go pee in the middle of the night. I didn't have to break up any fights. And I didn't have to stay all week. I just popped in and out as needed to entertain kids during the infamous "unstructured" time.

It was hot. And none of the camp is air conditioned. And no amount of refreshing Evian mist sprayed by hot ethnic pool-boys would have helped.

Luckily, I got to sleep in mom's semi-air-conditioned house for a few nights.

Mom is doing MUCH better. The doc took off the 50 lb S&M type brace she had been wearing over her body to keep her hip from moving. Now I'm looking for a S&M fetishist who might want to buy it.

To get mom out of the house, I took her to the Muny to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

I actually have a long history with JATATC. Way back in my formative adolescent years, my cousin David had made a tape of the original Broadway recording from his VAST collection of Broadway LPs. (those are the big, black, shiny discs.) He gave me lots of tapes. It was from those tapes that I, at a very early age, learned to hate the show "Cats." And I learned to love JATATC.

It would listen to it over and over again while working on my theatre in the garage. Dreaming that one day I would stage my own production in said theatre.

When I was 14, I had the chance to play one of the brothers of Joseph, Asher, in a local theatre production. (Sadly, not in *my* theatre.) At the time, I thought it was the most fabulous production. But in hindsight, (thanks to the genius of videotape,) I realize it was a completely hack production. We supplied our own costumes and the "band" was little more than a piano and drumset. It's a male heavy cast, so any male, whether he could sing or not, got into the show. And what little harmony there was, was supplied by moi because I memorized the entire score following hours of obsessively playing through it on the piano.

Later on, in H.S., for one of my birthday presents mom surprised me with tickets to see JATATD at the Fox in St. Louis.

Going to the Fox was nothing new. We used to have season tickets in the upper balcony of this cavernous theatre. Where, even with binoculars, the actors were the size of oompa loompas.

But for my birthday, mom surprised me with 4th row tickets. I can't even begin to tell you how giddy I was while we were being seated and kept walking closer and closer to the stage. It was almost better than sitting front row to see and be spat on by Thomas Hampson. Almost.

And through the whole show I sat with rapt attention soaking in the whole spectacle. I laughed. I cried. It was better than 'Cats.'

Again in college, I got the chance to be in the show. This time, I was Pharaoh's butler and actually had a couple solo lines. It was all part of the infamous year of '98. (That was the first time I lost 60 lbs.) And for this show, we had a real orchestra, real costumes and real sets. It rocked.

So it was more than fitting that here I am, 60 lbs lighter, celebrating a bit about mom's recovery, and nearing the end of an awesome summer, that we go to see JATATC.

The great thing about the Muny is that they still have 1500 free seats at the back of the amphitheater. And that's were mom and I sat, picnic and all.

I'm not one to rag on other people's freedom of speech, but I must digress for a moment.

A few rows in front of us was a group of choir kids. I know they were choir kids. I can spot choir kids as fast as I can closeted gay men because I used to be one. They all wore something like a state honor choir t-shirt, or a shirt with a giant treble clef and were WAY too excited. And I suppose because the next show in the season was Les Miserable, they felt the need to give a preview to everyone around them. With one sad, homely little girl standing and leading them, they quietly sang through the major songs of the show.

OK. I know that some people will say, "That's so great. They love music so much."

But I know why they were singing. Not because they loved music so much. They were singing because they were hoping an agent was sitting within earshot and would want to sign them up for a record deal or give them a part in the next big show, (note: agents don't sit in the free seats.) Or they were, at the least, hoping someone would compliment them and tell them how wonderful they sound and ask about their training and what shows they've done. All information they'd be more than happy to fill your ear with for the next hour.

How do I know this? I *was* that kid. And I look back in just a bit of shame for it. If you're bored before a show, read a magazine, or talk quietly to your neighbor. Don't talk loudly during the intermission about your latest theatre drama or compare the show you're seeing to the production you did. No one cares. In fact, it makes you look more than a bit pretentious.

And I draw the line when people around me begin to sing along with the show I'm watching. I didn't come to hear you. I came to hear the paid actors on stage. Thank goodness that someone in front of me told them to stop singing during the show. I was close to causing some drama of my own.

Digression done.

Call me a wuss, a puss or a pansy, but I share this next thought with you because it's interesting.

I actually got a lump in my throat more than once during the show. Not because it was sad. (all the music is the typical Lloyd Weber jazzy-jesus fare.) In fact, I couldn't figure out why I was all verklempt. Happy memories? Longing for the past?

I don't know. But I didn't want to look like a fool. So just like I choked back the tears while watching the 4th of July fireworks, I choked them back again.

I didn't want anyone posting a blog about the soppy, cry-happy fag who sat behind them at the Muny.