"Please Don't Act So Gay, You're Embarrassing Me."

When I was much younger there was this guy I was dating who said "I don't know how you do it, being out and still have a successful career? I mean, you're so GAY!"   It was one of those baffling comments in my life.  I mean how else can I be? I don't know how to be "less gay."  Why would being "out" preclude failure?  How would I be less "gay"? Would mean sleeping with men less? Or sleeping with women more. Maybe just saying "no" to penis or just closing my eyes should one come within my field of vision. 

Recently I was volunteering at very gay event, and a fellow volunteer, a young acquaintance, said to me "Please don't act so gay, you're embarrassing me." Lately, I seem to be encountering this attitude among many of the gays under 30 that I know.  There seems to be a fetishism among them for "straight acting men" or "masculine men". In my opinion, masculine is anyone who has a penis (or wishes that they do). But whatever, if you think a guy who grabs his crotch and spits tobacco is "masculine" you're free to ask him out on a date. However, I refuse to fit into some adolescents view of what masculinity is about. 

What I do have a problem with is the active, vocal disdain they show for those of us who are "too gay".  The active discussions online about "how those fairies at gay pride embarrass all of us." and "how straights will never accept us if some of us act like women and wear drag."  You know, there will always be people who for whatever reason cannot or choose not to conform to societal standards.  Trust me they are fully aware that they do not "fit in" to our societal norms of masculinity, gender or heterosexuality.  This idea, that if we're all "good little boys" wearing Banana Republic khaki's with polo shirts, with freshly scrubbed faces and a pair of oxfords, that all of sudden gay people will stop getting bullied and we'll be welcomed into society as "normal" people.   

I have lived my life out in the open since it was safe to do so after high school.  I am not the most masculine guy in the world, nor am I particularly effeminate, (not that there's a problem with that.) What I am, and what most people understand after they meet me is that I'm a big GAY.  Not in an in-your-face kind of way, but in an accept-me-as-I-am kind of way.  I work hard, I am a professional, but I do not hide who I am in order to achieve status in my career or in my community.  So to have some 20 somethings think they can take us all back to some defeatist, loser high school mentality is absolutely ridiculous.  

"If we look like them and imitate them they'll accept us." Well, trying to look and act like "straight" men is a self-defeating tactic. At the end of the day, whether your dress in drag or not, straight people will see you as gay and will act according to their own judgments and biases. This idea of trying suppress those of us who fall outside normal gender norms to make heterosexuals more comfortable is really just another type of closet, and just as unhealthy and suffocating. 

Come on people!  Gay is about the "fabulous".  It's about being in the know about things that make our lives better: art, food, friends, culture, travel. It's about living outside societal norms and shopping at funky stores instead of buying furniture at Rooms-To-Go. It's not about a pair of Bass Weejuns but a John Varvatos Chukkah.  Why would I want to be like straight guys with their wrinkled button downs and surfer shorts? Why would I want to be like my oppressors?  Gay is about the freedom to "be" without having to carry the stifling baggage the straight guys have to.  As gay men we can choose whatever gender role we want and never have to prove our  masculinity.  We are masculine because we define our own masculinity whether it's wearing khakis, leather or glitter wings.

On a final note: what difference does it to you make if I act too "gay"? I have earned my rightful place in my community.  I watched a generation of men die because of government indifference. I have been arrested for being just being "gay." I have been told by a majority of fellow Floridians that "you cannot marry the one you love."  So don't tell me I need to be less "gay."  I am going to the biggest, homo around, and I'm going to love all my gay brothers in all of their rainbow varieties!  If you don't like it, I'm sure Rooms-To-Go can make a very boring closet for you. 

Afro-Cuban deities are swirling all around you and you don't even realize it.

So I am sitting in the office of a potential client and a casually look at shelf above the cubicle and notice two little statues and a wine glass half filled with water.  Now it would be disingenuous of me to to say I didn't recognize Santeria when I saw it. While I was not entirely clear whether I was looking at Santa Barbara(Chango) or La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre(Ochun), what was weird was that I found it completely normal to see these deities in their Catholic disguises. Just chalk it up to another day in Miami. 

As you live and work in Miami there are small signs of Santeria everywhere. Last night at the gas station in Coral Gables, I saw man dressed entirely in white linen. Young, handsome, Latino, stylish? No. Not stylish but a Santero in a new Lexus celebrating the summer solstice. How could I tell? Stylish guys can wear all white....but the white shoes will always give a Santero away. The rule my grandma said about white shoes: no matter what outfit you wear them with, even naked, all they'll remember are the white shoes. 

Do NOT Eat, it's for Ochun!

You can breezily live in Miami and not see the signs of Santeria everywhere: walk along almost any sea wall along Biscayne Bay and look into the shallows. Chances are you'll offerings to the saints in the form of plates, filled with coins, candles, and silverware. By Mercy Hospital it looks like the china set of the Andrea Doria washed ashore, along with the coins from the penny arcade. I've been tempted to refill my coffers with the money offered to the saint since the money is cast directly behind the Ermita De La Caridad del Cobre, 3609 S. Miami Ave. She is the patron saint of Cuba and another guise for Ochun: the Yoruba Lady of Love, Beauty, and Sexuality, and Spirit of Fresh Water.

These are not paperweights.

There are little rituals you may notice: a dead chicken with candles on a sidewalk in Coral Gables, a person sprinkling rum and blowing cigar smoke in a new accounting office on Brickell or an 8 foot statue of San Lazaro (Babaluaye) in the foyer of a McMansion in Doral.  In Miami you see these things, process them and move along.  Initially, when I took my son for a sleepover at house mentioned above, I mentioned to my husband, "how sweet, they have a statue of Joseph in the entryway. They must be good Catholics." I got a kick in the shin and the sleepover ended at 11PM. 

In any case, we Miamians are often accused of superficiality. That we are a city of "bad values" raising up material goods above those of the soul. That we are city of sinners and sexual libertines. That god wears Gucci here. But I can guarantee, in many corners of our homes, offices and public spaces the Yoruba gods are watching over us. They are Miamians and blessing us with beauty, sunshine, love and happiness. 

Run Gurl, it's a Hurricane, not a Cannibal.

Ok, I know we're obsessing over cannibals and zombies and stuff and I'll admit those weren't part of my emergency preparedness plans. However, hurricane season is decidedly early this year and a few of my friends who have moved here recently have asked whether they should really be prepared for a storm. They ask whether hurricanes are really a "big deal".

I just want to say in one word: yes. But not for the reasons that 'hurricane virgins" might expect.  

Hurricane virgins picture themselves strapping themselves to palm trees in hopes of not washing away by the massive storm surge and super-powerful winds that promises to scrub the sand of those evil sinners on South Beach. 

