Miami paradise

We escaped Gotham for a quick weekend in the southern tip. Quick indeed, using my man's (almost) free stand-bye air tickets we lurked in JFK until a vacant seat heading to the sunshine was located and hopped on. After a few relatively cheerful hours on a JetBlue plane, where lots of carb rich snacks were poured to our laps by a friendly M2F look alike attendant, we hit a dazzling Florida sunset, loose clothing and looser attitude. Our hotel, a party-central boutique on Collins Ave was composed of a bar and suspiciously looking rooms you might expect in a Dutch steam house. All the necessities were there: kinky bed with dark velvety covers, large flat TV, overflowing minibar and a shelf of the "essentials" for the busy traveler: condoms, lube and munchies.
The lobby bar features a host of VERY liberated Israeli staff, a pleasant surprise. They were well informed on all matters party-related: where are the hot boys, which beach is essential, when are the happy hours and the like. At 7 pm we hit the bar and continuously gulped for a while. Next I remember, it was morning.
The next night, after an exciting work out in a local Crunch branch boasting South Beach's best bronzed torsos, we headed to the main attraction which sparked this escape: The Offer Nissim et Peter Rauhafer gathering of the tribe. Under the roof of Mansion, a large and sexy dark heaven, we danced, touched, talked and rubbed noses with a happy sensual crowed, two sweaty bodies in a sea of gorgeous men. The life!

Green Green Card

The time has come to dig into the Manhattan bedrock. After about 18 months in the land of the free I am now the proud retainer of an unorthodox yet savvy immigration attorney. He is supposed to be a top gun but has a somehow unusual manner. The office, located in a Park Avenue scraper, has all the usual trappings of dinero (the sexy aide, the chrome and marble lobby) but the big man himself has a thrift shop cargo pants and a T-shirt. I knew right away we will get along.
So, 2500$ later, with about 6K more to go, I started the elusive journey to be an American, ie. started Naturalization! Isn't that awesome? From being an unnatural to becoming a natural.
What next? Papers.

Alegria - no longer the real thing

Alegria was back in town last night. The legendary line by Ric Sena was hosted at Webster Hall in midtown. As a happy veteran of Alegria in it's Crawbar days I got the tix, rallied my buddies and headed to the party excpecting the heavy sexy atmosphere of a multitude of built sweaty bodies and the great sounds that make a night to remember. Boy was it a dissappointment!
Ok, 70$ a ticket I can live with. Lots of preps go into such a night. But what did we get for that?
Webster Hall has many rooms and levels promising an exciting venue but only a few of them were used, the rest were corded and guarded by uniforms (not the sexy type uniform but the MTA types that make sure you don't skip the lines at the subway). Same uniformed guards kept moving through the crowd making sure no one was offending some hard core Red neck values: No smooching, no too much touching, no venturing into dark alcoves, no cigarettes, no, no, no...
Drinks were expensive and the bar lines just plain pushy, again not the rub against me with a half smile pushy, but the I-was-waiting-for-that-cab pushy. Last drink was served at 4, kinda sad for a party meant to go for at least a few more hours. And did I mention smoking? That was the highlight in this newly founded Subway system atmosphere. No smoking anywhere! No balconies, no secret garden or roof top, nada, and NO GOING OUT either. So for those poor souls still enjoying a smoke with their beer, it was like being on an endless flight with a very low frills airline to Disney in the height of season: Pay, get processed with the multitudes, move along and go away while holding your breath the whole time. The music was ok, but no warm fuzzy feeling, no hot and heavy, just ok.
Organizers of events such as Alegria should try to remember what was it like when they were the party goers. We are not just a bunch of credit cards waiting to be processed. I can get that on Spirit Air.

Ochtch Lingo

Here is a short clip that somehow captured almost all of the gay (ochtch) lingo of Tel Aviv. The Gevald Girls at the Evita bar. Viewer discretion recommended.

He said Yes

Finally I am back to the keyboard. It's a fancy one, all white and shiny, reflected in the shimmering new iMac screen that proudly dominates my desk. It calls for re-blogging.
Today R said yes. The question answered was about another ring, this time of gold. So finally, at the respectable age of 33 I am getting married. Our journey together so far had all the hallmarks of a steamy Latin soap produced in a shabby Rio favela. We went through love so intense it hurt my brain, through hate and anger, through cheating, snooping, hugging, fucking, begging, nirvana.
Is he the man for this cactus? He is all I wanted but there is an edge. I think the edge keeps us moving. There is always some abyss waiting around the corner, there is also a royal peek and most of the time there is just bliss of the purest variety. A good friend told me recently to feel when it's right. It is right.

