la repeat
September 22

la repeat

Los Angeles

It would be a relief, I kept telling myself, it would finally, really, absolutely be over and I could use the other side of my mouth again. I had six hours to think about the coming dental appointments during my drive down to Los Angeles. I had picked up my friend's keys ("I'm not sure what these go to but I think the front door key's one of 'em") the night before, skipped to San Francisco to drop off an extra set for him, and after much procrastination, started my trip south. Every few minutes I'd check to see if the temporary crown had come out, as it had during one meal a week prior.

I got into Silverlake about ten that night and between the three keys and two choices of entry, I was locked out, so I called a guy in Pasadena who also had a set of keys, and he generously offered to come to the city to try the set he had. We met at a nearby bar.

The place I was staying was being rented by a guy I used to go out with years ago, the guy who was coming to my assistance was the guy who's name my old boyfriend called me when we first started dating. I had always been curious who he was, and in such a small town as San Francisco, I was sure I would recognize him, maybe we knew each other from one of those situations where you don't exchange names.

When he arrived I wished I had known him, in the biblical sense, but I also seemed to remember that he had a boyfriend, so I kept my distance. His set of keys worked, and he left them with me, and as hot and airless as the apartment was, I went right to sleep.

When the temperature, humidity and ozone levels conspire to rise, my energy, motivation and memory levels tend to sit their asses down and wave me off. I woke without air conditioning, not even a fan, to the familiar urban sounds of fire engines, car alarms, and transient ear drum crushing car stereo systems. My mind was full of ideas, but my body felt like I was suspended in rubber cement. Sure, I had intended, even prepared, to go to the gym before my video shoot that afternoon, but by the time I finished my meals and grocery shopping for the week, it was time to shave and drive out to The Valley.

In one of those happy coincidences, I had been offered a small part in a video that was being directed by the legendary Joe Gage (El Paso Trucking Company, LA Tool and Die) the same week as my dental appointments and the Rebellion fundraiser. I arrived at the low rent Boogie Nights house a little late, but we were still waiting for one other guy. The ones already there looked great, and were watching straight porn on a television, not my scene, so I hung around the outside talking to Gage and still photgrapher Mocha.

By the time the last model arrived the sun had already slipped behind the house and we were losing light, so the outdoor set up scenes had to be done quickly, and being the group of seasoned professionals that we were, we pulled it off easy. You'd be amazed at how many things can go wrong when you're walking to a front door, knocking, then shaking the host's cock as you enter his house.

In keeping with the flavor of the video, we used no scripts, Gage would give us directions on what he wanted us to do and let us do it our own way. This was a super simple scene, we sat on two couches and jacked off while watching straight videos. After over an hour of doing this I began to find something apealing in them (funny, we all got extra animated during the men's cum shots), but I wouldn't go so far as to say it was like a reverse Oz where I walked in homo and left a little het-curious.

I spent the next day working in a garden, and even though it was a short day, the heat sapped me, and I took an extra long lunch, extra unglamorously sitting on a curb in the only shade I could find in the parking lot of the WeHo Community Center. That evening I met up with my friend Kyle so I could finish the gym visit I had started the day before.

There are some people who when you're with them, time speeds up. It might be because you're in a new relationship or because they demand a lot of attention. I have known Kyle for years. In my advanced stage of ennui, I agreed to go to a gym of his choice instead of the one nearby. And in so doing, I unwittingly set in motion something that would haunt me even to this day.

Kyle is a big fan of straight porn, and straight men, and he dislikes the 'gay scene' (understandable) and 'known gays' and I've said all I had to say on those topics to him, including my 'so how does that fit with your mania over Cher?' which still goes answered. Well, imagine my shock when in his car he announced he was getting in touch with his gayness and popped in a cd of 'Barbra Streisand's Essentials'.

Oh sure, I was relieved that for once we would not be listening to Cher, and I looked over the titles and laughed out loud, a lot of Streisand's hits I hadn't heard in many years. Personally, the only things keeping me from adding her to my Rocket to the Sun passenger list are 'Love Theme from 'Eyes of Laura Mars'' and 'No More Tears', her duet with Donna Summer, in my opinion the last nail in the coffin of the disco era.

We were singing along, and Kyle would shout out lyrics to random people on the sidewalk, amusing until we were stopped for a light and the only thing between Kyle and LA's walking undead was me. And I could have prevented what happened next, but as is always the case, I had a hand in it.

It started out a little strange, but quickly became recognizable, and I went along with it.

"Extra... extra I'm in love..."

And so began 'The Main Event', spilling out of Kyle's speakers like a hoard of vengeful rat demons. Oh sure, I enjoyed poking fun at it, but some things were meant to be buried in lead lined cement sarcophagi and buried off the Marianas Trench. For the rest of my LA trip, and during the whole drive back to San Francisco, (even now) that damn song was chainsawing its way through my brain and there was no escape. At least in Alien the monster showed some mercy and burst out of its victim's stomach.

I tried knocking it out of my head with soothing chorales, tranquil spirituals, even vintage Madonna- nothing worked, and every night when I tried to sleep, there was Streisand fight fight fighting my temples from the inside.

The wrong song to keep skipping on my mental turntable when I got the novocaine shot from my student dentist. Finally, my crown. Again she said this would be an easy appointment, oh yeah, like the other 'easy' appointments. It seemed nothing could go wrong, and then I thought what would take place if the student accidentally dropped my crown down my throat during one of the many, many, many test fittings. I also wondered about the dust from all the grinding and polishing she was doing, like how deep it would lodge down my lungs and if the gold dust was worth anything and for a split second 'The Main Event' was replaced by Fleetwood Mac's 'Gold Dust Woman' but in no time Barbrarian took up the hatchet and scraped any competing music out of my head like it was a ripe pumpkin.

what I'm reading right now: The East Bay Express.
what song I can't get out of my head: don't ask.

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