Man, am I ever a data nut. I really dig breaking party stuff down into various types of component numbers and qualitative facts. Turn ‘em into graphs with pretty colors, compare them, and…this is the hard part…re-integrate them back into the actual parties in an “On-purpose” way. Even back in high school, at lunch (I sat at the reject table every year), when my friends and I would argue over whether The Police or Van halen were better, I’d try to quantify how much I liked all the bands I was into. By year. By various categories. Then I’d graph them. Lotus Spreadsheets wasn’t even close to existence yet, much less Excel (my darling), so it was all by hand.
Listen to the tune “YYZ” and…that sorta explains it, The way my mind works.
There are some things, however, which do not require a complicated chart; one of those is The “A Word,” the general age of the attendees, which is over 35 (except the PEAK party…tends to get younger guys).
As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been into middle-aged men. Always. The first was Lee Majors, or as I knew him: Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man. Then it was Bill bixby in The Incredible Hulk. There’s something(s) about a man over a certain age: lines and angles on the face, some salt in the hair, and that self confidence (not arrogance, there’s a big difference) that defines “grown man” to me. I love talking to them, I love kissing them, and I love fucking them.
So it is with pride, not excuse, that I say that my parties at TCH are primarily for us. Guys that are younger are welcome to come, but know that you’re in the minority. Plenty of the men I truly enjoy having here are under 30 (some guys really impress me), so it isn’t meant to be exclusive. But in a culture which tends toward neophytes, I (as usual) am going alternative…