On Nostalgia

According to the New York Times email I received this morning, nostalgia is now a thing. “As Gen Xers and many millennials approach or move through middle age, the entertainment industry has become determined to soothe their passage with a ceaseless and sentimental remembrance of things past.”

It also mentions the Super Bowl halftime show (which I didn’t watch) because Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Eminem, Mary J. Blige and 50 Cent are now considered nostalgia acts. It goes on to say that, “This fall, Avril Lavigne, Bright Eyes and My Chemical Romance will perform at the early-aughts emo-and-rock festival When We Were Young.”

My reaction to all this is twofold. First off, I was nostalgic when nostalgia wasn’t cool.

Second of all, boo fucking hoo! Gen Xers and millennials are crying into their avocado toast because they’re approaching or moving through middle age? Wait til you get to my my age! Boomers are invisible!

I’ve been watching Seinfeld reruns since they went on the air (after having watched the original series—because I’m that old). I’ve gotten to the point where I can recite pretty much any Seinfeld episode verbatim.

“Why?” you ask.

Apart from the fact that it’s a brilliant sitcom, there’s the undeniable nostalgia factor. The characters on Seinfeld (particularly Kramer) could never exist in today’s New York City. They could never afford it! All the interesting kinds of people who made New York a place people would want to live in (or visit) in the first place have either died or left!

As for music, I basically stopped buying music after the 1980s.

Last week I went to see Howard Jones in concert. Let me tell you something. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen an audience of 60-somethings going, “Ooh ooh ooh” to “New Song”!

Even more ’80s bands will be touring this summer (including Jones): Tears for Fears, Devo. Madness was supposed to be doing a 40th anniversary tour, but their New York dates were canceled. (Not enough boomers?)

I even had an idea for a movie script. I was going to call it Every Band in the ’80s. (Agents, if you’re reading this, I’m happy to “take a meeting”!) The plot would center around a character whose goal was to see every band that came out in the ’80s before either he or they died. Unfortunately, many ’80s music icons already have: Prince, George Michael, Whitney Houston. Yikes! It’s depressing! It would probably have to be rewritten as Every Band in the ’90s! Oh, well…

I’ve been known to go into what I call a “nostalgia K-hole” where one memory triggers another and, thanks to the Internet, I can spend my entire evening playing “Whatever happened to?” (Speaking of which, that cute little boy from The Hours has grown up to be a hot young man! But I digress.)

I even wrote a novella called Nostalgia, a sequel, of sorts, to my book New York Trilogy, which was about my coming of age in the ’80s. (Nostalgia-in-the-making, if you will.) And that was 30 years ago!

So when it comes to nostalgia, remember: you heard it here first! (Or second, if you get the New York Times email.)

Our Government Is Broken

Our government is broken. Congress can’t legislate and the Supreme Court has become a partisan institution that’s lost all credibility.

In just the most recent example, two senators, Joe Manchin and Kyrsten Sinema, are standing in the way of passing a voting rights bill or changing the rules of the filibuster so anything can be passed (or even debated).

So this is where we are. Republicans stonewall for two years and then retake the House. We saw a similar playbook with Obama, when they blocked his nomination of Merrick Garland to the Supreme Court until a Republican—Trump—was elected and then let him install three Supreme Court justices.

They’re also gerrymandering Congressional districts and installing political appointees to oversee elections in order to guarantee permanent Republican rule.

If ever there was a reason to storm the Capitol (and, no, I’m not advocating violence), this would be it.

The irony is that the party that is actually rigging the system is the same one that tried to overturn the election when their candidate (Trump) didn’t win.

And that’s to say nothing of the Electoral College.

Twice in the last 22 years, the person who lost the popular vote actually wound up winning the presidency.

So now we have a nonstop election cycle and nothing gets done. Not just voting rights. Not just Build Back Better. Nothing. No gun control, no abortion rights, no universal healthcare. Nothing.

And the irony (there’s that word again!) is that the majority of Americans want these things.

But our system of government is inherently undemocratic.

The Senate is an inherently undemocratic institution.

Rhode Island has the same number of senators as California. The 50 Republicans in the Senate only represent a minority of the population.

So we now have minority rule.

And that’s undemocratic.

And there’s not a fucking thing we can do about it.

