Leave Halloween Alone!

I was walking through the foyer in my building yesterday and I noticed that someone left one of those Christian mini-comics on the bench. This one was entitled "Happy Halloween," and featured a kid who went to hell because he rejected Jesus as his personal savior when he died on Halloween. I know that someone in my building left it there for people to read because I always see that one of the wireless networks I can connect to is named "Jesus_Saves."

When I was a kid, we lived next door to a hardcore Christian family who handed out these mini comics instead of candy. The one I got in my candy sack was about a girl who was dating a guy who turned out to be a winged demon from hell and the girl ended up getting sacrificed in a ritual. The moral of the story was that unwavering trust in God was the key to getting into heaven. To a plucky little Asian kid dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, this was indeed disturbing. That family was always decorating their car with bumper stickers that read "ABORTION KILLS" and "JESUS SAVES." They'd always be in front of the abortion clinic with their signs, yelling at people who enter. They always try to scare people with weird little comic books on the one holiday where little gay boys get to have the most fun.

I told one of my friends about finding the mini comic in my building and she floored me when she stated that hardcore Christians are exactly like gay people in the sense that the two groups are always trying to force their lifestyles down the throats of others. It was one of those ridiculous statements similar to the one where people tell you that you'll end up like your mother and it turns out to be true when you buy your first piece of Fiestaware. It's ludicrous at first, but then you start to examine the congruences:

1. Some gay people put rainbow stickers on their cars the same way that the Christians put preachy bumper stickers on their cars.

2. Gay people always protest outside of restaurants every time an employee asks them to stop holding hands. If you've been to a Panera Bread in the suburbs, you'd know what I was talking about. They stand outside and yell at people who go in the same way anti-abortion activists yell at teenage girls who had busy spring breaks in Cabo as they walk into a clinic.

I'll concede these points.

Let's not forget that the real victim is Halloween. We can't continue to use a fantastic holiday like this to further our own agendas. I'll talk to my gay people and try to get them to stop dressing up in tacky costumes such as the classic sailor or really bad drag if the Christians agree to stop scaring kiddies with literature that links Halloween to Satan.

The Other Great Equalizer

Social class, age, race, religion, taste in music, political views, and sexual preference are just a few of the many barriers that separate people in the world. But there are certain things that break down these barriers - things that bring corporate raiders onto the same level as short order cooks or British royalty onto the same level as people who live in Section 8 housing. We call them "Equalizers," and cancer is known as the greatest of them all. Another great equalizer that no one ever thinks about is the public restroom.

People use public restrooms for three reasons:

1. To poop or pee
2. To engage in some type of sex act
3. To flee from a blind date by climbing out of the restroom window

The public restroom satisfies the need to excrete waste, the uncontrollable desire to climax, and the ultimate need to be free and unburdened by some dude who chews with his mouth open and would probably fall asleep during sex. The point is that everyone has to go there for one of those three reasons. It doesn't matter what color your skin is, how much money you have, what area of Chicago you live in, or whether or not you're gay. You have to use the restroom.

I remember being bullied in elementary school and one day using the restroom next to one of the bullies. For that short period of time where he was urinating and I was nonchalantly trying to sneak a peek at his goodies, he didn't call me a fag and he didn't make fun of the way I walked or talked. He just stood there doing his business. I knew that once I left the restroom, I would be stepping out of neutral territory and that it was every man for himself.

Years later during regular shifts as a manager for AMC Theatres, I would have the enormous luck of being in the restroom with certain celebrities such as Donald Sutherland and Kevin Smith. There's nothing more uplifting than seeing a successful film star experiencing the pee shiver in the urinal next to you.

High and mighty U.S. senators who oppose gay marriage have been known to take wide stances in the stalls of certain public restrooms in search of anonymous gay sex.

The truth about this blog entry is that I was just trying to find a way to let the world know that I had the pleasure of meeting the national touring cast of Jersey Boys in the restroom last night at a local theatre here in Chicago. Don't you just hate blog entries where starry-eyed fan boys brag about running into someone famous? My entry isn't like that because it isn't every day that a quirky little gay Asian boy gets to meet four guys from Jersey, under a street lamp... singing somebody else's latest hit.

Let me just say that they were very pleasant and gracious and their skin is just as flawless as their voices. Go see Jersey Boys and be sure to use the restroom. You never know who you'll run into!

To love and to cherish... unnecessary wedding gifts

My sister is having a baby and is registered at Target for the baby shower. Rather than make the trip to my nearest Target store, then to a shipping facility, I can browse her registry in the comfort of my own home by visiting the website. I can even have the items shipped directly to her. It's pretty nifty and they've even got a bridal registry.

Being the snoop that I am, I typed in some random names and browsed some of the registries on that site. I was filled with a sense of excitement for these young couples, and that surprised me because I thought I was completely dead inside when it came to weddings and young love. But my feelings of excitement were quickly extinguished when I came upon the registry of Utah's Luke Allen and Julie Bennion.

