The Tunnel Of Time

Me on the Pumpkinvine Trestle. May 2010.

A beginning is difficult for me choose, like my choosing a favorite song on Interpol's Our Love To Admire from a couple years back. I loved every damn song on that album. Honestly, it began so long ago that I am now deep into my third decade of my relationship with Paulding County at thirty-seven. It is not a love/hate relationship as I have suppressed much of what I feel about Paulding County. I cannot manifest strong enough emotions to love or hate the place. I am more afraid that I will accidentally revive enough of the past to love it again and that would be very bad for me. 

There is something that always makes me uneasy and happy when I return to Paulding County. I was extra uneasy two days ago and I have been for five months after returning from New York. That something is the past, a past that is complex beyond what a normal person would consider complex. I cannot tell anyone just yet, but I am going to write about it outside of my journals one day.

The past claws at me as soon I get on the western side of Atlanta. It hits me like a cramp as soon I see Six Flags on I-20 and it grows more frequent as I near Paulding County. Crossing that county line requires a toll from me not quantified in dollars, but in pain.

 

I stopped at the cemetery in Hiram. I was there a month ago to visit the graves of my mother and grandparents. It was not my dead relatives that made it difficult for me to go there, it was something much deeper than six feet under the red clay. I am afraid to visit too often as if I would become attached to it again, fall in love with it like an ex boyfriend and rekindle a romance that again will end in broken hearts. I am covered in glue already and I cannot do that again.

 

My superficial and present purpose for being there was to ride my bike on the Silver Comet Trail from Dallas to the west. The trail winds its way over the ridges and through the woods of the county to Alabama. The woods it passes through are not the ones I played in as a boy, but they look nearly identical with the hills of pines, hardwoods and creeks.

A wooden trestle spanning over the Silver Comet Trail in Paulding County. Photo by me, May 2010.

 

I must have picked this section to ride for a reason. I was looking for myself and or looking for someone I lost in the 1980s. As if he was going to ride by in a chance encounter, we would recognize each other and he would want to speak to me. The eternal fool I am when I had a chance at this impossible possibility a few years ago.

Me on the Silver Comet Trail near Hiram in the late 1990s.

I had walked portions of the Silver Comet Trail in the late 1990s when it first opened in Cobb and Paulding counties. I had not been back as I moved back to Atlanta and went about a very different life. There I was back on the trail at a different segment, the same person, but feeling much different.

This is the new Paulding County that I do not know as seen from the Silver Comet Trail. This did not exist when I lived there. Photo by me, May 2010.

Being in my childhood home county requires me to function in two worlds: the past and the present. I would have preferred that it was only the present and enjoyed nothing but the ride, I kept forcing myself to remain in the moment. To most residents that live there now it is the present and future as they have no history there. I have volumes of history like any person that grows up in one place and stays there until they turn twenty-two years old. What is in those volumes is what I cannot speak of yet.

 

The Brushy Mountain Tunnel. Photo by me, May 2010.

Up ahead was the past, my past, in the Brushy Mountain Tunnel and I had to go through it. I had not been in this spot since something ended as a teenager with another boy in that very tunnel. That memory of that boy does not bother me, he was a good memory, a memory I would not erase from the Memorex of my life if I somehow could. 

 

Photo by me, May 2010.

 

I was seventeen again in 1990 and it was pitch black. Next to me was another teenage boy that I was involved with and could not find a way to love. We completed our ending there. He was a memory of the good kind; not everything in Paulding County was bad. He was part of the past I could talk about, not that I ever did.

 

There were other people, other boys from my boyhood, that were not so kind and some that I loved. They went missing from my life one after the other. They all left their marks and I have no idea what I left with them.

Me as I time traveled. Photo by me, May 2010.

 

Other than the graves and the tunnel, I encountered nothing more of my past. I still carry this uneasy feeling. Something, somewhere is amiss, it has something to do with my past and I cannot figure it out.

I left Paulding County for good in 2002 and that was the third time. I was a slow learner. For five months, I have wanted to grab a shovel and start pecking away at the dirt covering it. I have this feeling and I have had it since New York.

 

My past is not a past I would like to forget, but it is one that I suppress until the time comes to open it a final time. I do not want to run or ride a bike from the past, but for now it remains buried.

 

The Snow Followed

Photo by me, January 2010.

 

 

Got back from New York where all it did was snow and afternoon temperatures hung in the teens and twenties. That weather followed me home like a stray dog back to Atlanta.

Went out last night to shake off the trip and the weird feeling I caught like a cold in New York. It began to snow, that messy Atlanta type snow where it snows on the untreated roads, melts and then freezes into ice. It is the only way it can snow in Atlanta. I grew up with it this way and I am used to it. You learn here that if it snows, you stay home because the roads will be a skating rink. 

 

Well, I did not expect the snow to be more than flurries and I was wrong. The snow poured and began to stick so I headed home.

Enough snow to be pretty and messy. Photo by me, January 2010.

I did not make it home, at least not by driving. I parked my car down the street in a shopping center and walked the rest of the way. The hill where I live is too steep to drive when it is a sheet of ice.

 

Photo by me, January 2010.

I enjoyed the adventure aspect of it. I do not generally go walking around my neighborhood at night so it was a different perspective on where I live. 

 

Photo by me, January 2010.

The snow did not measure an inch and by the next morning the streets were a sheet of ice not that it stopped people from trying to drive on them. Ditches, curbs, sidewalks and utility poles become car magnets during a snow.