Appericiate what you have

Shaping the future

The quest for the American dream took a positive turn this week as two career paths are opening up. One with a large hospital, one with a small start-up company. Both seem interested, both are willing to sponsor my visa, both have great people but they go in opposite directions. Going with the small company means taking a head plunge to the business world, leaving behind any patient contact. With the hospital it is another stage in a large institution, limited by corporate ladders and red-tape but safe in my journey.
My boss was helpful and friendly when I told him of these options. He even suggested his help. Is there a turn of events with him? Maybe all that hard work is paying off.
Surpressing my immediate need for celebratory shopping I tracked home through the cold bright streets of Manhattan. Oof.

Back to blogging

Took me two months to get back here. Mostly due to re-adjusting to life with a partner. We had to draw the lines of privacy, to overcome drama, to make lots of love, to hate, to make up.
Now that I know he is reading this blog I feel different about writing, but we have removed so many barriers in the last few months that it feels safe again to write.
So, it's winter in the big apple. The streets are frozen, people run around frantically to the nearest Starbucks (and there is one on every corner), and life has changed it's pace. Work is comfortable, the dismays of September are gone, there is a feeling of collaboration and finally even friendship. I am out of every imaginable closet, at work, at home, on the streets of Manhattan.
The major issue looming ahead is next year. Will we go back home to Tel Aviv? We both want to stay here and try to live the American Dream. But it ain't easy. I am busy networking and interviewing with all sorts of places while keeping an ever accelerating pace at the hospital. Most places are friendly and want a second interview, some don't.
More on that next time. Please keep your comments and letters going, it's like OXYGEN.

Tel Aviv Pride 1979

Before homosexuality was legalized in Israel, before shiny drag queens danced on fancy trucks, before gyms were the new temples, before color photos... And look at that Shofar on the right!

BearForce 1 in Gotham

Occasionally New York brings on a new form of entertainment that makes me laugh hysterically and then realize it is kinda sexy. That what happened when I met my first drag queen in 1992 while visiting here, the first strip show, the first (and only I confess) foot fetish party.
Here is another recent sample. There guys are fabulous and they recently performed at Splash. It is the end of the twink menu?

No Gays in Iran

The visit of the Iranian mongrel president to New York is not over yet. Using the podium at Columbia university he declared to the world that there are no gays in Iran. Having met some flamboyant ex-Persians in the raunchier bars of this fair city I went looking for some counter-evidence. Well CBC Canada has done it already and here is the brave piece they put together. Eye opener indeed. Watch and learn Mr President because this is what happens to gay men and women in your country. Like these two young men in the photo (no, it's not a BDSM flick, it's the real horror) who were whipped 100 lashes when caught snuggling at home. See below the YouTube version or click here for better quality video on CBC.CA site.
There are gays in Iran and some of them are real heroes. Would I have the guts to stand up in public and face such danger for the potential to be happy? Would you?

Video Part 2
Video Part 3

The Evil Has Landed

Traffic jams everywhere. Police and dogs and hunky guys in shades talking to tiny mikes embedded in their ears. The UN general assembly is in town! And among those 160 world leaders stands apart the evil baron of Iran. Only 20 blocks from my apartment he is spewing his garbage. Yuck. A short counter-video attached.

Kippur and Sex in the City

Been many many years since I had a Yom Kippur outside Israel. Although New York is a very Jewish city in many ways it was a very different experience. My Jewish friends, all great admirers of a handsome guy in a tight shirt, have suddenly become pious almost orthodox saints. All the talk was about fasting techniques and fabulous post Kippur dinners. The non-Jewish ones were mostly oblivious with the occasional "mention me if you get to speak to God this weekend".
Friday afternoon as I was heading home (earlier then usual, there are some benefits to holidays) the shuttle bus was stopped by crowds gathering on Lex Ave and looking very excited. As we slowly crept forward in the backed-up traffic I got a glimpse of the famous Sex-and-the-City trio: Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte posing in front of a glamorous store for the filming of the upcoming movie. Before moving to NY I watched this show carefully trying to learn the ways of the locals. Turns out life here are crazier that you can ever see on TV.
Having touched the celebrities I headed home and actually managed to fast for the first time in my life. Not even sure why but it was another new experience. Maybe the open stores and business as usual atmosphere so contrasted to home on this special day made me want to do it differently.
Here is a glimpse of the crowds. Going to eat now!

