Timothy's on Church: On Being Scene

:: Dear Bloggary:

It's only been a couple of weeks now -- blogging for the very first time -- but I have to know: does that still make me a virgin? (Or is that ... a virgin again?) I feel as if we are just getting to know one another. Perhaps I am feeling a tad impatient for fame -- I'm ready for my close-up, Mr De Mille!. Call me impetuous but I want more! Maybe I need a slogan?

Slogan idea: I was thinking of "I Blog Therefore I Am" ... but it seems too obvious. Besides, I'd rather invoke Bacon, not Descartes, the former being gayer than the latter. This Canadian bacon is no Cartesian plain! And who doesn't want to bring home a little Canadian bacon nowadays? (Especially now since we can get married! Finally!)

But I dunno ... maybe "You are what you blog"? Still, I'm the writer and you're the reader so maybe I'll try on "I Am What You Read".

I've been poking around (the net, nicely) and am finding a lot of blogs are little more than glorified, and often perverse, rants. There are a surprising number of right-wing Canadian rants, too; but thankfully a lot of interesting, sexy, off-the-wall homos pouring their hearts out, too. If you check out my list to the right (oops! faux pas!), you'll find some local gay bloggers worth checking out. (Some of these guys are soooooooooo cute! MightyMaloney (at left) aka Too-Many-Heartbreaks-Recently, is definitely among the sexiest. *sigh*)

:: My most heartfelt blog desire, just as if we were meeting face-to-face, is to show you a good time. I want you to leave our encounter with a smile on your face and a warm silky glow in your tummy. I certainly want you to come back for more. In what not only seems like, and was in many ways, another lifetime far, far away -- the late 1970s -- I did write regularly. I even managed to get paid for it, from time-to-time, albeit earning less than a subsistence wage. Starting over at this stage in my life, I am aspiring to be a waiter; in the meantime, I write. I hope you'll agree, as an editor said of my work once: "Alexander, it doesn't really matter what you write about. It's just got to be a good read."

Slogan idea: A bloggary of buggery? Hmmmm .... I think that's best used with a different blog ID.

Hey! This is hard work! It ain't just purdy typing (and occasional hunky pics)! A silent room's a tough room. (Hint, hint: use the comments facility I've installed. See signature line below.)

:: It's not as if there aren't lots of interesting things going on in the gaybourhood. I live in the heart of the gay village of downtown Toronto -- steps from the doorway of Pittsburgh's most famous gay bar, Woody's on Liberty Ave, as seen on Queer as Folk -- the real Woody's, that is.

Which means I am also around the corner from Timothy's World Famous Coffee on Church Street. In fact, I am here now, writing this note, as I often do on a weekday afternoon. I tend to sit inside, usually, and all too frequently, alone. The place seats about 20, including about 10 comfy wingback chairs next to wobbly round tables. As the temperature falls, the four seats next to the faux fireplace may require "extra service" to obtain. ("Fresh cream in your coffee, sir?") Yes, this is the same Timothy's location I have been slaving over my Tao Te Ching so someday my ghost might haunt the joint, like Hemingway's does up the street at the Selby Hotel. I wonder what he would have thought had he known it would be a successful gay dance club some day?

(For those of you westies who think this blog is too Toronto-centric, let me add if I were living in Vancouver, I'd be at Delaney's on Denman, instead, every day.)

Slogan idea: "It's mainly because of the meat". Hmmmm .... quite apart from the risk of having my ass sued by mogul Conrad Black, noted Dominion Store empire ravager -- acccckkk! Or worse! His wife Barbara Amiel! *shudders* -- modesty forbids me adopting such a line.

The biggest challenge of blogging, on a more or less daily schedule, is that I lead a pretty mundane life. I need to get out more -- but that, alas, requires money. Did I mention I am for hire? At the moment, it's only words on offer, not my private giggly bits; but it looks like another long, cold winter coming up ... so you never know. Anyway, if you need someone who indents well ... I'm your man! (Please see the boxed ad under my sexy pic at top right.)

