Last Friday a girlfriend of mine asked me to meet her (and some of her friends) at BronZ. I was told I had an acting assignment. A guy she was bringing was currently taking a Diversity class; his assignment was to go someplace “where you’re a minority.” He’s straight and therefore decided that going to a gay club would be perfect. So his gal pals took him to BronZ where, Betsy insisted, I should show up and hit on him. Shockingly, I’ve never hit on a straight guy; I have a hard enough time hitting on the gay ones. But I thought it would be fun to play along. Besides, maybe this guy would be cute; and wouldn’t it make a great story to tell our grandkids if I actually managed to bag him?

I was told to adopt a different name; so, since ‘Liberace’ might seem a tad obvious, I went with the name my mother originally wanted to give me at birth: Matthew. I was told what the guy, who we’ll simply call Assignment X, would be wearing: a loud, neon blue and white striped shirt (was Betsy SURE he wasn’t gay?). And I was told to make eye contact with him, flirt, and give him the impression that I was interested in more than knowing just his hat size.

If I’d had more time I would have included Nonta, bartendress supreme at BronZ, in our plan of deception. But I was unsure exactly how far I could take this with Assignment X. I had no idea who he was, what he looked like, or how comfortable (or uncomfortable) he really was around gays. “We don’t want to scare him,” I told Betsy. “I think scaring him is part of assignment,” she said. Suddenly I felt like a contestant on ‘Punk’d.’ Or, worse, ‘Fear Factor.’ I decided to bring my makeup concealer with me, in case I ended up with a black eye and had to do some fast touch-ups.

Since it was only 8:30pm at BronZ on a Friday night, we were the only people in the place (Northside really isn’t a happy hour ‘hood). I surveyed the room and located my quarry. Despite my best intentions, I couldn’t catch his eye for anything. I could have set myself on fire and asked him if he had an extinguisher and still I would have gotten no response. It was time to move to Plan B. Betsy, pretending she didn’t know me, waved me over. “Don’t sit by yourself, join us.” I’d flubbed my entrance; though I introduced myself as “Matt” to Betsy, I thought I’d blown my cover when one of her friends asked me my name. “Darren,” I replied on instinct. Convinced I’d screwed up the whole thing, I waited for Assignment X to catch on to me, but he didn’t. He still wouldn’t look at me, not even after Betsy told him I’d been making eye contact with him from across the bar. Still no response. ‘Operation: Straight Man’ had suddenly become ‘Mission: Impossible.’ Betsy wasn’t able to keep up the charade long, though, and soon blurted out the truth: I was the gay canard in the straight man’s ruse.

He able to relax after this, though, and insisted I take him across the street to Serpent, where he did his best to avert his eyes from the adult gay porn on the tv screens and became intrigued by the unusual items sold in the leather shop. As Betsy correctly stated after perusing the sexual hardware, “I think you have to be a doctor to use those safely and correctly on someone.” Anything that requires me to have a medical degree ain’t gonna be used behind closed doors.

We bolted across the street to BronZ, where a crowd had finally formed. Assignment X finally relaxed and had a good time, though he still seemed uncomfortable in the surroundings. He did, however, thank me for being “a great tour guide” through Northside’s gay bars. I think I have a backup plan if I should ever fall on hard times; I can always be a gay interpreter. Those Queer Eye guys don’t have a thing on me.

Helping the Straight Community Since 2009,

Darren M.

Well, it took me quite a few years but sadly I now have some close friends who are HIV-positive. One is recently diagnosed, while the other has been positive for years. One is on no meds whatsoever (his immune system is still doing fine), while the other has recently felt like a guinea pig as he tries new regimens, trying to boost his T-cell count. One doesn't give his positive status much thought (it's still too early to dwell on it), while I can sense some fear in the other.

My brother recently commented that it seems as though you "never hear much about AIDS anymore" and, to an extent, he's right. Though there are certainly better drug cocktails that greatly prolong the lifespan of those with HIV, there's a lack of urgency about the disease that existed in the 1980's and continued well into the 1990's. It's a dangerous thing; younger men are now led to believe that HIV is akin to diabetes, something chronic but manageable. I'm not sure the pal I have who's been positive for years would agree with that. When I got my last HIV test back in October the counselor I spoke to talked about some of the terrible side effects current AIDS drugs can oftentimes come with; it was enough to scare anyone from ever having sex again.

