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Porn Actors Being Forced to Use Condoms in Sex Scenes Shot in Los Angeles
The AIDS Healthcare Foundation has a petition with 64,000 signatures on it, in favor of having porn actors in Los Angeles wear condoms. The proposition holds that for porn to receive a permit for filming in Los Angeles, The actors must wear condoms.
Already, the porn industry has it’s own standards involved in the HIV/AIDS realm, requiring that actors have to go to monthly HIV screenings for health purposes. They oppose the thought of more government regulations, based on the fact that condom covered penises are considerably less desirable than the bare
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Tycho – Dive
Tycho – Dive
San Fransisco based music producer Scott Hansen released his second album under the name Tycho on Oct. 4. This synth-y mesmerizing masterpiece has been the soundtrack to every idle moment I have had in the past two weeks. Check it out these tracks from the album and make sure to listen while you are walking outside, feeling warm, happy, and ready for anything.
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Red Hot + You Don’t Stop
Red Hot announces
World AIDS Day Concert Series in NYC…
Celebrating 20 Years of Red Hot
December 1- 4, 2011
For more information, please fill out below and send:
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SON OF A PREACHER MAN (AND WOMAN)
My mother was a nun, my father was a priest. Yes, just like “The Thornbirds”. No, my mother never smacked my hand with a ruler. Yes, they ace the “Bible” category on Jeapordy. No, we never said grace. Yes, they left religious life before I was conceived, you nosy bastard. These days, I hesitate to even mention the priest and nun thing. Curious thrill-seekers grill me for long periods of me, hoping to uncover some sordid detail, or mysteries about my “unique” family.
Their respective experiences have had an effect on my life, but in a different way than most people anticipate. Well, anyway, here are the three most-asked questions, with my stock answers honed over the years.
1. “How did they meet?”
My Dad became a priest to help people. When the social revolution of the ’60s was in full swing he felt stifled. After seven years of singing hymns off-key and passing out wafers, he needed a change. So he and three other priests conducted an “experiment” with the permission of the local bishop. They lived in a small apartment in the inner city, unheard of for members of religious life in those days, and made daily contact with the residents.
My Dad went from house to house, helping people get jobs, counseling families coping with domestic violence and talking with the elderly. The apartment became a hippie heaven” (my father’s description). There were balloons on the ceiling, slogans written on the walls, and folk music. Definitely not the stereotypical life of a priest but it worked. My father fulfilled his original idealistic view of what a priest should be, freed himself from the routine of tradition, and became well-respected in the community.
My Mom had a similar awakening. She entered the convent at 17 and studied French, but was forced to teach 1st grade because she was the youngest nun (I never understood the logic either) . After years of teaching huge classes (66 first grade boys at one point!) she also desired a change. The nun hierarchy wouldn’t let her go for her Masters in French, so she went on a summer program to work in the city and stayed. For seven years, she taught, cooked, cleaned, and prayed; in the summer of ’68, she marched in protest, sang Pete Seeger in unison, and discovered a way of life she was missing.
So in this tumultuous atmosphere of freedom and change, they met–on the coffee line at a protest for low-income housing. Dad said “Hi” and was taken by Mom’s smile. Their next encounter was at an “alternative” mass given by my father at “hippie heaven;” and afterwards they went out for a spin. “The Elusive Butterfly of Love” played on the radio as they discussed their respective families, the restrictions of the church, and the history being made around them. They spent the rest of the summer together, exchanging poems, going for walks, and generally being mushy.
The summer ended and Mom went back to the convent. Star-crossed lover behavior ensued. Dad asked female friends to call and ask for Mom. Mom sneaked out of the convent (I struggle to see her tiptoeing across the convent lawn in her habit–she’s not a risk taker).
At Christmas my father snagged some toys from a neighboring church charity drive and took them to Mom’s convent. She opened the door and he planted her on the lips. I’m sure the woman in The Thornbirds would’ve succumbed in reckless abandonment, but my mother was not pleased. Her face still tenses up when she tells the story.
