Tag Archives: gay

“Sometimes You Wanna Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name…”

He is quite pretty.

Yes, I said “pretty”.  Or, rather:  He is luminous.

I’ve never seen him here before, waiting tables at this joint I frequent.  In the City ruled by the most beautiful gay boys who always bitch-slap my occasionally fearful face with the courage of their specificity, I have finally found my corner.  It’s calm here, and I am still completely anonymous.  I make it a point to be as sweet as Amelie when I come in, and I am always a generous tipper.  But no one knows my name.  They let me be.  And that’s somehow soothingly perfect.

Diagonally from its floor-to-ceiling window panes, I can see at least half a dozen of rainbow flags.  The parking is a bitch around here, but the stroll is always worth it.  And no matter what comrade of mine I’ve introduced to this place — a single mother with an unruly child or an ancient director with my father’s face — they all seem to find comfort, if not peace here.

“Reminds me of a Noo Yok di-nah!” a Russian from Brooklyn once correctly tagged the reminiscence of this joint while falling into the only round booth, and nesting his bulky body next to my bony elbow.  I could see it in his eyes:  A chord has been struck.

And it is true:  The leather-covered booths, plastic tables and chairs are squeezed against each other with economical consideration.  Identical bar stools, bolted onto the floor, look like a net of mushrooms sprouted after the autumn rain; and I’ve once, especially tipsy over a boy, spun on one of them while waiting for my smoothie with red cabbage.  (Shit!  I’ve become a hardcore hippie, in this California livin’ of mine!)

The UFO’s of lamp shades with single, off-white bulbs inside each light the place up with a certain light of nostalgia; but every kind face slipping in and out of the swinging doors of the kitchen reminds me that I ain’t in New York — any more!

But will you look at them?!  Just look at these faces!

There is the Zenned-out brown boy with gentle manners who insists on diamond studs that sparkle from underneath his backwards-turned baseball cap.  Underneath his crew-necks or fit t-shirts, he hides a fit but lithe body.  Sometimes, I catch him texting underneath the only cash register; but from where I sit, in those moments, he simply looks possessed by bliss, behind the tiny glass display of whole grain muffins.

The only older gentleman working regular shifts here has a quite voice.  He is not as effeminate as the other waiters here, neither is he flamboyant as most of the clientele.  When he tends to my table, I cannot always distinguish the content of his speech, but his Spanish accent is lovely.

So, I grin and stretch my arms to the other side of the tiny table. “I’m fine!  Thank you,” I purr, and wait:  Is this the day he’ll finally smile at me?

But this boy — is pretty, and I have never seen him before.  Dressed in the most perfect caramel skin, he has one of those faces that makes me regret not having a talent or even any predisposition for drawing.  His body seems perfect, and a pair of rolled-up jean shorts reveals a runner’s legs.  He carries just a touch of feminine grace, and oh, how the boys love him!  The entire length of my 3-hour writing session, they come in to quietly watch him from corner tables.  Some hug him while sliding their hands along his belt-line.  A sweet boy, he doesn’t seem to mind.  Men in couples flirt with him discretely, but I recognize their desire — for his youth and goodness — underneath the nonchalant gestures.

A woman with a complexion I would kill to have when I reach her age, has entered the joint shortly after me.  From the bits of overheard conversation, I figure out:  She lives in Laurel Canyon.  Has “a partner”.  A writer.

“130,000 people lost power last night,” she reads the newsfeed to the pretty boy, as he flocks her table.  He seems to possess an equal curiosity toward both genders; and if there is any hint of discrimination, it’s in his innocent desire to be in the proximity beauty.

Oh, right.  I nearly forgot:  Last night was messy.  When the winds initially picked up, I was willing to believe in the magic on some beautiful female creature blowing in, with the wind, to save this last hope of this forsaken place.  But then, my night turned tumultuous; and in my chronic want to flee from here, I thought of the more unfortunate souls, with not as much as a shelter of their car.  I checked myself in.

The morning ride to this joint was rough:  Fallen over trees, freaked out drivers and broken traffic lights.  But once I landed in my booth — and the angelic, pretty boy approached me — I remembered that I was always the last to give up on human goodness.  So, I hung around and recuperated in beauty.

And I’ve been hanging here ever since.

Hesbians of the World: Unite!

