“You’re Big, You’re Loud, You’re Tough”

“NYC. What is it about you? I go years without you. You’re big. You’re loud. You’re tough.” So sings one of the seminal songs in “Annie,” a musical that has been on my mind lately. Whoopi Goldberg, EGOT winner and host of “The View,” is one of my daily watch shows – ‘GMA’, ‘The Price is Right’, and ‘Wheel of Fortune’ being the others. (No I don’t watch them every day, but I do try to catch every episode. One of my bucket list items is to be on the Wheel!) – just mounted a very successful holiday run of the beloved show. I also watched a quiet, small, very entertaining, and well-done movie on Hulu this past weekend. “Thelma.” It starred June Squibb as a sweet grandmother conned out of $10k. Grandmother aint so sweet as she hatches a plan to get her money back. Her partner in crime is starring as Daddy Warbucks in the production of “Annie” at his senior assisted living facility. It snuck up on me giving me all the feels at the end.

Fun fact: the original “Annie” Broadway royalty actress Andrea McCardle sang the showstopping “NYC” number in the 1999 televised live version. Current Broadway darling Nicole Scherzinger of“Sunset Boulevard” fame played Grace Farrell in this production. The song accurately details my love-dislike relationship with NYC. My past two columns have waxed poetic on my love of NYC since my move back from Fort Lauderdale in December. But don’t fool yourself NYC is hardcore. It is big. It is loud. It is tough.

You’re Big – NYC is mammoth. Every borough is mammoth. You choose your friends by the borough they live in. More than once I have hit it off with someone in a bar or club – whether for friendship or “love” – and in asking where you live if they say the Bronx immediately the relationship ends before it even begins. A sad expression is shared by both as we realize that our love affair ends before it even got started. Geographically undesirable – even when you live in the same city. Heartbreaking. LOL.

Brooklyn itself is mammoth. There are still parts of Brooklyn I didn’t know existed and have never been to. Gowanus, Kensington, New Lots. I just learned about these neighborhoods by doing a Google Search five seconds ago.

When I ran the Brooklyn half marathon it ended in Coney Island. Coney Island is so far from Williamsburg it took me AN HOUR to get home by subway. Imagine running 13.1 miles and having to travel 60 minutes to get back home. In your own city! The number of people lying on the subway floor wrapped up in those silver space blankets was astounding. And hysterical.

You’re Loud – speaking of the subway and speaking of loud – the two go hand in hand. While the subway works amazingly, on time, no issues a solid 75% of the time – those 25% times can be rough. If 25% seems like a high number 23% of that is purely weekend service. Weekend service – in a word – sucks. Multiple delays, multiple slowdowns, especially outside of Manhattan. And we can’t forget the crazies, the lost, and the homeless. And there are many, many, many of them.

Just yesterday a HUGE fight on the platform erupted as one of said crazies screamed up and down “Watch the Super Bowl tonight, the Democratic Party will finally learn. The Democratic Party will go down in flames” etc etc. A few rather large men did not take kindly to that talk – this is NYC bitch – and bedlam ensued. I did not stick around to find out what was happened next. NYC Rule #1 – when shit goes down run away not towards.

You’re Tough – This one is a no-brainer. You wanna live in NYC you gotta be tough. You need a tough skin to survive here. Oddly enough the tougher you are it seems the nicer you are – in my experience. New Yorkers look out for one another. We take care of one another. The toughest part about living in NYC is probably… finding a public bathroom when you are in need! It’s damn near impossible.

Starting January 27th Starbucks will be requiring customers to purchase to use the restroom or sit in seating areas. This is a reversal of the open-door policy that Starbucks implemented in 2018. Just last week I almost burst trying to find a public bathroom. Luckily I was near “my” Dunkin.’ By mine I mean the one I frequent, thankfully the staff knew me and let me use the bathroom without having to buy anything. But guaranteed if it wasn’t my Dunkin’ I probably would not have been let in.

HUGE thanks to the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Community Center in Chelsea for one- just existing and two- their public restrooms and non-purchasing requirement policy at their cafe. (I always tip the barista whether or not I am making a purchase.) And if you are ever really stuck- download the FLUSH APP for your phone – it will display the nearest toilets based on your location. See, technology is good for some things!

You’re Cold – this one is obvious and it goes without saying. But we will say it again – Bitch it is cold AF up in here! That’s it. No explanation. It’s just cold. Who has two thumbs and moved back to NYC from warm, sunny Florida on December 1st? THIS GUY!

Even though NYC is “too busy, too crazy, too hot, too cold..” it’s definitely a “TOO LATE, I’M SOLD. AGAIN ON NYC!” for me.

(and thanks for letting me live out all my gay musical theater fantasies in this column! Until next time readers!)

*this column was originally published in the March issue of “Letters” magazine.