Confessions of a Grindr-holic

As we approach a new year, and people start making resolutions, I have a confession to make: I’m a Grindr-holic.

There, I’ve said it. (I’ve already broken the first rule of Grindr: don’t talk about Grindr.)

There are several reasons why I’m a Grindr-holic, and not all of them have to do with sex.

First of all, it’s a boredom-killer. What better way to kill time while you’re waiting for the subway (or on line at Whole Foods) than to scroll through a bunch of naked pics. Just make sure nobody’s looking over your shoulder or they may catch you looking at (or sending) a dick pic. (It might even be yours!)

I’ve even incorporated Grindr into what I call my “15 minutes of bullshit time.” That’s where I look at my phone for 15 minutes when I wake up in the morning (Grindr, email, Facebook, etc.) in order to postpone the inevitable moment when I actually have to get out of bed.

Then there’s the endorphin rush endemic to all forms of social media (in which I’d include Grindr). Having someone “tap” your profile on Grindr is like having someone “like” your post on Facebook. And just as meaningless.

That’s because with eight million residents and 60 million tourists a year in New York City, the illusion is that there’s always someone better. I’ve dubbed this phenomenon “There’s Always Someone Better Syndrome.”

Sometimes you just want some physical intimacy (especially after two years of Covid) and Grindr is the only way you can get it.

And sometimes you’re just (all together now!) bored.

Which leads me to some other rules about Grindr.

Rule Number 2. If you don’t hook up with someone immediately, it’s not happening. (And forget about making a “date.”) That’s because most gay men (OK, most men) have the attention span of a gnat. If there’s the slightest hesitation on your part, you’ll be blocked. And that’s another thing about Grindr (and other social media). Guys will say (and do) things to you on Grindr that they’ll never say (or do) to you “in real life.” That’s why I try to avoid guys under 30 (hell, guys under 50!). Because most of them haven’t had much experience with, you know, “real life.”

Rule Number 3. It’s rare to have sex with someone more than once (see “There’s Always Someone Better Syndrome”). It’s not even worth using Grindr’s “favorites” feature, because as soon as your hookup (or you) is out the door, you’ll never see each other again. That’s why I sometimes refer to Grindr as “oneanddone.com.”

The good thing about Grindr (if there is a good thing) is that it’s location-based and its GPS is fairly accurate, unlike Adam4Adam, which seems to consist mostly of closet cases, hustlers and, best of all, fake profiles. (There’s an awful lot of gay men in Cheney, Kansas! And they’re all “100 feet away”!)

The bad thing about it being location-based is that I seem to have “used up” all the gay men in my neighborhood. Now if I want to get laid, I have to move!

Either that or spring for “Grindr Xtra” (600 profiles, starting at $19.99 per month).

But as a famous comedian (OK, me) once said, why should I pay $19.99 per month when I can get rejected for free?

Maybe in 2022.

Anything But Joyous

Covid. Climate change. Republicans.

I took a walk to Rockefeller Center on my lunch hour yesterday and, in spite of it being less crowded than usual, I almost started crying. Why? Because this is supposed to be a joyous time of year and I was feeling anything but joyous.

As I write this, a new Covid variant, Omicron, is starting to spread across the United States. Several Broadway shows have had to cancel performances (after having only recently restarted them) and the Radio City Christmas show has canceled their performances for the rest of the year. (I don’t even like the Radio City Christmas show, but still!)

And this is after we’ve been through almost two years of shutdowns, having to wear masks, and having to get vaccinated (to say nothing of the 800,000 Americans who have died).

It seems like every time we think we’re finally about to be done with Covid it comes roaring back even worse than before.

So, if you feel like you’re going crazy, you’re not alone. Along with the Covid epidemic, there’s been an epidemic of people dealing with mental health issues.

Just last week, the New York Times published an article about a website that instructs people how to commit suicide. Shocking, yes, surprising, no. (For the record, I don’t want to commit suicide, but the fact that I even think it’s necessary to say that shows how low we’ve sunk.)

Also last week, a tornado tore through several states in the Midwest, causing death and destruction. This was almost surely another example of the disastrous effects of climate change. Yet whenever Congress tries to pass a bill that deals with it, Republicans (and Democrat-in-name-only Joe Manchin) invariably vote against it. (President Biden’s infrastructure bill was a rare exception, but at this point it’s probably too little too late.)