While most couples request bedsheets and silverware, Allen and Bennion were tacky enough to include an electronic drum set and a Nintendo DS with a slew of games and accessories. I've included an actual screen shot from page one of the registry and you can check it out yourself by visiting Target's website and entering one of the happy couple's names into the registry search box.

Since when does a young couple need a Coral Pink Nintendo DS to help them get started with their new married life? How would you feel if you were laying on a beach in Costa Rica on your honeymoon and you ask your significant other what he or she thinks of the sunset, only to be ignored because he or she is too busy blasting aliens or rescuing the princess? It's kind of a mood-killer.

Target is one of the many places that does not allow two men to register together for gifts, but if gay men were allowed to do so, you can bet that they wouldn't do something as tasteless as request a portable video game system. We don't have the luxury of having our relationships regarded as valid as heterosexual couples and we sure as hell wouldn't expect our families and friends to shell out five hundred bucks for a 60 gigabyte Playstation 3 like Manuel Loya and Eliana Garcia did for their March 2008 wedding.

This is another reason why I'm not too thrilled about heterosexual marriage.

What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?

My friend Scott was telling me about an article he read on MSN that featured the weirdest places to meet people. I searched for it and I couldn't find it, but I do know that a lot of my gay friends have met guys in the strangest situations. One friend met a guy in the bathroom at a straight bar. Another one of my friends was at his nephew's fifth birthday party and met one of the hot gay uncles there. I have them both beat. I once met a man in a hearse.

I was in Guam last year for my grandfather's funeral and the snacky funeral director (who reminded me of a slightly older version of David from Six Feet Under) asked who would ride to the cemetery with him and my grandfather. I quickly volunteered because it was the oldest and most favored grandson's duty to do so... or so I told the funeral director.

My luck increased when he made small talk during the ride, remarking that he was also from Chicago. He'd heard from my loquacious aunt that I was mister big shot from Chicago and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I'd earned the nickname "big shot" for entirely different reasons. I noticed a bit of "family" emanating from his voice and his hand gestures, so I named off several gay bars that I frequented and he remarked how he missed going to those places. Apparently, he moved to the island of Guam because he loved the culture and wanted to get away from the noise of the city. That means that he loves ethnic boys and he's running from the mob.

You're all probably freaked out that I was trying to spit game with my grandfather's body in the back of the hearse, but grandfather would have wanted that. He would always want his grandchildren to meet nice people with jobs and transportation, and this guy had both. Sure, his mode of transportation has built-in coffin rollers, but who am I to judge?

We had a grand old time, laughing and flirting while tapping each others' knees when we said something witty, and he invited me to meet him later at the one gay bar on the island. The name of the bar is "Denial," which is fitting because it's full of naval officers and air force pilots.

Upon arriving at the cemetery, I exited the hearse with a huge smile on my face which was a stark contrast to all of the somber faces of my family. This story really doesn't have a happy ending because I later found the funeral director scamming on the altar boys, telling them about Denial and how he would be there later. Oh well. Circle of Life.

So far I have yet to meet someone who can top my hearse flirt experience, and I'm open to hearing any stories that come close.

I'll Have What He's Having

During a recent sexual encounter, something very unfortunate happened. The lights were low, we both smelled nice, and everything else was going fine until he burst out laughing. I asked him what was so funny, but he shrugged it off and continued. Then he laughed again and confessed that he was laughing at ME.

He asked: "what's THIS? And THIS?" as he mimicked my arms grasping the edge of the bed and my head thrown back in ecstasy. He also made fun of the fact that my legs were flexible, saying that I should join the circus. He thought I was faking it and that I did porn in my spare time because "no normal person looks like that when they have sex." That's one of the worst things you can hear, besides "what's that smell?"

Have you ever had embarrassing sex? In my younger days, I was the king of awkward sexual encounters. There have been times where one of us forgot to bring lube. There have been times where one of us would neglect to mention that a parent or guardian was going to be home during the time we'd be having sex, resulting in a mad scramble to get dressed. One guy even elbowed me in the nose during a very intense session and his sleeping area ended up looking like a Sicilian marriage bed.

After those awkward and embarrassing high school sexual encounters, I swore to myself that I would do my best to make each tryst delightfully memorable for both me and the other guy (or guys, depending on how flexible I'm feeling). Nothing is worse than being the star of a funny story that someone tells at a party. You'll wonder why men on the street point to you and say "there's the honker!" But that's a story for another day.

I decided really early in my sexual life that I would always have rock star sex because if someone was going do the pillow talk about me, it should only be because the sex was phenomenal. Here are some of the things I did:

• Practice yoga - Everyone knows that a bottom who practices yoga can be comfortable in many weird positions. The stretching also helps combat muscle fatigue.

