A while back I was asked to do an event at the Hybrid Café in West Hollywood funded by the Gay and Lesbian Center. The purpose of the event was to promote their new chat room for safe sex. Having somebody of my background was supposed to be the draw and also serve to facilitate the conversation and answer questions involving safe sex and my line of work.

The theme was “Johnny at Home” as they decked the place out in pillows and candles to simulate a comfortable, relaxed sexy feel. Honestly, they did a great job giving this open industrial space a cozy ambiance.

People had the option to drop into the café and chat with me there or sit at home in the comfort of their PJ’s or out of them and chat there. To help increase the foot traffic we had it on Friday at 8. This is prime time for people wandering about sniffing out the buzz. As people go they were a bit hesitant at the idea of coming inside and felt much more at ease gazing through the wall of glass that separated me from the increasing number of party goers outside. Did I mention that I was smack in the middle of the store, on the couch barefoot in a bathrobe? If that wasn’t drawing attention the only thing left would go against certain laws of public exposure for sure.

My generation has it pretty easy. We had no Stonewall Riot, no march on Washington or “gay plague”. What we do have is the power to prevent and treat HIV, more resources and safe havens across the country than ever before, we have a voice in Washington and the Madison Avenue ad machine is hungry for our dollars. Most of all, we are visible and I say this because we need to remember what so many people did for us. We can walk down Santa Monica Blvd and kiss our male friend on the lips without fear of verbal or physical assault. We must not forget the efforts of our brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers that made it possible for the likes of Will and Grace, Ellen and even Rosie O’Donnell to be part of mainstream culture.

There is still much work to be done, but I really think the hardest parts are behind us. Still, it’s important that we all try to help in any way we can. If you’re a big name porn star you can donate an expensive public appearance to help spread the word about HIV prevention. If not, you can volunteer or contribute to causes that help the community. Whatever you do, do it for those that accomplished so much at such a high price to make our little gay world a better place.

We all have growth meters that go way beyond notches in a cabinet door. When something happens in my life that makes another notch in that virtual meter, I like to take stock for a moment on past turning points and growth spurts to make sure I’m happy with the direction of my progress. I usually am.

Somewhere on I-5, about 40 minutes from LA, I started to feel at home. The sun was that lively golden color and it basked the hills in light making them look like blankets of velvet over throw pillows. The number of lanes on the interstate changed from 2 to 6 and every lane was full of cars and trucks. It was good to be home in So Cal. I was calm and happy in the face of the impending gridlock I was about to encounter.

I began to think about the week ahead and my heavy schedule of relaxation. I thought about watching the BBC version of “The Office” at my friend George’s house in what could only be described as a virtual trip to Tuscany. He has a built in pool in the back yard that is topped by a 3 tier garden on the north side complete with vegetables and fruit trees one would find in Italy; it was going to be great week.

Just as I completed the thought and began to muster a sigh of contentment I felt the contentment being replaced by a gut wrenching pain that I had only felt twice before; most recently, last Friday morning.

The DVD series “The Office” along with every other series I own, yes even Ab Fab, and every single CD was gone. They were stolen the day Milo was harvested. I didn’t notice at the time because I was so happy about some of the things that weren’t stolen. It’s probably for the best that this realization occurred after my time in SF. Earlier that day, just as we were packing up for the drive to LA, Scott and I both mentioned that the cab looked somewhat less cramped and we attributed it to the food being gone and the absence of the other backpack. Not so much.

So back to my growth meter, I had to contain my rage and upset because I was now on a 6 lane highway with some of the most oblivious drivers on the planet. There was nothing to throw against the wall; in fact, there was no wall. This was not so much an illustration of growth as it was just a holding pen for anger and rage. The growth happened about an hour later when I took a deep breath and visualized the entire experience and the feelings I had about it fade away as the can of Flat Tire approached my lips. Just kidding. I do not mean to insinuate that the method of acceptance I was practicing is more of a method of escape and substance abuse.