Those of who have experienced actual hurricanes understand what they really mean: a load of discomfort and headaches. Discomfort in the idea that there is no potable water,  electricity, TV, cable, internet, cell phones, A/C, fresh food, or ice anywhere from a day to several weeks after the storm.  In some cases your neighborhood has been so altered that you can't find your own home because of the destruction. In a worst case scenario you have no home to come back to.  I know that doesn't compare to being eaten by a cannibal on South Beach but it pretty much sucks. If you become a zombie, then I think homelessness is just part of the job description. 

So I have a few suggestions about hurricane survival.

1. Traditionally, in areas that were swampland prior to development, i.e. New Orleans and Miami, the oldest neighborhoods are tend to have the most height above sea level.  Hence, Downtown, Coconut Grove, Coral Gables, City of Miami, and Miami Shores.  These areas are also, surprisingly, the wealthiest areas. It seems also that the oldest homes tend to fare better in hurricanes. So my primary advice is: MAKE A FRIEND WHO OWNS A BIG OLD HOUSE IN A WEALTHY OLD NEIGHBORHOOD. This usually applies to anybody who lives a southern coastal area threatened by hurricanes. 

2. Spending a week with a wealthy friend in a lovely Coral Gables Manse is nice. Make sure that friend you choose is not annoying.  Because if they're the slightest bit annoying with power and water, imagine them without A/C and hungry. DO NOT SHELTER IN A HOME WITH AN ANNOYING PERSON. 

3. If you find you don't have a local option. Find a friend in a nearby area that is not in the "cone of probability".  Learn about the "cone of probability". Basically LEAVE TOWN and stay outside the "cone".

4. OK, if you think the idea of sleeping in a cot (if you're lucky) in a high school gymnasium is your idea of a good time by all means evacuate to a local shelter.  Be fully aware that nursing homes, the incontinent, people with no friends, annoying people, smelly people, will all be there. I promise you it's no party. When the storm hits, you get locked in and there is a sheriff there to keep you there until "the emergency has passed".  You are on lockdown for a minimum of 12 to 48 hours. FIND A BETTER PLACE TO STAY THAN A SHELTER.

5. Easiest thing to do: STAY IN A BIG HOTEL IN ORLANDO.  The turnpike is wide open and there are no tolls charged during an evacuation. Relax, get a massage and go to the buffet.  I hear the Country Bear Jamboree plays right through most storms.

Good luck people and hope all the storms just head on up to South Carolina or Alabama (they have God to protect them.)

He Shot Him Once, But Kept On Eating the Man's Face

I know there must be some kind of Miami metaphor there, man eats off another man's face.  As usual the concurrence of events, thoughts and national trends lead us right here to our own backyard.  I had to ask myself why does this story have such traction? Why has it caught national attention for more than just one news cycle? I gave it a lot thought and this is what I came up with:

1. The "South Beach Cannibal" story (BTW it happened quite far away from South Beach) of course associating cannibalism with a place where celebrities come to stay is a great way to catch a readers attention. As if another man chewing off a man's face wasn't enough....the media had to add some kind of geographic hyperbole.

2. The Zombie Zietgeist.  As the Twilight series fades, zombies are always just in the background waiting to emerge as the horror-du-jour.  Shows like Zombieland, Resident Evil and AMC's Walking Dead feed into our national paranoia about zombies.

3. Zombie Apocalypse.  Survivalists, the NRA and makers of axes and expensive kitchen knives are anxious for some kind of apocalypse, why not a zombie one? Hurricane supplies........nah apocalypse supplies!

4. National craze for plastic surgery! I recently went to a party with a group of "women of a certain age". I could swear that they could use someone to eat off all that excess junk placed in lips and cheeks. Don't know when the "monkey face" look became popular with aging Caucasian women, but it looked bad.  Why not get your insurance company to pay for that nose job.....lay down under a bridge, wake up with a new face.  

5. Nudity: Any crime committed in the nude, cannibal or otherwise will make national headlines. 

6. No fat people were involved in this story. 

7. What are those crazy kids sticking up their noses today?  Bath Salts....wow...Calgon take me away.

So those are my theories why this story has "legs".   Hmmm, I'm feeling peckish..... 

Soft Bigotry of Low Expectations*

"Well son, don't even try. I'll always be better."

You know it doesn't matter how old, successful, rich or fabulous you become, a single well constructed phrase by a septuagenarian parent can make you revert to that frustrated little child who couldn't catch the ball when it was thrown at him.  It wasn't that I couldn't catch the ball, it's just that I didn't see the point of it. I was the kind of kid who liked to climb rocks and trees and wear his mother's make-up. While I still climb rocks and trees, make-up lost it's allure a long time ago.  

Yet on some level, I still seek my father's approval, or maybe his acceptance, or even praise.  My father is a very charismatic, interesting, fun individual: and therein lies the problem. He's all light and energy but still knows how to show you he's the dad.  While he charms you with his stories of his travels in Spain, or regales his life in the glamorous travel industry, he's waiting. He's  looking for a moment to make a turn of phrase intended as a casual aside. A short phrase that makes it clear that whatever you accomplish in life, he'll make sure that it doesn't equate to anything he's done. It will be a comment that is missed by the entire party, an offhand remark directed at you that says "I'll always be better than you".

This weeks phrase: "Oh, you work for a company? I thought you just went out and knocked on doors to sell your product. Like a an independent contractor." Basically, my successful run in software sales has just been reduced to a Kirby vacuum cleaner salesman or the Fuller Brush Man. 

When I realized I was gay, I felt I "opted out" of my parents expectations.  That I would be free to chose my own path because being gay erased all expectations that my parents might have had for me. Yet here I am at 44, just like when I was 14 torturing myself about what I had to do to meet his expectations. I realize now, he never really had any expectations of me, only that I do not eclipse him, in any way. 

Why when I leave any gathering with my parents that I have to remind myself that I am happy, successful,  have great friends, and a wonderful husband and family. I'm not defined by work, but I do a good job earn more money than I ever hoped to earn. I spend a week giving myself affirmations. I recall that my only real goal in life was not to be fat. 

44 years into this relationship with him, I realize that we could never be friends. I know this because I know him, I've been watching him for 44 years. Yet, we're family and family is about forgiveness and acceptance.  I'm sure I've got a few more years to work on that.....




*I chose the title from a phrase coined by Micheal Gerson used extensively by President George W. Bush. I chose this phrase because I think Bush is an asshole. You can extrapolate that into the current state of my paternal relationship. 

Straight Men, I Salute You.