• Videotape it - I took a cue from the good folks at ESPN. Sports teams review video footage of their performance on the playing field in hopes of identifying possible areas of improvement. You can do the same thing with sex. You can also sell them to amateur porn companies and make quite a haul.

• Be a one-man Walgreens - Penises come in all shapes and sizes, so it's good to be prepared for anything. Men also have lube preferences, surprisingly, and some won't even go near silicone-based lubes because they're too greasy. Having a wide selection not only saves time and guesswork, but it also reduces the need to find that one thing you don't need at Walgreens but have to buy because you don't want to JUST buy condoms.

• Watch a lot of porn - Sex can get very boring very fast if all you do is lay there and make honking noises. Porn studios are aware of the same thing and are always trying out fun new positions. If you want some really hot and unorthodox sex techniques, check out 70s porn from France.

I don't feel like I have to explain to the guy who laughed that I've worked very hard to have the type of sex that I have now. It's my preference, I enjoy it, I derive pleasure from it, and I resent being called a faker. My time is precious and I wouldn't waste it in a bad sexual encounter and fake it to be nice.

One thing is certain: he'll never meet another guy who can stand on his head and split his legs 180 degrees while getting drilled unless he goes backstage at a Cirque du Soleil show!

Timeless

I'm feeling a lot like Counselor Troi in the Star Trek: TNG episode, "The Survivors." In this episode, the comely counselor is plagued by a music box melody that eventually drives her temporarily insane. It is later revealed that the music was placed in her mind by an alien posing as a very old man trying to hold onto the past. At this very moment, I am at work listening to the CD playlist compiled by my boss and I feel a lot like Counselor Troi... but with cooler clothes and without the fake accent.

My boss doesn't have any music that was released after the year 2000, and the worst part is seeing him picking from his CD collection every morning. Who still has CDs in this millennium? I've got a little saying: It's MP3 or it's not for me! I just don't see why I have to listen to Renee Olstead's rendition of Midnight at the Oasis fifty times a day. Who the hell is Renee Olstead, anyway? Do you get my point?

Watching him decide which CDs to put in the machine is a lot like watching a witch dust off the ingredients in her cupboard as she decides whether to put the eye of newt into her cauldron that she's using to make a deadly potion.

If there's one thing that a gay man needs to be wary of, it's being stuck in the past. This actually applies to straight people as well, but it's sadder when it happens to a gay man. We've all seen examples of this in men who sport 70s porn star mustaches or Members Only jackets. I see it a lot in the naked pictures of personals ads. There's one where a man is standing in his shower, half covered by maroon chiffon ruffly shower curtains. In my boss' case, it's the music he chooses to play at work.

I think that people cling these remnants of the past because it's familiar and comfortable. It's a security blanket that ultimately won't protect them from the world as it's swept by the winds of change. Before they know it, they'll be forty seven years old and walking like an Egyptian when they hear music playing at a club. My friend Joe disagrees, believing that gay men hang on to the past because they completely lose track of what's new and how things change. He even offered some possible reasons as to why my boss still puts CDs in the stereo instead of letting me hook my mp3 player into it:

A) he's unaware that things have changed
2) he's unable to adapt any longer

C) he can try to change with the times but he looks ridiculous. (Joe is referring to my 48 year old boss' daily use of a faux hawk)

Whatever his reasons are, the fact is that I shouldn't worry about what I can't control. All I can do is make sure that I don't end up that way. And yes, the music is still playing.

The Back Door Big Kahuna

Valentina, one of my very good friends who is a girl (most gay men refer to them as "girlfriends," but I'm not like most gay men) recently asked me for advice about something that I know a lot of heterosexual women are curious about. She didn't ask me if a certain pair of shoes matched her outfit. She didn't ask me what I thought of Britney Spears' latest vag-shot. She bluntly asked me about how she can have pleasurable anal sex.

I don't know what is so taboo about heterosexual anal sex, but it's not a topic that is very popular with a lot of straight women. They could be afraid that it would hurt or they may think that it's unnatural. Sarah Silverman won't do it because "doodie comes out of there." Most of the straight men I asked consider it to be a real treat, so the reason behind its rarity in the heterosexual world could be that women only agree to it on special occasions. I don't know. It's all a very complicated.

Though I am considered somewhat of an adept in matters of buggery, I won't go into details about what Val and I discussed. Part of being tasteful is leaving something to the imagination! I will say that I felt extremely honored that she came to me with such a sensitive issue. Straight women ask me a lot of questions that they assume that I can answer just because I'm gay, and it gets frustrating after a while.

One woman asked me to meet one of her friends for lunch then report back to her on whether or not he is gay because I'm gay and she thought that gays know other gays just by being in the same room with them. For the record, he was gay because we ended up having amazing sex, but it still was wrong of her to assume that I come with built-in gaydar just because I'm gay.

