"One thing I've learned is that homosexuality was around way back in ancient times," says Loredo, 24, who enrolled in a sociology course called Queer Cultures and Society. "Before, I thought homosexuality was started in the early 1970s." - (New York Blade)

"No future." - (Johnny Rotten)

Everyone says that summer makes them horny, but the streets of NYC seem to get a lot cruisier once the heats cools off. Not only does the humidity make people lethargic, but once the temperature cools people can wear more clothes. The more you can layer, the more you can hide, the better you feel and the more likely you are to look twice at a handsome stranger on the train, primarily because it's more likely he's looking back. Because now you can cover that disgusting belly-roll or back-fat with a cute jacket or sweater.

I had this kinda hot encounter on my subway ride home last night with a cute boy who kept smiling at me from across the F train and got off at my stop to transfer. He gave me his phone number but I didn't want to take him home because he'd mentioned he felt like throwing-up. I didn't want to be there for that part.

Then, the night before, this big burly DL-type, typical Brooklyn, started chatting me up. He was definitely trying to pass for str8 but there were six loud slutty girls standing around him and he didn't say a word to any of them. As soon as they exited, he grabbed the seat across from me and leaned in to get my attention. He started to ask me about the pentagram around my neck; he wanted to know if I was Jewish.

"No, the Star of David has six points," I explained, This one has five."

"So what does it stand for?" he asked, warily. I tried to think of a non-threatening answer.

"Uh...the five points represent Earth, Wind, Fire, Water and Spirit." When he heard "Earth, Wind and Fire" he seemed to relax considerably and started this conversation about music, which led to us discussing my band. "'Compare your music to a band I would know," he said.

'Well, most people compare us to the B-52s but I think we have more in common with The Ike & Tina Turner Revue," I replied.

"Oh, so you got some soul in you?" he smiled.

"Um, I guess I have as much as genetics will allow, yes."

But the whole time we're having this conversation about music he's leaning in closer and closer and staring me in the eyes with this look that says, "We're not talking about music," and it was making me hot. I was ready to drag him back to my apartment but he had to switch to the A train before we got to my stop and I didn't feel like following him into Crown Heights, especially when I was coming home from having sex with someone else.

Autumn is when everyone likes to break-out their black leather (and I swear to God if I get some PETA-posting for saying so I'm going out and boiling six live lobster. I'll do it too - I'm from Maine). I'm not "into" leather as a kink, and when I see people decked out in leather fetish-wear I can't help but thinking, "You're wearing Cow." I mean, how is that hot? I'll tell you how: when the temperature is in the upper 80s and the humidity is stifling. And that's what the weather was like on the last night of summer before the heat broke; the night I got a phone call from my neighbor Paul.

I had also met Paul on the F train many years ago. He asked me for my address and I gave it to him. I got off the train to buy groceries and by the time I got back to my apartment he was waiting at my front door. "I want you to sit on my face," he said. I don't own a lot of furniture; I had to sit someplace. Anyway, on the hottest night of the summer Paul called me up and said, "I need a second for a 'leather scene', some French twink wants to be raped by two leather daddies. Do you have leather?"

I glanced in my closet. "I have a Hugo Boss leather blazer my step-mother gave me for Christmas." I heard some muffled commotion on the other end of the line. "My roommate has stuff that will fit you, just come over."

Oh good, my breakfast is here; I'll finish this story tomorrow.

Now that fashion week in nyc is over (and thank god - all those models running around were making me feel like a little haggy - shut up) showbiz season has officially started. My band is back in rehearsal and I'm helping Daniel Nardicio produce a showcase for Sony Music's 'gay' label ('Music with a Twist' - WORST NAME EVER!!!) so my band will FINALLY be making a public appearance for the first time since CBGB closed. It's overdue. And we are planning to record a 20th anniversary release of "FUCK YOU" in time for the holidays so you can give your relatives a gift that expresses your true feelings. The Velvet Mafia version ROCKS so I'm stoked.