Mentors

Everyone needs a mentor. I got one. He is smart, seasoned (that how you say old these days I think), worldly, beyond plain rich and has an open door for me even with a global hectic schedule (his not mine...). Today we met again in his towering New York office. It's a once-twice a year event that takes place in all corners of the world depending on our current locations. Told him about my life in this mad city, about the challenges of work, the roller-coaster days and nights. Told him of my new carrier ideas, of thinking of taking a new route in life. As always he didn't make judgment, didn't say what is right or wrong, just gave me a piercing look and asked me to take my time. Answers will come and many opportunities will knock. Just take your time.
We have met many years ago when as a college student I received a scholarship given by him to an Israeli that will attend that specific program. Ever since he was a presence and a gentle guide in this cactus' stormy journey through life. At the age of 70 he lost his wife and partner of countless years and today for the first time he seemed a little tired, a little sad. I wish I knew a way to help. Thank you my mentor.

A special kind of Queen

She was born a boy. Well, a very feminine one but still a dong-holding-XY genotype short skinny boy from a small hood where life is not milk and honey. Then she was a hooker, then a dim dark clubs freak show and then she blew the glass ceiling and became the first transgender to sing in the Eurovision. Sticking to her filthy-mouth-best-intentions trademark she became a mega star. Performed at all the great venues of Israel and Europe, sold CD's to the Arab world and brought pride to many closeted boyz and galz across the world. The tranny that became a queen. Then there was silence, a few years of eclipse, and now she is back and it's a titanic comeback.
To you Hebrew readers here is a link to her latest interview. To the more gentile audience here is another fab clip by the one and only Dana International (the Wikipedia page!!). The man turned sexy woman who united homos and hardcore football fans at the city square one unforgettable night in Tel Aviv 1998.

A note to my love

Tout L'or Des Hommes

J'ai depose mes armes
a l'entree de ton coeur sans combat
et j'ai suivi les charmes
lentement en douceur quelque part la-bas
au milieu de tes reves
au creux de ton sommeil dans tes nuits
un jour nouveau se leve
a nul autre pareil mais tu sais depuis.

Tout l'or des hommes
ne vaut plus rien...
si tu es loin de moi
Tout l'amour du monde ne me fait rien
alors surtout ne change pas.

C'est un nouveau voyage
le destin le hazard peu m'importe
qui m'a montre le passage
qui allait jusqu'a toi mais tu sais depuis.

Sometime it takes a Diva like Celine Dion to express oneself.

Nite on town

After many nights cooped up in the apartment, frantically trying to catch up with an insane amount of work I finally went out for a good old bar hoppin' night at the big apple. Hells' kitchen, a.k.a the new Chelsea, is crowded and over stylish for this thorny cactus. A few hours in a hip mid-town bar were more then enough and with a few good buddies I headed to my natural habitat, the East Village. The little streets and allies are the closest you get to Tel Aviv here. All sorts of types and a multi sexual crowd prowling the hood. We ended up at Eastern Bloc, a funky mix of old soviet memorabilia, hot sexy bartenders and stoned pole dancers. The crowed was great, the music a strange mix of 90's disco with newer house thumpa-thumpa. Drinks aren't too expensive and eager looks everywhere. Declined a few tempting offers (just wasn't in the mood) and had a blast fuzzy night. Highly recommended.

Turn of the wheel

One thing is sure about New York, you never know what's around the corner. The last few days were a live demonstration. At work, got an amazing offer from a private company that is willing to double my salary and sponsor an H1 visa if I will join. It's a new company, full of promise, but not a shaky start-up but already holding a very impressive client base. It's also focused on cutting-edge almost futuristic technology that is para-medical yet flexible. Tempting. Next week I'll meet the CEO for dinner and we'll see how things develop. On the personal level met a sexy cute and smart guy who although knowing I have a partner has given himself completely to a steamy affair that rocked the sheets. Ooof. The roller coaster is moving so fast. Also made a few new very promising friends not far from my home mates. Starting to feel more and more at home here. This train is moving so fast I got to hold on tight and hope things are steering at the right direction. It's interesting, that's for sure.
And here is a remarkable surfer for an aesthetic finale.

