Charlie

I can remember when the only "Italian" dish available on a menu in a British restaurant was "spaghetti Bolognese."

Ah, the adorable Bruno! He was actually surprisingly short and shy (I sat next to him on the ferry to Cherry Grove one day).

Not a lot of gym bodies in those days.

That well-known ass again!

Boy, does this post bring back memories. I remember sitting on a blanket on the grass in Central Park in 1981, to hear a performance by the Met, and two of my friends on the blanket with me brought up that article in the Native. It was the first time I heard the rumor about the "gay cancer." All three of us were slightly acquainted with Native publisher Charles Ortleb, who we thought was kind of loony, and we figured this was not something to be taken seriously....except that Fred, a guy whom one friend had been dating, was suffering from some kind of infection that he couldn't seem to get rid of. He finally died several months later, and my friend said that the last time he visited Fred in the hospital, there was a "hazard" symbol on the door of his room. Everyone on the blanket with me that day eventually died of AIDS. Another friend of mine with AIDS was convinced by John Lauritsen not to take AZT; he died, too.

As noted above, you probably won't be able to do it. Last year we did the Vancouver-Toronto train trip in our own sleeper compartment, and it was wonderful. However, social distancing is impossible in the narrow train corridors and in the dining area. You will probably touch even more people and more things that other people have touched on a train than on a cruise ship.

Oh, well, that bar was one of the things I really LIKED about the new system.

My cleaning lady normally comes every other week. If she requests to cancel, I don't pay her, but if she makes herself available and I request that she not come, I feel I should pay her. She has been willing to come throughout the lockdown, but we have asked her to stay home. She has worked for us for several years, and before that she worked for a good friend of mine for several years, including doing many chores for my friend when my friend was terminally ill. She is a hard worker and has not had an easy life, so I feel an obligation not to make it any harder for her now.

We have been telling her not to come since mid-March, and we have continued to pay her. I actually raised her pay, because I know that she has lost other paying customers, and as an independent worker, she probably can't get gov't help.

Love the socks!

I have probably been through every system upgrade ever made on this site. This is the first one I immediately like.

When I first arrived in Philadelphia in 1964, I was given a rundown of all the available gay bars and who/what I could expect in each one, which was very useful. They were pretty clearly differentiated, such as the piss elegant piano bar, the semi-leather bar, the western style bar with pool table, the dance bar, the hustler bar, etc. One had to know where one planned to go ahead of time in order to dress appropriately for the night out. The only one you could be comfortable in no matter what your style was the Allegro, so it was usually the most crowded bar at closing time time, which was 2am. The site of the Allegro is now part of the Kimmel Center for the Arts, home today of the Philadelphia Orchestra. I don't know what has become of the other Center City bars, like the Westbury and the Drury Lane. I haven't been to a gay bar anywhere in years, because I am usually asleep by 9pm.

I love the way they automatically appear and disappear.

The ranks are back!

Meatloaf is my signature dish (well, OK, it's really my only dish). I like the mix of beef and lamb, when I can get ground lamb. I use Campbells' Golden Mushroom soup for moisture, chopped onions, and Worcestershire sauce. I hate ketchup on meatloaf.

I have noticed many more bees buzzing around flowers in my neighborhood in the last month.

Lately I have been finding only large boxes of raspberries, which usually have turned to mush before I finish using them. Blueberries are sturdier.

When I reached 35, I didn't even want to celebrate my birthday, because I figured that the best part of my life was over; however, I was tricked into going to dinner that day at the home of friends, and when I walked in, there were shouts of "Surprise!" There were three dozen people there who had sneaked into town from all over the country (and I hadn't even bothered to shower and shave). So I decided maybe there was a reason to keep on living. Other than my 20s, the best decade of my life actually turned out to be my 60s. It was different from my 20s, but probably happier because I was much more relaxed. Now it's the 90s that I don't like to think about.

I would also like to be tested for antibodies, but here are so many tests out there right now, that I don't know which one I would trust.

The most famous ass in men's tennis.

A good friend if mine was one of those American citizens (graduate of Brandeis) who didn't get into an American med school, so he went to one in Mexico and then came back to do his clinical work in the US. He went on to have a long successful career in the US as an oncologist.

Isn't that Buster Crabbe?

I got it in my spam folder today. They had my correct password for this site, but of course they said they had my video of me masturbating on the site, which is ridiculous. I don't even know how to make such a video, much less post it anywhereo_O

Actually, the novel wasn't very good. But while sheltering in place, I have been cleaning closets, and one of things I found was my old address book from my 20s and early 30s. I have been having fun remembering people and searching the Internet to find out what happened to them. The biggest surprise was discovering that my first boyfriend, when we were 19, died a couple of years ago, survived by his wife, five children and eleven grandchildren.

As I approached my 30th birthday, I panicked, thinking that if I didn't do something quickly, the glamorous life I had looked forward to leading when I was 20 would never happen. So I took a leave of absence from my tenured teaching job and flew off to Europe to write the Great American Novel. However, I somehow got distracted into having lots of sex and going to the opera three nights per week instead, and as my leave of absence drew to a close, I accepted the likelihood that the past year was the closest I would ever get to my romantic dream. The truncated manuscript of the Great American Novel is still sitting in the bottom of my file cabinet, where someone will probably find it when I pass, and chuck it in the dumpster.