I was glad to stay home.

 

Best Line Of The Night

"Suck my balls bitch," yells a drunk Emory college kid at Maggie's on a Friday night. He then proceeded to jump another kid before the bouncers got to him. The Asian bouncer put the kid in a choke hold around the throat and put him out on the sidewalk.

I guarded my pitcher of Bud Light for fear that the table would get bumped in the melee. The kid's award winning line was a hit with our group of five gays. Sucking balls are not the words of a fighter but a lover where we come from. Maggie's was the ending of a night that included Heretic and Jungle. 

Fun times. Wasted Times.

Why I Divorced Facebook

I came home the other night after going out and had something on my mind and it was Facebook. Facebook was the last thing I should have had on my mind. I should have been dreaming but instead I was logging in and deleting all of my photos from the service and the other silly posts that compose it. Doing this had been on my mind since the launch of the re-designed user interface. It was though the service I had been using had become a completely new person and I needed to break up with it. My fling with Facebook ended at 4:45 on an early Monday morning.

I must admit that the re-design of the service was not my only reason for ending it with Facebook since I had plenty of other reasons to file for divorce. I never loved it that much to begin with because something about it just seems not right, at least to my expanding gut. It bothers me that people wish to put so much of their lives on the Internet for some sort of validation or ego boost. I don't need that validation and I don't think people are getting healthy validation from it anyway.

I never understood all the silly applications that people use to send pieces of flair, smiles, green beer, and dumb time wasting pieces of digital garbage. I was done ignoring or accepting these things, filling out trivial questionnaires and everything else. I do not care about reading your answers so why should I assume that you will care enough to read mine? Maybe I do not want to share that information with you or any of my other FB friends. There are such things as discretion and privacy even in the modern digital, over-sharing world that we live in today.

It seems that FB has mostly two types of users. One that is all about telling you every single move they make in their daily lives from what they just ate or where they are on the face of the planet. FB like Twitter is some form of voluntary GPS tracking device that attracts people with low self-esteem. I mean there is sharing and then there is over-sharing. That type of user is needing constant attention and probably has issues with being self-absorbed. The other type of user is one that is stuck in their past wanting to relive their sad glory days from high school or college because they never made it anywhere in life beyond those times. I am not the same person I was in high school and I hope you are not either. People should change, grow, mature and learn that the past is better left in the past. These are two types of people that I honestly don't like so why would I want to be friends with them on the service or know them in real life?

If I know you in real life then you already have my phone number, been to my apartment, I see you regularly and we do things together. So if you want to contact me then call me and see what is going on like real people or real friends do. I don't want a meaningless piece of flair to add to my profile, instead let's go hang out at the park or go have a face to face conversation over a drink. That is true human interaction, not posting comments on a person's photo like, "OMG I can't believe you still look so young."

Facebook it came down to this: I am just not that into you. It seems that you want to know too much about me and will not give me enough personal space. You want to give me tacky presents and make me feel cheap. I will flirt with Myspace for the moments when I need to over-share on its basic entry-level interface. That is where I will go in the middle of the night to make my drunken updates or just say good morning to the Internet. At least there I can play music on my profile, customize it to the point of consuming all of your computer's memory and be friends with perfectly good strangers that don't need to comment on their every last move. Hell, I am even friends with Madonna on Myspace. Facebook can you do that?

Lauper Brings It To The Brink

D

are I say it for fear of having my gay card remanded?

 

Cyndi Lauper's new album, Bring Ya To The Brink, is much better than Madonna's Hard Candy. Listening to Bring Ya To The Brink, I think I know who spent more time in clubs recently or was paying attention.

Madonna would have been better received putting out Confessions On A Dance Floor Part Deux, but instead Cyndi Lauper will be the female artist you hear most commonly in the clubs this summer. 

 

Madonna's hip-hop infused Hard Candy just seems a little late to the party and never gets up enough energy to work on the dance floor. Cyndi on the other hand could not have picked a better time to put out her first album of new material in twelve years.

Currently Cyndi is sitting atop the Billboard chart Hot Dance Club Play with her single Same Old Fucking Story. Madonna is not even in the top 25. Despite remixes of Madonna's Give It To Me  that were absolutely okay I have yet to hear a single track of Hard Candy ever played in a club. Even in the video bars I have yet to see anything from Hard Candy. When my friends want to talk music they will most likely will bring up Bring Ya To The Brink in favorable light and poor Hard Candy has been mentioned only twice in not so favorable terms. The fickle gay boys were disappointed.

May favorite track from Bring Ya To The Brink is Into The Night Life. All she has to sing is, "shirtless wonders wreck my sight, under the light," and she has summed up what being under the mirror ball is all about.

We Are Still Fucking

The full parking lot on a Friday night outside the private Eros sex club in Atlanta. Photo by me. June 2008.

 

An interesting article was published yesterday by The Village Voice's Steve Weinstein entitled, Why Isn't Anyone Fucking Anymore?  
 
Weinstein writes about the decline in the number of gay men engaging in sex in bars and  New York City's effort to close sex clubs and bathhouses. Maybe this is the case in New York but I must say I have seen no decline in semi-public sex in Atlanta bars and we still have our sex club and bathhouse.

However, Atlanta has not been immune to the closing of our gay bars over the past few years, most notably Backstreet, The Metro and The Armory. Those bars were shuttered for some of the same reasons as the ones in New York. Yet, it seems our nightlife remains rather resilient since as soon one bar closes a new one opens. They just might not be located in densely populated residential areas or on highly prized real estate parcels like their predecessors.

