July 12, 2010

I steal away glances and peek when no one is looking. Often times I exaggerate my emotions, misery and elation, when I have an audience. I am an actor of the greatest form. I don't lie. Or hide emotions. But I do amplify them for effect. Middle-child syndrome. Acting out. Being loud. Having your mouth distract from other parts you want to hide.

My writing around here has slowed down. This blog has been a tad bit neglected.

This is not because I have tired of it. Just the opposite. As any loyal reader of my blog knows, 6 months ago I took a new job with an old friend. We started this little website called fabulis. It's consumed my life. In that good way. In that really good way.

And a few weeks before Jason and I embark on a trip to India together for work, he wrote up the below blog post this afternoon (while I got a tetanus shot and malaria medicine). It documents, perfectly, the last 6 months and the highs and extreme highs this endeavour has brought us. I have learned so much. From Jason and his quick wit, forever moving brain, and brilliant ideas. I have never known anyone to work harder. From Nishith and Deepa and their entire team in Pune and their dedication and problem solving and their hours of work. From Veerle Pieters and her effortless (that is what it appears to be) design process, clear thinking, and happy demeanor. From Mike Piscadlo, our intern, proving that his generation has instilled a hunger to learn and to work hard. From Georgi, who has supported me every step of the way. From advisers, younger and not-as-young, who have supported this venture and guided us and opened doors for us. From clients and marketers and friends who have collaborated with us on projects of various scales.

And most importantly from the Jades and Joes and the Thomas Chestnuts and the Jimmys and the Davids and Clarkes and Dans of the world. And every one of the guys (and ladies) I have been so honored and privileged to have met via fabulis. The gay world is big. A big world with big hearts.

Jason, who writes better than me, writes below:

Hi. Jason Goldberg here, founder and CEO of fabulis.

July 11 marks the 6 month anniversary since we officially got started working on fabulis. I thought it would be a good opportunity to reflect on where we've come from and where we're going.

Over the past 6 months we have:

Incorporated fabulis as a company, with headquarters in NY, NY, USA and development operations in Pune, India, and Deinze, Belgium.

Hired Bradford Shellhammer to be our creative director, the gay to my geek, and my sidekick here in the NYC offices.

Battled Citibank over our bank account ... and won!

Set out on our mission to build the network that connects gay men and their friends with amazing experiences, down the block and around the world.

Designed some fabulis gear while working on developing the website.

Raised $875,000 in seed financing from awesome investors, including The Washington Post Company, David Bohnett, Lars Hinrichs, Allen Morgan, Don Baer, and others.

Developed a pre-launch following of more than 8000 fabbits on our facebook fan page leading up to our own product launch.

Put together a kick-ass advisory board and junior advisory board.

Launched our first beta project, http://we.are.fabulis.com/ which started as a test to see if we could get a bunch of gay men to add themselves to a list of the most influential gay men in the world, and then quickly evolved into something much bigger and more important as tens of thousands of gay men and their friends took to the concept and gave us feedback on how to improve on it.

Launched the first real version of www.fabulis.com on April 23, 2010 (my birthday), with the largest aggregation of gay-relevant facebook events around the world. At launch we aggregated more than 12,000 events from more than 5000 cities and helped gay guys browse them, see who else was going, and figure out what to expect.

Launched our Ask service which enables users to ask other users questions, with the answers appearing on the user's profile. Our own little version of user-prompted micro-blogging.
Had some fabulis events in NYC, SF, and LA.

Hired Mike Piscadlo, the most fabulis intern this side of Elle Woods.

Worked with the folks behind Sex And The City 2, Atlantis Cruises,Lilith Fair, Christina Aguilera, Fire Island Pines, The Pines Party, Baskit Underwear, The Gay Games, American Airlines, and more to launch exclusive fabulis experiences that provided real value to our users and to our partners.

Garnered press coverage from the Likes of Mashable who reviewed fabulis and called our design "gorgeous" (blush), Paper Magazine, Out Magazine, Next, TechCrunch, Venture Beat, El Tiempo, and Corriere.

Received more than 5,000 pieces of amazing feedback from our users which we are doing our best to keep up with and improve from.

Took the advice of our users who asked us to make fabulis more suitable for "gay men and their friends," not just gay men.

Some numbers:

But, we're still just getting stared.

So, what's next?