THE CONCRETE JUNGLE

Greetings readers, Robby from Brooklyn here reporting on the one-month anniversary of moving back to NYC from Fort Lauderdale. It seems kind of poetic that the snow is falling on this day. The snow is light enough that it is pretty. Growing up near the beach on Long Island I love all things ocean and water. I am shocked at the next sentence I am going to write:

I am much happier in the frigid January NYC cold, and I do mean frigid than I was in the July, August, and September brutal heat of South Florida.

That being said, I am quite happy to report that this has been an EXCELLENT four weeks of assimilating back to NYC life. Professionally, socially, physically, mentally – everything has just been better for me here.

Professionally obviously the job market here is better than in Fort Lauderdale. I was just shocked at how much better. Since December 4th – 30 days ago – I have applied to more than 100 jobs on Indeed. (I would be lucky to apply for 10 jobs a month in FLL.) These range from teaching and tutoring jobs to seasonal and holiday work. I have also applied for remote data entry jobs. (I can type really fast it’s my superpower.) Out of all these applications I have had at least eight interviews with two job offers. Both in education, and part-time. One is working as a substitute teacher for the 241 private, charter, independent schools throughout the five boroughs with the pay nearing $200 a day. By comparison, substitute teachers in FLL made $15 an hour. Big difference. HUGE!

I also got a gig teaching STEAM (science, technology, engineering, art, music) classes to K-5 students after school. This English teacher is broadening his skill set. I didn’t mention the fact that I failed my high school Pyschics Regent test back in the day. (The test was actually after graduation and since I had already committed to an out-of-state school a NY Regents Diploma wasn’t something I needed.) As January continues and schools are starting up again my phone has been ringing more and more – a much-needed boost to my teaching ego.

You can’t be in NYC without taking advantage of the theater. I’ve seen three shows already, tickets all discounted. Today Tix and BroadwayBox.com are two great sites for finding cheaper tickets to Broadway shows. “Hells Kitchen,” the Alicia Keys penned musical was very good, but a very long two hours and 40 minutes. That’s exactly the length of the glorious Wicked movie, which I also saw and loved – even if it was 15 minutes too long. Hello adult ADHD. I also got to see “The Big Gay Jamboree,” and “Eureka Day” both campy, both hysterical. Both the perfect amount of time: 90 minutes no intermission.

I was at a live broadcast of “The View.” a few mornings ago. The luminous Brooke Shields was the guest. For future reference when coming to NYC 1iota.com is where you can request FREE tickets to all of the talk shows that film here like “The Drew Barrymore Show,” “The Kelly Clarkson Show,” “Late Night with Stephen Colbert,” and “The Daily Show” just to name a few.

Socially, my friend group/support system is substantially larger here – and unlike in Florida – constantly growing. Contrary to the stereotype I found people much friendlier, much more open and inclusive.

I got to attend the Gays Against Guns holiday party. Check out our brand new relaunched website at gaysagainstguns.org. A grim fact: The Gun Violence Archive reports that each day in America 118 people are killed with a gun. Those 118 people arent just a number. They are boyfriends, husbands, sisters, friends, mothers, and fathers just gone in an instant. All because of a gun.

I also got to attend my friends Donald and Dennis’s annual Christmas party. The two are longtime partners in love AND business. They own the fabulous Silberfuchs clothing company. Catering to the queer community with shirts, hoodies, hats, and tanks with words like QUEER, SNACK, VINTAGE, and DADDY, the party was literally hot guy central. Speaking of snacks the homemade desserts were FAB!

Finally, giving back is a hallmark in my life, not just during the holidays but all year long. One morning very soon after my move back, I found myself in the Gods Love We Deliver kitchen helping the extraordinary staff and volunteers pack meals for those in need. GLWD has served a staggering 40 million since it opened its doors in 1985! I also started volunteering with SAGE helping to serve dinner to our older queer brothers and sisters. We owe them a huge debt of gratitude. They walked so we could run. And it’s fun!

Well readers that’s about it for now. I am off to explore my city today. I’ve got the new Lianne Moriarty novel with me. I am ready for my next NYC adventure. Like Maleah Joy Moon sings in her Tony-winning performance in the glorious finale of “Hells Kitchen,” “Concrete jungle where dreams are made of there’s nothing you can’t do. Now you are in New York.” I am in New York!

(this column originally appeared in the February edition of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.)

SCAMMERS GONNA SCAM, SCAM, SCAM.

I consider myself book-smart and street-smart but after living in Fort Lauderdale for 18 months I regressed. In one year I was scammed or bamboozled not once, not twice but three times. Why did I wait so long to talk about this? One reason – online public shaming.

In the span of my writing career, I have been called ugly, old, fat, bald, racist, sexist, idiotic, a fucking faggot, moronic. The list goes on. Yet I have been called hardly any of these to my face. These slurs were all hurled at me by keyboard warriors. And, of course, the ones who attack your looks – for disagreeing with something I wrote – are always the ones with faceless profiles. The vitriol these comments contain is unmatched by anything I have heard before. No one would ever say to your face the things they say to you online.