Weinstein suggests that in addition to having Mayor Bloomberg who wants to clean up the city, a couple of other reasons including the Internet and wider acceptance of gays in mainstream society are the reasons behind the decline in gay public sex.

If there's a generational shift between post-Stonewall gay men and their younger counterparts, it's that the latter are more interested in fashionista kiss-kiss cocktail soirees... For some, this new attitude may mark a healthy and normal progression—from the generation that had to fight for its right to party to a new breed fighting for the right to marry and serve openly in the military. Today, it's easier than ever to come out, and people are doing it in high school or even before. Coming out so early in life, they don't feel as alienated from straight women—or, increasingly, men. Rather than facing discrimination and alienation, they can look forward to marriage and children.

I could agree that maybe there has been some decline in gay men going out and having public sex as a result of the Internet but at the same time I often see the same gay men looking for sex online that go out and circulate in the bars. Often the case is that if they do not get lucky in a bar then they rush home and look on the 'net for their trick. There seems to be a fair amount of cross-pollination between the two methods of looking for the next hookup.

As far as younger gay men seeking out relationships instead of a quick roll in the hay I can not agree with that assumption. I have seen no evidence to suggest that younger gay men are less likely to fuck in a bar, sex club or on the first date than men in their 40s and older. If anything, younger guys might be more discrete in disrobing in front of older men because they fear they will be eaten like fresh chicken but I see just as many younger guys out looking for dick as older ones.

The idea that younger gays are walking into a more accepting society is a reach. The overwhelming majority of gays and lesbians live in states that either do not allow same-sex marriage or have a constitutional ban against it. So the notion that younger gays are living in a dream world where they envision themselves getting married, having children and having the house with the picket fence is not the norm. I would suggest that some younger gays might be hopeful of having a life that is equivalent to straight adult couples but in reality they learned that early on they face a life filled with discrimination. In the meantime, they will still be going out, hooking up and living a life similar to their older peers.

Tongues Untied

Tongues Untied

 

 

One hour in July 1991 created more controversy for PBS and criticism for the National Endowment For the Arts than almost any other. The documentary that caused an uproar and what then Presidential candidate Pat Buchanan called "ponorgraphic art" will be showing this Friday at Atlanta's Eyedrum Gallery.

Tongues Untied will be screened at 8 PM and will be followed by a panel discussion with an original cast member, Reginald Jackson. Members of In The Life Atlanta, the Deeper Love Program of AID Atlanta and the Men of Onyx will also serve on the panel discussion.

The Marlons Riggs film is celebrating its 20th anniversary this year and was released this past March on DVD for home use. The remastered DVD includes an archival interview with director Marlon Riggs, and newly produced interviews with Isaac Julien, Phill Wilson, Juba Kalamka, and Herman Gray. The DVD also includes seven minutes of deleted scenes that have never before been released.

Tongues provides a sampling of gay black life in America in the late 1980s. Through a combination of poetry, narrative, dance, rap, music and social commentary Riggs explores homophobia and racism.

Tongues Untied which received a $5,000 grant from the tax payer funded National Endowment For The Arts (NEA) was not shown in many of the television markets around the country in 1991. One hundred and seventy-four out of two hundred eighty-four PBS affiliates refused to show it and in most cities where PBS affiliates did show the program it was only allowed to air after 11 PM. It took center stage in the culture war that was raging in American politics and added fuel to the fire to cut government funding to the NEA. The American Family Association and the Christian Coalition attacked the film for its content, the NEA for partially funding it and PBS for  broadcasting it.

By the time the film was shown on PBS in 1991 it had already completed the film festival circuit to wide acclaim. The film received best documentary at the Berlin International Film Festival, best independent/experimental work by the Los Angeles Film Critics and best video at the New York Documentary Film Festival, among numerous other awards.

The film's Atlanta debut would be at the Atlanta Film and Video Festival in May 1990. It won the category for Best Performance Video. Marlon Riggs told the Atlanta Journal Constitution (AJC) at the time, ""I didn't want a black gay MTV, but rather something that had some conviction, coherence and passion."

The film would show again at the 2nd Annual Gay and Lesbian Film and Video Festival later that November at the IMAGE Film and Video Center.

In July 1991 Tongues Untied was set to be shown on national television on the PBS network. The documentary series P.O.V. picked up Riggs' film and chose to air it under their banner. On July 16 WPBA Channel 30 was the first Atlanta PBS affiliate to air the film at 11 PM. WGTV Channel 8 of the Georgia Public Broadcasting network aired the show on July 20th also at 11PM.

Leading up to the national broadcast debut of Tongues Untied some outspoken religious leaders and conservative politicians fanned the flames of controversy around the film. It received much more mainstream press than it would have otherwise thanks to the individuals opposing the film's content and the public funding. The AJC published several articles on the film and provided favorable reviews. Phil Kloer wrote of the PBS broadcast, "a powerfully threatening hour of television to a lot of people ." Kloer was also critical of the TV stations that were refusing to air the program, "most PBS affiliates are not giving viewers the chance to make up their own minds." He did praise the courage of the two Atlanta PBS stations for airing the film, "fortunately, Atlanta's two affiliates - and Georgia Public Television's statewide system of eight stations - are doing the right thing and airing Tongues." Georgia Public Television spokeswoman Caroline Kowalski told the AJC, "It's not our job to be a moral censor. It's our job to present films and TV programs that depict the wide set of perspectives and to alert people to the fact that this is very hard stuff and definitely not suited to children and adolescents. They should use their own discretion. If they're offended by it, turn it off."

