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.

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.

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.)

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.

“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.

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)

Greetings Letter readers, Robby from Brooklyn here hoping all are well. In my last column, I had just returned from a press tour of Merida, Mexico, after same-sex marriage was legalized in the state of Yucatan. While not the marrying type, I did love touring the local Haciendas and luxury resorts eager to become a sought-after location for queer American couples looking to book a destination wedding. Even though I don’t envision marriage for myself, I picture my life as a romantic comedy film with a happy ending! (Not that kind of happy ending – this isn’t a Naked Sword rom-com…LOL).

I have always loved rom-coms. My entertainment viewing tends to be on the “light,” “cheerful,” and “funny” side as opposed to dark and deadly. No “Handmaid’s Tale,” “Walking Dead,” or “American Horror Story” for me. Give me an “Emily in Paris,” “Younger,” or “The Other Two,” over a “Dahmer” any day.  HELL NO. 

And rom-com movies! LOVE. I might have popped a little woody just now LOL. Today I am writing this hours before I am about to see “BROS,” the first gay-led rom-com from a major Hollywood studio. Every role in the film – even the straight ones – are played by queer actors. Thank you Billy Eichner for giving this gift to our community. It’s been a long time coming.

As rom-com obsessed as I am, having a film like this growing up would have been a life changer. I am beyond thrilled for queer kids today with the amount of LGBTQ representation in film, television, and books. It’s truly astounding. As a 40-something gay man, this representation when I was coming of age was almost non-existent and very hard to find. 

We had Matt on “Melrose Place,” where we did not even get to see him kiss his boyfriend. Instead, the camera cut to Daphne Zuniga’s Jo watching it unfold. We had Jack McPhee on “Dawsons Creek,” who did get to kiss his boyfriend – making history as the first same-sex kiss on network television. These weren’t the first queer characters on network television, but they were the first for me. Older generations (this is not shade or ageist) got to watch Billy Crystal on “Soap,” and two men sitting in bed shirtless after sex on “Thirtysomething.” As time marched on we finally began to see ourselves on television screens as leading characters in “Queer as Folk” and “Will and Grace.” 

Watching rom-com movies I was always looking for a gay man with a starring role finding his Prince Charming and happy ending. We saw ourselves on screen as the gay best friend like Rupert Everett in “My Best Friends Wedding.” Earlier films like “Longtime Companion,” “Love, Valour, Compassion,” and “An Early Frost” were devastating dramas where one or more queer characters died. “Brokeback Mountain” can be added to that list. And look what happened to Greg Kinnear’s character in “As Good As It Gets.” Don’t even get me started on “Cruising” with Al Pacino – that movie scarred me for years. 

As a younger gay, I was lucky to have friends who taught and showed me gay history. We watched the groundbreaking PBS “Tales of the City.” Laura Linney will forever be MaryAnn to me. Then slowly but surely, every so often there would be a gay rom-com like “Billy’s Hollywood Screen Kiss” with Will Hayes. I fell in love with Paul Rudd in “The Object of My Affection” with Jennifer Aniston. Rudd was just like me, a teacher with friends, family, hopes, and dreams who just happened to be gay. Bonus points for having hunk Tim Daly as his douche-y ex. (Definitely had a massive crush on him after the movie.)

We claimed “Trick” as our own watching it over and over on rainy days in the Pines. Who could forget Tori Spelling singing “Enter You.” There had been rumors of a possible sequel, but no details so far as to where that stands. Eventually, we were getting multiple queer films and it felt ok to dislike some of them without feeling like we were betraying the community. “Weekend” was one of those for me. Everyone else was raving about it, but I think I fell asleep in the theater. The same goes for Showtime’s “Looking,” which many loved while I found it better than Ambien for putting me to sleep.

But my absolute favorite “gay” film was and still is, drumroll please…”The Broken Hearts Club.” Zach Braff, Timothy Olyphant, Dean Cain, and Billy Porter. Revolving around the lives of members of a gay softball team in West Hollywood, they were us. They were my friends and I. Their problems were our problems. The slutty one, the romantic one, the negative one, and the newbie. I even joined a gay softball league after seeing the film! It was super fun but we were not TBHC…LOL. 

