Enough Said...

The Lure of Velour...

The first velour shirt I ever owned was from Mervyn's Department Store in San Pablo, California. Soft in a way I had not yet experienced, the shirt called to me like a beautiful, deadly syren. I begged my mother to buy it for me. It was $21.00, a fortune in 1980. Finally, she acquiesced and agreed to buy it as I bounced around the clothing racks. As we approached the register station in "Young Men's" she told me NOT tell my father how much it cost. I swore "to God".

Excited, I was already planning my school picture wearing the shirt. The V-neck reminded me of the comfortable, futuristic uniforms worn by the Robinson family on the Lost in Space reruns I would watch each day at 5 o'clock. People told me I looked like Will Robinson so I HAD to have the shirt. Right? As for the hair, I'd make a trip quick to my older sister Terry's work. She'd recently moved from the Lady Bug Salon to Wild Hair! It would have to be something new and it would HAVE to make a statement.

The v-neck in the fifth grade photo would be SUCH a hit (in my planning and orchestration) that I would of course need to repeat it the next year for my sixth grade photo. I was so excited I was planning TWO years of photos at once. More begging at Mervyn's, ANOTHER trip to Wild Hair, another amazing school picture... IN the meantime though, I had to focus on grade 5. I had a responsibility to a) look good and b) push the fashion boundaries. I was, after all, 10.

Nell Carter's HIT sitcom, "Gimme a Break!" was HUGE (to me). Joey Lawrence was added to the cast as the girls grew older and ratings dropped. Adorable, loved, cutting-edge even, Mr. Lawrence had the best muffin top hair cut in the business, hands-down. Ratings were up and I had to have that haircut. I showed my sister the TV show, "THAT'S what I want!" and she made arrangements to have me come in for a wash and cut.

Excited, I plopped in Terry's chair and expectantly looked at her reflection in the mirror. One of her eyes was droopy. She looked exactly like Stevie Nicks when this happened. "You know what would look great?" she asked in almost slow motion. "Eggplant... or... peach colored... highlights..." (my sister took a lot of Qualudes back then). My smile faded and I began to worry. "I think mom would get mad," I whispered. She accepted this and began the "process".

I loved to go to my sister's work for my haircuts. They seemed professional and luxurious. She ALWAYS used Jhirmack shampoo ("GOD, it smells great!") and worked with VERY cool people including some gay guys who laughed all the time. The whole staff doted on me and I loved it. "He likes sauteed mushrooms!? The kid's got class!" Purrrrrrrr. I felt like a grown-up there. My new haircut would leave them all in approving gasps. The problem? I was coming off a year of layered, feathered, 4th grade hair. A muffin-cut requires a LOT of hair. A lot of thick hair which I do not have. As best she could, my sister cut my hair into the general shape of my desired look. Instead of Joey Lawrence though, I looked more like an inbred serial killer with a bowl cut... There were gasps alright, but they only came from me.

By Halloween, I'd have to make some changes....

Home from Germany

I love Berlin. It is my favorite city in Europe and the "sister city" to Los Angeles, my home. Great food, people, beer, PARKING... what more could you ask for? Well, the weather could be better, but this is coming from a spoiled "Angeleno" by way of the East Bay Area of San Francisco. Now when I visit up north, I'm constantly cold. Cold and cranky. I'm shocked by how cold the city can be. And wet.

The first time I went to Germany was in 1994. I was 24 and on a crazy "5 countries in 3 weeks" tour. Book a Eurail train pass and "go for it". Never again. By the time my partner Mike and I arrived in Munich, I was OVER it. Exhausted and living out of suitcase... not for me. I wouldn't return to Germany until 2000. A group of us went to Berlin and LOVED it. Extrememly open and laissez-faire, it puts San Francisco to shame in its acceptance and freedom. Having grown up in the Bay Area, I always thought San Francisco was so unique in it's tolerance of others. In reality, it's a tiny little city with cool "areas". In some areas you are free to be WHATEVER. In other areas, you'll get murdered. The city is 7 square miles. For real. Not too tolerant overall.

Over the years, the quality of living has plummeted in San Francisco, especially in the Castro where I used to live. Homelessness, drugs, potholes, filth... all with the added joy of a dying gay scene and an outrageously expensive cost of living. One time while leaving my apartment on 15th street, smeared on the garage door was human feces (as if the culprit pooped, fell against the door and slid down). Lying on the ground at the end of the trail? A blood filled syringe. Good night? Good morning! A mass exodus to Palm Springs!? Why not?

That San Franciscans flock to Palm Springs still baffles the hell out of me. You could not POSSIBLY find two cities more different than San Francisco and Palm Springs. Don't get me wrong, I love Palm Springs and think it's beautiful-IN THE WINTER. Somewhere in the 90's it became socially acceptable for gay guys to live in Palm Springs FROM San Francisco while holding on to a weird, psychological hatred for LA... With the Dot-Com explosion and soaring real-estate prices, many people cashed out and moved down there. The juxtaposition of city life and desert life is radical though and not for everyone. One summer makes or breaks you in Palm Springs. It can be 120 degress for days. Maybe it's just what the doctor orders to dry out cold, wet, cranky bones... hmmm. Palm Springs anyone?