So before writing this I thought to myself, do I really want to be this vulnerable, this raw, show my many mistakes, my many missteps? Show how wrong I was and how I completely misjudged the situation – multiple times? As cheesy as it sounds if my mistakes can save one reader money or heartache it’s worth it. OK HERE WE GO:

I started “dating” Larry in early 2024. We met online, hooked up numerous times, and went out to dinner at restaurants including La Bamba. I helped walk his two rescue dogs. The construction of his new apartment took much longer than he intended. He asked to borrow money for an Airbnb. We had split any bills we had incurred up until now. Up until this point, I had no reason to not trust him. Mistake #1:

When it comes to money matters don’t trust anyone you just met.

Larry borrowed $400. He outlined the two dates – May 15th and May 30th when he would pay me back, even signing an IOU form he wrote. Y’all know how this story ends. Ghosted. And still waiting for that $400. Mistake #2:

A signed IOU piece of paper doesn’t mean jack shit.

I met Patrick, a fellow teacher, through a mutual friend. We clicked and discussed starting a tutoring company. A few weeks later Patrick messaged me asking to talk. His volatile relationship ended. His boyfriend – who he alleged through tears was physically, mentally, and verbally abusive – dumped him and kicked him out of their house. {Sobering fact: The DC Volunteer Lawyer Project estimates 26% of gay men have experienced physical violence by an intimate partner.) This ex had already moved his new boyfriend in. Patrick begged to move into my spare bedroom, “I have rent money but I don’t have money for the deposit, but I promise you I won’t screw you over.” Y’all know how this story ends.

By the time it was for Patrick to move out – I knew rather quickly we were not a match living together – he still owed me back rent money. He also decided not to leave, squatting 11 days. As he was squatting he would cry – yes Patrick was a crier – how could I kick him out I was the only person that didn’t abandon him…as he was actively screwing me over. The irony is not lost on me.

Patrick knew the laws. Since he was there more than 90 days and since he received mail – he technically had more rights than I did. If I changed the locks I would be arrested. If I put his stuff outside of the apartment I would be arrested. Patrick turned out to not be such a nice guy and much of the abuse he alleged at the hands of his ex turned out to be false. Mistake #3

When someone tells you they are gonna pay you back do not believe them.

Finally, and definitely the most embarrassing I was scammed out of $250 through the website Poshmark. I had put some old clothes up for resale and was immediately bombarded with message after message from interested sellers. I was told by multiple sellers that my account wasn’t active and I needed to email Poshmark (red flag #1). Poshmark – or what I thought was Poshmark – then emailed back saying in so many words I needed to have money in my account through Poshmark to begin selling. The emails had Poshmark logos and seemed legit. Looking back now this does not seem legit at all.

I was told to get a CVS gift card, scratch out the numbers, and upload the image to my Poshmark account. Writing this now yes it seems completely fake and completely ridiculous. But in the rush and the excitement amid the dozen or so interested buyers, it honestly seemed legit.

When I finally got Patrick out and in his haste to leave (I pretended I was calling the police and he ran like the wind) Patrick left some things behind. These are what I was so eager to sell. I wanted to recoup any losses back. I was a man on a mission. I had blinders on. I rushed to CVS and rushed to upload the gift card.

Almost immediately after uploading I knew I had fucked up. But I do know that if I fell for this scam others did too.

I immediately contacted Poshmark only to be told what I knew, I had been scammed. Poshmark has taken no responsibility and no ownership of this incident. Even after giving phone numbers, emails, and text messages – literal proof – to Poshmark the scammers were still operating on their site.

In all my dealings with “buyers” on Poshmark, every single person who messaged me played the same game – “Your account isn’t approved contact Poshmark at this email” –

It all seemed both legit and laughably false at the same time. Not one of the over 3 dozen “buyers” ever amounted to anything. I one thousand percent think Poshmark works with these scammers. Avoid Poshmark at all costs

Robby from Brooklyn is now street-smart and hardened by these losses. He now knows what he should have already known and this is the lesson of the story –

if you lend someone money do not expect it back.

Robby from Brooklyn isn’t going to be lending anyone any money anytime soon! Until next time readers.

(this column was edited by Rachel Lader)

THE COLD KINDA DOES BOTHER ME ANYWAYS

Greetings Letters readers, Happy Holidays, Robby here formerly from Brooklyn…most recently from Fort Lauderdale…but now, once again, Robby from Brooklyn here. Yes I did just move back, back, back again to Brooklyn. And if you are like most of my friends – and even random strangers just meeting for the first time – you are probably thinking to yourself something along the lines of “what took you so long,” or “why did you even move there in the first place?” I hear you fellow readers!

It’s like my friend Paula told me: “Florida is an absolute dumpster fire.” Or as my former AIDS Lifecycle crush Mark exclaimed: “Florida sucks. Period. Exclamation point.” And former FLL resident Michael more eloquently said, “Florida isn’t what it was when we lived there in the early 2000s. Maybe I’m just older and wiser, but Republicans have creeped their way in and taken over the state. As nice as Wilton Manors is it’s unlivable long-term for gays.”