AJC columnist Dick Williams penned an editorial on Tongues Untied that was published the evening of the WPBA airing. He told readers, "skip tonight's 11 PM news. Tune to Channel 30 for an astounding hour of television." Williams taking the politically conservative slant attempted to equate the showing of the film as a threat to the country and not only that but to mankind and our entire future. He wrote, "If you vote, if you care about the United States or about mankind, you owe it to the future to watch."  He warned viewers that it was an explicit film and that their sensitive stomachs may be upset by gay black men on their television by writing, "You must not leave your television or VCR to vomit." He called Tongues, "the most explicit, profane program ever broadcast by a television network." Williams did not hold back his homophobia one bit when he says, "it proceeds to show us how, with a trip through society's sewers. Its actors and the producer, Marlon T. Riggs, preen to rap music, preach in free verse and dance. They also climb into bed together naked."  Williams last act of chest beating, knuckle dragging and round of high fives for the closed minded came when he wrote, "the program belongs in a homosexual bath house."

Acutely aware of the controversy over the film WPBA Channel 30 ran a graphic during the broadcast soliciting feedback from viewers. It asked  viewers to call the station and leave comments about the film. WBPA reported that they received 800 phone calls the next day and that it was 55-45 in support of the documentary. WPBA also disclosed that viewership was around 100,000 and that it was the highest rated program since the previous Fall when Ken Burn's Civil War had aired.

When WGTV aired Tongues Untied it announced that it had received 698 phone calls in response to the film. Of them 396 were supportive and 302 were critical of the station and or the film.

It is not hard to imagine that even today in 2008 if PBS wanted to show Tongues Untied it would cause a backlash amongst certain conservative segments in the American populace. So many things have changed and yet so many things have not.

Marlon Riggs died of an AIDS related illness in April 1994 at the age of 37.

Also showing on Friday, April 18th at Eyedrum is Nioklai Ursin's 1965 short film, Behind Every Good Man. Eyedrum is located 290 MLK Jr. Drive, near Memorial Drive & Hill St. The entrance fee is $7 on a sliding scale. For more information please visit the Eyedrum web site or Film Love.

Chances

I walked up the sidewalk into BJs wearing a black Sisley sweater, jeans and black boots. A group of guys to my left in the parking lot were approaching the bar at the same time that I was. One of them yelled out in my direction, "look at that hot boy in black." I can only assume it was me that he was yelling at but since I am far from being a boy I had my doubts. It had me uncomfortable for a second so I did not look in their direction. I pretended to be hearing impaired. 

On weekends it is a tight squeeze to get to the bar. I waited while legs danced on the bar in front of me and finally my drink came between a pair of those legs and stood next to bouncing sneakers. I decided that carrying a fully-loaded drink through the crowd to get to the other side of bar would be a bad idea. I would certainly spill it on someone and that could have included myself. I retraced my steps and found a table over in the corner. I surveyed the crowd and noticed how much younger it seemed to had gotten. I was thinking that it reminded me of a WETbar crowd instead of the regular men that frequent the place.

It was not long before a drunk guy in his late 40s came by and borrowed my lighter. Instead of handing it back to me he just tossed it on the table. He suffered from poor manners. From there he never said a word but stared at me like I was a jug of water in the desert. He was maybe standing three inches from me and was well within my personal space. I have two approaches with people that behave this way. One way is to ask them, "if they have a problem," or something similar. That usually stuns them and they understand that I am not going to take any shit. Another approach is just to turn and start talking to someone else. Which is what I did and he stood there gaping at me for a few seconds before he got the idea and shuffled off back to whatever corner he came from. Carl laughs when these episodes happen because he loves to rub it in that I had an "admirer."

The rest of the night went by uneventfully. I dropped in at Amsterdam and enjoyed the crowd at the bar. I peeked into The Spot and found two people in there. Still no one dances on Amsterdam Avenue. The two people inside the place were locked into a long kissing embrace leaned up against the bar. I turned around and went back over to the Amsterdam side. I talked to a staffer and asked how The Spot was doing and he said, "you saw it." So I take it to mean that things are not going so well at The Spot. I wonder how long they will continue to try with that side of the building?

Phone calls and I declined the invite to Blake's. I never will like that place and I have tried so many years. 'To each his/her own' they say. I went back to BJs and shot pool. The crowd had thinned and friends joined us after leaving Blake's. It was approaching 2AM so we all left and decided to crash a straight bar. This has become a new habit of late. We have been going over to the Toco Hills Shopping Center on North Druid Hills and mixing it up with the Emory crowd at Maggie's and Famous Pub.

While ordering drinks I pan to my left and see a fellow family member that was not part of our party. I had noticed him earlier at BJs. I remembered him not for his looks or winning personality but because of the lime green long sleeve shirt that he was wearing. It was memorable and not in a good way. He had preceded us to Famous Pub and was sitting a couple of stools over. I struck up a conversation with him and he also remembered our party from BJs. He was friendly enough but bristled at the idea of him joining our table. I suppose he wanted to hunt alone and not join the most obvious group of gays in the joint.

