Monthly Archives: June 2007

Phun Photo Phriday

Due to technical difficulties today’s Phun Photo Phriday is being replaced by

Phound Photo Phriday


How much for the hand?

Mike Jones – The Victim’s Victim

The Mike Jones reading was a sad affair.

He began by telling us that he wrote the book because he was a victim and that all the gays in the audience were victims too. Yes, we’re all victims of the hatred spewed forth by the Ted Haggard’s of this world. Then he proceeded to read a brief bit about his initial meeting with Ted before explaining that Ted is also a victim just not as big a victim as Mike Jones. Cheez-its! In the first 15 minutes I heard the word victim so many times I felt I was being brainwashed. VICTIM = Mike Jones. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Next he read a bit about his mother and her death and he began to weep. This cheap ploy for sympathy didn’t sit well with my group of friends as the eyes started rolling, claws came out and catty remarks were being whispered among us. But we were alone.

I don’t know where this crowd came from but I believe they may have been trucked in by Mr. Jones’ publicist. Not one of them seemed to have a mind of their own and the whole thing turned into a love fest. Like Mike Jones was gay Jesus.

At one point Mike mentioned that he wanted to make sure his story broke before the elections because he felt that it would help defeat the anti-gay measures on the Colorado ballot. Yet he failed to mention that he voted for George Bush in the last election. I had intended to ask more about this but by the time the opportunity arose, I no longer cared. I’d had more than enough of his whining. I’d also had enough of the crowd that would no doubt have hung me out to dry if I’d raised the question.

I went to this reading to thank Mike Jones for his bravery in exposing hypocrisy in the pulpit. I went to commend him on his timing, as I believe his outing of Ted Haggard played a role in the outcome of the elections. But none of that mattered to Mike; he was there to talk about Mike Jones, the victim, whose life is now so very pitiful. He was there to talk about how the gay community abandoned him in his time of need. He was there to whine and cry and wonder why he doesn’t get the same media coverage as Paris Hilton. He was there to have his ego stroked. Oh…and he was there to tell us how he’d love to have a boyfriend.

That’s when I left.

Afterward, while discussing this with my friends, we concluded Mike Jones is his own victim. He chose this line of work and he chose to accept this client. That the client turned out to be a self-loathing preacher of hate does not make Mike Jones a victim. That he outed the client and therefore had to deal with the subsequent series of events made him a victim…of his own actions.

What he did was noble, how he represents it is not.


I have nothing to talk about.

My family would laugh at the thought of me not having anything to say, or spouting some comment or opinion, but it’s true. Speaking of family, I could blog 3 times a day 7 days a week about the family but I want this to be a happy place so I slog on about nothing and everything, which makes me happy, but you my three readers, are not so fortunate as to feel the joy.

Tonight I’m off to Powell’s City of Books, the best bookstore in the country, to hear Mike Jones read from his book “I Had to Say Something: The Art of Ted Haggard’s Fall”. I’ve read mixed reviews of the book and I’m not sure I’m interested in reading it myself but I do want to shake his hand. I truly believe he helped sway the election with his timely announcement and I’m curious how he’ll handle questions about his having voted for the shrub.

I’m going to be sure to sit near the rear of the crowd so I can escape if I get bored and go shop for more summer reading. It seems that everything I’ve been reading or have recently purchased is gay themed and I need a little variety. I’m presently reading an old anthology of coming out stories by gay writers, “From Boys to Men” and I finally got around to picking up Edmund White’s “Chaos” and a copy of Armistead Maupin’s “Michael Tolliver Lives”. The latter I may wait to read because I’d kind of like to re-read the “Tales…” books first. I just finished “Fish” by T.J. Parsell but that came off a bit sensationalistic which is too bad because it’s a tool in his fight against prison rape. Of course all the while I’m fighting my way through all 1085 pages of Thomas Pynchon’s crazy prose in “Against the Day”. This is not gay themed (so far at least) and I expect to finish it sometime in 2008 or 10. You gotta’ love that man!

Obviously my initial statement was correct so I’ll sign off but it you have any ideas for reading material…send ‘em my way. I’m hoping the post-reading discussion with my friends over pints will inspire some blog worthy inspiration so don’t give up on me yet. Mkay?