Another woman was getting ready for her wedding and said to me "You're gay. Which veil makes me look fabulous?" The truth is that neither of them would make her look fabulous because the purpose of the veil is to obscure the face of the bride. They could have put Chewbacca in one of those veils and no one would have been able to tell the difference... unless it was a sleeveless dress.

When Val asked me for better anal sex techniques, I was overjoyed. Someone actually understood that as a gay man, I would have knowledge about anal sex, which is the only way that gay men can have sex. Pantsless college circle jerks, naked cuddling, and sitting in a rimming chair don't count.

There are a lot of stereotypes that gay men have to deal with, such as having fashion sense, having an opinion about the latest episode of Project Runway, and knowing Cher's newest concert tour dates. I applaud Val for not perpetuating those stereotypes, even though I know she's a huge Project Runway fan and is eager to know when it's coming back but she won't ask me because she knows how I feel about these things.

The 2007 Weblog Awards

Hey y'all (Yes it's true. The time I spent living in Texas has me referring to people as "y'all"),
I'm trying to get my little blog noticed in the world and I was hoping you all could help me out by "pre-voting" for my blog.

Visit these links:

Best Individual Blogger
Best LGBT Blog

and scroll down to the comments section. Look for my entry "heyrichie" and click the little green plus sign to raise my score. It will help me get noticed for selection.

I don't expect to win this year, but I hope this will turn more people on to my little scribblings. If you look at the other blogs in these categories, you'll find that they're a little hard on the eyes... unlike my blog which I've heard has the power to heal the sick.

This little blog has gone unnoticed for over two years and I think it's time to lift the veil of obscurity.

Oh yeah, the nomination phase ends today so you don't have a lot of time. Sorry for the late notice! And thanks again!

Swelling Manhood, Heaving Bosom

Have you ever seen someone do something with such frequency and passion that you simply HAD to do it also in order to find out what was so great about it? This week's episode of the Sarah Silverman Program demonstrated that when Sarah's dog constantly licked his own ass. Sarah was so curious as to why he did it so much that she licked it too.

When I was younger, my grandmother would come visit us for the summer. Along with her normal luggage, she'd have a huge box full of Harlequin romance novels that she would intend to read before she left. She'd read two of them each day and sometimes we'd have to tear the book from her hands in order to have a conversation with her.

What was in these books that she found so fascinating? I held my grandmother in the highest regard because she taught me how to read and inspired me to find and absorb knowledge wherever I could find it, so it naturally . I had to figure out what was so great about these weird books with funny cover art like shirtless pirate men clutching a wench or an office man not paying attention to a secretary who was looking at him.

My first Harlequin romance novel featured two rival architects, a man and a woman, competing for a top spot at their company. The guy was a womanizer and the woman had many bad relationships and they ended up marrying each other in the end after it was discovered that the buildings they designed could be integrated into one mega building that suited the needs of many clients. That part was well and good, but all of the love scenes in between the romantic fodder were fucking hot.

Keep in mind that I was a wee lad who had to look up some of the words in the dictionary. I did figure out what was meant by Jonathan's "stiffening love." I was nearing puberty and didn't have access to a lot of porn back then, so I'd borrow a lot of those romance novels so I could explore sexuality without a lot of embarrassment coming over me.

Grandmother was actually impressed with my interest in romance books. She was an English teacher, so she used that opportunity to school me on the literary structure and formula of the romance novel genre. I was more interested in Jonathan's hungry mouth devouring Sandra's eager milky bosom, but I pretended to listen to grandma's explanation as to why the romance novel is a valid literary genre anyway. It was the pre-pubescent gay boy's equivalent to reading Playboy and pretending to be interested in the articles.

Now I come to find out that there are a whole slew of gay-themed romance novels and I am pleased as punch! The one I am currently reading is called "Discreet Young Gentleman," a period book about a wealthy land owner who falls in love with a male prostitute.

You can laugh all you want, but I'm not ashamed of being into romance novels - straight or gay. They're actually preferable to porn when you've seen as many films as I have. You'll eventually get to a point where you rent a porn film and it's the same old actors doing the same old acts of depravity in the same old remote locations of the Great Salt Lake and you realize that if you've seen one Mormon porn, you've seen them all.

They're also great for stimulating the imaginative side of your sexuality. I love the fact that I can embrace my romantic side by living through the characters without the hassle of going out and getting a boyfriend and being forced to listen to his boring day when all I want to do is cup his throbbing manhood and have his strong sinewy arms wrapped around my twitching, nubile flesh.

The Obligatory National Coming Out Day Post

I'm a bad gay for not realizing that today is National Coming Out Day, or as people in my life like to call it, National A-DUUUUUH Day. I think that in a big city like Chicago, the 'coming out' aspect of NCOD is moot because there are so many men and women who are already out.