We are firm believers that it's all about the product. If our members love our product, we'll do fine. If they don't, we wont. Right now we think our product is just "ok." We want it to be great. So, that's our number one focus: making the product better so that it provides more value to all of our users.

fabulis on the iPhone will launch in the coming days (as soon as Apple approves our app). We believe that this app could be a real game-changer in the way that gay men socialize and communicate. You'll be the judge. More mobile apps/platforms to follow.

Real-time user-to-user interaction. We're working on a big, big idea to enable gay men and their friends to share, discuss, and harness the power of the big gay global network like never before, in a way which helps discover great thing to do, places to go, and people to meet -- nearby and around the world. The pieces behind this are coming together very nicely and we hope to be able to launch them really soon!

More fabulis experiences. In June we launched our fabulis experiences and ran about 2 to 3 experiences per week. We're now up to about 4 per week and will be ramping up to more than 7 per week by September.

Fun. If it's not fun, it's not worth doing. We promise to keep it fun.

That's all for now.

Thank you all for your input, advice, and support.

-jason and the fabulis team

July 7, 2010

This year I will travel more than ever before. It is a combination of many factors: more money, a job with the need to go places, generous friends, a foreign boyfriend. It is exciting for me, still, knowing that I call NYC home. Most people are not that lucky (or foolish) and I don't really ever tire of this place. Even in yesterday's 104 degree weather New York City was alright.

By year's end I will have traveled to Los Angeles, San Francisco, Costa Rica, Fire Island, Romania, Istanbul, Turks & Caicos, India, Napa, Bulgaria, the Jersey Shore, Baltimore, Washington, DC, Annapolis, Upstate New York, Palm Springs, and maybe Paris or Rome or somewhere like that for Christmas.

Travel is exciting. And it really is a privilege. I grew up in a home where travel was not an option. My mother was too concerned with feeding her children. Having them see the world, a world she'd never seen, was simply not an option. And probably not a thought. Several years ago I took my mother on a trip to Paris for Christmas. I will forever hold that moment with me, showing her a world she'd inspired me, in some way or another, to seek out on my own.

And when traveling, whether to my lake house, or to Fire Island, or to the Caribbean, you learn a little more about your mates.

In June at the lake house I laughed with Monte and Michael and Jesse and Charles. On Fire Island we were guests of Michael Lucas and Richard Winger, where we argued over politics and shrimp salads. Also on Fire Island we dined like kings (queens?) with Marty Chavez and Adam Norbury and we also laughed. And on a secluded island, covered with iguanas, I thought that James Cameron's image of Avatar's planet was crystallized right there, in Turks & Caicos. As Jason Goldberg, Christian Schoenherr, my beloved Georgi and I walked into the neon blue depths, sting rays and barracuda swam up to us. They equally as intrigued as we were afraid of them.

Not all trips thus far have been exotic. I returned home to Baltimore and saw my father's mother for the first time in many, many years. Kissed my mother's lips, visited Basar and Scott, and in Annapolis picked crabs with my childhood best friends. Coming home, to my mom, my oldest friends, my bloodlines, fulfilled me as much as the warm Caribbean sun.

And just last week Georgi and I let go of preconceptions and ventured to New Jersey, where the beaches are, dare I say, much nicer than any in New York. Meals cost much less. Drinks, too. And we tanned ourselves with frozen cocktails in hand.

I'll be returning to Fire Island a few more times in coming weeks and then off to India, for work with Jason, Turkey, and Bulgaria, to meet Georgi's mother for the first time. I imagine in Varna we'll feast on native cuisine (no crabs assuredly) and hopefully I will witness the loving eyes of mother and son. And hopefully I will see the places he grew up, where he longed to escape from, where he, too, was inspired to think of a different place for himself.

Bulgaria to New York. Baltimore to New York. I would argue they're similar distances.

And so, halfway through this year, I've been to many spectacular places with amazing friends. Beautiful sunsets. Shared meals. Warmth from the sun. Laughs with friends. Shared meals with family. And shared experiences with my favorite travel companion.

All God's children need traveling shoes. Mine are really cute and ready for more walking. With you. Each of you.

June 22, 2010

In 2010, what does "gay pride" mean?

I love that you guys posed the question. Because it is something I have been thinking about for some time. (No, really I have been.)

This year I left a career in the design industry to cofound a little gay website called fabulis.com. Gays sometimes like to eat their own. And they also sometimes like to be overly critical. I used to think that all people were critics, and many are, but I think more gay people are overtly critical. Especially when criticizing their peers. Where this comes from I don't know. Insecurity? Anger? And I too was prone to do this. Let me tell you a little story about Whitney Houston.