I never realized how hard it was to be a heterosexual male until this week. The burdens they carry, the patience they have, the strength they develop.  Don't get me wrong, as a Gay man I love women. However, as a gay man I can love women "in theory" or "in small doses". I don't live day in and day out with one.   So while I respect and adore the feminine sex, I can do it from a safe distance. 

That is until I decided to take my mother and aunt to Spain with me for a week. I'm not complaining, their company was extremely enjoyable and the two of them were quite content to "do their own thing" most of the time. Also, because they were "women of a certain age" they went to bed shortly after dinner(12AM by Spanish standards) which allowed my husband and me to enjoy Spain's nightlife without a Maggie Smith type nearby. 

So I started the week of my vacation in Sevilla, Spain. As we walked though the cathedrals and museums I began to notice a few things about the men around me, not the gay ones, but the straight ones. The first thing I noticed as the day progressed, is that at some point, the woman had handed over her purse, "so she could tie her shoe" or "adjust her skirt". The man, being a gentleman, initially held it like a smelly fish. As the day progressed, I would notice that the purse had found itself held snugly in his armpit while the wife/girlfriend would become unencumbered and begin to accumulate more.  At that point I was a proud gay man and thought, "geez, I'm glad I don't have to lug one of those around."(purse not wife)  The guys became completely indifferent to the purse. In fact, I almost expected guys to go up to each other and say something like "I love the bag, where did you get it?"

The second thing I noticed about hanging out for long stretches with women is this compulsion to shop. This excitement when one approaches a small shop full of bright things, don't get it. I don't understand the need to go into every single store. Worse, was the need to show the guy "the cute thing for aunt Mary" and his fake acknowledgement that it actually was cute. He doesn't really care does he? I mean I'm GAY and I don't care. 

The constant flow of information, judgments and critiques of every woman around them. "She's fat, look at that outfit, I love\hate her shoes, outfit, etc. etc.".  Men are invisible at this point. I mean, the straight guys are scoping out the women and the women are too. It's simply exhausting.  

Finally, the constant lugging. Women are incredibly adept at acquiring and then just asking "can you hold this for a minute" and two hours later you're carrying her purse, the shopping bags full of crap, leftovers whatever. You're loaded down, and you're expected to carry it, even over your objections. 

So at the end of the week I found myself carrying a purse, listening to the endless flow of communication of feelings, fashion sense, and physical complaints, looking at gewgaws, and lugging luggage that grew heavier by the purchase. I could only salute my heterosexual brethren in their duties to their women. Because, being a straight guy with a woman is a lot of work. 

Military Eavesdropping in Miami

For five years I lived in San Diego, California.  San Diego is unique in that the entire area is dotted with military bases. Military life infuses the culture, the way of life, the soul of the city.  Anywhere you live in the city, it is very likely one or more of your neighbors is either active military or some kind of military contractor.  Hence the sensitivity you acquire for the challenges military families face and an appreciation of what they do and the service they offer to the country.

The military presence in Miami is small, with the exception of the Southern Command in Doral, you can sometimes see the soldiers jogging shirtless along 36th street during the lunch hour. Not a bad sight. Of course there's fleet week....but that's more of a Lauderdale thing.  

Anyway, I was having breakfast at La Carreta on 8th street this morning and as I was being seated I saw this extremely attractive young man sitting at the table behind me. He may have been in his mid to late twenties. He was with an older gentleman, father perhaps, and he was talking about is experiences since returning from Afghanistan.  I could only catch bits and pieces of his conversation but he became very emotional about his "homecoming".  The one thing that struck him, were his experiences in college since he returned. He said: "people don't thank me for my service, the first thing they ask me about my experiences in Afghanistan was how many people I killed." His handsome brow wrinkles in frustration. " I mean I can understand a 10 year old asking that kind of question, but adults?" His eyes mist, he excuses himself and goes to the restroom. 

At that point I teared up too. I could see this young man in pain, that he could be my son, or anyone's son. He  volunteered his life, freedom so that we could have ours.  How have we as a society, become so insensitive to the sacrifices that our veterans, which walk among us in our own tropical urban jungle, make for us.  I can't remember feeling such shame for my fellow Americans who have caused this guy so much pain. 

There is an etiquette for asking people about their military service.  It's simple: Thank you, thank you, thank you, for your service. 

Hurray. Gentrification is here. Mid-Century Modern meets the next century.

Well, I guess it was just a matter of time before it got here. Like a warm breeze creeping up from downtown. sweeping away adult bookstores, prostitutes and dive motels, gentrification has finally arrived to the area between 50th to 79th streets on Biscayne Boulevard.  The vanguards of this movement Starbucks, UVA 69 and Starbucks all seem very established now, less hipster, more chic and middle age. 

The coolest part of the living here is the diversity. Haitians, Anglos, Argentinos and Jewish families all seem to dot the area. Brazilians, Europeans and New Yorkers are moving in at a rapid pace. The area is friendly by Miami standards.

I guess the first clue that the neighborhood was changing were the older white people. Not the usual homeless types, but spry ones, taking morning constitutionals and evening strolls to the cafes and restaurants up and down the street. Another sign were the chic young mothers with strollers, not waiting for the bus, but power walking to Baywood, Legion and Morningside Parks.  Then I knew it was just a matter of time. 

Of course with the gentrification there is construction and demolition. Slowly, old structures are coming down. A new bank is planned for 69th street and a new shopping plaza is going up on 62nd. (Rumor has it that Michelle Bernstein and Steven Perricone are opening up a new place there.)  Motels are renting spaces to restaurateurs such as Blue Collar in the Bayside Inn and Red Light in the Motel Bleu. Fancy food and rooms by the hour....an evening of fun.  Of course the gays want a say too, Eros is the new gay bar and so on.   

The usual suspects of gentrification are in play. Gay men who resurrected the neighborhoods of Morningside and Bellemeade from severe urban decay in the mid 80's have long since cashed out of those neighborhoods and have been replaced by very affluent couples who can afford private schools and want a short commute to downtown. In both neighborhoods old Miami mansions are sprouting wings as the wealthy vie for limited waterfront property that is just 10 minutes north of downtown. To accommodate the new bourgeoisie Cushman School has bought up several blocks adjacent to the school on 61st street and closed down the liquor store. 

Still there are some remnants of  the bad old days.  Hookers still ply their trade day and night and the motels still seem to be hotbeds of iniquity, which is usually a plus for any area that claims it's gentrifying. These are always going to be touchstones of what came before.  So when you see same old hookers working the street you remember the "bad old days" hanging out at the liquor store on 61st or picking up a porn at the adult video store that used to be on 71st.  It's good to keep a little of the old grit to remind us that we were once young and carefree. 