I thought I would wait till Friday to rant on this upcoming bit — kinda give you V’s lil’ Week in Review then — but the venom is rising quicker than I predicted.  This morning, it choked the living breath out of me before my alarm had a chance to wake me with its hideous drill at the regular five o’clock; then crowded my brain as the first waking thought.  And I pinky swear:  I’ve even started blackening my smooth electronic page with the tale of a girlfriend’s woes:  she loves him, he can’t commit, she’s torn, “Where is all this going?”, etc, etc, etc.  But a discussion of these valid and delicate and somewhat vague struggles in a heterosexual couple seems a tiny bit gratuitous when nearly every day of this week, I’ve hung my head with painful despair at the injustice and pure violence placed upon the men and women of homosexual orientation.

The week started with my introduction to an atrocious event I’ve never even heard of before.  It came as link on a Facebook page of a woman mentor I adore so much that every word she utters and every choice she commits I lap-up as my personal, private sermon.  That badass chick has devoted her life to traveling with her three gorgeous adoptive sons in tow, settling in primarily Third World Countries and teaching.  She is currently working with children and women in South Africa, blasting her always poignant, sometimes political and often humorous observations on the newsfeed.

“You go, with you badass self!” I always think when I read her words, wishing I could be just like her when I grow up.

So when the following link came to my attention, I treated it with immediate empathy:  https://secure.avaaz.org/en/stop_corrective_rape_6/?rc=fb.  To break it down for you, my comrades, it speaks of nearly a year old series of continuous attacks on South African lesbians by men on a mission to cure them of their homosexuality via “Corrective Rape,” and in the case of Eudy Simelane, murder — acts that the country’s government refuses to “prioritize as a specific project.”

“Corrective Rape”?  ‘Scuse me:  I gotta go hurl my guts out!…

…Okay, I’m back.

While dripping venom onto my keyboard, I hurry to acknowledge that you, my magnificent comrades and readers, aspire to comprehend humanity already.  Just by the response of those of you courageous enough to handle my rants on the daily basis, I am willing to conclude that, just like me, you prefer to see this world be dominated by kindness and compassion; you choose to understand it and, what’s most crucial — to learn about it.  So, you don’t really need my venomous heaves on the subject of rape — the most heinous crime the human race could think up.  But to violate a woman due to one’s overwhelming hatred, ignorance and lack of tolerance, and then to treat that act as one of public service — that’s hubris beyond all comprehension.  And since you, my magnificent walking proofs of goodness, are already on the same page — my fuckin’ page! — I call upon your awareness:  http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/africaandindianocean/southafrica/4982520/Lesbians-subjected-to-corrective-rape-in-South-Africa.html.  If mere knowledge is not enough for you, however:  Go do something about it, my glorious badasses:  https://secure.avaaz.org/en/stop_corrective_rape_6/?rc=fb!

On the hump day of this week, the world regurgitated another piece of info that got V all riled-up:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/30/us/30immigration.html?_r=1&ref=us.

Considering my liberal mindset and my own history of immigration-related strife, the news of deportation of foreign-born partners in legally married homosexual couples — is a double whammy.  Yep, I hear some o’ ya’, comrades:  Gay couples can finally get married in, like, six states already!  So, shouldn’t that be enough?  As another magnificent mentor I admire says:

“Fuck no!”

(Well, actually, he’s Russian; so, “Fuck nyet!” — he said.)

Now, I’ve already cast my vote in favor of this country when I took on its citizenship; and, by now, Shiva knows, I’ve taken full advantage of the freedoms that it has granted me.  (Read my “ranty-cunty” blog at:  fromrussianwithlove.wordpress.com.  Spasibo!)  But, when it comes to tolerance — it is never enough.

How does that one-of-a-kind, world’s youngest phenomenon’s Declaration go:

“WE hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal…” (Fuck da!)

“…that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”

(Mmm-hmm, I just copied that out of my own personal booklet I was given with my American Citizenship Certificate, at the standee of my first brown President!  V — be very, very proud!)

“Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”  Now, doesn’t the mere founding theory of this country give you a hard-on?!  I got me one!  So, as the world continues to throw-up the tales of human inventiveness in ways to hurt each other, may we continue living-up to the better principles and the basic human rights that started this magnificent experiment in the first place.  May we continue to grow and change; and as in any relationship, in the one we have with the rest of the world — may we affect it in all the right ways.