Change comes slowly, as I’m reminded by older gay friends. Each film, book, and movie with fully-realized queer characters take us one step closer to equality. So, get with your bros, see “Bros,” and celebrate how far our community has come. I would bet money there is a happy ending. Both kinds!

(**this column originally appeared in “Letters From Camp Rehoboth”)

Greetings from Merida! Ok, so yes I am back in NYC after my vacation touring the state of Yucatan but ‘Greetings from Merida’ is a better opening line. Quick refresher, last time I wrote about my first ever trip as a freelance writer. Same-sex marriage recently became the law of the land in Merida, Cancun, Valladolid, and the surrounding areas. 

I was invited to the region on a destination wedding/honeymoon tour with eight other journalists, influencers, and editors. Sights were seen, food was eaten, drinks were drunk, and friendships were formed. It was a really nice five days south of the border, but sorry to disappoint…I did not come home with a husband. Nor do I come home with a nagging desire to get married. 

Basically, Merida would love to be the “new” Puerto Vallarta and tap into that billion-dollar wedding market. And honestly, that newness is the biggest attraction the state of Yucatan has going for it at the moment.  Gays LOVE discovering the “next best thing.” 

Tel Aviv Pride. Iceland. The gays also seem to know what and where is about to blow up and become super popular. Like Samantha Jones said, “First come the gays, then the girls, then the industry.” Merida is hoping that rings true for their tourism and city. 

A beautiful destination wedding in a stunning Mexican location, with a small group of friends, is CONSIDERABLY cheaper than a wedding at a venue here in the States. Taking 6, or 10 (depending on how well off my future imaginary fiancee is), friends to a gorgeous locale in Merida, and getting married in front of them does sound nice. Ten does seem like a lot of people. Don’t mention that to my cousin Jeannine who, lovingly, had all the cousins in her bridal party. Twelve. On each side. So yes there were 24 of us. The priest exclaimed after we all made it done the aisle, “Well now that the opening ceremonies of the Olympic Games have ended, let’s get you two married!”

We did see quite a lot of venues, haciendas, and luxury resorts. My mind is a little foggy trying to remember everywhere we went. Good thing I still have the itinerary and the photos time stamped on my phone to refresh my memory. Easily, my favorite locale though was the last hacienda we visited, Hacienda Xcanatún by Angsana. 

It’s hard to explain why Hacienda Xcanatún by Angsana was my favorite. We can’t help what or who we are attracted to. The staff was remarkably friendly and personable. The grounds were gorgeous without being pretentious. I even envisioned my future imaginary bachelor party at the fabulous, but not grotesquely huge, pool area. Unfortunately, when I inquired about the packages offered, I was told a groom does not come with the deal. Foiled again! 

I think I am doing ok without a husband. Better than OK, in fact. As Carrie Bradshaw famously said in a “sex and the city” episode [ok I binged on some beloved classic shows that I have seen many times to get through the never-ending winter in NYC. Fuck you Omicron.] she is “SINGLE AND FABULOUS EXCLAMATION POINT”. Poor gurl ended up on a magazine cover not looking her best with the words “single and fabulous?” Notice the question mark. Not what she signed up for she mused. So like Ms. Bradshaw I too am single and fabulous exclamation point.

I always thought if the whole soulmate, wedding, two kids picket fence thing happened for me it would be amazing and wonderful. But if by some chance it doesn’t, my life will be just as happy and just as full. There are other kinds of love besides romantic love. Gen Y twentysomethings are buying homes with their friends. Whether that is due to astronomical real estate prices as of late or just the want and desire to own a home without having to wait for that future husband or wife is yet to be determined. We love those memes about normalizing “living with your 3 best friends in your 60s.” 

