Thursday, July 24, 2014
Quick to judge
Quick to anger
Slow to understand
Ignorance and prejudice
“Witch Hunt,” Peart ‘81
Thursday, 7/24/14 1:39 PM
Outside table near 29th and 6th
A few weeks ago, I went with my friend Teddy to see the bands Boston and Cheap Trick, at Jones Beach. 4th row. Awesome show. Other than the actual performances, there were two things that’ll likely remember for a long time.
First of all, Teddy is a very interesting character, whom I’ve known since the late 80s. He made his way to permanent residence in Manhattan, in 1989, while it took me ‘til ’97 to make the move. Teddy was always way out there, and way ahead of the rest of us, even while he was the youngest. He started shaving his head before Bruce Willis, and he’s definitely not a skinhead. He was a club kid, in with the Michael Aleg crowd (who’s a real jerk, according to Teddy, not just a murderer). Teddy’s covered with rock-n-roll tattoos, but he can still be spotted as gay from a distance. He’s affirmative and recognizable in every way.
Teddy loved Cheap Trick back in the day. Before the show, while we were on the LIRR train headed out, we agreed that we didn’t want Cheap Trick to play their sell-out ballad, “The Flame.” But we knew they would. At one point, during their performance, Teddy thought they’d started to play his favorite Cheap Trick song, so he leapt up and cheered, screaming, “I came just for this song!”
It wasn’t that song. It was “The Flame.” It’s funny that he cheered for the wrong song – while everyone else was quietly sitting in their seats – but what’s really funny is that he cheered for a song called, “The Flame.” The one obviously gay dude in the audience jumps up and cheers for a song essentially called, “The Gay Dude.”
The other notable thing involved a guy in the row behind us. Totally my type (and totally straight, of course), I kept stealthily looking over at him. He looked like this guy, Gary, who comes to my parties: handsome face with smile lines, middle-aged, shortish, happy, and looking like a high school gym teacher.
During Cheap Trick’s last song, their weird guitar player (the one always making faces in their band shots), came over to our side of the stage to throw out guitar picks. One of them hit me directly in the eyelid, and bounced into the 3rd row, unclaimed.
When CT left the stage, cute man’s wife/girlfriend joined him in the 5th row. Cute man got the idea to get said pick, to give to her. So he walked into the aisle and stood there, trying to be as nonchalant as he could.
I must have been the only person watching him; his wife wasn’t.
He peeked over to the 3rd row, pretending to be whistling, then slowly made his way into the row, which had been vacated by its occupants, presumably to get beer and to pee. Cute man took two steps, peeked again, then pretended to be whistling. He spotted the pick, bent down, and got on his knees to retrieve it from beneath a seat.
When he finally got it, he stood up quickly and so proudly. He made his way back to his wife and happily gave her the pick, a big smile on his face. Rummaging through her pocketbook, she barely looked up at him, snatching the prize from his fingers, then merely throwing it in her purse.
He then went to get beer or whatever, but as he walked away, he’d take a couple of steps, then look at her with a look like, “Wasn’t that nice?” Still not looking at him, he’d take another couple of steps and do the same thing. I think he did it four times. She never noticed.
I did, sir, and I’d have totally loved you for it. Men are so underappreciated, used, and even loathed, in our society.
Wow, what long intro!
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I’ve been hosting parties for a little over five years, which is almost as long as the longest position I’ve ever held (next month will tie it, actually). I really enjoy hosting because there’s so much to like, and very little to not like.
Dealing with flakes, jerks, and weirdos (someone stole my liquid soap, last party) is one of the few negative aspects, while the worst part is the stress of a low turnout. Fortunately, I haven’t had to feel that stress much, lately.
But another part of my job description is to deny a guy based on his body type. I really hate to do this.
I think there are hosts (shit, I know there are) who enjoy judging guys. I do not. At all. The only instance in which I don’t really mind is when I’m dealing with an asshole. It’s easy to say No to a jerk. But rejecting a regular guy, who’s significantly overweight, is not fun for me. He’s courageously putting himself out there to be judged in a very sensitive way, so I’m most inclined to invite him.
Even though I love diversity, I do try to invite nice guys who are in at least some sort of decent shape. This does not mean that I don’t invite some overweight guys. My usual thought, and response to their query about it, is, “If you’re comfortable, then so am I.” But sometimes it’s just too much, and I don’t enjoy rejecting them.
