Activist....

I posted a profile on an internet dating site....and I mentioned my brief history in ACT UP and participation in a Peta demo or two.

I emailed a guy who I thought was cute, here's part of his response to me:

"I work for a large financial firm and am definitely a child of corporate America. That being said, I do see some differences between us which may or may not be of concern to you. I am really not quite the "activist" type, at least not outside of work (I've been a ballsy troublemaker with management these days trying to get policies changed that are outdated and useless) and am not the type to participate in any kind of demonstration, especially since I've never felt they help all that much..."

Demonstrations don't help that much. Right.

Tell that to Ghandi or Martin Luther King Jr.

I have participated in demonstrations that HAVE helped. In 1990, St. Vincent's Hospital in Greenwhich Village did NOT allow gays or lesbians to visit their sick partner in the hospital because we were not "next of kin." We protested and their policy changed. I have a LIST.

And who can resist Peta's Running of the Nudes (watch the video) the annual mostly naked protest against the bull runs in Paloma, Spain. For publicity alone it's great.

Whaddaya think, folks? Should a date the "child of corporate America...a ballsy troublemaker" in his corporate cubicle, trying to get outdated policies changed?

Is that how you want to be remembered in life? Is that what people are going to talk about at your wake? That you were able to get outdated corporate policies changed?

Now, you don't have to be Mother Theresa, but at least have some greater purpose in your life, outside the corporate office.

Oh well, he would probably be boring in bed anyway....

Dating - As a Pornographer and as a Vegetarian

I sometimes wonder which is worse when I go out on dates; telling my date that I routinely shoot other guys naked in my apartment or telling them that I don't eat meat. One is sometimes worse than the other.

I'm on Peta's phone mail tree. So, every now and then I get a phone call saying, "Hey, come to this demo, the circus is in town." or a fur protest or something. For Mother's Day, there was an anti-veal demo in Union Square around noon. A guy asked me out on a date at one, right nearby. Great, I thought, I'd hang out at the anti-veal demo for a little bit, then meet my date.

The activists had a wooden veal crate all set up in the middle of the sidewalk, and a video playing. It was perfect - we were able to educate a lot of people about veal. I passed out some flyers. I was running late and stuck the rest in my gym bag.

We sit down at an Italian restaurant and what does he order? Veal scaloppini. I didn't say anything, me and my penne primavera with marinara sause - and the flyers sticking out of my bag, we kept quiet.

But then he continued, he was also on Atkins. And told me about the wondrous virtues of a meaty meat diet. I still had not told him that I was a vegetarian, and I never did. The date was so over. If only he was cuter...

Then there was another guy, a few years younger than me, worked in computers, got his maters, but lost his corporate job and in his late twenties went back home to Brooklyn to live with his parents. Fine. He was cute.

Then he started talking about how he was not interested in working in the corporate world again. OK, I thought. He wanted to get a job on the floor at Circuit City.

I'm so fucking polite sometimes, and I said, "well, that's a good idea, it'll be a good change of pace."

Then, I told him that I make porn.

Yes, I interview the models.

Yes, they get naked.

Yes, I take videos of them...

"Um, I'm sorry, I don't really feel comfortable dating someone who makes porn."

What? You fucking loser!!! You live with your parents and you ASPIRE to work the floor of Circuit City and YOU don't want to date ME, a successful entrepreneur.

Go fuck yourself!!

You see why I'm so bitter....

Drink Your Piss?

Hi folks,

In case you think that the East Village has changed, it hasn't.

It's still the same old dive. Thank God.

Last night, I stopped by my local bar, around midnight, and with the two beers from the last bar went straight to the men's room.

A guy followed me to the urinal, and as I whipped it out, he asked me "Drink Your Piss?"

"No, thank you", I replied, always the good Catholic school boy.

He had a cup with him. I didn't know, that if I had said yes, if he would have wanted me to piss directly into the cup, or if he was going to get it straight from the tap.

Anyway, the thought of the cup consumed me and I couldn't pee, dammit.

I zipped up and walked away from the urinal, while he watched, leaving the both of us feeling a little frustrated.