Within a year they both left religious life. I don’t know if they left because of their problems with the church or for each other — probably both. Their sense of morality conflicted greatly with the church’s restrictive positions on abortion, birth control, etc … They had three weddings: an informal ceremony in Central Park — Mom, Dad, and a squirrel, the official one by the Justice of the Peace with a ceremony afterwards, and later in the year, a service officially recognized by the church.
2. “Was your life, like, a 24-hour catechism class or something?”
My parents’ former religious life didn’t play a big part in my childhood. With the exception of the occasional my-Mom-as-penguin Polaroid scattered through photo albums, the annual excursion to convent class reunions, and a few great stories, I barely remembered that my Mom and Dad were “of the cloth;’ or whatever they say. We didn’t even attend church on a regular basis. While they still believed in the teaching of Christ to an extent, the ancient policies of the church still disturbed them.
My father had the bright idea of occasionally taking us to Spanish-language masses, hoping we’d pick up the language. It didn’t work. My two sisters and I picked up on my parents’ dissatisfaction with the church, and developed a strong resistance to going to mass. Even at funerals and weddings, I don’t participate. I stand, sit, and only sing if it’s a catchy tune. And even then I’ll substitute Prince lyrics for “Hosanna in the highest.” Makes me feel like a rebel. My parents now go to and enjoy mass, and always return with a critique of the sermon. They know how it’s supposed to be.
3. “Didn’t they threaten to disown you when you told them you were gay?”
This is a question that people ask always anticipating the worst with excitement, like they were watching Rikki Lake. “My mother threw me in a tub of holy water screaming prayers in Italian while my dad strangled me with a rosary — isn’t that terrible!!!”
Actually, the whole thing was pretty tame. I sheepishly wrote them a letter revealing the big news when I was a Junior in college. It was pretty mushy as I remember, reassuring them this was not a phase while praising them for raising me without conveying any homophobic messages.
They received my letter on a Friday, and my Dad drove up to visit Saturday morning. He took me out to Friendly’s and told me he loved me. This time I was anticipating the worst and I thankfully didn’t get it. He said he knew for about five years –I didn’t even know for five years. “Am I that effeminate?” I thought. I probably did push-ups for the next week.
My Mom couldn’t talk to me too much, and when she did she started to blubber. AIDS, of course was a big worry. I told her I couldn’t pay to get laid, in so many words, and she had nothing to worry about. It took some time. When I told her I’d been elected the president of the campus gay & lesbian organization a few months later, she still had the nerve to whine “But are you sure it’s not a phase?”
All in all, they’re OK about it. I am lucky to have understanding parents who voted for George McGovern. Mom and I discuss Bill Clinton’s (her hero) policy on gays. Dad asks me if I’m seeing anyone. I’m sure they would let my boyfriend come over for Thanksgiving or something, God forbid I had a boyfriend. I’ve been out for 6 years — no significant other, companion, nothing. (Maybe I should go on Rikki Lake.)
So my Mom and Dad are OK parents. They celebrated their 25th anniversary this past winter. Our big celebration consisted of playing board games and munching on a crudite platter. After working with the poverty-stricken and living without television for the first part of their adult life, they’re not too materialistic. Probably a lot of what they learned has rubbed of me, in ways I’ve not even aware of. I am a proud and grateful son.
text by KEVIN QUINN
Originally Published in Red Hot + Bothered Vinyl Sleeve
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I Was A Teenage Secret Admirer (of a Kevin Bacon look-a-like)
A true story. Mike was the guy in my chemistry and algebra classes whom I decided to get a crush on. In high school you always need someone to focus all your girl gossip and crazy hormones and fairy-tale fantasies on. Mike B. Havert was It. He had spiky hair and he wore Chuck Taylors and cargo pants. Even though I sat right behind Mr. Havert in algebra, I rarely got up the nerve to say two words to him. You know how it is in high school; it’s kind of weird if you try to cross lines.