I made a crack this year about Whitney in my Facebook status. It was a cheap shot. Easy. Thoughtless. The next day a lovely guy approached me at the gym. I had seen this guy daily for a good year and he and I had smiled and said hello before. He knew who I was and told me he'd seen my status update, yet I was not his friend on Facebook. Well it turns out he works for Whitney's record label and I was caught. Red-handed with egg dripping from my face. I felt foolish. Cowardly. It shook me. I was too negative.

I have been on the receiving end of hateful remarks my entire life. For being gay. Loud. Chubby. Whatever. And when I started blogging ten years ago I would savor the love notes and accolades I'd get from strangers stumbling upon my work. But I'd also get hate mail. And nasty comments. If you put yourself out there you're gonna get clobbered. Skin must be thick.

The New York Times wrote about my break-up last year. It was sandwiched in the Home & Garden section and an article that should have been about our wonderfully eclectic lake-house read like a cheap gay break-up short story. Most people sent me love. Again, others, on sites like Data Lounge and Apartment Therapy, were vicious. We just eat our own I thought. And I vowed to become even more positive. To help people. To keep negative thoughts and quips to myself. To turn away from snarky blogs. To focus on good things.

Gay people are unique beings. I really do believe a spirit burns inside us that is so very special. We create so much beauty in this world and we always have. We make people smile. We celebrate life. And we do it while often times questioning our own value. The same wick that burns with this gay joie de vivre also burns in an opposite direction. Love and Hate. Hand in hand.

We started fabulis to bring gay people together. To help them travel. To meet without the promise of sex. And blogs went negative quickly on us. But then it subsided.

Why I bring up fabulis is because I have discovered this beautiful spirit, a gay pride, if you will, through it. I have met gay men from all over the world, including a whole new generation of them.

I have met kids who came out at 12. I have see the faces of gay youth and they're out. They're proud. And they're not just flocking to SF and NYC when they graduate High School. They're going to their proms with boys. They're online with clear face pics, their real names, and they're telling the world they're gay. They are proud by every definition of the world.

And I am in awe of them.

In 2010 Pride means that the generation coming of age now, the ones sitting in their rooms thinking they're different from their schoolmates at this very second, have it better than we did. And it will only get better and better. We'll feel better about ourselves and about other gay people. And we'll boost up, rather than tear down.

We're special creatures. Unicorns. Glitter balls. Stars. Whether in the sky or the gutter, we're all still stars. It's our duty to shine.

Written for this is fyf who asked me "In 2010, what does "gay pride" mean?"

June 17, 2010

June 9, 2010

I find it funny that while a Christina Aguilera backlash occurs across the county, fueled by the venom of Perez Hilton, that I am seeing the singer's talent much more clearly. A few months ago had you mentioned Xtina and Gaga in the same sentence I would have most definitely opined on the subject. Gaga was the clear star. The new winner. The heir apparent to Madonna. She was smarter in her pop references than Xtina, she could actually sing Ms. Spears, and she was not created by a record company. She created her own looks. And songs. And hooks.

But I am tiring of Gaga's costumes and art references and flamboyance. I cannot believe I, someone prone to dress up and put off people, am writing this. But Gaga is no Grace Jones. She's no Leigh Bowery. Hell, she's no David Bowie. She's a pop singer. I wish she'd not forget that.

So along comes back Aguilera. And everyone thinks she's ripping off the looks, and sounds, of Gaga. And what the critics fail to see is that everything everyone does in pop is borrowed. Beyonce from Diana Ross. Madonna from Debbie Harry. Gwen Stefani from Cyndi Lauper. It is what pop singers do. And Gaga is a master of borrowing. From Madonna, Hitchcock, Warhol, Tarantino, Bowery, Jones, Bowie. She's a master at it. And I am a fan.

Gaga's voice is amazing. Emotive and strong. But listening to Aguilera's new album Bionic you realise that vocally they're on different levels. What Gaga has over Christina (the authenticity of creating her own look and writing her own songs) Christina makes back with raw vocal talent. Not everyone has to write songs and create personas. Sometimes divas should do what they do best: sing.