As I discussed in this column before, moving from a blue state to a red state was a huge leap for me and looking back it really wasn’t the right choice. I never found my groove. My social life was pretty lame. Finding and keeping friends turned out to be nearly impossible. My queer activism was virtually non-existent and the job market was rough with substitute teachers being paid – wait for it – $15 an hour.

All was not horrible. I did have a small group of people I called friends whom I know I will keep in touch with. I loved volunteering at Poverellos, a food pantry/thrift store that provided much needed aid to anyone in the community needing a little help. I did get to freelance for OUTSFL – the gay weekly paper – and met some awesome fellow writers. And you can’t beat the weather. I loved riding my bike or walking everywhere around Wilton Manors.

But being back in NYC less than a week in the blistering cold I have come to realize that all things considered, I really do relate to the lyrics from the Idina Menzel song in that blockbuster movie and Broadway show. No, not the one about the witches lol. The one where she sings – “The cold never bothered me anyways”.

Ok, that might be an exaggeration but being back in NYC in the frigid cold actually doesn’t bother me. NYC in the frigid cold is better than FLA in the sun and warmth.

I am more excited about my – not to sound conceited – already packed social calendar. Invitations to holiday parties, movie screenings and volunteer shifts at God’s Love We Deliver. Since arriving back two days ago I have received invites to two holiday parties. By contrast I didn’t get invited to any holiday parties in FLL all of last December.

Finally, and not to get political in this column, but with Donald Trump winning the Presidential election and coming back into power, NYC will be a far safer place for a queer person than Florida. Especially an Italian-American queer person who is very dark and looks Mexican or Puerto Rican! Hardly anyone who looks at me guesses I am Italian. Quite the opposite actually. People talk to me in Spanish ALL the time. Just yesterday filling out a form the intake coordinator – unbeknownst to me – circled Spanish. The two of us had a good laugh when I explained that the intake coordinator just assumed I was Latino, and that it happens quite often to me.

Who knows what is going to happen in January once TFG gets back in the White House. Whatever happens I don’t think it’s going to be good ,and I don’t think living in a red state is the best option for me.

I already feel much safer being back in a blue state. And I already feel so much happier and lighter here in Brooklyn thinking to myself “why did I stick it out so long in a place that really wasn’t working?” But no Monday morning quarterbacking or backseat driving, 2nd guessing, coulda shoulda woulda… I went, I tried, I gave it a good shot and for whatever reason it didn’t work out for me. Robby from Brooklyn belongs in Brooklyn and is thrilled to be back. Robby from Brooklyn will keep telling himself that the cold really doesn’t bother him anyways. Robby from Brooklyn will see if he still feels that way after the first snowfall. Robby from Brooklyn will stop talking about himself in the third person.

That’s it for me this time around readers. Thanks for all the support and love you have shown me. Happy Holidays to you and yours. Robby from Brooklyn out – gotta go buy a winter coat!

(*This column orginially appeared in the December edition of “Letters From Camp Rehoboth”)

Are All Fingerprints the Same?

Hey readers, I’m back, back, back again. It’s Robby you know, like from the block.

The “Sunshine State” in the dog days of summer, becomes the “Brutally Hot Sunshine State.” The heat is unbearable. How do native Floridians deal with it?

Approaching the first anniversary of my move back to the FTL it has been quite an adventure. Lots of ups, lots of downs, lots of good times, lots of not-so-good times.

As the new school year starts I am turning to remote teaching options. As previously mentioned substitute teaching jobs here want want want from the applicant and pretty much give nothing. I have to take a 6-hour training class AND pay $125 for fingerprinting. {I have been an English teacher for almost 20 years, many of those years in FL and I have been fingerprinted 3x each time at a cost over $100. Heck, I could fingerprint myself and just give it to them!} Oh, and the teacher’s pay – $15 an hour.

Every other job I applied for – retail, restaurant – pays more. How did we get to the point where we devalue teachers so much?

On top of employment issues, there have been roommate issues as well. As in, my roommate turned out to be a complete degenerate scumbag POS. And he was a teacher too! Stabbed in the back by a fellow teacher – of all the nerve! How did he pass the fingerprinting?

After quickly realizing the situation wasn’t going to work out I gave him six weeks’ notice. Dude had no intention of leaving. EVER. He cried poverty, he cried past abuse by an ex, he cried he had no friends. Lots of tears but all of them were crocodile. His goal was for me to change the locks or to put his boxes out on the street. Both of those would have gotten me arrested. Yeah because he was here longer than 30 days the onus was on me.

Not only was the onus on me, but the “blame” was as well – with some people even saying things like “I hope you learned your lesson,” or “It’s time to start winning, you’ve been on the losing end of things lately.” And remember, I’m from Brooklyn. I’ve got street smarts I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck and land here in FLL.

Excuse me? How are the despicable actions of someone else, someone who squatted in the apartment, someone who still owes me $500, someone who interviewed and presented well, but someone who was ultimately a really awful human being – how does he come out looking like a prince in the forum of public opinion? It’s like bizarro world.