The Diva

Road to Redemption, maybe

The big talk with my boss finally arrived. He called me to his office to "catch-up", a term he uses often for those times when he is about to probe into the time usage habits of his loyal subjects. Are we serving the greater good in every wake moment?
We started of with some routine work chit-chat, how's that project going and what did you think of this interesting patient. The casual clinic talk. After a while when I got up to leave he asked me to shut the door and stay a few more minutes. With sweaty palms and slight arrhythmia I sat down expecting the worse. Will he kick me out? Will this be the end of my American dream?
He started by giving me a glaring look and then went into a short lecture about the Israeli "Cowboy" culture and how he essentially like the free innovative spirit of a free-lancer but this time it went way too far. With frequent use of Western movie terms and the phrase "leaping to the unknown" he basically called me a trigger happy irresponsible fool. As I was sinking deeper into the plush chair a sudden shift of tone arrived. Not all is lost. Then came the "water under the bridge" forgiveness followed by a set of morbid warnings regarding any future overstepping of boundaries. Feeling relieved I started smiling.
It wasn't over. The man had a plan. He always does. Smoothly pulled out of a cabinet a scary pile of papers and told me it's time to test my "way of thinking". Hmmm. I don't even know my way of thinking. "By tonight, make a draft PowerPoint presentation out of these articles". The big boss is going next week to a major international conference and he was asking me to prepare his lecture. Kinda stunned but feeling it's a good sign and a major test I picked up the pages and headed to my cubicle. A few hours later presented him an outline which he loved and 10 hours later, working until 5 in the morning the presentation was ready. Taking a gamble I added in some radical ideas and materials he didn't give me.
With a slight exhausted shake and dark puffy eyes we met again the following morning. He absolutely loved it. More then that, he didn't change a thing! Well, he changed the background color... By noon I already got another major project and the storm clouds receded.
Feeling great and sleep-walking I found my way back home. The crisis is over. Not all is lost.

A cute hunk photo needed to finish this post with a bang. This one if from The Pretty Boys Club. Good night.

Grey days

The last few days were absolutely horrible at work. I overlooked something while analysing a critical clinical database and that resulted in a major mess that required the work of many people deep into the nights and the weekend to correct. A stupid mistake of a trigger-happy newbie. The extra work and tense atmosphere brought about some ugly confrontations with some colleagues and from a shiny fresh face I was instantly turned to the departmental boxing bag. My boss which went well beyond the expected in smoothing the transition to NY and had an open door for me whenever needed suddenly defers to short commanding emails and brief frowns.
I am doing my best to amend things, the first in the office and the last to leave every day. I worked on the weekend and cut my breaks to the minimal needed (still got to have a cig here and then). Lucky enough the IT people found a back up and were able to repair the damage, but man how much shit am I eating now. All for a stupid mistake, an open pit that welcomed the first fool to fall in. I was that fool. Shit.
Moving forward, I will not let this mishap ruin my dreams or change my direction. In every great story there comes a moment of bottomless pit soon to be followed by a grand recovery. I hope that it's not just fool's hope but I believe that I'll prevail.
When is my baby coming? Three weeks! Can't wait.

Shana Tova

A new year is starting soon and I thought a post is in place.
Two months passed in NYC, some days were crazy some were calm, some nights peaceful some over exciting. For the first time in my life I find myself dealing on a daily base with intellectual and emotional challenges that can not be over passed with a smile or a a shrug but take all my resources, all the time. The city is amazing, a giant bee hive of constant activity and sometimes I need a quiet corner while other times its a full throttle race.
Work is very challenging but I am trying to keep up. There were some highlights and some harder spots but I try to learn from it all. Moving here gave me the opportunity to strengthen old friendships, to make some new great friends and to meet a lot of interesting people and I am starting to feel at home in this strange and wondrous place.
In a few weeks my partner from Israel will be joining my little nest on the 20th floor overlooking the hive downtown. That will make the Gotham experience complete.

I am sending hugs to all my readers and many greetings for the New Jewish Year 5768.

Fire Island

The last official weekend of summer. My friend A invited me (finally!) to join him for a weekend at Fire Island. A little stretch of sand off the shore of Long Island. An hour on the train, then a fab ferry ride and I reached paradise. Large houses on the beach, hot tubs for a late nite soak, a long and clean sandy stretch. And the village where I was staying has all gay population. Cute boys in minimal wear roam the wooden trails winding among the bushes.
The housemates were great, the atmosphere relaxed, the waves cool and the wind breezy. It is a sort of Chelsea on the water but much less attitude and a whole lot more drugs.
The energy and the vibe cleansed a tough week in the city. Try it for yourself.