And yes, Aguilera is prone to vulgarity and even tackiness. Five songs on Bionic are forgettable, even laughable. But a significant part of her fan base requires this slutty Christina. It is the same gripe I have with Madonna. In catering to a significant portion of her fan base, she creates lackluster material. I'll take "Pokerface" any day over "Not Myself Tonight," Aguilera's techno-pop I'm-glam-and-a-freak-too anthem. It's not bad. It just is not as smart as Gaga's disco stompers. But when Christina's on, my God, she's on. And not since "Beautiful" has she been on as much she is on interpreting the Sia-penned "All I Need," "I Am," and the gut-wrenching "You Lost Me."

On "I Am" she sings she is timid and a lioness and it's clear she is both. She sings "love me or leave me" and she could be singing to a lover, but methinks Ms. Aguilera is singing to her fan base. She's raw talent. She's imperfect. And she's going to inevitably be compared Lady Gaga, fairly or unjustly.

Her voice washes over the electronic softness of Sia's work. Sia's own songs always seemed unfinished. Too rough. But Aguilera polishes the edges with her vocals. They shine, and crack, and they're beautiful.

Leave the monocles and metal corsets to others, dear. You have that voice. That's all you need. Dress it up and wear it out.

June 8, 2010

Georgi and I signed up for a CSA this summer season. We will get fresh vegetables and fruits every Tuesday. There are many reasons to join a CSA:

• Supporting local farms

• Eating local and organic foods

• Challenging yourself to eat foods you may not normally get excited over

• Eating things when in season, when they're freshest

I will try to photograph and blog the contents of each week's bounty. But who knows how successful I will be. The deliveries happen through November. Here is what we got this week from Stoneledge farm in Cairo New York.

• Cherriette Radishes-1 bunch

• Boc Choi-1 bunch

• Red Leaf Lettuce-2 heads

• Buttercrunch Lettuce-1 head

• Arugula-1 bunch

• Mizuna-1 bunch

• Mustard-1 bunch

• Oregano-1 bunch

Tonight I have made a salad of bok choi, mizuna, arugula (so spicy!), radishes, and mustard greens with a balsamic oregano dressing. I will continue to eat the buttercrunch and red leaf lettuces this week.

Very excited about this!

June 7, 2010

I walked to my birthday party alone. I intentionally scaled things down this year, invited less folks, did not reserve a table at a restaurant where my friends would give over $100+. I wanted something simpler. More fun. Relaxed. So we went to karaoke. Some of my besties were no shows, but most came, and performed with varying degrees of success and humor. Jae Ha's nuanced Whitney. Sandra Hansel and I as the new Supremes. Monte and Michael and Eric and Traci and Jason all turning in remarkable performances. I sang techno-pop with Joe and Alireza. Sang requests for Mr. Riley. Stood by my man and duetted with Georgi, who was a revelation on stage. When he and Ru Bhatt did Backstreet Boys I nearly peed my pants. They were hilarious.

The next day, my 34th birthday, I worked from home and over coffee, and during an interview, later in the day I ate my birthday cake: a cupcake from Little Pie Company. That evening I was going to the New York Public Library to attend the Inspiration Gala, a benefit for amfAR honoring Ricky Martin and Jean Paul Gaultier. Being from Baltimore, and straddling the line often of appropriate and inappropriate behavior, of course I invited myself to the event upon seeing Marty Chavez and Adam Norbury's names on the invite. Their names were bolder and bigger than the honorees so I knew they'd be able to get little old me in. It was my birthday after all. Right?

Being true gentlemen and giving souls the two men humored me and invited Georgi and me to be their guests. It was one of the best birthday experiences of my life. I turned my back on the appropriate notion of "Black Tie" and opted for red Paul Smith shirt, red Chuck Taylors, a Paul Smith Black striped bow tie, black Van Noten slacks, and a paper-thin, hand-stitched gingham Bottega jacket with a red flower pinned to my lapel. In a sea of black I stood out so much that Simon Doonan, an inspiration, stopped by my table, where also dined the lesbian power couple Lacey Stone and Jessica Clark, telling me he loved my outfit. Josh Wood pulled off an incredible fashion show. Cyndi Lauper sang her heart out only feet in front of me. I met Kylie Minogue and Ricky Martin and stood in a room shoulder to should with Gaultier, Thom Browne, and John Bartlett. I remarked to Marty that it was like being at the gay Oscars. Later, at the after-party, I had another vodka and sloppily said something to Marc Jacobs and Ricky Martin (so what!) and then had Kelly Rowland tell me she loved my energy (she'd been on stage singing with Cyndi Lauper and Estelle right in front of me and I guess I caught her eye). Take note: This is why you wear red. I grabbed Georgi and off we went away from birthday cocktails, black ties, fashion icons, giving friends, and the freaky feeling of hobnobbing among a crowd of famous faces.

