The Hierarchy

No, not the Roman Curia (bi-curious as they may be), but the hierarchy of men being with men in South Florida and possibly other parts of the gay universe. As in the conversation with my friend Malcolm:

"He's not my boyfriend. He's a flirtation."

The hierarchy is:

Flirtation

Coffee Date

Dating

Boyfriend

Steady Boyfriend

Lover

Partner, but still have sex occasionally

Living with my Ex

Ex

The Election of Benedict XVI

JP2 was dead and they were electing a new pope. I was watching some of the coverage on TV with Melvin. We were both working in a methadone clinic and the TV was on in the dispensing area.

Since it was daytime TV (or maybe because it was CNN) the TV guys were going on and on and on over the littlest detail. As the camera panned the crowd in St. Peter’s Square the commentators were yakking about what name the new pope might choose. 

Melvin grew up in an African-American Southern Baptist tradition. “Bob, just what is the significance of the name?” he asked.

Let me put it this way, Melvin. If he calls himself John XXIV, I’m definitely going back to mass. If he calls himself John-Paul III, I’m definitely not.

I was much too optimistic to foresee the result. Joseph Ratzinger, the Grand Inquisitor himself, was elected. 

I became a Buddhist.

Manhunt Dictionary

Discreet – I’m cheating on my boyfriend.

Partnered, but playful – We’ve tired of each other; you're flavor of the month.

Hot – An adjective one should not use about oneself. Even if you are; especially if you aren't

Top/vers – I like to get f*cked.

Bottom/vers – I really like to get f*cked.

100% bottom – I can’t get it up because of drug use so I can only get f*cked.

Nice guy – Over 45.

Looking for friends – Over 55.

Nice guy, looking for friends – I qualify for Medicare next month.

Looking for new friends – Just moved to town; looking for a dealer.

St. Sebastian

I’m not sure when I first became aware of St. Sebastian, but I wanted to take his name for my confirmation.

My father being the tight-ass that he was (with other people’s lives anyway) forbade that and I wound up with Thomas instead (and to make matters worse it was after Thomas Aquinas and not the doubter).

He’s always been one of my favorite saints iconographically: Stripped naked, tied to a tree, and shot full of arrows. What’s not to like?

Here’s my favorite picture of St. Sebastian. It’s painted by Giovanni Antonio Bazzi a.k.a. Il Sodoma.

That means ‘the sodomite’; those crazy Italians were always passing out the nicknames. (My grandmother’s nickname was Cecina. That means ‘the little one.’ She wasn’t.)

Here’s another site that has all the pictures you’ll ever need of St. Sebastian.

http://bode.diee.unica.it/~giua/SEBASTIAN/

Sometimes the image of Sebastian shot full of arrows is referred to as his “martyrdom,” but he survived the arrows and was succored by St. Irene and other holy women. He was later beaten to death by rods.

Ok, first pierced by arrows, then beaten by rods. Am I the only one getting this? I wonder if my father knew?

July 4th 1976

I watched the “tall ships” parade on TV at my grandpa’s house. I’m not sure why I was there instead of at home, but there I was. That night my friend Manuel and I went to see Holly Woodlawn at Tangerine, one of my favorite bars in Ft. Lauderdale.

We had seen Holly Woodlawn in the movie Trash at the student center at FAU. We arrived a little bit late; I knew it would be a great experience because people were already walking out in disgust. So when they announced that she would be at Tangerine, I had to go.

Tangerine was originally a bar named The Mouse Trap. There was a mural of a mouse in a top hat on the outside of the building. So sophisticated. As a kid, I was always fascinated by it when we drove by. I asked mom and dad to take me there, but I had to wait until it turned into a gay bar until I actually got to go.

I don’t remember exactly, but I think Tangerine had three levels. There were a couple of bars on the first floor, a dance floor on the second, and a piano bar on the top floor. Quite convenient really: first floor to get started, second to dance once I had a few drinks, then the piano bar to be maudlin at the end. Another drunken evening tipping the piano player to play La Vie en Rose – damn those college French classes!

But when we went to see Holly Woodlawn I hadn’t had a drink in a month or two, maybe three. I ordered a coke and Manuel ordered a crème de menthe. He sipped that little fucker through the whole show too. Drove me crazy; that’s no way to drink.

She came on stage wearing a sequined pantsuit, with a scarf around her neck, (pale green I think). Maybe to hide her Adam’s apple? Maybe to match Manuel's drink. I don’t know and don’t really remember much of the show, but it was my little bit of gay glam for the bicentennial.

For just the beginningnest bit of information about Holly Woodlawn go to:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holly_Woodlawn