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Thursday, January 29, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
My Letter to the Editor of Time Out NY
From Time Out New York / Issue 693 : Jan 8–14, 2009 /
What your personal trainer is really thinking
Worst breach of gym etiquette you’ve ever seen?
“Two people having sex in the sauna…but that’s a tie with the two people I caught having sex on a stretch table when I still worked for a facility.”
“Putting gum under benches”
“This dude smelled like a garbage dump. It was so bad, people would leave. The owner of the gym stepped in and actually suspended his membership. This guy smelled so bad, I’m getting sick thinking about it.”
“Too much unsafe gay sex in the steam rooms.”
“Guys wear very tight spandex shorts from the ’80s and you can see all the sweat coming from their ass and their penises sticking out. I even saw some members coming from the locker room and working out naked like nothing happened. The gym manager had to come on the floor and bring them back to the locker room.”
Dear editor,
Re: "Worst breach of gym etiquette you've ever seen?"
It's always fun to see gay sex show up in a list of something titled "worst." In fact, two of the five offending acts are attributed to the frisky gay men of New York's saunas and steam rooms!
Unsafe sex is never cool, I agree. But your garden variety mutual masturbation or oral sex in the steam room may be against the rules (and also the law), but it's hardly a breach of etiquette in New York City. It's the set up in a lot of porn, in fact. The proper etiquette would be to join in, look away, or take your uptight self out of there.
For me, as a gym-goer, the worst breach of gym etiquette usually involves a trainer and his/her client occupying too much space or monopolizing one (and ofter several) pieces of equipment at once. I once went up to a trainer at my gym to ask when she'd be done with a machine and she said, "Oh, we only have about a half hour more." They'd been using it exclusively already for 30 minutes.
Kind regards,
David
Brooklyn, NY
What your personal trainer is really thinking
Worst breach of gym etiquette you’ve ever seen?
“Two people having sex in the sauna…but that’s a tie with the two people I caught having sex on a stretch table when I still worked for a facility.”
“Putting gum under benches”
“This dude smelled like a garbage dump. It was so bad, people would leave. The owner of the gym stepped in and actually suspended his membership. This guy smelled so bad, I’m getting sick thinking about it.”
“Too much unsafe gay sex in the steam rooms.”
“Guys wear very tight spandex shorts from the ’80s and you can see all the sweat coming from their ass and their penises sticking out. I even saw some members coming from the locker room and working out naked like nothing happened. The gym manager had to come on the floor and bring them back to the locker room.”
Dear editor,
Re: "Worst breach of gym etiquette you've ever seen?"
It's always fun to see gay sex show up in a list of something titled "worst." In fact, two of the five offending acts are attributed to the frisky gay men of New York's saunas and steam rooms!
Unsafe sex is never cool, I agree. But your garden variety mutual masturbation or oral sex in the steam room may be against the rules (and also the law), but it's hardly a breach of etiquette in New York City. It's the set up in a lot of porn, in fact. The proper etiquette would be to join in, look away, or take your uptight self out of there.
For me, as a gym-goer, the worst breach of gym etiquette usually involves a trainer and his/her client occupying too much space or monopolizing one (and ofter several) pieces of equipment at once. I once went up to a trainer at my gym to ask when she'd be done with a machine and she said, "Oh, we only have about a half hour more." They'd been using it exclusively already for 30 minutes.
Kind regards,
David
Brooklyn, NY
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Liza Minnelli Made Me Cry
Liza walked upstage to the piano and gripped it like a prizefighter going to the ropes. Tired and worn, she gathered her spirit - not her strength, wiped her face with a towel and came back downstage.
I had last seen Liza Minnelli during her last comeback, produced by her then husband David Gest. That had been stressful viewing. Back then, she would approach one of those big notes by screwing her legs into the stage, punching the air with her fist, while the voice would wobble out. "Please make it, Liza. You can do it," I would whisper each time.
Liza at the Palace was different, I had heard.
My friend Mitch emailed me: You have to see this. He'd never done that before. The show appeared on both 2008 top ten lists in the NY Times Arts & Leisure year-in-review. Then on Monday, Dec 22nd my best friend Bob called up to tell me that four seats, fifth row center had just magically appeared on Ticketmaster for xmas eve! We bought them, just knowing our husbands wouldn't want to miss this.