The only fashion show I went to this season was Jason Wu's, and the only reason I went was because I have a mad crush on Jason, who never looks at me twice. ("You looked at me / and looked away / oh.") But Mike Ruiz, who directed RuPaul's Starbooty" was there so I reintroduced myself and he said he remembered meeting me on Fire Island, and again at one of the MAO PR parties. Then I told him that the big penis in the "Starbooty" sex-montage scene was mine, which he hadn't known since Ru had shot that scene himself. He got very excited and exclaimed, "Oh great! Now when I see it I'll have a face to match with the dick!" He was very cute and charming. I haven't seen the film yet, but one friend who saw it and recognized me called after the screening to say, "You have the biggest part in the movie!" Mike laughed when I told him this.

"You really do," he said, grinning.

I LOVE autumn in New York, one reason being that all my friends are in town and working, and I've been having some fun bumping into people and catching up. Most amusing was my planned luncheon last week with Daphne Rubin-Vega (who many of you probably saw in "Rent" on B'way when you were, like, twelve) but Daphne didn't show up and I couldn't reach her on the cell, which is out-of-character for her because she's very real and doesn't blow people off, so I was a little concerned. About an hour after I got back to Brooklyn I got this manic phone call about how her cell phone exploded in her hand on her way to an audition for "Sex and The City" (long-story short: she got the part, which is great cuz she's very funny and should be doing more comedic roles anyway) and then went to buy a new cell phone. As she was leaving T-Mobile, she fell off her high-heels and landed sprawled-out in the middle of the street with a city bus bearing down on her, and she was laughing about how she felt like such a total JAP cuz she was lying there in mortal danger screaming, "Somebody, please...SAVE MY PHONE!!!!!" She is a riot.

Backstage at LOWLIFE! we had Lady Bunny, Miss Kier Kirby of Deee-lite and The World Famous *BOB* all hanging around to lend glamour to the event even though they weren't performing, and it was a lot of fun catching-up with "the girls." The next day I saw Bunny on TMZ with Courteny Love and it looked like she was in the same outfit she had worn to LOWLIFE! so I asked her where she had gone after the show. She replied by calling me a "Dyke!" because I can't tell one dress from another, assured me it was NOT the same outfit and that those pictures were from the Marc Jacobs show. Whatever; I own three dresses and one of them is a hoop-skirt. Then she said some sweet things to me that were so out-of-character I started wondering if she was terminally ill or something. But I love Bunny.

The person I was happiest to see at LOWLIFE! was Joe Jackson's 'personal assistant' (aka boyfriend) 'Champagne', who had just arrived from Berlin where Joe is living. Champagne had introduced me to Joe once in the garden at the Belvedere, and I was thrilled to meet him although I had to refrain from shaking his hand as I was in the middle of having sex at that moment and my fingers were covered in lubricant and assjuice. But I think he's a great songwriter, I used to cover "Is She Really Going Out With Him" and the lyrics work just as well regardless if the singer is str8 or queer, I didn't have to change one word of the lyric, which is kind of genius. Then he showed up at Homocorps in flawless drag and I couldn't get over how gorgeous he was. He should perform that way.

Champagne was urging me to move to Berlin. "They would love you there, Dean. The Kit Kat Club is five floors of big-dicked fire-breathing masturbators, you would fit right in." Then at rehearsal Wednesday my German guitarist, Bruno, said the same thing: "They love skinheads, drag queens, anti-American Americans and rock and roll. You'd be a star overnite."

"So let's move to Berlin!" I said. She answered, "I'm FROM Germany, I don't want to LIVE there!"

Monday, my friend Dale and I went to Hiro to see our mutual friend Kevin Aviance perform. Kevin has been living out West recovering from his traumatic gay-bashing in June and we hadn't had really seen him since, so we dropped by to give him a hug. I also wanted to book him for my "READING FOR FILTH: Queer Writers Read About Queer Sex" series which resumes in October and he eagerly agreed to appear. "Oh, I have stories," he assured me with a wide grin. We've also booked Jake Shears from The Scissor Sisters, which should be great, I like and respect him, he's cool. When I met him he was go-go dancing on the bar at The Slide and he seemed like a fun guy.

Then friday I bumped into my dear friend Jonny McGovern, who is still reeling from the police raid at Mr. Black, which didn't happen during his party, thank god, but has robbed him of his primary source of income until the club reopens. We discussed the the Sony showcase and agreed it would be a good idea for me to supervise the production and that he would help Daniel on the promotion end. Jonny was happy that his "Big Gay Sketch Show" on LOGO had been picked up for a second season and is back in rehearsal. He and his friend Martine want to direct his next video themselves (their last one, 'Somethin' For The Fellas" was "Number 1" on the LOGO click-list for 14 weeks!) so I hooked them up with an editor I know who's looking for a project and headed back to Brooklyn.