More gays came shortly thereafter. It was a group of four guys that I had seen at Amsterdam, they had come to shoot pool. The place was getting to be 25% gay by my estimation. I might have been off since I never have been good with math and I was somewhere in the neighborhood of six drinks. I knew we probably would not be the only gays in the place since we were introduced to it a month ago by other gays.

Lights came up on the night at 3:30 AM and we said our goodbyes with hugs in the parking lot. The pretty birds had all flown.

The Coffee Stained Road

The Dallas, Texas skyline. Photo by me, June 2007.

Coffee does make the world go around. I would never crawl out of bed on Saturdays or any other day if I could not have coffee. 

 

My 35th birthday arrived. It strangely greeted me with a hand tremor in my right hand as I attempted to reply to emails. It was a little disturbing to see my hand shake involuntarily and to not be able to control a mouse. Perhaps it was too much coffee for my entire life or the alcohol of Friday night? Google had answers that I did not like. I will have to consult all of the Filipino RNs I know and see what they have to say. Given my family's medical history I should be concerned, but often I overlook my health and unfortunately I am no longer at the age to be able to do that. I am a mortal being it seems and that is not the best revelation for a Saturday morning or any morning.

I have the opportunity to take a road trip next month from Atlanta to San Jose, California. A friend is moving out there and is asking for my assistance in driving a UHAUL across the country. This will be the second friend I have had move to San Jose in the past six months. Strange considering I never hear much of San Jose and now two friends that do not know each other both end up suddenly moving from Atlanta to there. It would get me out to the Bay Area and I suppose could meander up to San Francisco for a couple of days before flying back home. It is something to consider and could turn out to either be lots of fun or one hellacious trip. 

 

The longest road trip I have ever done was the 14 hour drive to Toronto last year and that was not in a UHAUL. I have my reservations about going, but I am not one to turn down travel if I can possibly do it. There is something romantic about being in a car or in this case a truck and driving across the country. It is one of those things that I have wanted to do just to say that I have done it. Then again, the romance of the trip would probably wear off by the time I got to Texas. I remember driving out to Dallas last year and I by the time I got to Shreveport, Louisiana I was going only on BP coffee and cigarettes. My right foot was numb for about a day after from pressing the accelerator and I hobbled up and down Cedar Springs Road my entire visit.

I need to tackle my inbox. I have emails sitting there needing a reply from January. One thing I have prided myself since going online in 1996 was in answering emails. Then again, I may just take a shower and go to BJs.

The Sock Capital

Fort Payne, Alabama. February 2008. Photo by me.

 

Recently, I was listening to All Things Considered on NPR which aired a story on the Sock Capital of the World, Fort Payne Alabama. The story told of how duty-free imports of socks had put the sock capital into decline as American factories were no longer able to compete with cheaper imported socks. Fort Payne struggled with empty mills and a faced a not so promising future. Some new industry has returned to the city of over 12,000 people but many of the 4,000 mill workers that lost jobs were forced to take lower paying jobs in the service sector. 

February 2008. Photo by me.

 

February 2008. Photo by me.

February 2008. Photo by me.

February 2008. Photo by me.

February 2008. Photo by me.

Downtown Fort Payne is a typical quaint southern small/big town with red brick buildings that indicate a more prosperous time in the not-so-distant past. Today those buildings house insurance offices, antique shops and various other small businesses. 

 

Fort Payne nearing I-59. February 2008. Photo by me.

I passed through the town and had an early Sunday dinner. The busiest part of Fort Payne was away from the town center and out by Interstate 59 which passes by on its way to Chattanooga or Birmingham. In that area you find the Walmart, hospital and other new chain developments you would find in most any other American town.

February 2008. Photo by me.

Fort Payne is also the hometown of the country/southern rock band Alabama that was most popular in the 1980s.

I wonder how many other Fort Payne's are scattered across this country. Towns that had one main manufacturing industry that was destroyed through the global marketplace.

 

Related: NPR story on Fort Payne

DeSoto Falls, Alabama

Photo by me, November 2007.

Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto explored the southeastern portions of what is now the United States in the 1500s. He is considered to be the first European explorer to widely travel into these areas. It is not uncommon to find landmarks named for him across the south. One of those places is DeSoto Falls located in DeKalb County, Alabama. The falls are a part of the DeSoto State Park located on Lookout Mountain in northeastern Alabama.

Photo by me, November 2007.

Photo by me, November 2007.

The waterfall descends 104 feet into a large pool. There are hiking trails in the area to seek out other vantage points but you can also walk right along the top of these falls too. You can get precariously close with only a haphazard metal railing to keep you from going over a sheer cliff. The rocks along the top can become slick in wet weather. As the sign in the photo reads, "dangerous overlook."

Photo by me, November 2007.

There is a nice view also only marred by a house. Photo by me, November 2007.

Photo by me, November 2007.

The forces of the water have carved the face of the earth through the rocks as the water dives from the cliff into the large pool below.

Photo by me, November 2007.

Above the main falls in a smaller set of falls and above that is a dam with water flowing over the top. This dam was the first hydroelectric damn built in northern Alabama. The dam was constructed in 1925.

Walk In The Dark

November 2007. Photo by me.

It was chilly and the smell of dead leaves was intoxicating as I decided to take a walk around Atlantic Station on Sunday night. I do love the smell of dead leaves in the Fall and to look at the buildings that comprise our city or any city for that matter. I pulled on my Winter wool coat tucked my camera in my pocket and escaped into the night.