...and she was FANTASTIC! Her voice was no longer the clarion it had been. She sacrificed that too much pills and liquor. Still, she sang strong and steady. She danced. She mocked her age, making a shtick of it like a pro.
After twenty plus songs, she stood center stage, fingered the microphone with one hand and shook out her wet hair with the other. She quietly said, "A few years ago a terrible thing happened. Some people tried to hurt us, hurt our city. But, but they did not succeed. We came together as a city, as a county. Stronger. Yes. Stronger."
Tears had already starting rolling down my cheeks.
As she launched into "New York, New York," I cried. Steady streams released from my eyes.
I had been vulnerable, for sure. The holidays are hard - melancholy, demanding, tiring. My guard had been weak, but - to be true - I love New York City and I love a showtune. Liza created a pitch perfect storm.
God bless her.
I had last seen Liza Minnelli during her last comeback, produced by her then husband David Gest. That had been stressful viewing. Back then, she would approach one of those big notes by screwing her legs into the stage, punching the air with her fist, while the voice would wobble out. "Please make it, Liza. You can do it," I would whisper each time.
Liza at the Palace was different, I had heard.
My friend Mitch emailed me: You have to see this. He'd never done that before. The show appeared on both 2008 top ten lists in the NY Times Arts & Leisure year-in-review. Then on Monday, Dec 22nd my best friend Bob called up to tell me that four seats, fifth row center had just magically appeared on Ticketmaster for xmas eve! We bought them, just knowing our husbands wouldn't want to miss this.
...and she was FANTASTIC! Her voice was no longer the clarion it had been. She sacrificed that too much pills and liquor. Still, she sang strong and steady. She danced. She mocked her age, making a shtick of it like a pro.
After twenty plus songs, she stood center stage, fingered the microphone with one hand and shook out her wet hair with the other. She quietly said, "A few years ago a terrible thing happened. Some people tried to hurt us, hurt our city. But, but they did not succeed. We came together as a city, as a county. Stronger. Yes. Stronger."
Tears had already starting rolling down my cheeks.
As she launched into "New York, New York," I cried. Steady streams released from my eyes.
I had been vulnerable, for sure. The holidays are hard - melancholy, demanding, tiring. My guard had been weak, but - to be true - I love New York City and I love a showtune. Liza created a pitch perfect storm.
God bless her.
Monday, December 29, 2008
LGA to ATL to DFW: a comedy of errors and mishaps
Went to wrong airport.
Scrutinized at security.
Flight delayed.
Missed connection.
Left package with gifts in overhead.
Waited 30+ minutes on hold to talk to Delta's lost & found. They will call me if they find it.
Everyone tells me it could have been worse.
It's good to be here, nevertheless
Scrutinized at security.
Flight delayed.
Missed connection.
Left package with gifts in overhead.
Waited 30+ minutes on hold to talk to Delta's lost & found. They will call me if they find it.
Everyone tells me it could have been worse.
It's good to be here, nevertheless
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Holiday Humbug Harumph
Via email, from me to my mother:
Would you prefer something that smelled like Lavender or Lemon & Coriander?
Her reply:
No
My reply:
What do you mean no? That wasn't an option. It either or b.
She wrote back:
Still no
Would you prefer something that smelled like Lavender or Lemon & Coriander?
Her reply:
No
My reply:
What do you mean no? That wasn't an option. It either or b.
She wrote back:
Still no
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
It's Nice to Be Noticed
craigslist.org >> Missed Connections >> M4M
Date: 2008-11-30, 3:19PM EST
i was leaving the gym as you were headed in (about 2pm)
you: taller than i am, dark hair, red Coney Island tee shirt. possibly the hottest guy i have ever seen me: 5'11, dark brown hair, brown jacket, rushing out the door
if there is a chance your the type of person that reads these things any of it sounds familiar shoot me an email.
Date: 2008-11-30, 3:19PM EST
i was leaving the gym as you were headed in (about 2pm)
you: taller than i am, dark hair, red Coney Island tee shirt. possibly the hottest guy i have ever seen me: 5'11, dark brown hair, brown jacket, rushing out the door
if there is a chance your the type of person that reads these things any of it sounds familiar shoot me an email.
* * * * *
I am the type of person who reads these things.