It’s like waking up one day and being told a 2nd Trump Presidency is all but certain. It’s like waking up one day and being told that Joe Biden cannot beat Donald Trump. It’s like waking up one day and being told that 50% of this country would vote for Donald Trump if the election were today? Oh, wait…. That did all happen. We are currently living in bizarro world!

I’m supposed to believe that after a poor 90-minute debate performance Democrats like you and me, independents from Maine to Washington decided that Joe Biden was too old, feeble and weak for a second term. And these millions and millions of people who already voted for Biden in 2020, 81 million in fact, all of a sudden went from Biden to Trump? I’m not buying it. That’s as shady as my roommate clearing the fingerprints for teaching.

But like the Democratic party, I rise from the ashes of…a hugely successful Biden first term Presidency where — the US is once again the strongest economy in the world. Crime and unemployment are both down. The stock market and NASDAQ keep shattering records.

There is renewed energy, vigor, and gusto with Kamala as the nominee. The entire campaign has changed and been revitalized and I have hope once again. And so has Brooklyn Fort Lauderdale Robby! Bring on the next roommate and the next heatwave. Let’s get that fingerprint background check started – I’m ready!

(yeah I’m still waiting for the money he owes me…)

*this column was edited by Kathleen Regan.

CAMP GREENWICH VILLAGE

by GUEST WRITER DUANE SCOTT CERNY

Announcer: “Attention. Were you or a loved one working or visiting Camp Greenwich Village between 1954 and a week ago last Thursday? If so, you may be entitled to insignificant compensation that’s hardly worth mentioning. Perhaps even a valueless Pokemon card.

What’s left of the federal government has set aside some $75 to be divided between anyone exposed to the ironic, and often confusing, nature of Camp Greenwich Village. If you were unwittingly exposed to unnatural pithiness, overexaggerated reality, or artifice so contrived that air was released by either end of your anatomy, we want to know!

Just answer a few of these simple questions:

1. Have you ever stumbled home late one night only to later realize you were a lagging participant at the end of an LGBTQ+ parade?

2. Have you found yourself reciting famous lines from Turner Classic diva films—‘I am big! It’s the pictures that got small!’ while trying to buy discount photo frames from Target?

3. Would you define camp as more of an acquired taste or an aftertaste?

4. While reading Susan Sontag’s ‘Notes On Camp,’ have you ever envisioned yourself as a butterfly pinned to a bulletin board shaped like a pork chop?

5. Do you feel melancholy over sheet music from obscure Off-Broadway show tunes unavailable, even on anal retentive collector sites like S&M.Swing.com?

If you answered ‘Yes,’ ‘Maybe,’ or ‘I wasn’t home that day’ to any of these questions, you may be eligible for negligible compensation of questionable value as stated above. Let’s examine today’s unresponsive candidates.”

Subject No. 1: “My name is Rusty Peen, and I need this money. I once passed out in Camp Greenwich Village atop that weird children’s statue in Bleecker Park. The next morning, I awoke to find I’d dropped a third testicle. I’m not complaining, and neither are my many lady friends, if you catch my socially transmitted metaphors, dude.”

Announcer: “Thanks, Rusty. We’ll micro-emboss your application on a tetanus shot applicator and get back to you as soon as the CDC get their hazmat suits back from the dry cleaners.”

Subject No. 2., Anonymous Woman, West 4th Street (crying): “I spent last summer at Camp Greenwich Village and came home to Vermont only to discover I could live openly as a phrenologist’s model. But Camp Greenwich Village accepted me. Plus, there are so many openings there, mostly in people’s heads.”

Announcer: “That’s exactly what we’re talking about, you lumpy-headed lady who lives above the adult latex and THC colonic emporium on 4th. You are, perhaps, entitled to compensation … and a free makeover at Greenwich Village’s One Touch of Glamour. As their slogan guarantees, Visit us once, and consider yourself touched.”

Subject No. 3, Tourist: “I spent my honeymoon at Camp Greenwich Village, and I’ve since developed a large and aggressively growing sea creature wriggling out of my chest. My husband has abandoned me, and I’ve now been forced to update my Grindr profile: ‘Hot dad and parasitic sea monster seeks committed seaway three-way. No twinks or shellfish allergies, please.’”

Announcer: “Okay, this guy deserves compensation. And maybe some cocktail sauce.”

Sea Monster: “Hey, I had a great time at Camp Greenwich Village. Met a seafood sampler of hot, friendly, campy people … and they were all delicious!”

Announcer: “Disclaimer #1: Sorry! No sea monster claims. We’ve been forced to cast much shorter nets since that messy Loch Ness Nessie debacle.”

The Fine Print: This offer is not valid in the State of New York City for reasons obvious to anyone not living here. Proof of Camp Greenwich Village exposure will be conducted via blood and/or urine tests (sorry, Rusty Peen), and compensation will be issued after all federal, state and local taxes have been deducted, plus commensurate legal fees, court costs, filing and photocopying expenses, parking and lunch deductions with two-cocktail minimums, plus tips.