Halloween candygrams were coming up, and as a member of the Hostess Club (OK, yes, I admit it), I was helping put them together. I decided to send Mike one anonymously, and instead of the mix of Tootsie Rolls and Smarties and whatever, put only Hershey Kisses in his bag. I wrote something about how I thought he seemed really nice and happy Halloween and I don’t even know what else. I do remember not saying I thought he was superhot or that I was in love with him or anything; after all, I wanted to retain my dignity.
So that was that and soon enough it was Christmas – candygram time again. I got this crazy, brilliant idea for what to write to Mike: I think you’re a great guy, I have two classes with you, what’s all this about a Haverford senior? [I eavesdropped on Mike and his friends whenever I could; "I heard about you and that Haverford senior, you animal!"], Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and P.S. Leave your response to this note in a book called Overcoming Shyness in the school library.
Candygrams were given out in homeroom the Friday before Christmas vacation, and I had chemistry with Mike in the morning, right after his free period. About five minutes into chemistry I asked if I could go to the bathroom, and flew upstairs to the library where to my great and happy surprise there was actually a note in the book! He’d answered my note. After that we started writing notes back and forth, me slipping them into his locker, Mike leaving them in the book. It was a very happy period in my life. I kept all the notes, all this time. The following are excerpts from our correspondence, with my explanations, exultations and regrets in brackets.
12/20/85
Dear, Guess –
I really don’t know what to say. I never have written anything to someone that I didn’t know. I am supposed to be driving right now, but the instructor left without me. This would have been the last time I had to drive, but no!
Thank you for the kisses and this second note. What are you doing over the long Christmas break? Well whatever you do I hope you have a wonderfully Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
- Mike Havert
P.S. How did you get to know so much about me? and about this overcoming shyness book in the library?
Dear Mike,
Hi again! Thanks for writing me back — that was so sweet of you. I know this is pretty weird–I’ve never done this before either, but I guess I’m too shy to really talk to you. But about the book–I picked it because it was in the very back and no one had ever checked it out–besides I thought it was sort of fitting. Anyway-
Sorry about your driving. When do you take Driver’s Ed anyway? Hope you have a great Christmas vacation. As for what I’m doing-I’m … staying home–great, huh.
I got to know so much about you because, well, I have my ways …. But you never did answer me–what is all this about a Haverford senior???
Well, thanks again-and I hope you have (had) a wonderfully merry Christmas too! -Guess!
Dear ?
Hi, what’s happening? Well, I am writing this to you (who ever you are) from my room. I am listening to the Police–Ghost in the Machine. What kind of music do you like? About the Haverford senior–I don’t want to tell someone I don’t know about my personal life, but I will tell you about it when I meet you face to face. I hope that’s alright.
Well gotta go
Mike H.
P.S. why don’t you call me sometime? I’d call you but I don’t know your #
PPS-I know the letter is kinda messy. Sorry.
Dear Mike,
Thanks for writing. I was about to give up on you!
So you have your license now? Do you have a car? I have a ’69 red Mustang convertible in the garage which is sort of mine [Actually, it was really my dad's car, but he told me I could drive it. Sort of mine, right?] but I haven’t even gotten my permit yet. I guess I’m pretty lazy. When was your birthday?
I’m in my room now too–and I’m listening to Corey Hart–”Everything in My Heart” on my Walkman. [I was vaguely aware at the time that listening to Corey Hart was not something to freely admit. But the thing was, I used to listen to Corey Hart's albums every single day, and even though I had all his albums I bought all his 45s too so I could have more pictures of him.] Can you believe it’s 2:13 AM, but I woke up and thought I’d write back to you because I really can’t sleep which doesn’t often happen to me. [Mike, I am so in love with you it's keeping me up at night. Please!]
Yes, it’s alright for you to tell me about the Haverford senior later–I just wanted to be sure you weren’t seeing someone, that’s all. You said why don’t I call you? Well, last Sat. night I did, about 10:00–but you weren’t home. [What did I expect--l mean, it was ten o'clock on a Saturday night, for crying out loud.] Anyway I’m not sure what I would have said to you. I guess you probably would have wanted to know who I am, but I am kinda embarrassed about all this–I don’t think I can just tell you–it would probably be pretty awkward for both of us. [Well, especially me.] So what do you think I should do?