I really can't write about anything on NCOD that you haven't already seen or heard somewhere else. You've read that October 11 is a national day of awareness for the GLB.....T community that began in 1988 with a march on Washington by over 500,000 members of the GLB.....T community. You've read about how such an enormous burden is lifted from a man's or woman's shoulders when they come out of the closet. What you haven't read is a quirky little coming out story starring a pre-teen Filipino boy who was constantly bullied because he was so different and dressed kind of funny. Here we go!

I was an awkward little twelve-year-old with bad acne, long hair, and very uncool shoes that my mom bought from Payless because we didn't have a lot of money to throw around. I'd always dread going to school because of a certain young thug named Michael who would always make fun of something about me. I told my mom about how I was being bullied and ridiculed for my long hair or my cheap shoes and she advised me to agree with the bully. She said that when you agree with something that a bully says and show that it doesn't bother you, that it takes away their power and they'd leave you alone. That sounded reasonable, right?

The next time Michael came at me, he decided to throw out the ever fun F word that gays just love to hear:

"Hey FAGGOT! FAGGOT! Look at the FAGGOT with his long FAGGOT hair! Do you like to suck dick, FAGGOT?"

All my life, I was raised to believe that faggot meant gay and gay was bad. I knew that I was attracted to men and that I was gay, but I didn't want to be a bad person. Under extreme mental anguish at being mocked yet again by a popular schoolboy and partly following my mother's advice, I replied:

"Yeah. So?"

That was the beginning of many agonizing months of gay jokes from Michael and his friends. Following my mother's advice made things really bad during my school years, but it was actually an important step in my journey of self-discovery. There was a glimmer of truth behind my admission that day and I wouldn't completely figure myself out until years later, but it was still important.

Hmm... there was a lesson in there somewhere. Oh yeah, Michael now looks like shit and I look fabulous.

Outdone

I've always been skeptical about anything that my mother ever told me after the fateful day when I learned that she'd misspelled the word "lose" by adding an extra O (loose). It seems silly now, but it was a big deal for a third grader who'd just gotten an award for being a terrific speller.

One day I came home upset because my science fair project didn't win a prize. My demonstration of the power of water's surface tension lost out to an exhibit on the conservation of the wetlands. It was actually a stuffed/mounted duck on top of magazine photos of trees and marshes. Kelly Beal, the girl who won, made a giant Rube Goldberg machine that took up four tables and made my dinky little dishes of water look pretty silly. What a crock. Instead of building up my confidence by telling me how great my project was or blasting the other projects, my mother simply raised her eyebrow and said "get used to it. There's always going to be someone better than you."

Fast forward twenty years into the future, where all of her 'sage' advice has turned a precocious little queer boy into a slightly paranoid young gay man who almost never gets his hopes up. There are few things that get me excited these days, and one of them happens to be be dressing up for Halloween.

I've been making my own costumes for a long time. I've put sexy spins on costumes such as The Green Lantern, The Cat in the Hat, and Inspector Gadget. Gadget was something that I was particularly proud of because the fun little mechanical arm that came out of the hat took months for me to perfect. It's very rewarding and a lot of fun to showcase your creativity. I felt very confident that I was going to look good in this year's costume until I stumbled upon a website called Cosplay.com.

Cosplay is a huge subculture of men and women who dress up like characters from anime, video games, or science fiction and fantasy universes. If you think you've seen it all after attending a comic book convention, then think again. Cosplayers have raised the bar extremely high for fellow costumed roleplayers, so attending a cosplay event with your long hair wrapped up in two buns and calling yourself Princess Leia just won't cut it.

There are thousands of registered users on Cosplay.com and the majority of them have made some stellar costumes. People have done costumes that'll make your jaw drop, and I am feeling a little inadequate with the costume I am currently making. Seeing these elaborate costumes suddenly made me think of Kelly Beal's Rube Goldberg Machine in the third grade. What's worse is that my mother's words flashed into my brain with burning reality. There IS always someone better than me!

You can turn this around any way you want by saying that it's not what others think that matters. You can tell me that the important thing is that I'm doing what makes me happy. But in the end, I'll still be wearing hand-stitched Lycra, standing next to the person wearing light-up robotic implants with motorized parts. Sometimes it helps to not think about it.

Memoirs of a Dehydrated Marathoner

I've been staring at a blank computer screen for over an hour because I can't think of how to begin this entry. I'm sitting at home, recovering from yesterday's horrific experience at the 30th annual LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon. I'm tending to a cut on my foot, severely sunburned shoulders, a splitting headache similar to one resulting from a night of heavy drinking, and two extremely sore legs that can't walk down a flight of stairs without burning from fatigue.