Update: Disclaimer #2: It has been determined that Camp Greenwich Village is contaminated with so much new money, the old money now considers their assets a solid rather than liquid.

However, if they wish, the nouveau riche may walk on virtual water while live-streaming the fluidity of their wealth on better decorating platforms that aren’t shoes.

Duane Scott Cerny is a humorist, baby booming vintage dealer, and the author of the best-selling memoirs Vintage Confidential and Selling Dead People’s Things. He resides in Chicago, the West Village, and on uncomfortable seating between.

Robby’s Reboot

Greetings Letters readers, Robby from Brooklyn here, officially writing to you from his new home base in Oakland Park, Florida. Well, not an official home base but a home base for the time being and a different home base from the temporary home base set up before I officially moved here. But more on that a bit later.

The move itself just did not go smoothly. It was a bit like me, my movements, my mannerisms, my expressions, and well just about ] everything else it seems in my life – messy, chaotic, jagged, rough. Maybe if I was a teenager today I would get tested for these characteristics, but being a kid from the 80s, we keep going and don’t need to name it. It’s part of who I am, and always have been. What makes me, me… but as I age it does seem to be getting more extreme and not less and these traits seem to have crept into the way my life just runs now.

Everything gets worse as we get older, eyesight, hearing, memory, and my ‘personality traits’ also seem to get more messy instead of less. Medications sometimes work and sometimes they don’t. And, frankly, sometimes they make me not… well, me. FYI: don’t try buying prescription medications in Mexican pharmacies while on vacation. Long story short, that shit fucks up your system. Or maybe just mine. It really does sound like a cliche but everybody really does react differently to things, but I don’t advise taking your chances.

Moving at a faster speed, as this Italian New Yorker tends to do, coupled with a touch of messiness, is a disastrous combination. Most notably with electronics. Things break easily around me. Or I break things easily. I break lots of phones and every now and then a laptop. I’m the friend who always sends you a new phone number as a result of this breaking habit.. But I also am always trying to get the best deal.. Rest assured I think this 80’s kid just finally realized that you pay for what you get, better quality, better lasting.

But we rolled the dice sooooooo many times and now we are fucked. Fucked in the good way that we got to buy a new laptop and phone and get a new 954 number, but fucked as in I am locked out of almost every app, email, and social account you can think of. And without access to my accounts, I am lost. Lost, lost, lost. No GPS to even help.

And I know this is 1000% my fault, and I will and need to make a real commitment to change.

But there are also some ‘you have got to be kidding me’ moments in all of this as well. I bought my new phone Tuesday and I called one of my besties Frank, and figured out how to get into Instagram and send messages to friends with my new number.

Well, woke up Wednesday morning and I do not have one text message from anyone I sent my number to? I am not conceited, (no comments please) but that just doesn’t jive. Going back into the store – in the July Florida heat no less – turns out that the actual 954 number I have is registered to an IPHONE but I am/was on an ANDROID (another reason I should have bought an IPHONE instead lol) so the messages were being sent as imessages, and just hanging out in dead airspace somewhere. Ispace if you will.

So anyone that sent me a message yesterday has no idea that I didn’t get it. I mean, yeah ok, the teen technician fixed it, but seriously? can I catch a mother fucking break somewhere!

But again, the blame is on me and the solution is on me as well. I need to take better care of things, including myself. It feels more and more like a rebirth down here instead of a move. Much to do in these coming days from doing something superficial and fun like finding a new gay gym to something important like finding your new gay doctor. Fun – joining an Intramural team. Important – setting up the first “Gays Against Guns: South Florida” meeting.

Florida Robby is taking shape and ready to start flying. Florida Robby needs to buy more summer clothes. Apparently, for a gay man my tank top wardrobe is surprisingly lacking, according to other gay men lol. Even though in the real non-gay world my tank top wardrobe is probably ginormous. First things first, new laptop. My roommate/friend has a BJ’s membership (no comments please) and we can order one online and pick it up right at the store. I love the ease and efficiency of suburban life. Hopefully, that can translate into my real life.

And as I reboot my new computer, I will be rebooting my life. Everything is new and everything is changing. A perfect chance to start fresh and tweak the parts of my life that might need some tweaking. No one is perfect. And no one is without imperfect characteristics. But, not to worry folks this is not a massive overhaul. Just a little TLC medicine if you will. It took me a long time to love myself. And I still love myself. I’m still going to be extra. Just be extra careful. Extra careful with my things and myself. And my new tank top collection.

(**this column was originally published in “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.)

F***ing Florida

Holy shit the move to Fort Lauderdale is 15 days away! In my last column (https://www.camprehoboth.com/letters/1997/april-21-2023-visiting-view-robert-dominic) I talked about my upcoming move back to Florida. I also discussed my trepidation at moving to a red state. A red state that just in the weeks since my last column, we have seen DeSantis escalate his all-out war to eradicate the queer community.