I don’t know if you’d really want to do this, but Valentine’s Day is on a Friday this year–would you like to meet me somewhere? [Valentine's Day?! I can't believe I suggested this. It's like a bad John Hughes movie.] I don’t know how else to let you know who I am without really embarrassing both of us. I still can’t beIieve I’m doing this–but let me know about Fri. night, O.K?
Please write back soon!
- Guess!
P.S. Can you enclose a picture of yourself in your next letter? Thanks.
1/27/86
Hi, what’s happening? You’re right this is becoming really confusing, but I really admire you for making the first move–l don’t think I would ever be able to do this. [Nor would you need to Mr. Haverford Senior]
Yes, I do have my license now, my birthday was October 8. You were just funin’ me [I still love that phrase] about the Mustang, right?
I am really sorry I wasn’t home when you called, but I guess it is all for the better. I guess Valentine’s Day would be a nice time to meet each other [YES! Thank you, God], what did you have in mind? There is a Valentine’s Day dance Friday night.
Well I shall enclose a picture of myself–see back
[Here he drew two wallet-sized pictures of himself, one right-side up, one "upside down with spiked hair." It was awful, but I loved it. I mean, he was drawing pictures for me!]
–it is such a bad self portrait because I had to hold the mirror with one hand.
No, but seriously now, if I could find one I would send it to you but I can’t seem to find them. How does the weather look from your window? [I found this so charming.] Well I better be going–you know I am going downhill when I start talking about the weather.
–Mike
Dear Mike,
Hi! Thanks for writing back so soon.
As for as me making the first move–believe me, I am still surprised that I’m actual/y doing this. Your birthday is October 8? Mine is the 4th! Hey, did you know you and Chevy Chase have the same birthday? [Huh?!]
About the dance–I don’t really think I want to go there because there will be too many people around. [You can see the potential humiliation for me here.] But if it isn’t formal I guess I’ll be there with my friends, if you are still going. If not, we could go somewhere else if you’d like. You said what did I have in mind. I’m not sure, what do you want to do? We could go see a movie if you want.
No, really, I do have a Mustang but it’s a ’73.1 think I told you it was ’69 before. I don’t know what I was thinking of [yes, I am clueless]
By the way, I was impressed by your picture. Your upside-down spiked hair was intriguing. You haven’t spiked it for a while, I’ve noticed. How come?
Write back soon!
- Guess!
Dear Guess,
I am sorry that I haven’t written sooner but to tell the truth I don’t really know if I am ready for a one on one relationship especially since I don’t know who you are. If you are still willing to go out on Fri. Call me Fri. afternoon so we can figure out the details, but I don’t want to commit myself. I hope you understand. Sorry for being so frank.
–Your friend, Mike H.
Your friend? Your friend?! After that last note he wrote? After he drew me those self-portraits? After he offered to meet me at the Valentine’s Day dance? Only one explanation: He found out who I was.
Later that day a friend of mine,Tracy, asked me isn’t your birthday October fourth? A friend of Mike’s told Tracy about the notes and asked her if she knew anyone with that birthday and Tracy said she thought that was my birthday. I hadn’t told her about any of this with Mike because she liked him too, in fact, we would drool over him together at lunch. So there it was; the mutual friend had spilled the beans. I tried to explain to Tracy about the notes; we were pretty good friends and it was kind of a betrayal I guess, but she took it pretty well. Meanwhile, I had to figure out what to do about Mike.
Dear Mike,
I must say I was pretty surprised at your last note. The whole tone changed –was it because you were just unsure of what you were getting yourself into or did you find out whom I am or what? Now I am more confused than ever. Yes, I am willing to go out Fri. but not if you don’t want to. So could you let me know what’s going on–SOON?
- Guess!
P.S. l’d prefer if you didn’t say anything to anyone about all this because I feel funny enough about it as it is.