I had a choice: To either let these feelings of violation and anger fester inside me and ruin my week, or to release them and get on with my homecoming. It amazes me when people make a conscience effort to remain pissed. It takes far more energy to remain angry than it does to accept and move on. I decided to not be upset although I cannot argue that as the evening continued I thought about all those old CDs that I had and how some of that stuff really meant a lot to me. I began that collection over 8 years ago when my last stash of CDs was ripped off at a the gym. That I did not mind so much because it was the lesson in karma that I needed to form the moral fiber I have today; I had stolen a pair of earrings the day before.

I was really proud of myself. I remember a time not too long ago when this sort of thing warranted not only a 5 day angry period, but also open hostility to whoever I came into contact with; misery truly loves company. So I’m out some memories and some good tunes (But I mean some really good shit!). Now I have the chance to make new ones - better ones, dammit! Yeah, that’s it! Growth, baby!

Half way through Nevada I had an intense craving for a Red Hook, a local brew here that is one of my favorites. So I put the pedal to the metal and went as fast as I could. After drinking 3 rather quickly I was ready for bed.

My friend Kevin, who was gracious enough to offer me lodging in the city once again, decided that we were going to get up early and hit the gym. This would be my first time picking up weights in about 3 weeks and I was so looking forward to it. At 7:30 we woke and I went out to check Milo and get the bagels that we had been traveling with to toast for breakfast. As I was walking up 14th St I noticed that there was a piece of paper on the street that had the listings for Sirius Radio. How odd I thought, I have Sirius Radio, and before I could begin to process this finding I looked in Milo’s cab to see the contents of the back in the front and the window in a thousand pieces. Yup, Milo had been violated!

My first thought was my father. You see, I had his ashes in a small urn in the suitcase that was now all over the truck. I had not gone through it enough to know what had been taken; it was a mess, an absolute mess. The though of my dad being gone, again, was enough to make me throw up. I then thought “good”, I hope they did take him because he is going to kick some serious ass from the spirit world and make their crack-head lives miserable.

They left dad and oddly enough left the radio face, my Sirius transmitter and everything else. They sifted through everything and made a serious mess, but the only thing they took was my change, my sunglasses and my headset. Kevin said that this sort of thing is typical; they are junkies looking for money. They also took my back pack after displacing the contents. I guess mine was the first stop on a smash spree and they needed a shopping bag. I loved that bag. But it could have been so much worse and I am really glad it went down this way.

I have a cover that locks so I can keep all my shit in the bed and one of the latches broke in Death Valley. There was still the one working on the other side, but a couple strong lifts and tugs could have easily broken it open. We debated whether or not to fix it then or wait till the next morning in San Fran. We opted for a stop at Home Depot in Carson City and Scott, thank god, was able to make the repair. I cannot even begin to think of what may have happened if we didn’t take care of that.

Petty looting aside, it’s great to be back in San Francisco. Aside from being a little shaken, Milo was OK. I was truly lucky, dad was watching out for us I’m sure.

A few hours before I left on the red eye back to Boston last week, I had a new extension added to the tattoo on my left forearm. There is an artist named Konstantine at Velvet Grip in West Hollywood that has the same eye as I do for that design I had started years ago. (Think Bolt, the scene with Brandon Lee.) Now the design has grown to spots that I cannot see so it helps to have a similar pair of eyes.

Now back now in Boston I’m sitting here with my arm wrapped in plastic wrap and feet snuggled in slippers. My sandals have been packed away until sometime in January when I will return to Palm Springs after my fourth cross country trip with Milo. This Tuesday I depart from yet another summer in New England. The idea of returning back to SoCal, especially this time of year, has me very excited. I cannot remember the last time I was so excited about coming back. I suppose things have changed. In fact, they have changed remarkably. In 7 months I have been able to put quite a few deep notches in my growth meter. I am ready to start the next chapter.