 
I walked through the park like area that lies in the divide of 17th Street. The bridge is a good place to take in the pond, fountain, Millennium Gate that is under construction and the Atlantic condo building. The bothersome part is the fence that prevents people from getting close to the pond or shall I say retention pond. Why have the pond if people are not allowed to lounge next to it on a Spring or Summer afternoon? I dislike having this pond or any other water feature that is 'look but do not touch.' I do not imagine you would see people fishing or swimming in the pond should you be able to stand next to it without a fence between you and the water. On second thought, there is something to be said for a lack of common sense these days. This was a brownfield site at one time.


I sat on a bench on the north side of 17th Street for a few minutes and fiddled with the settings on my camera. A few cars flew past my back and the thought entered my mind that as Atlantans we treat every piece of paved road as a racetrack. If we are not creeping along in thick traffic we are pretending we are in hot pursuit of a criminal or are running from the police ourselves.

A young couple or two strolled past arm in arm, a women jabbered into her cell phone with a small dog on a leash, and a man was hurrying his dog up to do his business before he returned to the warmth and television that awaited him inside. Other than the young couples and me enjoying the forty degree November night air it seemed everyone else was in the typical rush of life. People never seem to disconnect with the technology of modern life to see what exists around them.

November 2007. Photo by me.

I continued walking east on 17th up past the Millennium Gate and came upon the Justice monument. There is little in the way of justice these days so a monument to it is about all you will find. On the opposite side of 17th there is the Peace monument. It is fitting that they are on opposite sides of the street as justice and peace do not always agree or go hand in hand. 

I was adequately chilled by this point in my walk in the dark. More car traffic whizzed by as I passed the district with the movie theater. People came and went between the buildings and for this late on a Sunday night I was surprised to see people out doing the 'live/work/play' routine.

I moved on taking little notice of the boring glass towers that stand on the north side of 17th. It was the Midtown and Downtown skyline across the interstate that was the focus of my attention.

November 2007. Photo by me.

I could stand all night on the 17th Street bridge and look at the buildings. Day or night the Atlanta skyline, symbol of Atlanta's boom and my own personal pride, is an aquarium. I look at the buildings and imagine the inhabitants sleeping, eating, working and surfing the internet much as fish would do in an aquarium; could they use a computer.

After a few minutes, I thought better of lingering on the bridge lest someone think I was a jumper or up to some nefarious plot. We are all suspects, all the time, in the modern American mind. Never trust those that are not plugged into the rush and technology or are not pretending to consume something. Air and beauty do not qualify as modern consumption, you must partake in sort some transaction at all times when in public -you know, keep the economy afloat for the capitalists. Do not think...just remember your programming.

My walk in the dark ended as I headed back to my gas-guzzling and oversized car. My stomach was empty of the Subway that I had for dinner and my cravings turned to McDonalds. Or was it the radio commercial talking in my head?

 

Sex Degrees of Separation

After secretly reading one local gay Atlanta blogger for the past couple of years I finally put two and two together.

I had a sneaky feeling that I had encountered this person in real life. The words on the screen read like words that had been poured into my ears over the thumping bass of a dark dance club. I kept thinking that I had to know the person based on what bars he frequents and that in gay Atlanta it is typically less than sex six degrees of separation. I read more and then a nagging feeling grew over me that the encounter was an unpleasant one. My suspicions were realized when this blogger posted photos of himself from a recent vacation.

I remember the night well, when at Heretic I met this fellow gay Atlanta blogger. I was prowling Heretic alone with a beer in hand and the requisite cigarette in the other. Suddenly a man in his mid to late forties approaches me and drags me over to his friends of the same age. I sized them up as shallow, snotty queens that I wouldn't give a second of thought, much less stand next to and attempt a conversation that didn't start with "Have you seen the Fall collection for..."

Having been injected into this uber gay circle of people like a dose of healthy reality, I introduced myself out of politeness.  I see judgement lingering in the wrinkles around their puffy eyes. The guy that created this situation and wanted in my pants begins his seduction of me with his attempts to impress me with his career and alleged comfort level in life.

Yawwwn. My Bud Light was getting warm.

I have never slept with a person based on their job nor for the size of their condo/house/wallet. My dick does not react to dollar bills. I have slept with men for the simple reason that they were attractive and made my dick hard. All I have to do is think back to the hot Argentinian Publix cashier from Roswell. I am not for sale because I am having a drink in a bar where men like to go and have sex on a pool table. Yes, I've spent my time in the pool room, but it was not a financial transaction just one of mutual lust, heat and alcohol.

The guy steps up his offers to take me home, dinner, vacation, he was pulling out all the stops to lure me. I smiled and refused and refused even more. Fortunately my drink went dry and before he could offer a refill I sprinted out of the circle of pretentious queens into the sweaty throng of shirtless men.

His blog makes much more sense to me now that I know who is and having met him. I can see the fucker sitting on the other side of his Apple exuberantly tapping keys with a smug look on his face, absorbed in his own self-satisfaction while an empty house behind him closes in on him like a noose.

R.I.P. Hoedowns

Hoedowns Atlanta. June 2007. Photo by me.

 

Interesting times we live in when yet another gay bar closes, this time Hoedowns and it wasn't the nasty disease of gentrification that put this horse down. Management problems, legal woes, negative publicity, community reaction and a whole host of other issues put Atlanta's only in-town country gay bar six feet under.