Dear Guess,
Well, if we go out Friday, do you want to go to a movie? Maybe I could pick you up somewhere? I have the car Friday night. Don’t worry, you wouldn’t be dragging me to the movies I would like to go, but I don’t know what kind of relationship would result. I did ask a person about you. I hope that is alright, but she wouldn’t tell me anything.
How about we go see Down & Out in Beverly Hills at the mall? If you have got a better idea call me at 5:30 Friday or slip a note in my locker
– Mike H.
So I called him. He admitted that he knew who I was. When I asked him how, he said he’d figured it out from the way I smiled at him in the hall. But I knew the truth. It was weird in school that week. We still hardly spoke, but now that we both knew that he knew, it felt more awkward than ever.
But finally, finally, Friday came and we went out. I wore a pink blouse and pink Guess? jeans. He picked me up and we drove to the movies.We talked about music and I told him more about how I really got into Corey Hart. There were a couple of awkward silences, but it went OK. Then we got there and he walked right in, no popcorn, no Junior Mints. I remember I spent the whole time with my hand casually dangling over the end of the armrest, just in case he wanted to hold it, which was pretty uncomfortable after a while. Afterward we got in his parents’ Cutlass Supreme or whatever, and I thought we might go to Friendly’s for ice cream or something, but instead he drove me straight home. I pretty much got the picture and had my hand on the door handle as he pulled up to my place, ready to make a quick exit. But before I could say goodbye and bolt, he turned to me and said, “Elizabeth?”
“Yes?” I replied expectantly. For a split second thoughts flashed through my head of him telling me how much he liked me and what a fabulous time he had and then leaning over and kissing me for a while. Instead he said, “I just wanted you to know, like, when you see me in the hall at school, that we’re just…friends–I mean, we’re not, like, dating now or anything, OK?” I’m proud to say that instead of feeling humiliated, I almost laughed at him. “Look Mike, we only went on one date. It’s no big deal. Anyway, thanks for going with me–l had a good time. Good night!” I got out, walked up the driveway and into my house. I turned on Corey Hart and called my friend Donna. We went over it all again. Even though I knew he was a jerk, I had convinced myself I was in love with this guy, even after everything I still liked him.
EPILOGUE: Mike and I (surprise!) never went out again, and of course I got over him. Now Mike lives in Madison,Wl, with a woman named Jill, getting his Ph.D. studying the dog hepatitis virus. I called to tell him about this article, casually throwing in a comment about how I’ve been seeing a guy for five years– “just so you know I’m not stalking you!” (I actually said that). He laughed that old Mike laugh. Ahh yes…. it was fun while it lasted, and at the time I really did dig Mike (and my pink Guess? jeans.) But, as all you secret admirers out there know, you can’t always get what you want. (Just as well, too.)
text* ELlZABETH hurchalla
Originally Published in Red Hot + Bothered Vinyl Sleeve
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St. Patty’s Day Post
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! I hope you’re all enjoying this day of debauchery, revelry, and celebration. Here are a few fun facts for you to impress all the cailíní at the pub:
Did you know that the first St. Patrick’s Day parade took place not in Ireland, but in NYC? Irish soldiers serving in the English military marched through the big apple on the St. Patty’s Day of 1762. Now, there are over 100 St. Patrick’s Day parades in different cities throughout the United States.
For years, St. Patrick’s day was not a day for boozing in Ireland. Until the 1970s, Irish laws prohibited pubs from opening their doors on the 17th of March. Today, the scene in Ireland on St. Patty’s is quite the opposite. Starting in 1995, the Irish government started a national campaign to use the holiday to attract tourists with parades, concerts, and fireworks.
Each year the Chicago River is dyed green for St. Patrick’s Day. This is a festive tradition, but it’s origin actually stems from a less than festive matter. In the early 1960s, Chicago’s pollution-control used dyes to trace illegal sewage discharges in the river. In 1962, the city used green vegetable dye and has every year since!
Wishing you all the luck of the Irish and remember, play safe!
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