Seriously Homocelestial

An Evening Out

Hanging out for a couple of hours last night at Woody's turned out to be a lot of fun. Has it really been since last summer that I was there? Legal Eagle and the Lovely Duane were up from Columbus, Ohio for the weekend. The Professor and I met them around 11 pm. We ran into a couple of friends and upon arriving I literally walked into German Guy, the hunky fellow I had a martini with at Babylon on Tuesday. He was with a few friends as well. The expected kissy-kissy, "looking forward to meeting again, do e-mail me", etc. ensued. Not that he's unattractive in the least but in the dark of Woody's he was even hotter.

The crowd was, on balance, younger than normal, which suited me fine. The Professor dabbed the sides of my lips several times to assist with the drool. What are roommates for? Unfortunately, we were there in time for the drag show/best legs contest and we happened to be right at the edge of the stage. I was trapped and had to endure the next hour of writhing flesh and amateur knees and underwear thrust inches from my face while sipping on a Mick's Red.

There was an upside, however. The most gorgeous man I know -- and I admit that he stole my heart three years ago -- Blond Cosmology was there with his steady guy and a couple of other friends. This most excellently yummy man is around 22, smart, and I mean smart. He writes poetry as well taking advanced graduate studies in engineering. (He graciously allowed me to have our picture taken together at Statler's at Christmas time.) When he said he was interested in reading my chapbook on the Tao Te Ching I began to revise my thinking about whether there is, in fact, a god. Well, somewhere, anyway. When he gave me a warm hug goodbye and a casual kiss on the cheek I confirmed there was also a one-eyed snake in my pants.

Our guests headed back to their hotel and The Professor and I stopped into Statler's for a night cap. The excessively annoying Kryptonite Hustler, who was high on something and made an ass of himself during the Woody's legs contest, was also there -- with the winner. But it appears the winner might have been Roll-in-the-hay for Pay as well and they each left separately with fresh meat.

And Dreams Beyond

Was it mixing Mick's Red with Millennium Buzz, Statler's signature beer made from hemp? Don't know -- but I had unsettled dreams overnight.

Many times over the years I have dreamt of being in what I will call catacombs in which the further in I go, in an effort to escape, the narrower and narrower the passages become. In this variation, the entrance was through a street-level room which led down stone steps into a large hall with exits from there into the bowels of wherever. A large map of the system was posted above the earth-level entrance. In this dream, I didn't enter the catacombs. Something sinister was happening in the main entrance room, with criminals taking care of other criminals. But I wasn't involved in that, either.

Another scene involved a man who was running near me on an open concrete patio and his toupee flew off. In another, outside in a field at springtime, a prayer service was underway -- with only two parishioners. And a wild boar, on more than one occasion, attacked me -- in the room, in the field, outside in the snow near a bus stop (ok, that might have been the cat trying to wake me up).

In three or four different scenes friends came up to me to tell me I had only five weeks to live and that I should go to the clinic. For some reason this didn't phase me at all. I'd accepted the prognosis but didn't believe in the outcome. Perhaps you should check if I am still blogging after April 26th ....

No, Just Agony ...

In this space some hours ago I predicted Belinda Stronach would win the leadership of the (newly merged) Conservative Party of Canada. With remarkable insight, backed up by a lifetime's worth of political judgment, I was, of course, wrong. Stephen Harper, former leader of the Canadian Alliance, and his "hump-backed ethics" henchman Peter MacKay, took over the merged party which once was the proud Progressive Conservative Party. No more. Hopefully Harper's silouette will grace the Canadian one dollar coin shortly as his views are certainly those of a loonie. But of course, that's just my opinion, as a former party member.

Not that Belinda Stronach was exactly a gift. But the second-place finisher at least supported same-sex marriage. Harper introduced a motion denouncing it last September. He has made anti-gay statements repeatedly. One can only hope the corrupt Liberals will clean up their act enough to avoid defeat. Sounds like an ideal time for a minority government.

Other than that, I had a lovely chat at the Second Cup at the Marriott with Hot Oil Massage about life and other things. And Legal Eagle and his life partner Lovely Duane just phoned from their hotel room. They visit Toronto twice a year from Columbus, Ohio. We meet at eleven at Woody's and maybe at Eggstacy for brunch.