Despite all the change, the Mimo district still has quaint tree lined neighborhoods with Spanish and Mediterranean revival homes. Small bodegas still sell cafecitos and lottery tickets. There are still plenty of poor. Just remember if you move into the area, don't complain if a hooker is using your bushes for "business". 

Want A Good Restaurant Review in the NYT? More Wonder Bread Please.

Classy

Full disclosure: I am not a real foodie. Another disclosure: I actually serve a Velveeta dish at least once year.  So granted I'm probably not one to go out there to places like Red Light, Micheal's Genuine and Sra. Martinez and tell you that this is the epicurean ideal. Who am I to challenge what a New Yorker might say about the eating establishments in my home town?http://travel.nytimes.com/travel/guides/north-america/united-states/florida/miami/67063/michaels-genuine-food-drink/restaurant-detail.html

Those who know me well, know my favorite restaurant is Hooters for three reasons: 1. I really love chicken wings, 2. It's actually a true Florida establishment. 3. I'm waiting for the day that nylon shorts over pantyhose come back into style for all.

That being said I'd like to say I've been to the restaurants that were being critiqued in the travel section of the New York Times and I can say with all honesty that the food tasted good. I mean not awesome, but as good as anything you might eat at Shuckers(http://shuckersbarandgrill.com/,) but served by and prepared by people who don't seem "local".

The first restaurant reviewed was Michael's Genuine, now I've been there three times and the clientele is decidedly, to coin an 80's term: "Yuppie".  Yuppie in it's worst forms, lawyerly, pretentious, what have you...obviously people there to be seen. Fine, I'm there too.  So this cute "ginger" girl server comes up to the table: "Hi I'm Sue from Portland, I'm your server." she rattles off the specials and goes into excessive detail about the wholesome ingredients, and the free range chicken, etc. etc.....  Don't you think it's ironic that somebody would care about free range chickens, but not about the fact that their iPhones were made in Chinese sweatshops where people kill themselves?  Truthfully, I the few times I ate there, I was not that impressed....but as a former yuppie myself, should I be?

Red light, food was was not memorable, but the lousy service was. Been there twice, never again. I did like the location on the Little River was cool. Served by Bill from St. Louis. 

Okay what did I think these restaurants had in common?  White people.  Yeah, the front of the house in these restaurants are full of young, attractive white people, who are feeling empowered to talk, and engage.  I mean I love it when a Hooter's girl just plops down in the chair, flirts and takes your order.  But the whole, "Hi I'm Stan, I'm in college and I'll be your server tonight" thing to me, is very Bennigan's circa 1987.  You know "I don't care Stan, because I'm about to drop $100 on this meal, and I'm here to share it with my husband, not with you. Now please bring me something with Velveeta melted on it." Yeah, I find the whole white folks in front, brown ones in the back kind of annoying. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe the pretty blond was an Argentinian or Mexican who had managed to pay for accent reduction classes.  Or the surly blue eyed bartender was lying when he said he was from Hoboken, he could actually be from Holguin.

Yeah, when I eat at the restaurants mentioned in the NYT article, I feel like I'm in New York, or Seattle or Portland or Kansas.  Faux friendly staff with who want to "share".  All that's missing is the right amount of "flair" on suspenders.  I guess that's fine for some folks, but I'll take a surly South Beach model named Jorge as my server any day.

Miami Beach Gay Pride....or Gay Shame?

On this Pride Sunday I am a little bitter this year.  For the last four years I've participated in the Gay Pride Parade on Miami Beach.  I just assumed it was every gay man's fantasy to wave at crowds from an elevated moving platform.  I mean, who doesn't want to be in a parade, and better yet a parade in your honor?  So this year I was shocked and disappointed when the gay organization I am involved with showed absolutely no enthusiasm for this event.  

Granted the organization has changed a bit in the last year, the members are younger, straighter and more "corporate" than in previous years.  Several excuses ranged from "it would affect my job" to "I'm job hunting right now" to just a curious apathy about Gay Pride in general.  I remember once a story about a guy who went to Gay Pride in New York and was watching the parade from the sidewalk. He had been enjoying the parade until a news crew came up to him and asked his opinion about the event. He saw the camera and ran away...for  blocks.  Personally, I don't think that employers really scour social media to look for what people do in their private lives.  Secondly, would any gay man want to work somewhere that did? 

So I keep asking myself the question why are these guys so reticent to get up on float and show their pride. They are leaders in a gay organization. They are openly gay. Is it internalized homophobia or simply that because they've grown up in a more accepting world where gays are more integrated that they don't seem to think they need things like pride parades or organizations that fight for their civil rights. 

So why have a gay pride parade at all?  I'll tell you why. Because we were marginalized to the point of invisibility until 30 years ago. We are not allowed to marry. We are not allowed to take care of our families like heterosexual couples. We are still targeted and investigated by law enforcement in the places we gather. Our standard bearers, like Ellen DeGeneres, are attacked for simply representing a national retail chain. Because talented young men and women are afraid to represent on a float in a parade because of a perceived fear (real or not) that they wont get that next promotion, security clearance or that dream job. Because children are bullied to the point of wanting to kill themselves.

Gay Pride is a poke in the eye of all of those who hate gays. It's a protest that shows all our feathers, craziness and sexual rebellion.  That drag queens, who started that rebellion walk in the daylight and say : I am here, I am real, I am human. Pride says "you may not like me, but I will not be silenced or marginalized again."   So Happy Miami Beach Pride.  I will be marching today. 

"Tio, mira ese carro loco" (Uncle, look at the crazy car)

The first time I took my nephew for a ride in my new car he screamed from his window: "mira ese carro loco" or "look at the crazy car."  He was actually describing the Chevy Impala parked on the side of the old Police Museum building on Biscayne.  I just figured he was talking about all the carro locos that I see whenever I drive around Miami.  

Now I can say without hesitation that Miami has a car culture.  To a large extent you are saying a lot about who you are by what you drive. As we all know, us Miamians are not exactly about "understatement".  As self-centered as we are, we know that opening the door of that late model import says, "ago ergo sum" I drive, therefore I am.  In Miami it's more like: "ago carus pretiosa, ego sum melius quam." Which I believe using internet translations means:" I drive an expensive car therefore I am better than you."

Aside from any car snobbery.....or car affinity that Miamians may have, we still have developed a distinct driving style that tests patience, challenges souls and has an outcome that would be respected by those participating in the hunger games. Local driving is not for the feint of heart. I thought I'd add some simple guidelines for newcomers and new drivers. A Miami driving style, not unlike it's cooking, influenced by a hint Argentinian arrogance, heavy dollops of Cuban can-do and dash of Haitian frustration, pour it over some Anglo repression and you have what I call a wonderful driving South Florida souffle. 