As I'm leaving the station in my neighborhood, I look over at the guy next to me and it's fuckin' Richie Stotts, the lead guitarist for The Plasmatics (the hot one with the mohawk) who I hadn't seen since Wendy O. Williams drove a car through a wall of televisions on the westside pier back in 1983. He knew who I was so he was really friendly and we stood on the street chatting for a while, and I was particularly curious as to whether he thought Wendy's death had REALLY been a suicide. He spoke frankly on the subject but asked me not to repeat anything he said - I can tell you that his answers were shocking, and reinforced my belief that an exibitionistic artist like Wendy would not shoot herself with a shotgun without selling tickets and hiring a film-crew. He said that sometime he would 'buy me a beer' and tell me more ugly truths. Then he asked me what was up with my band and I filled him in on what we're doing and why I had been laying low for a while.

"You know where you guys would do really well?" he said, "Berlin."

On the the subway to the gym tonight I was checking out this cute asian guy. He said, "You're Dean Johnson right? You picked me up at J's and took me to the East Village and fucked me about seven years ago."

"Great!" I answered, "Let's do it again!" He smiled. "I just got in from Berlin about five hours ago and I'm leaving again in the morning. I'm moving there. It's a gay paradise. You would love it; you would become a star overnight."

I think The Universe is trying to tell me something.

Oh yeah, while I'm on the topic of celebrity I would just like to congratulate Britney Spears on giving the best performance of her career; rolling around all flabby and drunk on live television was the most punk thing I've seen since GG Allin died. She has FINALLY earned my respect as an artist. I hope next time she takes a crap on the stage.

I saw this poem posted on the subway in one of those Barnes & Noble "Poetry in Motion" ads and it blew me away. It seemed like the perfect sentiment for the passing of this day.

(Emily lived in the mid-1800s, was kicked out of college for refusing to sign a pledge "devoting her life to Christ", and was celebrated primarily as a skilled gardener until her death, upon which a volume of over 1,700 hand-written poems was discovered among her effects. These writings established her, along side Walt Whitman, as one of the great poets of the 19th Century.)



Tell All The Truth
  
Tell all the truth but tell it slant,
Success in circuit lies,
Too bright for our infirm delight
The truth's superb surprise;

As lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind,
The truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind.

Emily Dickinson


Not exactly my own philosophy of life but it's damn good poetry.

I lived. Here are some pics sent to me by my college buddy Anthony:







Oh man was it hot in that uniform. Then as soon as I left the park some guy called wanting to meet me and he turned out to be really cute so we fucked for three hours. I'm worn out and I'm spending the day in bed - ALONE - watching cartoons.

Ok I need to rehydrate.

My day started yesterday down at the courthouse where I had to pay my fine along with about forty other guys who had been busted for possession over the summer. I recognized a few of my friends from my night in "The Tombs," so it was kind of like a class reunion. My friend Dale says the Tombs are the new hotspot for NY nightlife. I only had to pay a $95 court fee, but the guys on probation were paying fines between $3-500 dollars just for getting caught smoking a joint. That's when I realized why marijuana will never be legalized; because the government is raking in millions by arresting people for smoking it. On my way home I stopped at a few stores to try on those new tight-fit straight-legged jeans that are supposed to be "in" this season, but they weren't particularly comfortable, so I said, "Fuck it - I'm not Amy Winehouse," and went home to rest up for another evening of work.

I had a blast riding the glass elevators at the Marriot Marquis last night after my very cool client tipped me an extra hundred bucks and said, "I've never been fucked like that in my entire life."  He was a Chinese-American psychiatrist in town for a convention. I killed some time before our appointment by indulging in my favorite vice; shopping at Virgin for DVDs.  First I bought "Mommie Dearest" even though I've already memorized every line of dialogue because the DVD has commentary by John Waters on it, and you know that HAS TO BE worth ten bucks.  Then I went back to buy Season Nine of South Park cuz it includes the episode where Tom Cruise refuses to come out of Stan's closet, but I had drained my bank account and my ATM card couldn't even cover the 40 bucks.  I asked the kid behind the register to hold it for me and told him I'd be back with cash in an hour, then ran over to the hotel to meet my new client.