:: This afternoon, a little after 1 pm, I headed over to Timothy's and was pleasantly surprised to find Julian sitting here chatting up his friend, and sometime colleague in the film biz, Cindy. If you've been taking notes, you'll know Julian is my long-term ex-ex who had an emergency appendectomy in Barrie two weeks ago. Naturally, he showed it to me when I asked: the scar is lovely.

"They don't use sutures anymore. It's more like duct tape to seal you up," he said, pointing to the incision.

"Here's your chance to get creative with a tattoo", I parried.

Otherwise, he was looking well, if a bit tired. He's been in the big city for a couple of days for a check-up, renewing meds and friendships (not necessarily in that order), and having a couple of baths at his friend's condo (it's a very nice bath). A quick catch-up, and a slurp or a few of my coffee, and he and Cindy were off to catch the 2:30 Greyhound bus back to the wilds of the north.

With Julian off, I was able to get back to scribbling some notes about life, and sit back and enjoy the second "medium; black; in a mug; caramel vanilla nut" cup of coffee. And cruise, of course. (Cruising is so civilized at Timothy's ... you can just sit there and smile; none of that strenuous dancing, or shaving your nipples before you go out.) I paused, closed my eyes for a moment, and began to mull over what to write about today.

:: I felt the cool breeze as the main door swung open and in walked -- gasp! -- HIM ... The One I'd Shave My ... for. *sigh* He's about 30, I'd guess Pacific Islander ancestry (maybe Filipino with a little latin blood, or some Hawaiian influence?), medium height, olive skin with a hint of a tan, and an electric grace in the way he moves. As on the other occasions I have chanced to see him, I greedily gobbled him up. Oh, and he dresses with such class, a bit on the preppy side, but matter-of-factly so, with no pretence, simply making a statement. He's got a bit of that classic V, shoulders-to-waist, and he's trim but I don't think particularly athletic. (I imagine his arms could wrap around me quite securely, however.)

He stood in line a moment, got a coffee, and sat on the padded bench opposite me but at the far wall, as he usually does, opened his book and started to read. He'd caught me staring, indiscreetly, on past occasions while I was trying to write; so he already knows my goofy, slightly embarrassed smile.

This time I was determined to be strong. I buried my head back in my notebook and tried to think what to write about.

"Um, hi", I heard a soft tenor purr tentatively ... at me! I looked up. It was him -- HIM! -- standing right in front of me, book tucked under his arm, coffee mug in hand.

"Mind if I join you for a few? I've noticed you come here, sometimes." He paused.

"Sure!" I mumbled, finally, half out of breath. And gesturing, "Have a seat." Tripping over my words, I added: "Glad to meet you. My name's Alexan- " but he interrupted me as he accepted my handshake.

"You're SensualPoet, I think. That *is* you, isn't it? You posted some pics." He paused. I lit up. "My name's Randy, by the way."

"Oh my gawd," I blurted out. Well, giggled out. "You've been reading my stuff? I thought you might think I'm a stalker." I laughed, nervously, there being a ring-of-truth to that.

Randy smiled. "Nope. I've been enjoying your writing. You're obviously not a stalker! I thought I'd recognized your pic from, er, another site but when I came across your blog pic I realized that it was you."

Not giving to fainting, I didn't ... but it's a good thing I was sitting down 'cause I was swooning just then.

"I laughed really hard through the Sperm essay. I hope you don't mind that I showed it to a bunch of friends." He paused again, knowingly. "No, of course you don't mind ... you're very good at self-promotion, aren't you?" His eyes twinkled at me and he broke out into a warm grin. "Could I give you my number?"

Did I mention he has a very sexy Adam's apple? And now I know about the smile, up-close-and-personal, too. I closed my eyes, just for a second, to savour the moment.

:: Just then I felt a shudder of cold air -- that darned door again! -- and then my shoulder being jostled. I looked fondly to take in Randy's gorgeous hand resting on my shoulder. Startled, I discovered it was a uniformed Timothy's person. "You finished with that newspaper, bud?"

I blinked and looked across the table. Empty. I searched the other side of the cafe. No sign of Randy. I need more caffeine, obviously. Daydreaming like that sucks.

And, Lordy, I need a boyfriend, too, don't I?