Phun Photo Phriday



Well…Mark already posted about Pride and since a good number of you read both blogs I’ve decided to just add what Mark didn’t show you…his breakfast.


What, you can’t see that well enough? Here…let me give you a close up…


Yep, that’s a Maple/Bacon Bar from VooDoo Doughnut! It tastes like your standard maple bar only salty…very salty…which may just make it the perfect Pride Doughnut!

Yeah…I went there.

It’s Good, isn’t it? Grand, isn’t it? Great, isn’t it, Swell…

I kid you not…I woke up with ‘Nowadays’ playing in my head just hours before attending PDX Pride, how gay is that? The day lived up to the lyrics but I’m too freakin’ tired to write it up so I leave you with this…..

Red Dress.JPG

….and will post more tomorrow.

Happy Pride Ya’ll!

Phun Photo Phriday

Yeah, butt.JPG

Bong-of-the-Month Club

The final trimester of my junior year of high school I only had two classes. The remainder of the day I worked and took college prep courses. On days I didn’t work or have class, I was usually stoned by 10:00 and either studying or romping around the Santa Cruz Mountains with my buds.

One afternoon a friend and I were at Tower Records looking at the paraphernalia in their “gift shop” when the clerk asked if we wanted to sign up for the Bong-of-the-Month club. This was a brand new promotion and nobody had yet signed up for the first drawing that was to take place the following week. He showed us the bong they were giving away and we were captivated. We could just see ourselves smoking from this ceramic beauty. It had a gold and green glaze that swirled around a sort of moat just below the bowl. The moat held your stash and would catch the weed that fell away as you loaded the bowl. It was state-of-the-art dope smoking technology and it could be mine simply by dropping my name in a box. And, it was worth a whopping $35.00! That was more than 4 day’s wages in my $2.30 per hour part time job. I was quick to sign up!

A week later, I came home from school, put a record on the stereo and filled my pipe. I loved this time of day when I had no obligations and the house was empty. The neighbors were all at work too, so I could crank the music and do as I pleased without interruption or complaint. I had just finished smoking that first bowl of the day when the phone rang. I turned down the stereo and answered…

“Is this Rodger?”
“Hi, this is Chris at Tower Records, you were here last week and entered a contest. Do you remember what contest you entered?”

It was a simpler time then and we were very careful.

“Yeah…some bong thing.”
“That’s right…and you’re the first winner of the Bong-of-the-Month club, congratulations!”


“Really? Far out!” (yes, we used that phrase)

I couldn’t wait to go pick it up and called D to tell him the good news.

Twenty minutes later D and I were standing at the counter of the “gift shop” with big smiles and bloodshot eyes, anticipating the joy of taking that first hit off the new bong. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to win such a nice, expensive piece of paraphernalia. It was going to be a great summer!

The clerk took the bong from the shelf, set it on the counter, and told me to wait just a minute while he got the camera.

“Camera? For what?”
“Because we need to take a picture of you holding the bong.”
“So we can hang it on the wall to show that someone actually won.”

All the care I’d taken to keep my smoking under wraps and now they want to hang a picture of me holding this massive bong on the wall at Tower Records for everyone to see. No wonder nobody had signed up! Duh!

Everybody I knew went to Tower including my parents. I could just see it…my mom coming into my room…“So show be that nice big bong you won last week”. I wouldn’t be able to lie my way out of that one, not with my picture hanging on the wall of the most popular record store in town. What the hell was I going to do? I tried to get D to take the picture for me since his parents were more liberal but he was busy reveling in the convenience of being runner-up. All the benefits of winning and no consequences…oh how I wish he’d won. I even tried to convince the clerk that it could ruin my life but he didn’t care, all he wanted was a picture to prove that someone took home a free bong. He finally convinced me to take the picture by telling me they would hang it behind the counter, which was far enough away that you really couldn’t make out my face. Well…that and the fact that if I didn’t pose, I couldn’t have the bong. Snap, flash and minutes later my likeness began to appear on the Polaroid film, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. A deer that spent the morning grazing on a crop of Humboldt County’s finest.

