FHC’s resurrected blog

Who banged Silvia ? who ?

Poor Silvia Johnson, the nice recreational Colorado-based party promoter who was just trying to animate her very boring suburban neighborhood and make sure teen’s parties do not get outta hand by generously hosting them at her place. I don’t know how her guests' parents ended up turning against her. She patiently taught their kids for an entire year lots of neat useful stuff including handy new skills and deeper life lesson about perseverance, friendship and sex. Something a bit more substantial than letting 13 year old wear make-up to school or taking her daughter's friends to Disneyland once every 2 years. “Damn!! If only my mom would do that!!!!!” said every little closeted gay boy in Colorado. It makes the Mean Girls famous line “I'm not like a *regular* mom, I'm a *cool* mom” sounds all too funny for my blog. I wish there had been a 40 years old “cool dad” in my hood organizing weekly sex-drug parties for closeted teenage boys and spending $5,000 on clothes for his favorite ones. Sleepovers at my boy scout friends houses were so boring in my youth and there were only overweight embarrassing dads. I was craving for inappropriate displays of affection. The real question is why would any decent teenager want to bang Silvia though ? the answer (that I found in Sylvia Johnson's  famous book 101 Secrets a cool mom knows) is a mix of Arvada, Colorado boredom and methamphetamines (I strongly suggest reading the police report : apparently Crystal meths is used to treat ADD in Colorado). When you reach a certain age, you just got to give away some free drugs to get any action. We all learnt this in this lovely dramatic yet cheerful scene of “Requiem for a dream” in which Marion uses a double-ended dildo for a shot. There is not such a thing as a free lunch ! Now many parents in Arvada will have to pay their kids drugs themselves and they will notice it can be expensive...

A remembrance of the bohemian years of FHC

When I was young I wanted more than anything to have an uneventful life. In August 2000, I left Madrid to make to make a career in queerness.

Four years ago (in June 2001), I had just finished my studies in the US, still did not speak a word of English, Lizard Lounge was at Saint and my jeans were not Italian ! I was a poor unemployed immigrant tasting the bitter taste of the American freedom (a mix of poverty, social class change, guilt, anxiety, lack of health insurance and sexual debauchery) and paying rent with the last installment of my tuition I had never paid. I was getting fat and my boyfriend told me “you really need to hit the gym”.

In June 2002, I was some kind of an underpaid corporate dishwasher in post 9/11 DC, I was sharing a tiny one bedroom in a dysfunctional relationship, my visa was ending and I was still closeted to my so-called family. We were so poor that the only thing we could afford was fake-n-bake and a Washington Sports membership. I was slim, constantly red and had to rent computers at Cyberstop. I did not know yet that my poverty would fuel my conversation for decades.

About two years ago (in June 2003) I had just failed an important job interview, my current contract was ending, I was sharing a one bedroom with a cokehead and I had lost my debit card. I would go to meetings on “abolishing nuclear weapons” jut to make friends. I would also punctuate my e-mails with comments such as: “My life is a nightmare”, “lately I am not in the best of moods” and “Today is definitely a day I should not have waken up !” and cope with the situation by drowning my sorrow in alcohol.

In June 2004, my job situation seemed difficult, I was living at 1783 and I was so psychologically disturbed that I would write: “I am pretty done with everything that used to be gay in my life” and spend my days asking terrible questions to people such as: What day of the week are we ? what am I doing here ? what did I tell to who yesterday night ?. I even stopped using fake spray.

In September 2005, I have a quasi-jewish boyfriend, a mexican roommate, a semi-prestigious job, a cleaning lady and I am finally independent from my family. Early bourgeois success is the right time to be nostalgic of your bohemian years !

You see FHC & IP

This ain't your mother's La Redoute Catalog underwear section either

The guests at Kevin and John McG's house were all charming and xenophobic enough and there were a sufficient number of Jewish lawyers to make the conversation edgy. As we were talking about the New Yorker caption contest (my caption “I still have not told them the store was sold to competition” was not nominated), Kevin McG. guided me to the Dysfunctional Family Circus website that sounded quite exciting. Well... apparently the place closed down in 1999 – which tells us a lot about Kevin McG’s age (he hesitated between going out to Tracks or Trumpet last night). Btw, he also recommended Wonkette to me which indeed is an amazing blog. I always liked cartoons and before coming out, I used to mast****te almost exclusively to homo-erotic comics books, Brett Easton-Ellis’s books as well as La Redoute’s catalogs (to the underwear section of course). I am not only thinking of Babar or Tintin but also of Alix Intrépide. Alix takes place in the Antique Roma: blond Gaulle Alix with a self-worth problem has a charming exotic Egyptian friend and they have deep and meaningful épopées chevalresques adventures which often includes trips to the bathhouse, naked nubians or (picture on your left) hard core bondage stuff. They would wear very short togas that they would take off to swim all the time and I was always dying to invade their empire.

I’d like to invite you to read Matt H’s latest entry (the friday one I think) in which he apologizes vehemently for pointing out to blacks as bad tippers (not the worse bad tippersthough). God forbids, Matt H.’s blog would sound like a racially prejudiced bartender or that the black tippers association threatens him with legal action. He kindly apologized in the same way for the other 9 categories of bad tippers (which includes lesbians and deaf people). There is a reason why I have disclaimers all over my blog and I obey to the constant censorship by my entourage on what I can write or not in my blog: one day I might be tempted to tell what I really think too and I'll get to spend my saturday nights by myself. Anyway the Spanish were not mentioned in Matt's entry so I should keep my mouth shut I guess ! Talking about auto-censorship and politically correctness, I take this opportunity to apologize to hyenas for having compared them to Real Estate agents in my last entry as well as to the Caligula family for my earlier unfair comMadridon: that was not nice.

I enjoyed Taint. The high point of the evening is when the sidewalk sale guy showed up and told me that someone had sent him a link to my blog and I had to pay him back the $6 I had found in the trousers pockets he sold me. So here we are ... this blog costs me money. I also ran into Luis R. which I believed dead. I got leaflets for weird upcoming parties such as Backroad (Sept 21^st), a gay Country party at Staccato promoted by Karl and that sounds to me like another excuse for the Remington crowd to dress down and wear boots or Procedure at Local 16.