Yesterday wasn't this cowpoke's first rodeo. I'd run two other marathons, so there was no question whether or not I could run that far. Before the race even started, announcers advised that there would be extra aid stations and medical tents at each one of them. They assured everyone that there would be water and gatorade at each stop, and that runners should take the time to properly hydrate themselves. They knew that yesterday was going to be very hot because they repeated the number or aid stations and even mentioned that there would be ice cold water-soaked sponges at mile 16.

A lot of what gets me through a race is the energy from other runners, as well as the spectators. Chicago is renowned for their spectator participation during the marathon, but there weren't a lot of people out cheering. This was definitely due to the heat, which had already climbed to the mid 80s by 9:30 A.M.

I knew something was wrong at the second aid station near Lincoln Park when one of the women involved with the race shouted "we're out of gatorade!" Runners mobbed the two folding tables, scrambling to grab cups from the frightened pre-teen volunteers who obviously weren't expecting throngs of angry runners to come at them like that. It took me about two minutes to get gatorade, and that's only because my friend Scott bullied one of the girls holding the bottle.

By mile 8, a lot of people had begun to walk and there was really a change in the atmosphere. What started out as an energetic and awe-inspiring anniversary marathon run quickly turned into a struggle to keep from keeling over and getting trampled by other runners who probably wouldn't be able to see you because the lack of fluids was impairing their vision.

I kept telling myself that I wouldn't let this heat claim me. I forced a smile, put one foot in front of the other, and waved to the cheering crowd in Chicago's boystown neighborhood as they yelled my name and encouraged me to keep going. I saw a lot of my friends there and it really made a difference.

Aid stations were few and far between. Most of them couldn't keep up with the amount of people coming in, and not all of them had medical tents like the announcer told us they would. I kept seeing people passed out on the side of the road, being attended by fellow runners because they weren't any emergency vehicles in the area.

As we neared mile 16, we heard someone on the loudspeaker telling us that the race is being re-routed and we had to be at a certain point in the race in the next six minutes or they'd make us go back to the finish line. By then, everyone was cranky and not happy to hear that they'd have to run faster in order to be able to finish.

I had my phone, so I decided to call everyone I knew to ask what was going on because no one was telling us anything. Few people answered, and none of them knew what was happening. We kept hearing the police officers say that they'll be canceling the race, but we didn't want to hear that sort of thing because all worked so hard to get there. I worked so hard for it, and I wasn't going to let a little thing like scorching heat and 80% humidity claim me.

At mile 19, we officially got word that the marathon had been canceled and that all aid stations were shut down. There would be no water or gatorade after that, so no one was able to run the rest of the race. The nice people in Pilsen came out with cold water, food, and encouraging signs that read "race over but we still love you." They even turned on their hoses and sprayed us down to cool us off. It really moved something in my stone cold heart to see such a kind effort to help strangers like that. They could have just stayed inside their air-conditioned homes, but those grannies were out there clapping and saying "vamos!" as they handed out pieces of ice to people they'd never see again.

As we all marched back to the finish line, I couldn't help but feel a little defeated. I looked back and saw thousands of people in line behind me, and then I looked ahead of me and saw even more people. It was like a slave caravan heading back to Egypt in the hot desert after an unsuccessful attempt at freedom.

I could safely say that I'd seen about forty to fifty people collapsed on the road during the two hour walk back to the start line. Then it occurred to me that not one of the people who passed out looked like they were over the age of thirty. I remember seeing a young man on the pavement, staring into space. People were huddled over him, asking him his name and if he knew where he was. All you could hear in the distance were ambulance and fire truck sirens.

Everyone decided to run the last leg of the race to the finish line, water or no water. There were still people cheering at the finish line even though everyone knew what happened. I ran and finished with another forced smile on my face, trying not to stumble over because I couldn't see straight. My foot had been bleeding for an hour, but I was so heatstroked that I didn't notice. I usually devour six or seven bananas after a marathon, but I didn't feel hungry at all yesterday afternoon. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

One of my friends asked me why I insist on torturing my body like that, and I told her that I had to. It's not something that you can easily explain in a few sentences. I think that most humans have this little spark inside of them that compels them to push beyond the boundaries to some higher level. They can manipulate themselves to climb the social ladder, they can spend years in meditation in an attempt to achieve Nirvana, and they can also run 26.2 miles in ninety degree heat and intense humidity.

We may all have different goals, such as wealth, power, a heightened sense of spirituality, or status, but we all do similar things to get there. Whatever motivated those thousands of runners to go through with yesterdays marathon was obviously strong enough for them to want to brave through the heat and risk serious injuries. I was one of those thousands of runners... and I'd do it again.

Run, Richie! RUN!

For those of you living in a cave with your eyes shut and your fingers in your ears, the 30th annual LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon is this Sunday at 8 A.M. and I will be out there on the course, shuffling along like the crazy little boychik that I am. I would really love for you all to come out and show some love because it definitely helps to see some familiar faces in the crowd.