Gun violence continues to wreak havoc on this country. In just the most recent example, two parents bought their child a gun for Christmas (who does that?!) and he then turned around and killed several of his classmates with it. And yet we can’t even pass a federal law that makes the parents of minors keep such weapons locked up, let alone renew the assault weapons ban.

Finally, as we approach the one-year anniversary of the Capitol Riot, Donald Trump and his allies seem likely to run out the clock (once again) and escape any accountability for trying to overturn the election results and promoting the Big Lie that the election was “stolen” (which the Associated Press just proved yet again has no basis in fact whatsoever).

Republicans have also been gerrymandering Congressional districts, restricting voting rights and installing political appointees to oversee elections in order to ensure Republican control of our government indefinitely, regardless of election results.

Democrats better start taking this threat to our democracy seriously RIGHT NOW or this will be the last Christmas we have one!

So forgive me if I’m feeling less than celebratory. But something tells me I have lots of company this year.

Curb Your Enthusiasm Is Why Red America Hates Us

I’m going to say something that’s probably going to get me into a lot of trouble with the circles in which I travel (comedians, New Yorkers, Jews): I’m struggling to like Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Now mind you, I’m one of the biggest Seinfeld fans on the planet. I’ve seen every episode at least five times and continue to watch it. I can recite many episodes verbatim.

So why am I struggling with Curb, which was created by and stars Seinfeld’s co-creator, Larry David? I think it comes down to this:

Larry David made $250M* from selling Seinfeld’s syndication rights and I just keep asking myself, What problems could someone with $250M possibly have?

But maybe that’s the point of Curb: Even if you have $250M, you still can’t escape the minor nuisances of everyday life (but they are minor).

There’s a certain tone-deafness about the show that I think the creators aren’t aware of, especially in these woke times.

For example, what was the big problem on last week’s episode? Larry spilled a glass of wine on someone’s couch. Without even thinking, he offered to pay to have the couch cleaned, whereas I would be horrified by the prospect of having to pay for something like that. (That’s the thing when you have money: you can almost always buy yourself out of any problem.)

Even something as seemingly innocuous as Larry watching a concert from a private box at the Greek Theatre with a bottle of wine and his celebrity friend, Albert Brooks, kind of rubs me the wrong way.

Compare this to Seinfeld, where you have four more or less middle-class characters and an assortment of quirky New York types (none of whom could exist in post-’90s, gentrified New York). I think this is more relatable to most people than Larry David’s cushy existence (although I’m still surprised people outside of New York City even watch Seinfeld).

I’m experiencing my own “wokelash” in light of last week’s election. Even I have become more concerned lately about quality of life issues and voted for Eric Adams precisely because he's a former policeman.

What this last election demonstrated is that the so-called “elites” are out of touch with middle America. The whole country has become siloed in their own information bubbles, so we’re frequently not aware of what people outside our bubble are thinking.

So that’s my woke analysis of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Don’t even get me started on Succession!

* The syndication of Seinfeld earned David an estimated $250 million in 1998 alone. This amount has been steadily decreasing each year, but payments will continue until the full $1.7 billion from the original syndication deal has been paid. (from Wikipedia)

Dancer from the Dance: Gay Period Piece or Gay Classic?

It’s hard to believe that it’s taken me this long to get around to reading Andrew Holleran’s landmark gay novel, Dancer from the Dance, more than 40 years after it was originally published. It’s only because I saw someone reading it outside a coffee shop in the West Village and I was shocked that it was still in print, and even more shocked that the person reading it was at least 30 years younger than me. When I first moved to New York City 40 years ago, the world that Holleran writes about—the world of gay “clones” who went to gay discos like The Saint—was already starting to disappear.

At that time, there were two distinct gay subcultures: the aforementioned clones, who generally were in their 30s or older and lived in the West Village, and new wavers/punks (like I was shortly after this book was published), who were generally in their 20s and lived in the East Village. (Gay artist Keith Haring even used to spray paint walls and sidewalks in the East Village with the phrase “Clones Go Home.”)

You may wonder, then, why I read a novel like Dancer and why I think it’s so important. It’s because many of the gay men from the generation that Holleran is writing about died of AIDS, so this is like a historical record.