Let me start with turn signals. Don't.  Why would you want anyone to know ahead of time what you plan on doing? Would you tell a thief the combination to your safe?  No. Would you tell someone in poker what's in your hand? So why would you tell another driver that you are about to take away the real estate right in front of them?  Signals are your way of announcing what you are doing, now.  Like when a small kid goes to the bathroom....I'm pooping NOW...in front of you.  The job of the other driver is to react through resignation, rage, slamming on brakes, horn, what have you. Blinkers in Miami are your way of saying "I win!"  Not like in other cities where blinkers say in wimp language "can you please let me in?"  

Licence and registration please.

Speed. To be honest,  I don't know one person who has gotten a speeding ticket on 95 in Miami-Dade, ever.  I've seen some pretty cool car races, spectacular accidents, but never seen a car ever pulled over anywhere on I95. Please speak up if any of you have. So to me it means that it's basically a stretch of highway that has been ceded over to the lawless masses. A stretch of road in poor repair except for the "luxo-lanes" that rich white people use to get from the Broward County Line to Downtown without having to share the lanes with the rest of us folks who may have a residence or business in areas between downtown and the county line. There are four places in Miami-Dade where you will get definitely get speeding tickets: Virginia Gardens....only fools speed on 36th street between 63rd & 67th avenues. Second is the town of Medley(hamlet of) the two police officers are waiting for you just off that bridge that crosses from Okeechobee Blvd. How a trailer park actually became a town is a mystery to me. Bal Harbor: speed or ride a bike on the sidewalk at your own peril. Any school zone in Miami Dade. Yeah the school zones are where the cops get that "speeding quota" that they claim they don't have. Otherwise speed at will.

Most annoying driving thing to me: the abuelita en la Corolla. I am sure the Toyota Corolla is a great car, however every abuelita or Haitian granmè drives one.  The Haitian one will be white. Haitians as a rule only drive white cars or vans, and typically they drive very, very, very, very slow....with their hazard lights on. 

And that brings me to point of hazard lights. They are for hazards, like when you break down in the middle of the street and you're too lazy to wave down someone to push your vehicle three feet so it's out of traffic. You don't need put them on when it rains, you shoulds put your lights on when it rains.  Hazard lights are good when you're pulled over, not for driving on a busy interstate at 15 miles an hour in a torrential summer storm. Hazard lights won't help you when the semi, who is driving sixty, slams into your rear, hazard lights or no. 

So go out there fellow "carros locos". Miami roads are calling. Honk, speed, cut off, curse...because we are free creatures on the roads (except on the 836 in Sweetwater around the first of the month, FHP quota time). Tickets? Who cares, there's the Ticket Clinic!  We are city of refugees....who by nature are people on the move, spirits fleeing tyranny, seeking liberty, drive Miami, drive! Ago Ergo Sum!

Miami: The last Coca-Cola in the Desert

I learned this wonderful Cuban expression which to me encapsulates the essence of Miamians. The saying in Spanish is: "se cree que es el último  Coca-Cola in el desierto" which directly translated means: "he thinks he is last Coca-Cola in the desert"   Which really means something like "he(or she) thinks he's all that".  I like that saying because to me it says things on so many levels about the conceit that exists in Miami among its residents. 

Anyone in the desert might be happy with the last drop of water.   No, not something as mundane as H2O would do for Miamians, but a sweet, gassy, brown concoction with a famous trademarked label attached.  Not "all that and a bag of chips", no for Miami it's: "all that and a can of Pringles."  What's interesting is we Miamians really think we're all that, a bag of chips, fries with shake and the value meal all rolled into one hot tropical package. Literally, the last Coke in the desert. 

In my daily experience I see the most completely self absorbed populace on the face of the planet.  Cart left in the middle of the aisle at the supermarket while person chats on cell phone: check. Two guys talking to each other from different cars, windows down, on the 95 expressway, driving 35 miles an hour(I guess so they could hear each other); saw it this morning.  Cell phone conversation during mass on Christmas Eve, during the sermon...yeah every year. Cell phone conversations anywhere, anytime, any volume. Lowest rate of volunteerism in the nation...yeah that's us: Miami. 

Miami is the only place where you can sit at a table with ten people and ALL ten are texting or on Facebook  communicating simultaneously to someone else at a table for ten in another restaurant ten blocks away. Clearly whatever you have to say, in situ, is nowhere near as important as the overdone steak at some other restaurant, gossip or dinner invite for tomorrow.  Miami is not the place for fun in the now....it's the place for potential fun that is just one text, ten blocks, fifteen minutes and a velvet rope away.  Miamians are forever chasing that rainbow to the "ultimate" experience. At the end of that texting rainbow the pot of "amazing party" gold is just out of elusive reach.   It's like that movie "Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist", eventually the texts will lead you to an awesome Fluffy Bunny concert. 

I don't know if it's the high rates of attractiveness, scarcity of mirrors (there are not a lot of them) or just that the members of the 1% like to play here, the self absorption is epidemic.  It's a kind of willful ignorance that despite high rates of poverty, illiteracy and corruption that people breezily turn a blind eye to. It's like we're all  Sarah Palin: confident, pretty, looking great in a pair of Giuseppe Zanotti platforms, what the hell else matters when you're wearing great shoes? I mean who couldn't conquer the world if they were wearing a $700 pump? Or live in an incredibly sexy town? So like that last drink in the desert, no not water, but the sweet one in the sexy curvy bottle. Miami: Pensamos que somos la ultima Coca-Cola en el desierto. We just think we are the last Coke in the desert. 

Miami After

Part of the title of this blog is "after 40" and to perhaps illuminate what happens in the life of one man in what we might called the "middle" of his life expectancy.  Granted I'm not shooting for 80, but considering gay middle age just 15 years ago was somewhere in your early 20's; I'm happy to have made it this far.  That being said, it's time  to pause and reflect about life, and sadly, death.

I have been meaning to write about this topic all month and try to write in my usual wry, sassy writing style.  How can you write about something that is as normal as going to bathroom (which is a place I might want to go, while I'm going).  At this stage in my life friends and family are passing and I know that I don't really want to be at the front or back of that parade. Today as my husband left for a funeral I asked "why are you going?"

He replied: "if I don't go to theirs, they won't go to mine." 

I want very much not to be schmaltzy and philosophical about death. It's a fact, we die. Yet our humanity desires immortality. How do I honor my Grandmother who showed strength through laughter and fearlessness. Or the handsome lawyer who was my team-mate who died alone yesterday after I told him he could always call if he needed to talk.  Or the 22 year old boy who swung from a tree in Morningside Park, who I learned this morning had committed suicide when I talked to his mom.