The Agony ...

Well, another quiet day. I got up at a decent hour -- 8:30 am (*ugh*) -- but I didn't sleep very well. The weather was better, too, with blue skies and a high of around 4C.

I spent rather a long time doing research on the oil industry, especially Iraqi oil. With the first anniversary of the start of shock and awe bombing of Baghdad, I followed the day's news events closely. US Secretary of State Colin Powell dashed into Iraq and was heckled and snubbed by Iraqi journalists protesting the shooting deaths of two of their members by US armed forces at a checkpoint the day before. Powell offered, after they left, that it probably wasn't intentional.

Later, President Emperor Bush, from his throne in the White House, gave a speech to representatives of 83 countries (including Canada, I am ashamed to admit), extolling the virtues of the year-long murder of Iraqis and occupation of its land and concluding, in spite of 202 deaths in Madrid a week earlier, that "the Middle East was a safer place". Any self-respecting, and less arrogant US leader, would have had the balls to deliver this kind of drivel at the United Nations instead of -- again -- ignoring the international forum of law.

Meanwhile, Deputy Secretary of Defence Paul Wolfowitz managed to outrage all of Spain effectively calling the "land of bull-fighters" cowards in the face of the al-Qaeda. When the Iraq war was started, 90% of the Spanish population was against the war. They still are. The terrorists had nothing to do with that. Shame on you, Wolfowitz!

... and the Ecstasy

There was some very good news, however. This afternoon the Quebec Court of Appeals ruled that same-sex marriage (or gender-blind marriage as I prefer to call it) would immediately become the law in the province, striking down the federal version as unconstitutional just as Ontario and BC had done last summer. In effect, about 70% of Canadians now live in a jurisdiction in which same-sex marriage is fully legal and recognized. Because all marriage licences in Quebec require a 20 day waiting period, the first couple will be married on April 10th. The court referred to religious objections as moot given the precedents already set elsewhere in the land. Maybe now the Martin government will find the balls to Just Do It. This is, after all, civil law, not religious law. Grow up, will you?

I also spent some time this afternoon at Timothy's on Church St working out more plot points for my novel, I am glad to say. So it wasn't all play time.

Everything Old Is New Again

In the evening, I had a peek at the rules for electing the next (first, actually) Conservative Party of Canada leader. Stephen Harper is the representative of the ultra-right, non-thinking members and boasts a strong base in Western Canada but very little "election traction" east of Manitoba. Tony Clement, the Minister of Health in the defeated Ontario government during the SARS fiasco last spring, is also running and has some modest support among both the old Reform/Canadian Alliance party and the old Progressive Conservative clique (in December, they merged into this new party with a suspiciously similar name). Belinda Stronach, former CEO of auto-parts giant Magna International (her daddy's life's work), is the third candidate. She's never run for office and, at 37, is the youngest of the relatively young pack. She's also the only one who is in favour of same-sex marriage; Harper, in the pocket of the relatively insignificant but certainly loud-mouthed Christian Right in Canada, is dead set against it.

Here's the curious thing. Although Harper has something like a 60% lead, with Stronach at 25% and Clement a distant 15% (according to the National Post), the voting relies on a complicated point system based on the results of each riding. Harper will do very well east of Ontario -- but that's only 95 of 308 ridings. His former party is hated in Quebec and he represents the worst version of the new party; and only this week he effectively called Maritimers parasites. His old party only managed to elect 2 out of 100 ridings in the last election in Ontario -- and both Clement and Stronach come from Ontario. Clement, in truth is pretty boring but perhaps an excellent politician; but Stronach is the one with the potential to grab the broader public's imagination.

The voting mechanism is twisted and the upshot is that each delegate only gets to vote once for how ever many ballots it takes (two in this case). Harper voters have to select someone if Harper is knocked off the first ballot (impossible); Clement voters are most likely to choose Stronach as second choice. According to most reports, Stronach will do very well in Quebec (75 ridings) and at least tie in Ontario (106 ridings). Given Harper's disparaging remarks about the Maritimes -- which collectively contain 32 ridings (4 more than his stronghold of Alberta) -- he will be lucky to grab even 30% of the "electoral riding points" east of Manitoba.