I hadn't actually smoked pot in weeks but I had a few hits because he had made a point of bringing me some.  He said he had sent me an email last month asking if I enjoyed 420, and what was drink of choice, and I had answered, "420 IS my drink of choice." He got me stoned i just got crazy-horny and pounded his ass til I came. I was wearing one of those "female" condoms that you're supposed to be able to slide in and out of but I can barely get my dick into one so I just wear it like a regular condom.  I like them cuz there's no rubber-band at the base to cut off my circulation.

I was very stoned when I left his room and there were these two really cute young Puerto Rican queens vatorsurfing in the glass elevators so we all went up to the top floor, then these two really hot white str8 boys got on and we all rode to to the bottom laughing our balls off and then whooped like we were on a roller-coaster when we got to the part where it drops through the floor right before it hits ground level. We all spilled out into the lobby falling all over each other like drunken sailors, just laughing hysterically at how silly were being and how easily we were amused.  It was stupid fun; it was such a "guy" thing. If there had been a girl with us we would have felt too self-conscious to act like complete morons.

Then I ran back to Virgin and as I was crossing Times Square I reached in my pocket and realized the dude had given me an really nice tip (I never bother to count it) so I called him back and said thanks, then went back to Virgin and bought my cartoons and jumped on the F train back to Brooklyn. Someone called me as soon as I got off the train and asked me to come to Tribeca, and I was still kinda horny, but I had this cute deaf Canadian boy coming over today before the show and I'm spending tomorrow night at The Four Seasons with this guy who's living there while his brownstone is being renovated, so I decided to come home and rehearse for the show.

I haven't left the apartment yet today but I can feel the heat creeping-in around the edges of my A/C and the deaf kid showed-up soaked with sweat from the humidity. He was also smoking weed but this time I passed so I would have some semblance of a singing voice to work with for my solo. My costume is polyester and I'll have one of those old-fashioned police helmet-hats GLUED to my bald head. Add gloves and boots and you have the perfect recipe for heat stroke.

But sometimes you just gotta buckle-down and take the heat. That's showbiz.

The show tomorrow should be hysterical. It's about trannie hookers on the Bowery in the 1800s....so who do I play? An Irish cop! I'll be wearing a polyester uniform from head-to-toe, white gloves and I'll have a plastic helmet GLUED to my head in stifling heat. Fun fun fun.

I wouldn't miss it for the world. :)

Things have been getting really ugly on the nyc nightlife scene lately. This weekend, a popular gay nightclub called "Mr. Black" was raided by the police, who arrested 30 people for drug possession and two more for dealing. The entire staff was taken to jail; anyone who wasn't holding drugs had them planted on their person by the arresting officers. Needless to say, the police heaped much abuse and humiliation on their victims. A similar scene went down last week at another popular nightspot called "The Box."

And yet, there is one way you can get high legally; join the army. It seems that, like the Nazis and the Japanese in WWII, our own military is feeding crystal meth to the troops in Iraq. The following is an excerpt from a letter sent to the magazine 'Straight To Hell' which has recently resumed publication thanks to the efforts of editor Billy Miller.

This letter was written by a New Yorker who recently hooked-up with a veteran who had just returned from the war:

"...afterwards my roommate asked him more about his experiences in Iraq and he tells us how he got raped by 6 or so guys in a tank, when they were all in a tense and scary situation. The higher-ups make sure that all of the guys have Meth to keep them going...they've been doing it for years and years and it keeps the guys up, but it also makes them crazy (and all that speed and killing, and what have you, makes for the occasional suicide too...so they have to watch 'em). All that tension is heightened by the drugs, and although it makes you more alert and feel like you're ready to kill anybody, it also makes you horny and do nutty things. So these young scared guys are all alone in a tank thinking that they might die at any moment just decided to fuck this guy, and you know they didn't use any condom..."

So, it appears our troops on the frontlines are tweaking their brains out. This information certainly gives a new perspective to some of the less noble "incidents" of the occupation, like the rape/murders in Haditha and the "friendly-fire" killing at close-range of football hero Pat Tillman, Jr. No wonder the military works so hard to cover-up these crimes.