I’m disappointed that Holleran didn’t use the names of real people and places more frequently, like Martin Belk did in his book about New York’s gay scene in the 1990s, Pretty Broken Punks (but that was more of a memoir). It’s only because of books like Tim Lawrence’s Life and Death on the New York Dance Floor: 1980–1983 that I’m familiar with early New York discos like Flamingo and 12 West. (Is Dancer’s “Twelfth Floor” disco based on 12 West?)

Normally, the previous generation of gay men would have passed this information on to the next generation (along with other important cultural information, like which movies you should see and which books you should read), but because of AIDS, many of these men died before they even reached middle age.

So thank God for novels like Dancer that preserve this history. The fact that one may not recognize the names of certain people and places may, in fact, make it even more universal. (Certainly, that was my hope when I changed the names of people and places in my gay coming-of-age novel, New York Trilogy. That and the fact that I thought that that was what you were supposed to do in a novel.)

Much like Larry Kramer’s Faggots (another important novel of this period), Dancer is about a gay man, Malone, looking for love in a gay subculture defined by promiscuity. What makes his search even more poignant is that he’s described as being impossibly beautiful, as well as a perfect gentleman. (Indeed, beauty may be the real subject of Dancer.)

However, as was common in many gay works of this era, the story is ultimately tragic. (If you’ve seen the excellent documentary, The Celluloid Closet, based on Vito Russo's book, I don’t think I’m giving away any spoilers here.)

What makes the book worth reading, apart from its historical value, is that it’s beautifully written and its characters are unforgettable. The gay beauty, Malone, is a Gatsby-like figure, an unattainable object of desire. (The scene describing his clothing reminds me of a similar scene in The Great Gatsby describing Gatsby’s shirts.)

Equally memorable is his tour guide to the gay scene, Sutherland, a classic jaded queen. (Think Harold in The Boys in the Band or Richard E. Grant’s character in Can You Ever Forgive Me?)

In spite of all this, I found Dancer to be profoundly depressing because, ultimately, it’s about aging and death.

It is also, however, a masterpiece.

Petrosino Park Is Out of Control

Yesterday I spoke to Christopher Marte, the man I hope will be my City Council member, about the deteriorating quality of life around Petrosino Park, a small, triangular park in Nolita that is bordered by Lafayette Street, Kenmare Street and Cleveland Place.

Despite numerous complaints to the Fifth Preinct and 311 from my neighbors and I, the situation has not only not improved, it has actually gotten worse.

There’s a general atmosphere of lawlessness in the neighborhood which the police say they’re powerless to do anything about. (I actually stopped a patrol car today to talk to them about it and they said that, while they agree with me, they can’t do anything about it.)

I seem to recall that it’s illegal to even play a radio in New York City parks, much less set up a microphone and amplifier that could fill a nightclub. But there seems to be a general lack of enforcement of “quality of life” crimes these days, as anyone who rides the subway can attest.

But amplified music is just one (albeit the most egregious) example of the deteriorating quality of life in my neighborhood. On the west side of the park, Lafayette Street has been converted into a de facto skateboard park with skateboarders shouting and banging their skateboards at all hours of the day.

The space that used to be Spring Street Natural Restaurant (it’s vacant now) is covered with graffiti. The non-profit Storefront for Art and Architecture was also covered with graffiti and had to be repainted several times. Perhaps the worst offenders are the restaurants themselves, particularly 19 Cleveland and La Esquina. 19 Cleveland has been operating past legal hours, has been doing construction at 23 Cleveland Place without a permit (at least none that I can see) and throwing rooftop parties late at night. They’re also expanding into the garden behind 23 Cleveland Place, again, without any permit or neighborhood input.

La Esquina has also been a horrible neighbor pretty much from the day they opened. I can always tell when they’re closing (2am) because their clientele seems to be incapable of leaving without waking up the entire neighborhood.

This whole outdoor dining phenomenon, which was supposed to be a temporary measure to help restaurants make up for income lost during the pandemic, has turned our streets and neighborhoods into all-day nightclubs, complete with loud music (and customers) and crowded sidewalks. I’m hoping that when they (hopefully) take office, Christopher Marte and Eric Adams can put an end to all this, because it’s clear that the Fifth Precinct and Mayor de Blasio have no intention of doing so.