That Saturday I had worn my "I Survived the Coney Island Cyclone" T-shirt that I had slept in the night before. A constellation of red splotches formed a mini-dipper across the right side of my face. (The effort to pop some pimples had left me worse off.) My hair looked good. I had gone to bed with Khiel's Drawing Paste on my forehead and the residue that got into my hair and made it look thicker.
When I shared the posting with my husband Mark, I pointed out that I am "possibly the hottest guy (this guy had) ever seen."
"I know that already. Why do you think I married you?"
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Overheard at the Rally Against H8
If it had rained, we might have skipped it. But by the time I got to my friend Clive's apartment, he had to agree: "The weather is too agreeable not to protest."
So we took 1 train down to City Hall and joined the Protest Against Proposition 8. Whiteknot.org organized several thousand gays around the country to simultaneously to protest the hangover after the revitalizing victory of Barack Obama.
We emerged from the subway, disoriented by police barricades. Volunteers instantly rescued us: "Walk ahead four blocks and cross."
"Thank you," I replied. I turned to Clive,"This is all post-Obama. In a week, they managed all this with protesters and volunteers and all by using Facebook."
We meandered our way across the street and into the crowd as people shouted into bullhorns indecipherable objections and waves of cheers swept along the crowd like a random wave. The police had siphoned us into a sliver of the sidewalk. Somewhere there was a focal point with speakers but we could neither make out their words or see them whatsoever.
We stopped and let the crowd parade by us.
Two young men stopped in front of us, happy to have found each other. (This scene would replay itself over-and-over with different casts for the next hour.)
"Oh my god," said one young gay to the other. "High School Musical 3. You. Are. Going. To. Love it!"
"Seriously?!"
"Totally! It's the best of the series."
"Thank god."
Clive laced his arm through mine and smiled.
He let go and took out his camera, trying to capture the homemade signs. It's one of the major bonuses of a gay protest, particularly in New York. There were the obvious "No H8" or "Separate is Not Equal." But better than that were the "Always a Bridesmaid, never a bride (by law)" and "Gay is the New Black" and "Hate Makes Baby Jesus Cry."
I hadn't gone to a protest since the RNC appropriated New York for their convention. The last time I volunteered for a presidential candidate, it was for Michael Dukakis, but I somehow ended up Richmond performing menial work for the candidate Obama.
I'm not dedicated or reliable when it comes to activism, but the ground has shifted and there is an opportunity for change. The rain had stopped that afternoon, clearing the way for our tenuous resolve.
So we took 1 train down to City Hall and joined the Protest Against Proposition 8. Whiteknot.org organized several thousand gays around the country to simultaneously to protest the hangover after the revitalizing victory of Barack Obama.
We emerged from the subway, disoriented by police barricades. Volunteers instantly rescued us: "Walk ahead four blocks and cross."
"Thank you," I replied. I turned to Clive,"This is all post-Obama. In a week, they managed all this with protesters and volunteers and all by using Facebook."
We meandered our way across the street and into the crowd as people shouted into bullhorns indecipherable objections and waves of cheers swept along the crowd like a random wave. The police had siphoned us into a sliver of the sidewalk. Somewhere there was a focal point with speakers but we could neither make out their words or see them whatsoever.
We stopped and let the crowd parade by us.
Two young men stopped in front of us, happy to have found each other. (This scene would replay itself over-and-over with different casts for the next hour.)
"Oh my god," said one young gay to the other. "High School Musical 3. You. Are. Going. To. Love it!"
"Seriously?!"
"Totally! It's the best of the series."
"Thank god."
Clive laced his arm through mine and smiled.
He let go and took out his camera, trying to capture the homemade signs. It's one of the major bonuses of a gay protest, particularly in New York. There were the obvious "No H8" or "Separate is Not Equal." But better than that were the "Always a Bridesmaid, never a bride (by law)" and "Gay is the New Black" and "Hate Makes Baby Jesus Cry."
I hadn't gone to a protest since the RNC appropriated New York for their convention. The last time I volunteered for a presidential candidate, it was for Michael Dukakis, but I somehow ended up Richmond performing menial work for the candidate Obama.
I'm not dedicated or reliable when it comes to activism, but the ground has shifted and there is an opportunity for change. The rain had stopped that afternoon, clearing the way for our tenuous resolve.
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