I still love my rom-coms devouring them all – “never been kissed’ “notting hill” and “13 going on 30” prob top the list – [can’t wait to add ‘Bros’ to that list when it is released later this year] but I am smart enough to know that’s not how life works. We all deserve the happy ending. Just believing that you deserve a happy ending is a very powerful thing.

But remember happy endings all don’t look the same and my happy ending (come through Avril Lavigne!) might look different from yours. Whatever your happy ending is I hope it happens for you. Mine might include a husband, might include a wedding but it’s definitely going to include a flash mob proposal. OK so maybe life can be like a rom-com! 

(this column originally appeared in “Letters From Camp Rehoboth”)

by Guest Writer Brandon Gage

Rooftop access should be a right in New York City

New York City real estate is some of the most valuable on the planet. Land is at a premium, and skyward is the only direction in which to construct. Developers desperately outbid themselves on erecting phallic monstrosities that will earn them ungodly amounts of money, slash their taxes, and render living in the Big Apple unjustifiably more expensive for everyone else. 

Like individual New Yorkers, each residential building is unique in its own way no matter when it was built. They share certain features including means of egress and ingress, basements, common corridors, staircases, and sometimes elevators. And while all of them have roofs, only in some are residents allowed to enjoy that untapped, secure, open-air square footage.

Commercial venues are encouraged to acquire permission to utilize their building’s rooftops due to the extra revenue that they generate for the establishments’ owners. In fact, retail spaces are commonly unleaseable without their respective upper levels, despite the increased cost.

People, however, are seldom presented with that opportunity unless the rent-collecting gentry issues special approval or has already invested in significant modifications.

That must change. 

This is not to say that landlords and property management firms need to adorn roofs with turf, furniture, or amenities that are unnecessary for tar beaches. Let those who pay to live there sort out the decorative details. The point is that providing an exclusive outdoor spot to lounge in the Sun, work out, or stargaze at night is a small request. And it would boost the morale of a city that has been through the fucking ringer and is doing its best to recover and evolve.

During the COVID-19 lockdown, the mercurial oasis atop my concrete and cinderblock prewar habitat became a refuge upon which to clear my head, burn some calories, and stare toward twinkling infinity. 

Behind me, a sea of staggered ceilings fills the blocks between my dwelling and The George Washington Bridge, a permanently illuminated beacon blinking a couple of miles to my North.

On warm days, I would tan and exercise, and when I got lucky, watch a storm approaching from the West. At night, when I lay down on a blanket and remained still enough, I observed the Earth’s rotation as stars slowly drifted behind the taller structures in the neighborhood. 

There were even instances wherein I fell asleep, bong in hand, under the heavens, never once feeling vulnerable, unsafe, or on someone else’s schedule. 

Time, it seems, prefers the sanctum of the indoors.

Meanwhile, down in Hell’s Kitchen, three of my friends occupy a penthouse unit with a private terrace, where they graciously host periodic social gatherings of the finest trade in the land. Beats and boys thump and grind until our joints start screaming, but in this setting, who cares?

Their quaint party pulpit is nestled amongst countless skyscrapers, surrounded by life, beneath a canopy of endless, cloud-brushed azure. Planes crisscross the expanse as the Sun dips below the mirrored horizon. Bronze twilight morphs into a blackness decorated with pinpoints of cosmic fury which because of light pollution are visible only from distinct spots like this and mine.

Incidentally, you know those buzzing mini-moons that line the streets and burn your retinas?

Fuck those things. Let there be night.

Nevertheless, universal rooftop access certainly harbors potential liability concerns and legal ramifications, and although they are valid, they are not insurmountable. We can overcome.

Rooftops bring joy, strengthen the bonds of community, and enhance the urban experience. 

Access should be a right.

Brandon Gage is a political columnist and editor who is sick of right-wing bullshit preventing us from having nice things.

America is on shaky ground these days. Ron DeSantis won’t let Floridians say gay. Congress is filled with corrupt, lying, cheating racist homophobes like Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lauren Boebert, Madison Cawthorne, and Matt Gaetz.  And what’s worse is there are no repercussions for their actions. Tucker Carlson is the number one news show nightly. 