The next day was hot. After working, Georgi and I mustered the energy to drive to Baltimore. We held hands and chatted and sang and arrived in Baltimore after sunset. We ate dinner and quickly went to bed. Upon waking in the morning we had breakfast with my Mom, Grandmother, my sister and her husband and my old friend Harry Alascio. We drank Bloody Marys with crab meat and ate cheese grits. It was good to be home. We journeyed next to Annapolis, where we ate crabs and potato salad with my three best friends from high school. They're married with kids now and lead very different lives. But our friendship still remains and while kids dashed around us and shells piled in front of us we felt young again, gossiping about high school and our past. The four of us had posed for a photo at our prom. Erin wore ridiculous white gloves. I had on a red dinner jacket. Cindy dazzled like a disco ball in gold sequins. And Jen was proper and perfect in cream. We're all very much the same people. And, yes, again it felt good to be home.

After washing our hands, which still reeked of Old Bay, Georgi and I darted to DC where Jesse Cozart had a bottle of champagne waiting us us in our room at the Four Seasons. After a sip of bubbly, a quick shower, and a chocolate covered strawberry we ventured to Basar and Scott's home for drinks. Rahnee Foster joined us and we spoke of art and Istanbul and DC's new cleanliness and shine. We dined on Latin/Asian fusion, put back some tequila, and even went out for a brief moment. Yet another connection with old friends. It felt like nothing had changed.

At 34 and having spent a weekend with friends I had known for 10, 20, and in Erin's case, 30 years I was amazed at my personal history. At the path friendship winds down. How much of myself is remembered when I look in my old friends eyes. How forgotten stories told by others make me feel youthful.

I felt younger on a weekend I turned older.

On Sunday morning my mother and Liam joined Georgi and I for a Dutch breakfast and a stroll through the National Portrait Gallery. Presidents. Ben Franklin. Elvis Presley. Lena Horne. Raquel Welch. Grover Washington.

Famous faces. Far off places.

When saying goodbye to my mother I looked at Georgi's big brown eyes and then to my mother's pale blue ones and in them both, for a split second, I saw the face of my past and the face of my future. At 34 years old the two once very different parts of me seemed to melt together. Life's melting in mysterious and marvelous ways.

May 27, 2010

Forgive me while I queen out, but I have to tell you about an experience I had last week. It was a religious experience, perhaps never to be repeated in this lifetime. I listen to a lot of music and I, of course, love all the obvious gay icons. I know, I know. But I do. I have no say. They hold power over me I don't understand.

I adore Gaga and Madonna, but I prefer my icons a little more, how should I say this, um, showy? You know. Liza. Cher. Judy.

I love Bob Mackie dresses and strings behind a diva. I like the camp of the 1970s. I appreciate a synchronized dance, but I'd much prefer to watch my divas belt out songs while teetering on too-high heels sparkling like a giant disco ball. Well, thank God we still have Diana Ross.

I watched her show, a greatest hits tour currently on the road, last week at Radio City. She changed eight times, each time better than before. She sang on key with little effort. She was beautiful, powerful, humble, classy, and glamorous at the same time. And as she sang song after song with a large orchestra I looked around the room, full of all ages, and sang with the crowd. We all knew every song.

She paved the way for Madonna and Beyonce before they were even born. And having seen many a gay icon live in the past two decades I have to say seeing Diana Ross is nothing less than a religious experience. A Supreme God lives among us still. She's 66 and still has that hair.

May 14, 2010

I cannot remember who I was speaking about my blog to this week. God, I have no memory. I cannot for the life of me remember. Shit.

I just remembered! It was Phil Putnam, the singer-songwriter. He and I took a lunch and chatted and I talked about my dedication to this space. I write infrequently here, as I am consumed with other gigs, most notably fabulis, which takes up most of my days and nights. But I am managing to get this little essay in while I sip Zinfandel and eat grapes. Friday night, 11PM, and I am blogging. I don't know if I should be considered an artist dedicated to his trade? Or just really bored? Probably a little of both.