The Hoedown's motto was, "can't keep a good hoe down." Well, apparently you can't keep a bad hoe open either.

As of Monday the club is closed and there's no indication that it will reopen. The contents inside the darkened doors are headed for auction. The bar was facing eviction by the management of Midtown Promenade prior to the closure.

Messages posted on the Hoedowns' Myspace account allege that the bar is changing ownership and that it will reopen soon. It does seem unlikely that it will happen at the old location in the Midtown Promenade Shopping Center on Monroe Drive. Should it reopen it appears that it will have to find a new space.

Since changing owners the bar had drifted away from an all-country format in favor of drag shows and a mix of more typical dance music. Those changes had resulted in longtime fans of the bar to leave and a new crowd to take their place. Ben Elliot the manager and son of one of the owners had taken flack for the changes. Mr. Elliott's political contributions to GOP candidates and multiple lawsuits against him for his other business activities had brought even more negative attention to the struggling bar. It was not but just a few days ago that the headlining drag act,Charlie Brown, had parted ways with the bar. The major change in the cast of the drag show had signaled that the writing was on the urinal wall that Hoedowns' days were numbered.

Most recently a dispute between Ben Elliott and partial owner Roy Edward Howard over a missed loan payment led the Fulton County Marshall's office to execute a Writ of Possession order on the bar. The court document granted sole possession of the contents inside the bar to Roy Edward Howard. On Monday the locks were changed and the bar officially closed. Employees and patrons were given no notice of the closing and were left to wonder about the bar's future.

So now there is a void in Atlanta's gay nightlife scene. There is no gay country bar inside the Perimeter. The only other gay country bar in metro Atlanta is Stage Door located in Tucker. The closing of Hoedowns is the third Atlanta gay bar to close in 2007. The Phoenix closed when the owner died during a battle with the city over its' liquor license. Red Chair closed in March when owner Brad Williams moved the entertainment lineup to his other bar, Jungle off of Cheshire Bridge Road.

Ben Elliott had been a controversial figure during his short time on the Atlanta gay nightlife scene. It began in December of 2006 when he hired Shirley Q. Liquor to perform at a private party at WETbar. That decision has since lead to a feud in the Atlanta drag community that at times has been publicly nasty.

Ben Elliott told Southern Voice as his parting words to our city and community, "The next step is say goodbye to Atlanta — find a place to relocated to and get the hell out of Atlanta.”

As Mr. Elliott licks his wounds and runs off to some other city there are many in Atlanta's nightlife world that would like to tell him, "don't let the Downtown Connector hit you in the ass."

Incognito

People love to talk about other people. Gays are the kings or queens of gossip. Joan Rivers move over sweetie you are nothing compared to a gay man with a drink in his hand and a secret to tell.

Here a few secrets I've been told, forwarded links to, or witnessed myself in the last few months. These are the secret lives of some of Midtown's biggest queens.

-The next time I see a certain potato queen sing Christina Aguilera's Beautiful at Burkharts' karaoke I will always envision them in drag posting ads on Craigslist claiming to be a virgin. Yet, they somehow know all the dark corners of the Heretic pool room.

-The next time I see an aging event planner with a drug habit and criminal record I'll always think of them as the person claiming to still be in their 20s on their internet profiles. Which might have been true 20 years ago.

-The next time I see a certain super thin drag queen I'll be thinking of them rushed to a Perimeter area hospital in drag suffering from a drug overdose.

-The next time I see a staffer that works at a club south of Cheshire Bridge I'll think of how bad their reputation is amongst the community and how they like to deny their heritage. I'll also be thinking of how determined yet unsuccessful they were in trying to get me in bed.

-The next time I see a certain vegan stripper I'll think of their struggling musical career and how their recording studio went bankrupt even though they claim the city shut them down.

Joy Wall

Photo by me, March 2007.

On a cold and windy January night, early morning as it was past midnight, I left the Masquerade and walked down Angier Avenue. I was walking back to the car when I noticed these pieces of street art or as others might call them graffiti. I didn't have my camera with me at the time and hoped that these pieces would not get covered over.

Photo by me, March 2007.

Photo by me, March 2007.

 

Last week I was back at the Masquerade, again in the early morning hours, and snapped a few photos.

I was surprised to see these, but then again they are hidden away off North Avenue in a rundown area.

The paintings bring to mind the sound of Joy Division.

I love grittiness.

Enter The Past

 

Hell level in the Masquerade. March 2007. Photo by me.

 

I did Saturday night backwards. First I went to Jungle instead of ending up there last. Mark Tarbox was the imported DJ of the night. The crowd was sparse, but it was only 10:30. The crowd always magically appears around midnight.

Paula is always a good source of conversation and entertainment for the first hour and a half. She was in a fabulous black gown and had feathers in her hair. She'd spent the afternoon rehearsing for a pageant. We talked, drank and smoked.

On cue the boys appeared at midnight, shirts came off and wham it was a hot party. If this is any indication of the warm weather season then it will be one long hot Summer to come.

The crowd was peaking when we started planning our next move for the night. With a lesbian in the group we decided against Swinging Richards. Halo was debated.

When someone walks by and starts a conversation with, "hey, I know you." It is either a bad pickup line or an old trick. In this case it was an old trick. I was sitting waiting on the gang to exit the restroom at Jungle when the old trick strutted past and stopped on a dime in front of me.

"Yes, you do know me," I replied with a smile. Not a smile that would indicate I was thrilled to see the person but just more a friendly 'how's it going' kind of smile.