The fact that Florida is a red state, and the fact that the shit is hitting the proverbial fan there is a major reason I am moving back. Since my wild and crazy party-all-the-time 20s and 30s (and some of my 40s admittedly) my priorities have shifted somewhat, am now a full-time queer activist these days. A role I gladly take on.I envy the youth of Gen Z today who at 18-25 today are much more politically active than I ever was at their age. I truly believe that Gen Z is going to make the Republican party extinct, or at least i’m hoping they willAnd I want to do my part as well.

And I ‘m hoping that extinction day will come sooner than later, sooner being this November at\every local, regional, and national election to continue the Republican’s losses from 2020 and 2022. . We all know that. They also lost in 2016 but because of an outdated, easily manipulated electoral college – that needs to be abolished – the GOP weaseled their way into the White House. Did you know a Republican President has not won the popular vote since George W. Bush in 2004 And yet this party, led by the now disgraced, twice impeached one term former Orange POTUS, was allowed to put THREE, not worthy in any sense of the word, justices on the Supreme Court? Deciding on the rights for ALL of us, even the most popular ones. Completely nonsensical.

This leads me back to the topic of my impending move and how some people believe this is also irrational and makes no sense. My friends fall into three camps of reactions to this next phase of my journey (I totally just sounded like a contestant on “The Bachelor” lol. }

Camp one – great, we are so happy for you. I love this for you. I will miss you but we will see each other lots its only Florida, Perfect weekend getaway. (Maybe solid 65% of the group.)

Camp two – WTF do you not read the news? How and why The F&$K are you going down there? I love you and I am scared for you. The non-profit Equality Florida and NAACP has said don’t come here. And you take that as a challenge or an invitation to move there? Bitch, this ain’t the price is right and you can’t bid on a safe experience. It is getting very very bad for our community there. And it’s getting worse and worse every day. (20%.)

Camp three – wow that is ballsy of you. Go down and kick some fucking ass. But girl, if you think I am coming down there to visit you you gonna be waiting a long time. We will not spend any money down there. We are boycotting that state. (15%)

All opinions are valid. I know that These s are voices of love and kindness just wanting the best for me. Each has their own thoughts and rationale for their response too. Many of these activists have been on the front lines for decades from ACTup to Queer Nation to Prop 8 to DOMA. To hear them consider me one of their own is an honor and a privilege. And I don’t take that lightly.

And as the co-President of the newest chapter of “Gays Against Guns,” South Florida, I hope to make them proud. However, It’s an honor I carry with a heavy heart. I don’t want to have to be in a group called GAG. The GOP is brilliant at creating a fake problem and convincing their rabid, uneducated, uninformed, racist, sexist, homophobic base that pronouns and drag queens are ruining America.

Everyone, no matter where they sit, can be part of the fight even by educating others. So Republicans, why are you railing and raging about someone you never met, who has zero effect on your life using THEY as their pronoun.

For example, Did you know that if you buy a megayacht you don’t have to pay any taxes on that sale. Meanwhile, your teacher friend and her firefighter husband with three kids who are living paycheck to paycheck have to pay taxes. But please, go on about that drag queen lip-syncing to “Physical” – in a gay bar you have never been to and will never go to – and how she is grooming children. Which specific children are you talking about? And what exactly does grooming mean? Please provide detailed facts and evidence.

So the day after NYC Pride, at the end of June, look for a car filled with rainbows and glitter heading down to the Hellmouth to stand up for everyone in the queer community, myself included. It’s time for all hands on deck. MAKE YOUR VOICE HEARD. FIGHT BACK no matter where you are.. and above all else, VOTE BLUE. Every. Single. Time. DeSantis we are voting you off the island.

The Management Has The Right To Refuse Service…

“In no way do I want this to be an attack on gay men. I fully support them having safe spaces that are welcoming. I don’t want to go to outer space either, but if someone suddenly said no women were allowed in space, I’d be first to join the protest.”

So says Amina Chaudhry as she attacks a safe space gay men have created for themselves. Chaudhry “filed a complaint alleging she was discriminated against because she wasn’t allowed to stay at an all-male resort that was clothing-optional for gay and bisexual men.”(The Advocate)

The all-male resort in question: The Island House in Key West. According to the Keys Weekly, The Island House Key West resort’s owners and attorneys say that they have units for women, but that the specific woman wasn’t allowed to stay because of prior negative behavior. The layers of this story continue to deepen. Chaudhry was at the Pride kickoff parties at the Island House in both June 2021 and 2022. And get this…

In June 2022 Chaudhry distributed flyers trashing the Island House. Flyers attacked the Island House and claimed it’s policies were discrimination. Yes, the same Island House that invited her in as a guest. The same Island House where she had been to before and had a great time. Is this biatch for real? Literally coming into our safe space and then trashing it for being a safe space. (I mean this isn’t funny but could you imagine being at the Pride party at the Island House and having this woman pass out flyers. Everyone is dancing, drinking, singing, having fun in the pool…I know my friends and I would have laughed it off and then probably clapped with everyone else as she was escorted out.)

Yes, I am making light out of this and yes I am going to crack jokes throughout this column but this is still an attack on the queer community.