Last night I DJed. I love saying that, you know, that I DJ. I love DJ culture. I love the elevation of someone who takes musician's art (records) and layers them together to create something different. I love the Wizard of Oz-esque intrigue of the DJ. They don't really speak like a singer would. They don't particularly move around like a dancer would. They stand in a box, perched above an audience, and they fiddle with knobs and buttons and make something from nothing. Many could write it off as something anyone could do. Many, myself included, see the artistry.

So it is funny that I say I have DJed. I have a sick fascination with music and especially electronic music and I know the history of new wave, techno-pop, disco, house, and techno. So I have the smarts to put together a compelling list of tracks. But I miss the technical side. That is why when I DJ, Bryan Raughton's always my partner. He does the work. I pose better than him. That's about all. I met Bryan over ten years ago. At Twilo I think. And he and I both had blogs back then. You know, before anyone else did. Most of those early bloggers I befriended I don't have a current day connection to. Facebook keeps me in the loop with Jonno and Frank Green, and I remain friends with bloggers who came after, like Andy Towle and David Hauslaib, but I am not friends with any of those original bloggers outside of an internet chat here and there. All except for Bryan.

So Bryan and I spun a few hours last night in Brooklyn. The party was co-sponsored by fabulis and the turn out was disappointing. We had fun though. We set our laptops up on a piano on stage. A slide show displayed images I created from fabulis. And we channeled the Pet Shop Boys. Pretending we were doing more than we actually were. He matching beats and me singing into a live microphone over the records. It was fun even if a sprinkling of friends were in attendance.

Georgi and Richard Pulik arrived as we finished (we were the opening DJs) and I quickly hopped in a car with them and headed back to Manhattan. We stopped in The Park to catch up with one of those DJs I love, Joe D'Espinosa, who was waiting for us with Patrick Menasco. The place was packed. The boys were out. Everyone who works out at our gym was in attendance. The plastics held court with bottle service. The young kids drunkenly danced. And in spectacles and Prada I felt more out of place than Georgi and Richard in their banking suits. Everyone was having fun. I said hello to many a friend. As we left we walked by the DJ booth. No one seemed to care. He could have played anything, really. And I lamented the loss of DJ culture. The boys today seem more concerned with a hit parade than with a journey.

And though I cannot match a beat I do respect the evolution of electronic music. Which means I am more of a DJ than some auto play Gaga/Beyonce mash-up.

Manhattan gays are hard to get to Brooklyn. Pretty boys care more about each other than music these days. And the DJ as an artist is a dying breed.

Lessons learned this week.

Growing up gay in the 1980s I often listened to techno-pop in my room and dreamed of escaping. The souring falsettos of bands like Erasure, Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys, and a-ha kept me grounded back then. I escaped into music.

Unlike the other aforementioned bands, a-ha all but disappeared from American radio and record store shelves by the 1990s. But not so in the rest of the world. In the 2000s the band scored massive hits all over Europe. The Norwegian supergroup remained relavent everywhere else across the globe. With synth stabs and the Morten Harket's soaring falsetto, the greatest pop's ever seen, the band made infectious and tightly-produced records.

At their New York show this past Saturday night the band did not disappoint. The music was tight and clear. The vocals were nuanced and on-key. Harket even held his record-holding 22-second note on "Summer Moved On." Playing their hit records in descending order, the trio finished with "Hunting High and Low," "The Sun Always Shines on TV," and the obligatory "Take on Me." The crowd, mostly displaced Europeans and grown-up gay boys, jumped with giddy excitement as it had been 20 years since a-ha's first, and only, US tour. This was their last ever.

The synths stopped, the lights went up, and Hacket's incredible voice remained a memory. Goodbye a-ha. Your final farewell was sparkling, high-noted, and shimmering. Like your brilliant discography.

April 27, 2010

fabulis is really taking off. We have over 17K members as of today. It is mind-blowing. And I cannot begin to explain just how exciting the journey's been. I am so very satisfied.

A few weeks ago, while Jason was in India, I flew to Los Angeles. He would meet me a few days later, but I came out early to work on some outreach.

Los Angeles has always been addictive for me. I have a definite love affair with the town. I love places where creatives flock. And I think LA has many thriving scenes, art and music especially. I love the warm weather. And cocktails outside. And sunshine. There is sad too in LA. Unfulfilled dreams are everywhere.