It may be my job, as a host, to encourage a pre-determined range of body types (not too fat or not too muscled up); but, as a human being, it’s not my place to say, “You’re not sexy.” It just isn’t. Fundamentally, I don’t think it’s anyone’s place.
The fact that someone’s giving me a picture of himself, naked, to determine if he’s “acceptable,” makes me very uncomfortable. Most guys send a dick shot, which is totally unnecessary. You’ve got a dick? That’s all I need to know. I don’t care one whit how big it is.
I actually prefer, yet don’t demand, a face shot, for two reasons: to see if I recognize the guy and to know that he’s secure enough to basically identify himself, security being an important characteristic for the types of guys I want to come.
So, if you’re sending a picture of yourself to me, know that it’s not going to some snickering fag who’ll laugh at you with friends. It isn’t a contest and it isn’t for my “pleasure.” I get no power trip out of it.
The same goes for when you’re here, at the party.
I am no judge.
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The next VÏSCERA party will be this Friday 7/25, the next one on Friday, August 29th. The last one was very well received. The new musical concept, DISCÔBALL, all 70s disco, will be held on Friday, August 15th. I expect this one to also be well received.
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The August Calendar is up. Please note that there will not be a party on Friday, August 1st. I’ll be going back to Jones Beach, this time to see Soundgarden and Nine Inch Nails. I hope the same guy, from the Boston/Cheap Trick show, will be there. J
Happy Summer yo!
The Örgy Guy
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
The power of equality
Is not yet what it ought to be
It fills me up like a hollow tree
The power of equality
“The Power of Equality,” RHCP ‘91
Monday, 7/7/14 4:52 PM
The PRIDE party received the most guys I’ve ever had, which was almost as many guys as Lidell got here, the night before (which is a lot, yo).
I rarely, if ever, divulge real numbers online.
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Sometimes guys ask me if I recycle. I do.
The paper doesn’t always get recyled, at this building, so I bring all of it (including the bazillion paper towel rolls!) to the recycling cans outside the main 8th Avenue post office. Recently, as I was doing just that, another guy came up with his own bag of recyclables. I explained to him what I was doing, and he told me he was doing the same thing, that they don’t recycle in his office.
None of us can do enough of it.
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Since the VÏSCERA party on Friday 6/20 was so well received – well enough to have another one on Friday 7/25 – let’s try another musical concept: DISCÔBALL. It’ll be all 70s disco, ranging from The Hustle in 1974, to Take Your Time Do It Right in 1980. The demarkation, going from 70s disco to 80s dance, is Funky Town...even though it was released in 1979.
This is similar to the concept used at the East Village club, Pyramid, called 1984. They only played music from that time period, which was a lot of fun for those of us who were around back then...as well as those who weren’t.
I was a little kid, in the 70s, but my favorite thing in the world was music. I had lots of 45s and Ronko compilation albums. I’d sit, “indian style,” with the record spinning in front of me. One, after another, after another. That’s how my parents would punish me: take away my records. One time, I was singing along to “Boogie Fever,” when my sister and her friend barged in and laughed. Lori, my six-years-older-sister, remembers that.
Taking the clothes off my GI Joes was much fun, too. I just didn’t sing along to it.
We’ll have a DISCÔBALL party, sometime in August.
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A reminder about the vibe of these parties:
I love diversity. That’s a good thing, considering I live in New York City. Everyone who lives here ought at least like diversity, otherwise they’re living in the wrong town.
I also love equality. There’s a resonance to it that’s like a mentally harmonic convergence. Different peoples coming together and contributing to a whole, which is greater than the sum of its parts.
Race, age, background, body type, dick size. These are all differences that, to me, make for a very relaxed and cool vibe. I may be a 45-year-old white guy, but that doesn’t mean I only look for guys like me. I have my personal preferences, sexually, but they’re my preferences. Parties should be more like a smorgsbord, than a trip to Five Guys where you only get a burger and fries (even though they’re awesome).
The vibe is also non-judgmental and cool. Being naked can make one feel vulnerable, to the less judgement, the better. This is one of the finer aspects to the parties I host.
I want you, and all of my other guests, to feel as comfortable as possible. Everyone should feel equal.
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So, after a week off, let the parties begin! Welcome back.
The Örgy Guy