For the next six months the very mention of Tower Records would send a pang of fear through my gut. It was only a matter of time until someone would see my picture and promptly report it to my parents. But as the months passed and more pictures were added my fear began to fade. Eventually, the wall of photos began to include winners of other contests and promotions. If caught, I could now tell my folks that I had won concert tickets or a t-shirt, they’d be none the wiser. I was off the hook.

Years later, while drinking with my dad, we started talking about drugs. He knew by then that I had experimented but he didn’t know to what extent. He stopped me in my tracks with a comment about the Bong-of-the-Month Club and proceeded to tell me about a trip to Tower Records with my mom. While she was shopping he had stumbled upon a wall of photos. He thought he recognized me in the first picture but, being behind the counter, it was too far away to see clearly. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was me.

So, dad, if you should happen to read this…Happy Father’s day from the original member of the Bong-of-the-Month Club!

Phun Photo Phriday



No Phun…

No Fun.JPG

The Music in my Mind

Every morning when I wake up I have a song in my head. Like dreams, they don’t seem pertinent to events in my life but I can’t help but wonder if they’re more relevant than I think. There have certainly been times when the song seemed the perfect soundtrack for recent events but those occasions have been rare.

These songs start playing as soon as I wake and may continue all day though it usually stops about the time I get out of the shower; saving me the expense of a waterproof iPod cover. The most annoying part of this is when I wake up and want to go back to sleep. I lay there trying to doze off but I keep hearing the tune-of-the-day. I guess I should be happy it’s music and not voices but at times it can be just as disturbing. For instance, the last 5 or 6 days I’ve been waking to the tune of Punchbag by Lol Creme and Kevin Godley. I love this tune, in fact, I love the entire album but I don’t have a clue why this song has decided to take up residence in my brain for such an extended period; I haven’t listened to it in well over a month. Then there’s the fact that it doesn’t describe any past experience I’ve had. I was usually the puncher not the punchee.

I guess it could be worse if, say, I had Cher’s ‘Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves’ stuck in my head for a week. I’d have to kill myself after the second day…or hour. At least Godley and Creme have talent unrelated to designer gowns and plastic surgery!

I’m hoping tomorrow the channel will change and I’ve been busily listening to some new tunes I picked up lately hoping to have one of those stick in my head in exchange. Then there’s the ‘you’ve gotta get it out’ approach and by talking about/blogging it maybe it will go away. So here it is…and no…I’m not having feelings of insecurity or a period of low self esteem!

Punchbag – Godley & Creme

(click to play)

If I brought a note to school
That said my days were numbered
They’d leave me
Numb and bleeding
Or strangle me with jump-leads
Momma, momma, momma,

In my world
The birds don’t sing
The bells don’t ring
The bicycle bells, the bicycle bells
Momma, momma, momma, Help me!


I wish I could blend
Into the background
I’ve no excuses for my lack of guts
Lack of guts
What is it about me
That draws attention?


Fourth form atrocities
Come and get it Socrates
Got to hit back
Get down on your knees
Ready for the polythene bag


I’ve never been a natural
At physical things
I’ve never been good at cross-country running
Since the first football hit me in the ear
Like a frozen cannonball
And the knees buckled
And stayed bent
And the laughs came
And the nerve went
And “Dirty Jew”
Was written on the blackboard


Fourth form atrocities
Come and get it Socrates
Got to hit back
Get down on your knees
Ready for the polythene
Ready for the polythene
Ready for the polythene
Bag treatment


Running through the corridors
Far too many obstacles
Bursting, bursting
Bursting for the crap I know
They’ll never let me have
Fourth form punchbag
Oh God I wish that I was
Thicker than I am
And thinner than I am
Oh God I wish that I had
Normal ears
And clearer skin
I’m praying for the day
When handsome’s out
And ugly’s in


Fourth form punchbag
Fourth form punchbag


To Jesus I pray
For strength to survive
Your Christian soldiers
Smell blood
I torture myself in private
To prepare me for the pain
I talk to myself in public
On the buses and the train
My father just ignores it
`Cos it goes against the grain
Momma, momma, momma, Help me!


Fourth form punchbag
Fourth form punchbag


Booming round the corridors
Like guadiamus igitur
Fourth form punchbag
Fourth form punchbag