This trip was full of inspiration though. I spent a morning in Kii Arens' art studio snapping photos and talking music. I ate with David Hauslaib and MK of Popbytes. I met up with the adorable Simon Curtis. Got my fill of some of my favorite friends: Lucas, Eric, and Diana. Meals with Halsted Sullivan, Neil Giuliano, Michael Sucsy. Crashing parties in the hills. Johnny Weir called my outfit gorgeous. Lots of cocktails. Lots of meetings. Lots of laughs. Drinks, poolside, with Jason and Chris. Talking up trannies with Zach Augustine in Hollywood. A party at The Abbey where friends, old and new, crowded around. Lunch with the legendary Fenton Bailey. Riding around in Richard Socarides' car.

Too many faces and too many vodkas and too many meetings and too many laughs and too many boldface names and too many thoughts of living there. And right when I was about to collapse, from running on empty and having too much fun, I was off.

LA is best in small doses. Maybe I could not live there after all. Besides, how does anyone get any work done? The weather is just too damn perfect to want to work.

Jason and I boarded a flight to San Francisco. There we did similar circuits: meetings, calls, parties, dinners. I toured my former haunt DWR. I went to Napa and drank wine. I shopped with Ladyfriends and splurged on full price Prada. Zuni and Tartine and taquerias and Bi-Rite. Korean BBQ and singing We Are The World with Eric and Jack and Marc and Leland and the Varadis. Missing the fog and the crisp air and the rolling hills. I adore SF, yet could not stay. But it feels good visit. I let down my guard in SF. I miss that.

There was one point where Jack Shamama and I walked home from SOMA, chowing on food while walking down the street, and laughing. I thought of how reserved I am in NYC and how carefree I am in SF. The next day I ran in the AM and grilled veggies with Jack, Adrian, Suzy, and James in the Mission. It was warm and like old times.

But I grew tired. I grew tired of living out of a suitcase. And I grew tired of missing my bed. And my love, Georgi.

Twelve days is eleven too many away from him.

While our trip yielded great interest in fabulis, and while I had face time with people I love and miss dearly, I took BART to SFO with a big smile on my face. I yearned to be home. I yearned to sleep in my bed. And I yearned for my sweet baby. Even in California, my onetime home, and a place I feel oh so right, I was not myself. I'm only myself when he's around.

That's my mission. To be near love.

April 12, 2010

In the summer of 1990 I discovered music. I had been collecting albums since 1983, the year I bought my first records, Cyndi Lauper and Culture Club. But in 1990 it all changed. I stopped listening to music and started feeling it. I would sit in my bedroom and dive into an album. I'd listen to it over and over and over again. And then I'd move to the next one. I sought solace in lyrics. Andy Bell sang falsettos about hiding away. My company loved Morrissey's misery. Niel Tennant Domino Danced.

In the summer of 1990 I discovered concerts. My first concert was at Merriweather Post Pavilion, a venue set away in the woods of Columbia, MD, a planned community of brown houses and tree-lined streets. My first show was Depeche Mode with Nitzer Ebb. With a group of girls (no guy in my small high school would be caught dead listening to what was then called "alternative" music) I went from concert to concert. That summer I saw Erasure. Sinead O'Connor. New Order. B-52's. Sugarcubes. Siouxsie & The Banshees. I danced. I sang.

In the summer of 1990 I discovered myself. In the harmonies of electro-pop. In the angst and heartbreak of British blue-eyed soul singer's words. In the fire in my eyes as I gazed every night upon Stephen Patrick Morrissey's face perfectly lining my bedroom walls. Posters formed a grid laying out all my escapes. All my first loves. Martin Gore. Neil Tennant. Andy Bell. Robert Smith. Bernard Sumner. Morrissey.

"Alternative" was becoming cool in the early 90s. Weird people were suddenly popular. And though I knew I was gay then, and in hindsight I know I was quite comfortable with it, I took my time and hid behind the "alternative" label. RuPaul and Deee-Lite were on MTV. Erasure was one of my sister's favorite bands (George Michael was her crush!). Gay was moving more mainstream then. It is so visible to me now. Seeing gay people on TV and listening to their music is what allowed me to not only come out, but more importantly, to accept the fact I was gay long before I cared to share that with the world. They were role models.

I escaped into music. Away to concerts. Into nightclubs. Into another world. In high school, when I picked up the Village Voice at Louie's Bookstore Cafe in downtown Baltimore, and read it cover to cover, I dreamed of getting away. Bright lights and big city. I knew where my people lived. I told myself I had to escape. I needed to. This small town did not have room for my big feelings.

So I ran to NYC. I danced. I sang. And I met many of my idols. I'd escaped.