When I look at my two close friends, at opposite ends of the HIV spectrum, I can't help but feel that we're doing a great disservice by NOT talking about this disease more. True, the battle against it has yielded great results in only thirty years (which is, when you think about it, pretty impressive...big strides have been made in a relatively short span of time). But when I speak to my one friend, who talks about losing his teeth, about his bouts of nausea, the sleepless nights, and the lack of desire in wanting to leave his apartment some days I can't help but think we still have a long way to go. I'm sure he would agree.

Over and Out,

Darren M.

From The Advocate:

Though Californians and people across the country await the state supreme court's decision on same-sex marriage, several activists are asking people not to simply wait around, but to come together and make their voices heard.

If all goes according to plan, people will gather in protest or celebration on the "Day of Decision," the night that California's supreme court rules whether to uphold or strike down a marriage ban that voters narrowly approved in November. The demonstration, spearheaded by Robin Tyler and Andy Thayer, will likely mirror the same events that followed the 2003 U.S. Supreme Court ruling for Lawrence v. Texas, which decriminalized homosexuality for consenting adults. The demonstrations in 2003 were in 50 cities across the country.

"By organizing now, we are also sending a message to the Court that people are watching what they do, and that if it's a bad decision, our community will not go softly into the night," said Thayer, co-founder of Chicago's Gay Liberation Network. "We will react with a justified anger at one of the worst, and most cowardly court decisions of our era. If we win, these actions will be celebrations, and an attempt to push the momentum of a California victory to other states and regions."

The court is required to deliver their opinion on whether it should reject or uphold the outcome of Proposition 8, a marriage ban rescinding the same court's ruling just six months earlier, allowing 18,000 gay and lesbian couples to marry in California.

To stay up to date on the events or to organize one in your city, visit DayofDecision.org

Okay, it's been a long, painful winter. My blogging has dropped off, but I'm back. One would think winter to be the best time to write, because what else is there to do when it's cold OUTside but to stay INside. This hasn't been the case with me, though. For months now I've been...restless. Maybe hitting 40 back in October DID cause a crisis, because I've been nothing but reflective, distracted and anxious. Work's been stressful (doing two jobs for the price of one), the economy sucks, and my finances aren't doing much better. But I'm digging myself out of these holes, slowly but surely. I also think that for the first time in a long while I'm actually a bit lonely. Not lonely in the sense that I'm looking for a boyfriend, just generally lonesome and more than a little bored. I can always tell when this happens, because home is normally my refuge; I like to spend evenings at home as well as take a long Sunday to just stay in and read, watch a movie, spend time with the dogs, write, or find a new Colin Farrell screensaver for my computer.

But this winter I've wanted to be ANYWHERE but home, which leads me to believe I'm searching for something...or, perhaps, avoiding something. While I search for the correct answers, I promise to start blogging again. My public awaits.

The Not-So-Young and the Restless,

Darren M.

'Milk' won two awards at Sunday's Academy Awards: Best Original Screenplay (Dustin Lance Black) and Best Actor (Sean Penn). For Penn's heartfelt speech, click on the following link...

http://www.advocate.com/news_detail_ektid73600.asp

For Dustin Lance Black's win, click on...

http://www.advocate.com/exclusive_detail_ektid73729.asp

1. The restaurant Honey, my favorite place for brunch. I just can't pass up the eggs benedict and side order of binkle fries.

2. The variety of other food joints, from eclectic (Slims) to vegetarian (Melt) to Indonesian (Gaja Wong) to greasy spoons. There's something for everyone…though the addition of a great Thai place would be nice.

3. Club BronZ, my favorite place to hang out and have a cocktail. Sometimes I think I stop in because I'm still trying to figure out how Nonta gets her hair to do that spikey thing.

4. The C & D Café, where I can get away from the gay drama and watch sports without being judged. And I can talk about life, love and politics with Mary Faith, a good wise soul.

5. My hairstylist Scott cuts hair right here in the ‘hood…and doesn't charge me an arm and a leg like the folks at Taylor Jameson. Scott’s also the coolest straight guy I know.

6. Having brunch with my gal pal Betsy at Sidewinder, where we can sit on comfy couches, grab a sandwich or coffee and listen to folk music.

7. The Avant Garage back room at Ali's Boutique, where you can find some great vintage clothes for great prices. God love the 70’s.

8. Bughouse Video, the best non-chain movie rental place in the city.

9. Having a UDF right down the street, because sometimes I just don’t feel like driving to Kroger (and UDF still has the best chocolate milkshakes in town).

10. The McKie Center, where I can workout for only $15 bucks a year. Best kept secret in town.

Out in Northside,

Darren M.