As a result, once you crunch the numbers, I predict Belinda Stronach will be the next (first) leader of the new (old) Conservative Party of Canada and, as such, effective Monday morning the leader of the Official Opposition in the Canadian House of Commons. Bizarre. Just as Jack Layton, new head of the furthest left federal party the NDP, she will not have a seat in Parliament. No fear. Prime Minister Paul Martin is expected to call an election for May or June. Despite current scandals, he'd be foolish to wait much longer because the more dirt that comes up, and the more the public examines the alternatives, the less likely he is to win a new majority for his Liberal Party.

Yikes! Friday night! Is that the time?!? I better make myself pretty if I'm going dancin' tonight!

St Patrick's Day, Italian Style

For some reason I seem to have slept way too much in the past 36 hours. I admit to having drunk too much during the blizzard filming of Queer as Folk on Tuesday -- four-and-a-half pints at Statler's instead of my usual one or (ok, let's be honest) two pints. And with the after party I missed much of my sleep.

What is leaving me unhappy about that is I haven't written anything on my novel in almost two days and, as my roommate, The Professor, keeps reminding me, "write". Right. And he is right -- 120,000 words are not going to pop into Word on their own. Apart from considerable plot and character development, and background research, the only thing I have to show for it after three weeks is about 15 of 300 pages. I wonder if Hemingway wrote 400 words a day ...?

Last night, as a going away gesture (he's off to Asia for a month), I took The Professor to Trattoria al Forno, a very good Italian restaurant on Church St (next door to The Black Eagle leather bar). It's not as expensive as some "fine dining experiences" but not as pretentious, either. They have a number of awesome dishes on the menu, not least is the fuselli pesto pasta. But this time I opted for a "wood-fired" pizza and I have to say it was delicious. The rumours were right.

Then I was supposed to head over to a St Patrick's Day celebration. Instead, I whoosed out and went home to bed. Guess I'll have to put my greenery away for another year.

The Obscenity of Waging War

Today was only slightly more productive. I've updated the template for this blog (whoopee) and did some shopping at Queens Quay Loblaw's. That'll be the last chance to use The Professor's car for things like cat litter (ick) till he returns in late April. Jeez, then I snoozed again for a couple of hours. I feel like a cat, more asleep than awake. I think maybe I need more coffee. :-)

This evening I've been pondering some news stories, especially in the looming one year anniversary of the obscene invasion of Iraq by the US and Britain. I lost many friends over my opposition last year in which I was steadfast that the issue was wrongheaded and politically motivated. And as an ardent opponent of capital punishment -- which in my view includes any state-sponsored murder of anyone -- war will inevitably lead to deaths which would not have occurred if leaders hadn't sent in troops and bombs in the first place.

You don't win wars against terrorists by bombing the bejeezes out of, and then occupying, countries whose oil you want. The Middle East is even more flammable than oil. Yet the incautious lead!

Both Robert Fisk, who writes in The Independent in the UK, and Gwynne Dyer, an independent Canadian journalist based in London who specialises in political/military affairs, have written strong pieces this week. I've spent part of this evening catching up. Two years ago I turned off my television in disgust over the lurch to the right by US and the US media; it has stayed off. Now I get all my news through the net. I'm appalled at the major stories which directly affect the US which never see the light of day at CNN, New York Times, Washington Post, et al. Actually, it's gruesome.

I highly recommend Robert Fisk's One Year On -- War Without End and Gwynne Dyer's The UN Is Not A Morality Play. Both very powerful.

In catching up on the story about the March 11 Madrid bombing, it's worth keeping perspective. One week later, it appears the consensus is that al-Qaeda is responsible for the attack, not the local Basque-based ETA insurgents. Second, on a per capita scale, about half as many people died in this bombing as did at the 9/11 attack -- 200 of 40 million would be the same as 1450 out of 290 million. In addition, 1750 are listed as wounded (13,000 on our US comparison scale) -- so in some ways for the residents of Spain, this is indeed their own al-Qaeda 9/11.

In my meanderings, I also came across a very interesting article about the history of using ribbon to pay tribute to victims of tragedies. The use of a black ribbon has sprung up over the Madrid massacre. Red has been used for AIDS and it was AIDS which formalised the use of the ribbon. Since then various causes have adopted variations.