Twenty years have passed since the summer I realized I was gay. I still collect music. I still listen to albums from beginning to end. I am still in love with Cyndi and Andy and Neil and Morrissey. I still go to too many concerts. But now I don't go to shows to escape. I don't go to let go and be myself. I go to feel young and to connect with that joy I had when I realized I was gay, the time life started making sense. Twenty years of practising homosexuality and I would not trade it for the world.

In my work I meet young people daily. Many have made videos I've posted to fabulis talking about their coming out stories. Most of these kids are no different than I was in 1990. They're happy. They're proud. They're eager. But there is one thing they are and what I was not: out. I am realizing that teenagers today don't wait to move away to NYC or San Francisco to come out of the closet. They do it in Texas. And Arkansas. And everywhere. And they do it at eleven or thirteen or eighteen, They don't need to escape and they don't want to either. They are just fine in their small towns. They're brave. They're inspiring. They, not the pop stars of my past, are my new heroes.

This essay was written for the blog I'm From Driftwood, created and edited by Nathan Manske. I'm From Driftwood is a collection of real life stories from gay people all over the world.

April 7, 2010

There was a time a few years back when I voraciously collected, obtained, and was given books. So many books! I'd become addicted to eBay I think. I loved having a package waiting for me daily. I loved finding something used and under $10. And I love collecting. I read one book and suddenly I buy the author's back catalog. I see a movie, hear a song which lead me to eBay, where I bought books. I filled both city apartment and upstate house with books. I'd read two books at once, one I left bedside upstate and another I'd read in the city.

I own more books than I'd read. I doubt I could read them all in this lifetime. Doesn't stop me from buying them. I like having them.

A friend, who in the past year or so I've basically lost contact with, had given me the book D.V. by Diana Vreeland. The book is inscribed 12/24/06 "Dearest Bradford, Thank you for enrolling in my course, religion 101; here is your text." A previous owner had inscribed it too: 6/8/84 "No reason 'cept friends."

It sat for the longest time upstate where I preferred to read scarier books and where I often dozed off a few pages into the story. Usually the wine knocked me out.

After Ben and I broke up I removed many of my more personal objects from the house including all my books. Finally, last week, I picked up D.V. and began reading. It is my kind of book. Filled with name dropping and gossip, sprinkled with history and critiques on the styles of the time, and with a peek into the mind of a ridiculous eccentric, D.V. provides many a rule to live by. Many I subscribe to already. Like this gem, a question asked to her:

"Is hard, no? Is hard to stay alive, don't you think?"

To which Ms. Vreeland responds:

"No, not really--not if you stay busy, not if you stay interested, not if you keep discipline, not if you keep the rhythm . . . But I do think any form of rhythm is absolutely essential. I mean, we are a physical people, we do count on action, mood, and the wit of the body and so on to survive, don't we?

How I live my life summed up in the pages of a high-society, fashion editor's 1980's memoirs. Of course.

The same week I met Georgi at 9PM and dined at Blue Hill in the Village. We drank a lovely bottle of Oregonian Zin and feasted on a 4-course meal. Ben Stiller was also dining in the room. We talked with the table next to us, a husband and wife from California. The husband, born in Hungary, asked Georgi to speak in Bulgarian. He obliged. And then collectively we all agreed my Baltimore accent was the stranger of the two.

It was remarkable for me to sit there in that still, peaceful dining room. 365 days prior my world had nosedived and plunged headfirst into unknown. A year later I am on top of the world. A promising new career coupled by success on many levels has made me confident, almost invincible. My sweet, precious love glows at all times. Chaos has been replaced with peace. Boredom with excitement. Uneasiness with steadiness.

Georgi and I walked home. Laughed. Giggled. We walked in pace up Sixth Avenue. Keeping time with each other's feet, darting eyes, and smiles. It's tremendous being in love in the eye of the storm. It is more wondrous feeling those same highs when the wind has stopped and silence surrounds.

As Ms. Vreeland says "There's only one thing in life, and that's the continual renewal of inspiration."

And when you're in love like I am it's really quite easy. Renewed. Restored. Inspired. By the simplest things. By everything.

March 3, 2010

"You know, they ask me if I were on a desert island and I knew nobody would ever see what I wrote, would I go on writing. My answer is most emphatically yes. I would go on writing for company. Because I'm creating an imaginary -- it's always imaginary -- world in which I would like to live."

-William S. Burroughs