I was going to write a paragraph about this woman’s motives or reasons but guess what I don’t give an F about any of those. End result is still the same. Just because you are not welcome somewhere does not make it discrimination.

The world is different now than it was at the beginning of the Gay Rights movement. Some of my first mentors were reluctant to give up their queer bars to women explaining to the younger generations (me in the early 2000s) that they fought long and hard for these spaces. Today in 2023 where everyone knows someone who is L G B T Q the social scene is more mixed. Most queer bars welcome all ages, shapes, and identities. BUT…

There are and should be, men-only spaces. And by the same reason, there should be women-only nights at bars and clubs and transgender-only parties. Is it discrimination? What about black-only or Jewish-only fraternities?

There are many bars in queer NYC I would go with my female friends, but would I take them to The Eagle? No probably not. Would I take them to the Brut parties? No definitely not. And I know I can speak for them when I say they do not feel discriminated against. Just like if I had two or three weekends to choose from to go to in Provincetown, ‘women’s weekend’ would not make my list.

Owner Bob Lore said “I felt affronted by the fact that there was someone who was invited to the space and enjoying it, but while passing out literature to the detriment of our property and aggravating our guests. We eventually had the police escort her off the property.” Good, I am glad. Aggravating our guests he said it right there. Again, I make jokes but this was an attack on our community.

Strolling Into My Next Decade…

As a gay man in his late 40s, I have come to notice more and more the little (and not so little) signs that I’m aging, and they have all happened very recently. It’s like I have been young for decades and now suddenly every morning it’s something new. (I have been getting Botox once or twice a year now for a few years but I consider that just normal life maintenance lol.) (below photo, March 2023)

I am near-sighted and wear glasses. Sometime last year I was having trouble reading a book or looking at my phone while wearing my glasses. I was actually very confused for days, pondering—what’s going on? Why can’t I see my phone? I have been wearing glasses my whole life and had been able to read perfectly while wearing them—apparently not anymore! Now, it’s glasses on for distance and glasses off when I need to read or send a text. This makes texting during Rupaul’s Drag Race quite the challenge! Relaying the story to a friend, he politely replied, “Yeah, that’s a real thing. It happens in your 40s.”

Everything we have heard about getting older is true: the hangovers are rougher; it takes much, much longer to recover. The pounds pack on very easily and the new-found weight is significantly harder to get off.

A few years ago, I thought these were urban legends or that maybe I was lucky and would always be “young at heart.” Just like karma—who might be late but always shows up—Father Time also begins to show up with his scythe and ticking clock. Well, Father Time found me. It’s like the dam broke and once the first crack of aging appeared the flood waters started rushing in. (below photo – 2001)

Aging for me hasn’t felt gradual. It feels more like a before and after. One day I was young, carefree, hot, lean, muscular, and sexy. (Let me have this, please lol.). Then one morning I woke up and just felt “older.” If everyone in the world were broken up into two categories—young and old—I feel like now, today, I am part of the old group. I mean if I finally got on the reality show Survivor and they broke up the teams by age, I would definitely be in the “older” group. I’d be longingly looking at the 35-year-old on the other team and hoping a tribe swap or merge would come up soon.

As we age, we need to spend more time taking care of ourselves and looking after our mental and physical health. Every time I see a friend posting on FaceBook that they are preparing for a colonoscopy, I think to myself, “I need to schedule that.” Doctors, dentists, and trips to the dermatologist for a little touch-up of Botox (or “Bo” for us in the know) come more and more frequently. (below photo, December 2020)

But the absolute “kick-me-in-the-crotch, spit-on-my-neck fantastic” sign of my own aging is walking. I’m only too aware of it. Loud, chatty, animated, gregarious, energetic, hyper—I have heard them all. I am Italian; I gesture when I talk. And I talk a lot. And I’m a New Yorker. Born and raised. I walk fast. VERY FAST. Especially on NYC sidewalks. I take pride in it. Lately, I have come to notice that not only are people walking as fast as I am, but many are also walking even faster. Color me dumbfounded on 8th Avenue, walking to that quintessential Chelsea gay bar, Rebar, with people passing me left and right, leaving me to wonder, “when the f* did I lose my stride?!”

With all my whining about aging, I want to make something perfectly clear: getting older is a privilege. I am fully aware of how lucky I am to see 40, 45, and hopefully 50, 60, and beyond. Some of our friends and family did not get that privilege. (below photo January 2023)

I am not a huge birthday person. I go out, see my friends, but it’s not a huge fanfare-type of event. However, we do acknowledge the day, and celebrate. We celebrate for those who didn’t get the chance. I celebrate for my beloved cousin Dawnie, who died at 32 after battling lupus her entire life. I celebrate for my two friends from college, Carrie, and Deidre, both taken from us far too soon. I celebrate for an entire generation of gay men lost during the AIDS epidemic.

Speaking of the passage of time…it’s time for another touch-up of the Bo. I just hope everyone doesn’t stride past me as I walk to my dermatologist’s office! ▼ (below photos, November 2022 and December 2000)