Absence of Tit-illation

I wish I could report something exciting between the sheets -- or even a raunchy e-mail or two (hey! write to me!) -- but alas it appears I am out of the loop. Two Spirited did calm my soul on Tuesday night. Bless him! And next week I'm having an overnight dinner with Korean Muscle, an incredibly sexy guy (as in "he touches me and I shiver" sexy), new to Canada since October. His clothes belie the incredibly fit man underneath and he's got the sweetest personality you can imagine. What's more, he seems pretty devoted to me, too. I feel like a louse but, jeez, he's exhausting to be around because his English is so limited. And I'm a word guy. Fortunately one doesn't talk while kissing and no translation is needed there. I have a week to make myself pretty again. :-)

At Least the Eggs Weren't Frozen

Another weather report: yesterday turned out to be wickedly cold. I am sure the wind chill reached zero F. And it snowed, to add insult to injury. Real snow, covering everything, including passersby in parkas looking like snowmen. It was a Vivaldi moment -- the chattering of teeth was heard across the land. To my horror when I awoke this morning it was still on the ground. Someone please contact the weatherman and remind him it is officially spring in four days.

Lunch with Book Babe went well. At the south end of the village Eggstacy serves an awesome spicy farmer's sausage (yah, it's that good: I'd do him), three eggs, unlimited coffee, fries/hash browns, two large pancakes and two thick slices of sourdough bread for eight bucks. (Burps.) He's currently working on a national television documentary with a gay slant. I shared some of my recent writing success (he's a mentor for me on the novel). Inevitably we discussed men, and especially bois, punctuated by pauses in the conversation when -- though bundled up -- some sweet eye candy flounced by outside the window. But too many clothes: where is summer?!?

After getting home, and checking some e-mails, I got down to work on my book. Happily, things flowed very well.

One Martini, One Hug

At 7 pm I braved the wind again and headed up to Babylon's, at the north end of the village, to have a martini with the German Guy from M4M. He turned out to be somewhat older than his profile suggested to me but quite affable and told a good life story. As we sat in the second floor window, and the snow began, George Hislop, Canada's Most Legendary Gay Activist, passed by under the window with his walker. George is a lovely man but the eye candy was definitely better at lunch.

Queer As Folk, Live!

With the promise of a follow-up date next week, an hour or so later I was trudging south again -- in the damn blizzard -- to discover Church St was still closed to traffic. As they had been earlier in the day, and Monday, Queer as Folk was being filmed. The banner and balloons across the street promised "Liberty Ride 2004". However the street, and all the extras, were covered with snow. Apparently there were some hasty rewrites being done during shooting. Are there snowtires for bikes?

I sauntered into Statler's, the piano bar just south of Maitland, where I had a good view of the night shooting and could get a tasty on-tap brew called Millenium Buzz (yummy, micro-brewed in Brampton, with hemp). There were only four or five regulars -- but as had happened in the past, Statler's was turned into a make-shift green room (which thanks to my quip was redubbed the pink room) for the glamorous stars of the show.

Sharon Gless, who plays Debbie, was delightful. Another Toronto gay legend, Michelle Dubarry, chatted Sharon up to her evident delight. Robert Gant (Ben) and Randy Harrison (Justin) are as handsome in real life as you might expect. Harrison is noted for being frosty and from his interactions -- or actually lack of them -- he lived down to his reputation. Hal Sparks (Michael) got flirted with outrageously by a sadly silly straight woman and eventually ended up getting his phone number (the cast are in town for two more weeks). What was she thinking, anyway? She had her freshly printed wedding invitations with her! July 31 nuptials? I don't think so! Not if she picks up that phone!

When Harris Allen (Hunter, the blond street hustler) scrootched by me, he flashed his white teeth and puppydog smile and said, "Hey, man!". I melted. I thought he was a regular Church St guy, realising later that he was sadly unavailable.

A few of the other regular cast members wandered in and out but Gale Harold (Brian), Peter Paige (Emmett) and Scott Lowell (Ted) didn't come in. I think only Gale was on the set.

Unexpected After Party

Filming was over before midnight, and after another pint or two was consumed, I trudged home. To my delight there was a message waiting for me from an awesomely lovely Two Spirited Guy who wondered if I wanted some company. Within the hour we were snuggling and snoozing and I felt warm and at peace. We've hooked up before but the last time was perhaps three years ago. We have an amazing energy together the way we touch and, well, you know.