Back to buiss

Writing is a sort of an addiction, and I am an easy fool for addictions. I am addicted to the wonders of men, to the soft smooth touch of a cool beer, to a breezy cigarette. I tried not blogging and the bug of writing kept nagging at me. Readers emails and comments helped too. Its a real ego soother to know you have some fans. Even if they are scattered in all corners of the globe and have little in common. Even if they don't know who you really are.
So two months in the big apple have passed by. Maybe a better term would be flew by. All these cliches about time are so true when one new experience follows the other.
Work, work was a breeze at first and now became a major player in my daily life. The casual and carefree Israeli attitude that assumes everything will fall into place and a charming smile will get you out of any trouble does not seem to work in the disciplined and very bureaucratic institute that opened its doors to me. Those great ivory doors that seemed all shiny at first are now well fenced backyard that permits very little breaking of rules. Last week for the first time I encountered the corporation and its punishments. For the first time faced a task that demanded all my will power just to keep from taking flight to the nearest airport. It was a tough week. Feeling quiet alone and having to fend for myself in a very dire situation. My wandering mind took me to the worst possible scenarios and a grey gloom overwhelmed my ability to think and act. For the first time in NY I was hitting bed at 9, waking up with the early sun and rushing to the office. Have not returned calls of buddies and fuck budds, not gone out, not enjoyed the night.
It is better now, the worst is behind and things are taking a regular course. Lucky that my love is coming soon, my better half.




An inspiring image by Benno Thoma

Pride and the Holyland

They’re here, they’re queer - be proud of Israel
By Bradley Burston

JERUSALEM - I’m proud of the State of Israel. It may have more faults per capita than any nation in the world, faults which are duly broadcast, rerun, critiqued, and condemned as nowhere else. It may have more critics per capita than anywhere else in the world, in particular among its majority population of restive, instinctively kvetching, eternally disappointed Jews.

I know every criticism by heart. I’ll see your every damning denunciation, and raise you 10. But I am proud of this country, and the gay pride parade in Jerusalem goes a long way toward explaining why.

I am proud of a country which - under the burden of a 24/7 threat of Islamic Jihad terrorism, under a daily Hamas barrage of Qassam missiles on a small town in the Negev, under an explicit Iranian threat of erasure in the future and client militia brushfire wars in the near present - deploys 8,000 police, nearly half of its entire active-duty force, to protect a parade in Jerusalem by a minority group that is routinely denigrated by many members of two of the holy city’s largest and most vocal communities: the ultra-Orthodox and the Palestinians.
I am proud of the gay community, which made strenuous efforts to assure that the parade would be held in areas far from the ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods and other areas where the march would serve to offend residents.

I am proud of the police for standing up to yeshiva students who, screaming “Nazis! Nazis! Nazis!” at the officers, pelted them with rocks, bottles, angle iron and Molotov cocktails, all the while breaking windows, smashing streetlights, and setting fire to tires and garbage dumpsters.

I am proud of ultra-Orthodox rabbis and yeshiva masters, who, though appalled by the parade and what they see as the abomination of homosexuality, publicly and unequivocally forbade their students from taking part in violent demonstrations.

I am proud of a country that scorns the slimy Meir Kahane disciple Itamar Ben-Gvir when he screams at gay celebrants in a Tel Aviv parade “the Nazis should have finished you off.”

I am proud of the policeman on King David Street who, when asked by a passing pre-schooler about the flag with the rainbow colors, replied, “There are boys who love boys, and girls who love girls.”

I am proud of a country in which the army’s influential radio station airs the views of the daughter of the prime minister when she states that the right of gays and lesbians to march in their capital city is as inherent as their right to vote.

Just as I am proud of Israel’s last Eurovision song contest winner, an acclaimed diva who began life as a man, who told a television interviewer why she believed that in the interest of respect for the holy city, the parade should not be held there.

And I am proud, as well, of the fact that Israel Television gave air time to a rabbi to explain his strong opposition to the march, and to the woman anchor who, asked by the rabbi what she would do if her son told her she was gay, said that she would hold him and be grateful for his openness.

There are many who argue that a Jewish country cannot countenance a public celebration of homosexuality. It is time for them to take the advice of leading rabbis, who placed this announcement in the Lithuanian Haredi newspaper, as quoted by the Jerusalem Post:

“Demonstrating should be done by each person in his place [by feeling outrage in the soul, by praying and beseeching (God) against the loathsome blasphemy].”

All of us who live here have our personal list of obscenities, perversions and abominations, as committed by our fellow Jewish residents of Israel. We may find their actions politically abhorrent, culturally unbearable, spiritually bankrupt, personally offensive.

They are a big part of the price of living in this country, riven along fault lines dividing and enraging left and right, secular and religious, Mizrachi and Ashkenazi, sabra and immigrant.

It may be the built-in flaw of a Jewish homeland, this infighting among the Jews it has brought home.

But as the gay pride parade proves, the most profound strength of a Jewish country are those Jews who strive to learn to live with the Jews with whom they so profoundly differ.

We’re here. By definition, we are all of us, each in our own ways, queer. We should, all of us for our own reasons, be proud.