Before I let the conversation go further than 'how are you' and 'what are you doing here.' I let him know that I wasn't alone and was leaving. I gave him a hug, passed him a word of goodbye and was off to retrieve my jacket from coat check.

Thinking back I probably came off short with Andre but I had to go and I wasn't in the mood to play the game of catch up with him. At the time I was thinking about that black leather sofa, the night swimming and the late nights we had played in the dark. Those nights were some of my last wild ones on Cheshire Bridge. That was the summer which I cared for no one, not even myself. It was a bottom for me that had me strolling in a world full of dangerous men. I was more witness than participant and he was the key that opened that door. He connected me to people that moved in circles reminiscent of Traumnovelle. He was a seductive pawn that moved too fast. One week of knowing him and he'd planned our lives down to the pet. His gym-built body had kept me in a trance and around long enough to see more than I wanted. He was all fun in a bad way.

That summer closed and I got free of him. I let him know it wasn't going anywhere, stopped returning calls and kept my eyes open at Heretic and Jungle to avoid contact. Until Jungle last Saturday night I hadn't seen him in a year. That time prior he was with an aging rice queen with a spanking and diaper fetish. Thanks to my Korean connection for that juicy piece of useless gossip.

Enter the Masquerade for Spark at 1AM. Outside I pass two stick figure queers. One says to the other, "that was one lame party." I figure well I won't have to wait in line for a drink then.

Clawing through the plastic strips hanging from the entrance I'm almost run over by a leprechaun or a poor imitation of Peter Pan. It was in green and angry I know that.

Hell had six people dancing. Since they've moved the drag show up to Purgatory it really seemed disjointed. Purgatory is a strange space to perform anyhow with that weird wooden deck structure. Most of the crowd was up on there. I took one look and went back to where I belong, in Hell.

We found a sofa, inhaled our drinks and vacated.

I voted a return to Jungle but lost in a stolen election. Like Gore I ended up in Amsterdam shooting pool. It was a horrible case of global stinking from the people playing pool next to us. Someone was wearing a dirty diaper and looked as if they'd just crawled out from under a urinal at that once cruisy gas station on Sheridan.

I was the next to last person out the door at Amsterdam. We proceeded on to the late night secret drinking destination. I belted out a Billy Joel classic, ate some damn good fried chicken and smuggled beer out in my jacket.

End night.

Playtime

In the previous twelve hours I had torn a pink streak through Arkansas, Mississippi and then Memphis. I was ready to return to more familiar territory like Nashville.

It was raining as I hurried along the sidewalks of the Nashville's West End neighborhood Saturday night. My destination was Play , I'd been here last summer and was looking forward to my return to this gay club.

I was soaked but quickly dried off inside in the mass of people watching the drag show and the Vanderbilt college boys out on the dance floor.

Boys,boys,boys!

It wasn't long before I made new momentary friends. A group of people joined me and I was quickly in the middle of an amateur table dance. Jackson was down to a dental floss thong faster than I could finish a beer.

He might have been twenty years old, built, smooth and a helluva dancer. I think I lost a few dollar bills into his crotch at some point.

Laura the straight girl in the group acting as momma tried in vain to get Jackson's clothes back on him. Those hens, they are always trying to end the fun in the name of what they consider decency.

More drunk hens came along. This time at Play there were more hens than last. I was quite disappointed in that. Hens can ruin a good bar.

"Well, of course this is Nashville," was the response I got from Laura in talking with her about how much more friendly people seemed here versus Atlanta.

Apparently people in smaller cities are more friendly? Maybe so. I've been in gay bars in lots of smaller cities and found them more friendly than Atlanta overall. Outside the gay bars I don't presume to know if Nashville is more friendly or not. But in two visits to gay Nashville I have found the people to be mostly a friendly bunch of people that like to party.

Part of going out is to meet new people if only for one night. I'm not talking about sex I am talking about hearing stories and experiences from people that I wouldn't normally meet in the normal course of living. And mix in alcohol and music and people are more open to talking to strangers.

I love to interview new people that I meet. I'm full of questions and some people may be put off by it . I like to know more about people and situations than what exists on the surface. I love to know their motivations. I've always heard that people like to talk about themselves and I test that theory all the time. I've been surprised that many people don't really want to talk about themselves and just want to control conversations by talking about the people around them instead of themselves. That is boring.

Later in the night Dustin, an 18yo from Clarkesville, came along. He sat in the interview seat, smoked and sipped a Cosmo that someone had bought for him. He was a good guest. He was willing to talk about anything freely.

His motivation for the night was to find love. He had come out with a coworker from Aeropostale that he had a crush on. His heart was breaking as his crush was out dancing with his ex boyfriend instead of him.

At eighteen he was already over the men, the sluts and just wanted to have a boyfriend.

He was out to his parents since last summer, came to Play every weekend, and seemed a little naive. When I mentioned some of things we have in Atlanta like sex clubs he was blown away that such things even existed. It was hard for him to wrap his mind around the idea that men gathered in a building just for sex without the dancing.

I guess Dustin was a romantic. I parted with him just before closing time. We hugged and he called us all gorgeous. Air kisses anyone?

Voices filled the air and slipped across the wet streets, the rain was over and my buzz was lifting. We debated on going to the after hours clubs that go until daybreak but noon comes early at the hotel and I was determined to make check out and head southward.

Nashville for the second time in less than a year entertained me well.