Even with 49,999 other people on the course, it's not hard to find a runner if you know what to look for. I'll be wearing the lime green shirt in the picture here on the right. I do it to honor the many margaritas I will be ingesting after I finish.

My pace is approximately a 10 minute mile because each one of my legs weighs 90 pounds and it's really hard to get those meaty things to go any faster than that. I've prepared a little time table so you'll know when I'll hit each mile marker:

Mile 1 / Michigan & Grand / 8:20
Mile 2/ State & Adams / 8:30
Mile 3 / LaSalle & Wacker / 8:45
Mile 4 / LaSalle & Division / 8:55
Mile 5 / um... somewhere in Lincoln Park / 9:05
Mile 6 / near the zoo? / 9:15
Mile 7 / Aldine & Sheridan / 9:25
Mile 8 / Broadway & Roscoe / 9:35
Mile 9 / Clark & Deming / 9:45
Mile 10 / Sedgewick & Willow / 9:58
Mile 11 / Wells & Division / 10:12
Mile 12 / Hubbard & Orleans / 10:25
Mile 13 / Adams & Canal / 10:35

You get the idea. I advise against going to the halfway point at mile 13.1 because it's a madhouse. I probably won't make it to the start line until about 8:10, so find where you'll be on the map and add about ten minutes per mile. Let me know which side of the street you'll be on and I'll look for ya! I'm a big fan of fruit punch flavored sport beans, so be sure to throw some at me if you see me.

Even if you don't make it out on Sunday morning, you can track me from the comfort of your own home by entering my bib number, 27543, into the runner tracker on the marathon website.

If you prefer to meet up afterward, the runner reunite area is at Buckingham Fountain. It's set up by runner's last name and I'll be at the "M." I am estimating a finish time of 1:30-1:45 P.M.

This will be my third marathon, but it's still no cake walk. Knowing that all my friends and family are cheering and thinking good thoughts really helps those 26.2 miles seem like baby steps. Basically, I need all the help I can get =)

I think that's it. I hope to see you all out there! Please visit http://chicagomarathon.com for more information and interactive maps/trackers.

GLB ......... T

My friend Joe and I have similar views about the gay community and with the recent controversy involving ENDA and transgender people, the subject of the inclusion of transgender people with gays, lesbians, and bisexuals came into play once again. We love our transgender brothers and sisters, but we don't understand how they got grouped in with us.

During my junior year of high school, I would always get in trouble during my first period French class for eating my breakfast during one of the lectures. The punishment for manger dans la classe was being put on "la liste," a list on the chalk board for detention after class. I had so many check marks by my name that my teacher kicked my punishment up a notch by forcing me to sit in on a month's worth of meetings for the Indian/Pakistani/Fijian club, which she created and organized.

There was something about the IPFC that just didn't seem right to me. I get India and Pakistan, but Fiji? I'd sit in on the IPFC meetings and wonder why Fiji was included in the name of the club. First of all, there were no Fijians in the club or in our school for that matter. It's also a country in the South Pacific, thousands of miles away. My teacher said that it was because India had an enormous influence on Fiji and that Indians make up about 25% of the Fijian population. That may be true, but I still don't see why they had to include Fiji in the IPFC. If that's the case, then where's the Roman Empire/Moroccan/Turkish/Armenian club?

I feel the same way about the T in GLBT (or LGBT depending on which area of Chicago you live in). Transgender does not belong in the Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual group. Gays, lesbians, and bisexuals are people with different sexual orientation than heterosexuals. Transgender people have a different gender identity than the one that they were born with. See? Totally different. It's one of those things that people assume because if it's not heterosexual, it belongs in the same group.

If people are so intent on including transgender people, then what happens to asexuals, pansexuals, and hermaphrodites?

I don't think that trans people shouldn't be protected against violence or discrimination. I just think that a gender is a gender, sexual orientation is a sexual orientation, and ne'er the twain shall meet.

Bad Asian!

I've got a myspace profile because I'm such a fifteen year old high school student, and I was reading one of the bulletins that someone posted. It was a letter from Kevin Nadal, a Filipino Performance Artist/Activist, recounting the horrible and inexcusable attack on Filipinos everywhere and demanding an apology from ABC and the creators of Desperate Housewives.

Here is a link to the post: racist on desperate housewives

In a hospital scene, Teri Hatcher's character asks: "Can I just check those diplomas because I just want to make sure that they are not from some med school in the Philippines."

Kevin was outraged by this derogatory remark and claims that it's hateful and all Filipinos should band together to make sure that no one ever talks shit about Filipinos on mainstream television ever again. I told all of this to one of my friends who is a gay Filipino and that I thought that what Teri Hatcher's character said was actually kind of funny to me. He immediately told me that I should be ashamed of myself for hating my heritage and that he couldn't believe that I was such a "bad Asian."