What is my responsibility after they're gone? I think this is point where at my age I look at my own mortality and accept and rejoice that I knew them or of them.  We are very small in the scheme of humanity, time and the universe. Our time here is a very small and very precious gift.  Sad to see such wonderful people go. I hope somehow I can learn from their lives and learn about humility, humor and grace: so I can pass it on through my own life.  Hopefully, those people who pass can live on through each one of us.

So Your Neighbor is a Drug Dealer? That's so Miami.

So your neighbor is a drug dealer? That's so Miami.  I can honestly say that throughout my life in Miami I've always had at least one neighbor that was a drug dealer. Whether I was rooming in a chic Brickell Ave Condo, wealthy gated community bliss in Doral, starter condo in Fountainbleu Park, South Beach or the trendy Miami Mimo district; the one constant was the neighborhood drug dealer.

I can also say with certainty that if you live in Miami it generally means a cocaine dealer. However on South Beach "club drugs" were more popular. Run of the mill pot-dealers are a much rarer breed.  I've heard that having a pot dealer as a neighbor is not cool because of the smell. So I guess pill-peddlers and coke dealers are a bit "classier". However drugs are pervasive in Miami and I guess they are a mixed blessing which I learned a few years ago when I attended meetings of the South Florida Methamphetamine Task force. That's when the presenter stated: 

"Cocaine is so ingrained in Miami culture, that it has served as a prophylaxis against the national meth epidemic in that city." 

Who would've thought? Cocaine saved Miami from meth. Maybe our city's tagline should read: Miami: come for the coke, leave with all your teeth. 

So, getting back to dealing with your neighborhood dealer. How do you know your neighbor is dealing? There are few simple clues.

Firstly, the vast majority of drug dealers are male and under 40.  They tend to live alone or with other males in the house. They are usually very attractive. Think "sexy bad boy" and you've pegged about three quarters of all the drug dealers in Miami-Dade.  Think, if I brought this one home.....damn,  are my parents going to be pissed.  I don't know what it is about about the drug trade, but being hot and buffed is part of the job requirement. Perhaps the drug cartels require head shots and full body stats for all potential candidates. More likely, they spent a lot of time in the prison gym. It's called "jailhouse hot" for a reason. 

                (Real drug dealers: You think they're pretty now, just wait till they get out of jail)

Secondly, they tend to wear a lot of jewelry. Rolex watches, Gucci bracelets, tacky, chunky jewelry. This, to me is the downside of the drug trade, is the tackiness of it all. Expensive cars too, are part of the whole package. I guess you need to be mobile, so pawning that 24 carat "nugget" style ring when you need to post bail can be useful. 

Thirdly, they're almost always renters. Now I know how we condo owners feel about renters, and I believe drug dealers have given renters a bad name.  Why? Because drug dealers don't take care of the property. They roll down the shades, don't mow the grass and have a steady stream of people knocking on their door 24 hours a day.  It makes condo owners cringe, when they learn there is a single male tenant in the building under the age of 40 who drives an Aston Martin when most of us are driving Fords.  Once you see the gold chains and the bulge at the waistband....you know it's too late....it's probably a drug dealer. Under 40, male and a pair of capri pants....gay. (hence better property values.)

Now you may think you can escape this scourge by moving to a gated or "restricted" community. Wrong. Doormen, security guards, security services are easily corrupted and quickly become "lookouts" for the drug dealer. So unless you tip your building or community staff really well (as much as the drug dealer) gated communities are no real solution.

Can you call the police? Yes, but don't expect much help, and you don't want to hurt your property values by having a major (or minor) drug bust nearby. Also, the drug dealer will know it was you who dropped the dime; remember.... he knows where you live. 

What's the best way to deal with them? Be nice. Get to know them. Ask them about their lives. Invite them over. Sit on your lawn and wave to all the "clients" who knock on the door. Stand nearby and say hello to them as they come and go to buy their drugs. Engage them in conversation. Walk your dog in front at 3AM. Always be floating around. Remember Mrs. Kravits? She had Samantha and Darren scared out of their minds that they might discover that there was witchcraft in the neighborhood. I am sure there were no drug dealers in her neighborhood either. Finally, say nicely "I know you have a lot of friends dropping by at all hours, and the neighbors are starting to take notice."  This has worked for me twice....the drug dealer usually stops dealing from the house or moves away....whichever happens, it's a victory. 

Miami Manners - a Primer

In a city as polyglot as Miami sometimes what one group might consider "rude" may be just misinterpretation of another group's social standards. For example in some cultures good service means a "chatty" server that has a lot  of "flair" (minimum: 15 pieces) in another, the waiter efficiently takes an order and delivers food and removes plates in a very unobtrusive way. Yet in others, surly servers toss your plate at you and give you the stink eye and then expect a tip. 

In social settings different cultures have different concepts of "time" and "time" changes if its business or social.  Driving habits vary across cultures as well.  In some places driving is a community activity where everyone efficiently gets to where they want to go, or Miami where even the shortest drive is really a test of intelligence, guile and cojones. 

Since I am a product of two distinct cultures, Anglo and Latino, and have spent many years in Miami I thought I'd give some pointers that may help everyone understand each other.

1. Time. I could go on about time, especially since they changed the clocks this week, but I want everyone to be clear on what we mean by time in Miami.

     a. On-time Anglo: On-time to an Anglo means 5 to 10 minutes early.  There is no difference between "social" time or "business" time.

     b. On-Time Latino: On time for Latinos has many nuances. Latin business time is usually on-time if you arrive within 30 minutes of a scheduled appointment. Latin social time: there is no guarantee that any Latino will stick to any kind of social appointment time, with the possible exception of weddings and baptisms.

So if you're having a dinner party....you say "dinner will be served at 8:30 Anglo time." most Miamians will respect that. However, Argentines will arrive at 8:30 and refuse to eat till 1AM. 

2. Invitations and RSVPs:  Expecting RSVPs for a dinner, event or party in Miami is like trying to catch moths without a flashlight:  You know as soon as you turn on the light they'll come but you never know how many will show.  Thank you cards are not a very Latino custom, but calling the next day to say how you got drunk and laid, or any good gossip acquired at a their party is the best kind of thank you any host would be happy to have.

3. Cheek kissing and lip kissing. In Miami its customary for men and women (and gay men) to kiss each other on the cheek as a greeting or farewell.  Lip kissing to me is creepy, and I usually turn to avoid the lips. This is not considered rude. Brazilians kiss on both cheeks, left to right.   When in doubt, shake hands.  Anglo people prefer a nice firm handshake, brief if possible. Argentinian men kiss everyone, they are not all gay. 