1. Trash…and I don’t mean the trailer park kind. People are always dropping their litter (and I’m not talking about just their Big Gulp cups either). I’ve found car batteries in my front yard before. Finding that the neighbors have been evicted and left their furniture on the curb is one thing; finding an empty bag of Taco Bell leftovers is another. Trash cans have been around for ages, folks; my front yard is surprisingly NOT one.

2. Lack of parking. Though this is not normally a problem (when you live in the neighborhood, you can always walk), a large parking lot in the Northside business district would be a nice thing.

3. The fact that the Blue Cock Café (formerly known as The Fifth Amendment) no longer serves food. Now I can only drink there. It’s just not the same. The people at Boswell Alley are happy though, because it’s become my favorite late night place to grab take-out.

4. The frustrating fact that all of the air pumps at ALL of the gas stations in Northside always seem to be broken. I’ve had a slow leak in one of my rear tires for ages, and I always have to drive to the Shell station off the Hopple Street exit because the pumps in my neighborhood never seem to be working. Granted, I could get the tire replaced…but then I would have one less thing to gripe about in regards to Northside.

5. Since I technically live in the city, I’m now expected to fix up my house according to the Northside Beautification Society; I spent over $3000 this past summer repairing a gutter, having a tree cut back from the house and having the house painted. We all want Northside to look as good as possible; we just don’t like to be forced into it.

Yours in Complaint,

Darren M.

I’ve lived in Northside for over eight years now. No, it’s not quite yet the preeminent gay neighborhood it would like to be (and strives for), but it’s just about as close as you can get to it in the Queen City. When I first moved into ‘da hood (I rented and eventually bought the house in which I now live) my mother had a panic attack; she simply couldn’t understand why her youngest child was moving into such a “rough neighborhood.” Now, in my mother’s house the words “rough” and “black” are synonymous (and though my mother would never freely admit this, it IS implied). My mother is emphatically not racist, but she is sheltered. I could say she doesn’t understand because all she’s ever known is the comfortable suburban life, but this is untrue; my mother spent many years living on Riddle Road in Clifton, so she’s familiar with the environment. I think now that she’s so entrenched on the west wide, she simply can’t understand why anyone would want to live some place else. I, personally, have a hard time visiting anyone in the suburbs these days. Don’t get me wrong, I had a wonderful childhood and have lots of fond memories of that white picket fence atmosphere; but, like high school, I’m glad it’s over. Been there, done that, want to experience something else now. My brother moved his family to Mason because he, too, felt that the “rough” (read: black) element was beginning to pervade area schools, and he wanted his daughters to experience something else also. My visits to Mason are, thankfully, few and far in between. There’s something very Stepford Wives about the whole, thing; it’s too sterile, too clean. And I swear I’ve never seen one black person in Mason; I think there’s a written law on the books up there.

I took the house in Northside because it’s a great house, with just enough room for me and the dogs to breathe. I’ve considered renting out the upstairs room, but I simply can’t bring myself to do it. I like my privacy and independence; besides, that room is reserved for friends who come visit (and eventually, if the fates allow, a husband who needs a place to sleep when I’ve kicked him out of bed for forgetting to dvr last night’s episode of ‘Project Runway’).

It’s taken me eight years to get the house the way I want it, more or less (though the backyard is still an unpleasant mixture of weeds and dirt…I have the decorating gene but, sadly, not a green thumb). And in those eight years I’ve come to really love the neighborhood; I bought the house because of the house, not the ‘hood. But now I realize, that unless I move over the viaduct to the Clifton Gaslight area, there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be than Northside; I think Northside is the “poor man’s Clifton,” with some of the same benefits (and drawbacks) but on a more affordable scale. We have great restaurants, great shops, and some nice bars and clubs; the only thing we don’t have is a movie theatre (but as long as the Esquire stays in business I won’t complain).

As for the gay and lesbian crowd in Northside, it’s fairly pervasive and friendly. And though it’s unlikely that it will ever equal Boys Town in Chicago or West Hollywood in Los Angeles (hey, a guy can dream), I for one am glad that at least there’s a strong GLBT “presence” in Northside. And it’s certainly nice to have the gay pride festival right around the corner each year. That’s something you don’t see in the suburbs (I think that’s also written into the books).

I moved to Northside because of the house; I’ve stayed because of the people. There are still some picket fences in Northside, but they’re no longer white. They’re rainbow. I’ll take that over a trip to Stepford-ville any day.

Out in ‘Da Hood,

Darren M.