A bad Asian? I laughed at a line from Desperate Housewives, for fuck's sake. All she said was that she wanted to make sure that the doctor's didn't graduate from a medical school in the Philippines. It's not like she said that Filipinos are dirty, baby-blood-drinking, Ann Coulter supporting, mouth-breathing, dog eating, fresh off the boat wastes of skin.

Sure, medical schools in the Philippines are okay (my cousin is attending one at the moment), but they're not the best. Wouldn't you want THE BEST when it came to your medical treatment? The economy in the Philippine Islands (which I will now be referring to as the PI) is really shitty and a lot of the schools are not getting the financial support they need to raise the quality of the programs there.

On a totally unrelated note that I'm probably going to get a lot of negative e-mails about but I still feel is important to add to this entry because I'm a tad bit superficial, the medical student uniforms are ugly. My aunt showed me a picture of my cousin in his uniform and he looked like he was a member of Nurse Ratched's goon squad getting ready to pounce on Jack Nicholson. Google it.

Kevin Nadal also mentioned that this remark should be held in the same regard as the ones made by Michael Richards, Isaiah Washington, and Rosie O'Donnell. I'm not black, but I am gay and Asian so I can only respond to Isaiah's and Rosie's comments. I really didn't care. I didn't stand up and march on Washington just because someone called someone else a fag or made the "ching chong" language mock. Frankly, I feel that there are more important things to get riled up about and that people need to chill the fuck out.

Let's not forget that these are actors and television presenters making these comments, not important people like teachers or employers. Why should I be so concerned when someone who I've never met and who has no influence on my life calls someone a bad name?

I was watching Alec Mapa's comedy special on Logo last night and he is a gay Filipino actor/comedian (some of you know him as Suzuki from Ugly Betty) and 90% of his stand up act was stereotypical jokes about Filipinos. If people are so up in arms about someone making a stereotypical comment about Filipinos on Desperate Housewives, then where is the online petition against Alec Mapa? There is no such petition at this time because people think that if a Filipino is making fun of Filipinos, then it's okay. If you get all preachy to me about laughing at Desperate Housewives but turn around and laugh when Alec Mapa jokes about Filipinos believing in vampires (in a heavy Filipino accent), then you need to seriously re-examine your position. Most people call it a double standard. I call it bullshit. I personally think that Alec Mapa is hilarious and only mentioned him in this manner to prove a point.

I'm not a bad Asian. I like rice. I drove a Honda. I take my shoes off when I go inside someone else's home. All kidding aside, people need to take a step back and calm down. Getting your fellow Filipinos all riled up about some stupid joke about your race is not the way to strengthen the image of Filipinos in America. Establishing yourself as a talented actor/comedian like Alec Mapa is the way. Being the first Filipino Eponine on Broadway like Lea Salonga is the way. Having the courage to blog out and speak your mind against thousands of Filipinos who read someone's myspace bulletin at the risk of never being invited to a Filipino party where they serve really good lumpia is the way.

I can't think of a catchy title, but it's got something to do with sex

My friend Scott and I have been discussing a very handsome man who we see all the time. He's extremely attractive, very pleasant to talk to, and he's got a good job. When the question came up whether or not I would consider pursuing him, I noted that I didn't think it would work out between me and the guy because both of us were bottoms.

There really isn't a way to find out if someone is a bottom or a top without the situation being socially awkward for either of the men involved. That's why we have to modify our behavior with body language or witty remarks in order to figure out if we fit sexually. I've talked to the cute guy on several occasions and deployed my entire arsenal of tactics and I came to the conclusion that we are both bottoms. There is the 1% chance that he actually is that rough-and-tumble top that would wake me up in the middle of the night and give me a good pounding that leaves various fluid stains on my sheets, but I wouldn't want to bother with someone if it has to be such an intricate mystery to be solved. My time is precious.

Scott then brought up a valid point and said that it's stupid for people to analyze others sexually and that they can be missing out on something really good if they make judgments about someone based solely on whether or not they take it up the ass. But I think that it's VERY important to make sure that the sexual aspect of being with someone is addressed before anything gets too serious. You can't have a monogamous relationship with another man if there is some type of sexual problem involved.

I think it's total bullshit when people say that it doesn't matter what happens in bed. It always matters. If one guy in the relationship has sexual needs that the other guy isn't fulfilling (whether it's amount of sex or how the sex is delivered), then that person is going to get it any way he can.

It's really not as complicated as people think it is. We're all driven by primal instincts over which we have no control. We have to eat, we have to breathe, and we have to get our rocks off. Before anything else in our lives, these basic needs must be met or else we cease functioning. They are the physiological needs of the human body and they can't be ignored. Abraham Maslow's hierarchy of needs comes to mind. If I am a bottom, then I need a top. It's as simple as that.

Can you imagine two bottoms getting together? What are they going to do, make tortillas?