4. Speaking a language that not everyone understands. It's perfectly acceptable in Miami to speak your native tongue. However it is perfectly acceptable for a non-speaker to ask for a translation, and even demand the nuance and context of any obscure Cuban saying. Simply because they're usually pretty funny in English too.

5. It's perfectly fine to speak loud in Miami. Whether on a cell phone, in English, Spanish it's okay, just let it out. Passion is fine, even if it's just asking your husband where the pickles are in Publix.  You are your own world and nothing else matters but you. 

6. Children: children are meant to be seen and heard in Miami. Not unusual to see four-year-olds out partying with their parents at 1AM.  If this bothers you, and it should, there's nothing you can do. 

7. Appearance. In Miami you are expected to look your best at all times. Not thin mind you, just look as if you put some effort into "your look". You must be clean, all over. Cubans are extremely peste-phobic. Do not have peste!!! (peste to Miamians means stink)

8. Feel free to ask anyone about their background, in Miami it's okay to ask someone where they're from. It's not okay to ask them their immigration status, regardless of how wealthy they may seem. 

9. Miamians generally do not have a "resume fetish" like New York, LA or DC.  In social situations most people don't talk about work unless you are close.  Avoid talking about work in general, it's considered a bit rude. 

10. Safe topics: Your favorite Cuban restaurant, trips to Spain, real estate, weather, clubs, reality TV and local festivals. Miami is not really a sports town unless one of the teams is winning....

So there you have it, a few hints to make your life in Miami just a bit simpler. 

At some point I'll do a blog about driving in Miami. 

What Every Young Gay Should Know or Gay Culture Transfer

Usually after swim practice with Miami' s premier swim team(www.nadadores.org), several members go out to lunch or dinner. The other night I was joined by a young man who was 22. Usually dinner after practice is a group thing, but it turned out to be just him and me.  He's very sweet and has just returned home after graduating college.  He smart and ambitious and is proudly on the first few rungs of the corporate ladder for a very large company. He exudes the bravado and naivete of a 22 year old. Fun, smart and cute, he'll make someone very happy one day.

Initially I was feeling a bit uncomfortable dining with someone so young. I was thinking what could I possibly have to say to him. Besides swimming I didn't see much we had in common. Yet I have known him since he joined the team two months ago and he has made a good addition to the team. I don't know why I worried, turns out he just wanted some relationship advice.  Then he asked the question "how have things changed for gays in you lifetime?" Things have changed so much in my short gay lifetime that I didn't even know where to begin. So I had to go back before my time.

7 things about Gay Culture that every young gay man should know:

1. Why Judy Garland is our first "diva":  To start Judy was an amazingly talented individual. Her voice was strong and powerful yet at the same time innocent. She was charming, funny and a good actress. She could dance too. She was also a hot mess. Addictions and men swirled through her life, yet each time she pulled herself back up and went on singing....Judy at Carnegie Hall is one of the great performances of the 20th Century. Most importantly, she was the first superstar to acknowledge her gay fans. Nobody of her stature, except maybe Madonna 20 years after her death even cared about a gay audience.

2. San Francisco:  San Francisco is the original "gay mecca".  In this laid back city of incredible vistas and beautiful Victorian buildings a small working class neighborhood named The Castro transformed itself into the first gay neighborhood. It is important because it was the first place in the world where gays created a safe zone, where they could live as gay men out in the open. This neighborhood elected Harvey Milk, the world's first openly gay elected official. Supervisor Milk was murdered along side Mayor Moscone, his murderer received  just 5 years in prison.

3. Stonewall Riots: Gays fought the police for 3 days in front of the Stonewall Inn in the Village neighborhood of Manhattan. It was an extremely violent event, several police cars were burned and at one point the NYPD was surrounded by angry rioters who ran out of their apartments to participate. Gays were tired of being bullied rounded up and sent to jail just for associating together. The New York Times suppressed the story.

4. Anita Bryant: There must be some irony in the fact that a beauty queen was one of the gay community's first and most destructive enemy.  Her "Children First" campaign but laws on the books that banned gays from adoptions, equal protection under the law and set back work towards equality for 20 years. 

5. AIDS Epidemic: 50,000 gay men died in 60 months before the government decided to do something about the disease.  The gay community was forced to unite and fight this existential threat.  United, the community harnessed tremendous influence in fighting this disease. by 1992 years 500,000 gay men were assumed to have died. Most of the deaths were men between the ages of 25 -38. An entire generation gone.

6. Calvin Klein Underwear: Calvin Klein redefined the self image of American men, and gay men in particular. Prior to the Calvin ads, most guys were just happy to to have a penis. Calvin made American men,  especially gay ones, become extremely self-conscious about our bodies. It was no longer good enough to just have a nice face, but ripped abs and big pecs too.  American men were held up to the same beauty standards as women. 

7. Ellen DeGeneres: Her brave move to come out on television, the subsequent destruction of her career, and her reemergence and success changed the dialogue about being "out" in public.

So there is a lot more of course.....but this primer on pivotal individuals, places, and things is a good place to start.  I invite you all to join and add your suggestions:

Second City Syndrome (some more queer geography too)

Due to work I've been traveling across my fantastic State of Florida.  To quote a Presidential candidate: "I love it here, the trees.....are all the right height...and the lakes, the lakes..."  So I guess you get my point.  But despite all my travels I'm always happy to be back in Miami, but because I realize I carry a "Miaminess" wherever I go.

This month I went from Bushnell (where I took my Obama magnet off the Beemer) to Orlando and most areas on the East and Gulf coasts of Florida.  While I try to be as humble and down to earth as possible, I still get the feeling they're looking at me as some kind of "city slicker".  Perhaps it's my suit and tie or my fancy Cole-Haan Veneto pennys.

I realize now that all these people have what I call "Second City" syndrome. Second City Syndrome is the full knowledge that although your city has all the ingredients that make up a "city" such as population, a performing arts center, professional sports teams, there still is something missing. That maybe a new stadium,  mall or  In my opinion there is just a hint of vitality missing.  There just is that one missing ingredient that turns a city from Kansas City bland to New Orleans wow. 

My first realization that I'm in a second city is when the gay people say things to me like "you're awfully gay, maybe you should live in Los Angeles or New York or Miami". Which says to me that "fabulosity is not welcome here."  The uniform is khakis and a button down collar, maybe a polo. Nikes are fine, but you can leave the John Varvatos Sid Oxfords for your once yearly trip to New York. Make out in the Camryaccord, that is unless you're a lesbian, then use a truck.  Second cities also have very integrated gay and lesbian communities and both groups hang out and do things together, so you don't know if you're in a gay bar or a church social.  I've also noticed that gay communities in second cities tend to be run by lesbians (albeit funded by gay men).   Larger cities tend to have very defined and separate gay and lesbian communities. 