The way the police have been behaving lately, I'm starting to wonder if they feed drugs to NYPD, too.

("Straight To Hell" magazine is available at Rapture Books on Avenue A for only $6, or online at www.straight-to-hell.net. It is, by far, my favorite magazine of all-time. Read it.)

Did some kind of pogrom occur on myspace while I was on vacation? I just noticed that the profiles of over 500 of my friends have suddenly been deleted. Another one just disappeared while I was writing this, wtf is going on? It's like I'm re-living the 80s - everyone around me is dropping like flies.

Anyway, I was just coming back from the Bowery where a makeshift memorial for Hilly Kristal has sprouted up in front of the building where CBGB was once located. I loved Hilly like a father and his death from cancer has really been kicking-up my shit around my own mother's death, I felt like I needed some closure and I didn't know where else to go. So I just gravitated toward the club and spent a few moments looking at the flowers and candles and poems left behind by friends and strangers.

Coming home I bumped into Ricky on the sidewalk, the subject of my previous blog. Tonight he smiled and said 'Hi" to me even though he was with two of his friends, so I asked him if he had found any runway work.

"Not yet," he replied, "But I think I might be on the cover of 'OUT' magazine next week." He smiled.

My knees buckled. "I'll look for it," I replied, trying not to faint.

CBGB was 'home' for me since I formed my first band in 1984. No club owner ever treated me with more respect or gave me more support and encouragement than Hilly did at CBGB. Over the years I grew close to his whole family, and I feel an enormous sense of loss over his death. He was one of the few people I could point to and say, with absolute certainty: "The world is a better place because this man lived in it."

This is my next-door-neighbor Ricky. I've known him since he was six-years-old:



My Little Ricky is all grown up now and has become, as you can see, a super-hot International Male Model. I'm so proud of him! And now that he's flaunting his shit all over the cover of a French gay magazine I don't have to feel guilty about lusting after him anymore! Not that I would ever try anything shady with Ricky; he's always been nice to me and he's a good kid. When I first moved to my block in Brooklyn (17 years ago), the only neighbors who would say hello to me were, ironically, Ricky's deaf and mute grandparents. And later, Ricky was the only kid past puberty who would say "Hi" to me in the street (not when his friends were around, of course, but whenever we were alone) even though he's not gay and he's not a closet-case as far as I can tell. His girlfriend is gorgeous and looks very satisfied. And he doesn't get that panicked look of fear in his eyes when he sees me in public like the homeboys from the neighborhood who sneak over to suck my dick late at night when no one's around on the street to see them come in and out of my building.

It was funny how I discovered Ricky's modeling success; I bumped into him in the subway afer he graduated from high school and I asked him if he had any plans to go to college. He said he hadn't decided yet, and that there were some other options he wanted to explore before making a decision. I'm thinking, "Poor kid...totally clueless, no direction, no ambition...this world is gonna chew him up and spit him out." Four months later I was sitting in my doctor's office reading Details and there was Ricky, standing on his head in a Diesel ad.

Last month I was walking up Eighth Avenue in Chelsea when something in the window of a magazine store caught my eye. I looked over and there he was again, glaring back at me from the cover of Tetu. I thought, "Oh shit! No way!" But I went into the store and took a closer look and, sure enough, it was Ricky. Yesterday I saw him outside and told him I wanted his autograph and then ran and got my copy for him to sign. He showed me his layout on the inside of the magazine, which I hadn't even noticed...









...and then he showed me the rest of his portfolio and told me he was in town for the shows for Fashion Week. He's making gazillions of dollars and just bought a Lexus. Can you believe I got to watch this hottie grow up? It was a hell of a lot more fun than tending begonias or raising a tomato garden!

Ricky asked me how I wanted him to sign the autograph and I said, "Sign it 'To Uncle Dean'!!!" He blushed and smiled and happily obeyed. Woof.

He's definitely a credit to his sexual orientation. :)

That's right..I actually vacationed in the pines. It was like living on the dance floor at Splash. From there I went to DC where I had a better time spending the weekend with a client who is disabled and walks on crutches. I'll take gimp-sex over "High Tea" anytime. We had fun. He redecorated part of his apartment to look like a prison and I got to be the guard. :)