Biden is doing a stand-up job, probably the best job of any President in recent memory, yet half of America refuses to acknowledge it. Last week a dozen people were shot by a madman in the Brooklyn subway. As of writing this, there have been 145 mass shootings in the USA – THIS YEAR. And it’s only April. Yes, things are pretty bad right now. 

I will admit watching the news endlessly only depresses and stresses me out. I try to limit my news to Good Morning America and The View.  Friends love to tell me those are “not news shows” lol. These are the same friends who watch CNN, and MSN on an endless loop. Every time I stop over at their apartment there is always news on. Hours and hours of pundits giving their opinions on whatever topic is being discussed. To each their own, but for me, my television viewing needs to be light and fun. Emily in Paris, Bridgerton, The Other Two, you get the gist. Throw in some reality tv, Survivor, Project Runway, Top Chef, and game shows. 

Truth be told, I am very competitive. Love a good game night with friends. Cards Against Humanity. Taboo. Also love competing in 5k races, and Obstacle Course Races (OCR). Not to toot our own horns but my friend Noah and I placed 2nd in the Sundance Cornhole Tournament last August, and almost took the crown! 

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I have always loved game shows: Wheel of Fortune, and $100,000 Pyramid, but the one that constantly fills me with joy and makes me smile endlessly for an hour is The Price Is Right. For me, The Price is Right represents the America we strive to be!

First and foremost, anyone and everyone can participate. Older, younger, middle-aged, white, black, Latin, gay, straight, trans, Muslim, Jewish, overweight, skinny, blonde, brunette, smart, dumb. The audience looks like a melting pot of every type of American in our great country. The inclusivity of ‘TPIR’ is the goal America should be working towards.

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Taking the inclusivity a step forward, no longer are the ‘models’ all female. ‘TPIR’ has vaulted in the 21st century and employs two GORGEOUS male models to show off the luxurious prizes. In total there is a rotating cast of six models, two male, and four female. Manuela was born in Colombia and she is stunning. James hails from Australia, and if he wasn’t straight and married, he would be the man of my dreams he is that hot. Devin, an African-American hunk, played college football and Amber was a former Miss Washington Teen USA. Each of them is likable, and personable, and interacts with host Drew Carey throughout the show. Again, the representation and inclusivity in this hour are hard to top. 

Next, you would be hard-pressed to find a more joyful, exuberant, happy group of people. I mean why wouldn’t you be, you have the chance to win pretty amazing prizes: trips, cars, boats, cash. Even better – the entire audience cheers for everyone. High fives happen regularly, with strangers cheering on other strangers. 

You get outbid in contestants row by a dollar? Yeah, that SUCKS, but it’s the name of the game.

Even the games themselves inspire raucous applause. Raising the curtain to see the beloved Plinko board? You would think Lady Gaga just walked out on the stage. The Mountain Climber is also a much-loved favorite. My favorite games are Ten Chances, the Clock Game, and the Race Game. 

I love going on a cruise or group trip where we have matching shirts celebrating a birthday or a hometown. Last Atlantis Cruise for the white party 12 of us wore our homemade “I LOVE NY” shirts. 

If you are looking for an hour of nonstop joy and happiness, give ‘The Price is Right’ a try. You won’t be disappointed. COME ON DOWN LETTERS FROM CAMP REHOBOTH!   

That being said the group/matching t-shirts in the ‘TPIR’ audience give me life! Some homemade, some bought from the show store. [Drew is not a fan of the t-shirts with his face plastered all over them.] Popular ones include “I called in sick to work to come on TPIR,’ or ‘I am ready to COME ON DOWN.” Jack MacFarland in an episode of Will and Grace suggested a game show for the new all-gay network he started working at – The Price is Right AND GAY! Perfect for my t-shirt when I am called down to contestants row. 

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(this column was first published in the May issue of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth”)