Ok, ok! So I'll stop bitching for a day or two. And yes, if you must know, I did get laid! Finally! :-)

A Challenge Issued

If yesterday was cold, today is absurdly cold. Windy, mid-20s F (feels brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! -10 C). And rumour has it it will snow overnight. Ick.

Let's get this out of the way upfront: I didn't get laid yesterday. Water Blogger happened to make reference to me and said very nice things about me being sensual and all (and I am but that is, literally, another story). He had the audacity to suggest a battle of sexual vs sensual in which he intends to win. Harrruummmph! However, I expect he's already leading. Slut! (Ok, so I'm jealous.)

I made some progress on my novel, working out some details on an early chapter while sitting in a local coffee shop staring into space and chewing on the eye candy. Queer as Folk was being filmed up the street. Lots of cute extras and cuter production crew kept dashing in for something hot. None of them selected me even though I was perched right at the fireplace!

Fortunately I'd just completed my "work" when Retired Writer sat down opposite me. He's a one-time Elizabeth Spencer protégé (she's sort of a butcher, female Tennessee Williams -- although everyone is butcher than Tennessee with the possible exception of Truman Capote). He's been giving me some good insight into the how-to-write-a-novel process.

But just as we were getting into it, and amidst the continuing distractions of hot but chilly bois, another retiree ("my son is 30") sat down and took over the conversation. He was just back from whoring around (as a client) in Costa Rica for three months. He used to be a hustler himself -- in the Eisenhower age no doubt. Very pushy guy. *ugh*

A Better Future?

Later I sent a query off to a new gym and inquired about facilities. I've never been to a gym -- not even once -- but that snarky challenge from Water Blogger got my juices flowing. It's the pits having love handles and no lover. What the heck is that?!?

Today is more promising. I'm off to lunch shortly with a Book Babe, well-known local writer, who has taken me under his wing. And later tonight at a local Martini bar I'm finally meeting German Guy, an M4M buddy (an online hookup site where true love can be found at 3 am without actually going to the baths). He's 30ish and has an emotionally appealing write-up. He's also, *ahem*, hot and will be coming to meet me straight from his gym. I wonder what sort of pointers he might give me? I am so out of shape that touching my toes hurts. But does that matter if I'm propped up on my head with my legs wrapped round his shoulders?

Wish me luck! My favourite Martini there is the Cary Grant. Or, depending on my mood, Juicy Fruit. Perhaps I should just go with Sexual Healing.

Men, Interrupted

Blue skies and "seasonal" temperatures today ... ok, so it's damn cold again. Can you say one?

I did it again last night ... hung out online and chatted here and there hoping to meet someone cool. There were a couple of regulars, including one fellow who demanded I switch to MSN to chat and when I did he discovered he'd deleted me. Then he proceeded to tell me I'm never on MSN. Goof. Another guy complained I didn't answer his e-mail or one phone call four months ago and look what I'm missing: he's lost 50 pounds, is working out and loves to bareback. No, I don't think so.

Then this morning I woke up to an e-mail from a very nice chap I'd had coffee with last week. He's around my age and experience in the world -- nice connection. But apparently a few days before we met for coffee he met another guy (with the same first name of all things) for a "beer date" and he can't handle two potential relationships at once so he dumped me.

What the **** is it about men? Isn't there room for more than one friend? It's not ALL about sex after all. (Stop laughing. I'm serious here. Feel my pain.)

What? No Breakfast?

Earlier in the day I chatted face-to-face with a very sweet guy who, as it happens, also blogs. We'd played e-mail tag off-and-on in slow motion for some weeks. He's a charmer, very intelligent, very sexy, very warm, very open. Adores snuggling, especially as the snugglee. He'd be an ideal component in my life -- he's very independent and ambitious and not looking for "the one". What a great guy to have in one's stable of friends! Only drawback: he hates to sleep with someone. Once the snuggle alarm goes off he boots his mates out the door and sleeps alone. But that's when I'm just getting warmed up!

Maybe today will be better. I'm all a-tingle in anticipation. I'm really not a curmudgeon in real life. Just dreadfully under-snuggled these days. Your mileage may vary.