Don't get me wrong, having the nice Florida executive home on the golf course in a development with a name like Willowbrooke is a wonderful, peaceful life but it's just not for me.  I mean getting excited over the menu at Longhorn Steakhouse or Macaroni Grill is typical for a night out in some of these places. Please remember the drink specials end at 8:30 and try to be home by 10PM on a Saturday night. That a weekend getaway to New York, New Orleans or Miami is enough excitement to get you through the next few months.  

I guess my true rant about these places is that I don't fit in. That somehow, outside of a few major cities I cannot relate to a typical middle class American life.  That my experiences in the vast stretches suburbia have been full of a quiet angry ennui. That my soul needs to be fed by strange people from far away lands, and new foods never tried before. That I can't stand the idea of eating in a chain restaurant that isn't a McDonald's. I mean Carraba's, really? That rushing home every evening to catch a glimpse of reality TV somehow softens my own reality. I can't fit in, I can't wear khakis, I can't be khaki.  I feel exotic, I feel colorful, I feel Miamian.

No Facebook, No Biscayne Hooker Report and the other joys of social media

Last night I was hailed by a long time acquaintance at Publix in Miami Shores.  "Hey I want to read your Biscayne Hooker Reports."  Now granted, I never dreamed that an occasional paragraph about the latest fashions and happenings of the "Women of the Night" in my neighborhood would warrant a "shout out" at my local supermarket, but in a sick way I was pleased.  Lately the Hooker Report has gotten me into a bit of a snit with certain church ladies who have "self selected" themselves out of my life. 

I asked if he was on Facebook, he said "no not really". 

My answer to him: "no Facebook, no Hooker Report."

Of course it got me thinking about social media in general, and to those people who "opt out" of the whole phenomenon.  I am an avid user of social media and I understand it's power. However I never expected to called out in my grocery store about "the hookers!" that are on my Facebook page. Nor did I expect to end a personal friendship in the real world, by my activities in my cyber one. Far more often it's the other way around. 

I think about those people who choose to eschew social media because "they're too busy" or "it seems like a waste of time." They may be concerned about their privacy or some other such foolishness.  These are the people that still send jokes or say "hi" via a very clogged email system.  Worse, they might even call me on the phone for a chat.  If you want to chat with me, just send me a message on Facebook, because like my snail mail, I only check my personal email box a few times a week. Better yet, send me a text. As far as privacy is concerned, what's the point. Marketers know where I live, what I make and where I spend my money. If the government is interested in my doings, I doubt seriously I could do anything about it. 

The beauty of social media is that unlike email, snail mail, or phones is that it's a passive medium, just like TV. You can pick and choose what you want to read, respond to or who to communicate with. If you ignore a posting nothing happens, but there is a social risk when you ignore a call, letter, email or text. For the latter you ignore them at your own peril. However, if you want to read about Jenny's dogs, Mike's political rantings, or Kirk's opinions on street walkers it's all there for you to see, or not. It's like those people back in the 90's who proudly proclaimed that they "didn't have a TV" and couldn't laugh at cultural references like "soup nazi" or "we were on a break" are the same people who don't understand the significance of "honey badgers" (my own animal totem) and "shit abuelas say". Yet at the same time spout their "superiority" for not being on social networking sites. How superior can you be, when social networking is the front line of democracy for Arabs, Chinese and women fighting for their rights?

I mean really, what do you do when you're not social networking? Working? Not even the busiest person can fill a 40 hour work week with just work.  Exercising?  No, I believe those people who are not "into" social networking are doing what we all did online before Facebook: watching porn and shopping. 

To ignore this new phase of human interactivity and endeavor you do so at your own peril. There's old 20th century adage: "the end of the world will be televised", but in this century you'll read about on Facebook first.  So if you're missing the Biscayne Hooker report, send me a friend request......or not. 

Strip Club Etiquette for Ladies

My whole life I've been watching characters "decompress" at strip clubs. Whether it was Al Bundy at the "nudie bar" or the guys from office dramas, or even guys on the lam, the strip club was a darkened haven of manliness in a sea of rampant femininity.  Bored, the dancers would writhe on the stage or pole as the men stared blankly and vaguely aroused.  I mean strip clubs tend to be subdued affairs where men chat idly, sip booze, and give sullen whoops as they put cash in the dancers' g-strings.    This had always been my experience in strip clubs whether they were straight or gay. 

This is quite a different experience from the way women behave at events where male strippers perform. There is shrieking, clawing, guffawing and just crazy fun at the sight of a hot man gyrating his pelvis at her. You would think that the girl has never seen a man in the nude before.  I've always been curious at the female tendency to scream when she sees a naked man, is it a biological imperative? I mean is it like a "fight or flight" response? What is it about the male anatomy that makes women squeal followed up by a giggle. I remember this response in middle school when I flashed some girls, it seems after the first squeal, it's imprinted behavior.

So there's a new Club in Miami called Swinging Richards. It is a gay themed strip club that caters to men who like men. Most of the strippers are straight personal trainers from local gyms who are proud of their physiques and their equipment. On any given night there are about 30 guys, on three stages who dance a 10 minute set. If the guy earns $10 bucks in the first 8 minutes he will strip down completely, full monty. If not, he will dance out his set and gracefully exit the stage. 

For the most part the patrons sip their booze and happily tip the dancers. The men who watch chat with each other, discuss politics, home decor, fashion and gossip the way their heterosexual brethren might talk about sports, and sports. Until that is, a woman comes in.

I was sitting there drinking my cosmo, chatting with my friends and this woman walks in the door, runs up to the stage and literally starts screaming. She was a foot away. Two other woman came up next to her squealed and giggled. Really? These were not young women. They were making a scene like this was the second coming or the last penis on earth.  None of the men were squealing, Dennis Rodman was not squealing. Then, after groping the performer, seeing his privates....they walked away giggling, no tip. They basically cock-blocked all of us from tipping the dancer and then the guy was just left there, penis in hand, no money.  It was at that moment I was glad I never dated women.

So ladies, if you go to a gay strip club just remember:

1. It's not Chippendales, go scream with your real girlfriends

2. Guys are there to chill, respect that.

3. Tip your dancer, waiter and bartender, they are not there solely for your pleasure.

4. Gays really don't want you there, no matter how much you think they do.(Even gays like a female free environment once and awhile.)

5. Don't act like middle school girls when you see a bunch of hot men stripping, sit back, relax, enjoy the show....make them work for their tips.    ; )