AJLlewellyn

One Man's Treasure

2008-09-30T16:29:00Z

Current mood: contemplative

Hi Everyone,

Late yesterday afternoon, the old lady who lives in the house next door to me, was robbed. It's an evil, heinous thing to do to anybody; take something that isn't yours. To invade the home of a sick old lady and rob her of all her worldly goods is about the most cowardly thing a person could do.
She isn't a nice old lady. She used to be, until dementia, paranoia and physical frailty overtook her. But she did not deserve being swindled. She called me around five o'clock crying and I was shocked. In recent weeks when I've tried to check on her, she either didn't recognize me and threatened to call 911 or DID recognize me and told me my pet monkey was keeping her awake.
I don't have a pet monkey, but I digress.
Her tears and complete incoherence concerned me and my mate Tony, who was in town from Hawaii (via Vegas Baby) hitched up his pants (he lost his belt in a casino, a whole 'nother story)and we raced to my neighbor's house.
It was a bad, sad story. Two guys claiming to be from the gas company arrived at her front door. While one distracted her in the back yard with some imaginary gas leak, the second guy gave the OK to another bunch of guys and they pulled into her driveway in a moving van. Within seconds, they were hauling away a good portion of her possessions.
Another neighbor saw them and mercifully called the police. As I write this, the guys have not been caught but hopefully they will be. I was shocked how quickly they relieved the contents of my neighbor's lifetime habit of hoarding.
She let me and Tony into the house and she boiled water for tea. She couldn't find teaspoons. All her silver was taken. Man! These guys were fast!
We sat down with her and drank tea out of her musty-smelling cups and just let her talk.
"They didn't take the most valuable thing I have though," she smiled shakily.
"Oh, what's that?" I asked.
"The screenplay somebody wrote about me in 1952."
Tony and I looked at each other and she toddled off, returning with a folder the burglars had found, opening it and deeming it trash, apparently, because they'd discarded it. The snap was broken and I opened the file to find dozens of old 10 x 8 glassy black and white photos of my neighbor. I am not into women but she was hot and gorgeous in her time.
"You did burlesque?" Tony grinned. "Nice pasties!"
My neighbor was apparently the one time queen of New York's pre-world war II strip clubs. The screenplay was about her love affair with a cop sent to shut her down.
She told us hilarious stories of strippings gone wrong, pasties that left red marks on her nipples. All the waiters in her club were gay men, she told us proudly. They adored the girls but never tried to cop a feel.
Police raids were announced in code by the waiters, who would shout "Ice! Ice!" and the bare breasted ladies quickly slapped on pasties.
Tony and I sat, enraptured by her memories...of New York in the 30's and 40's and for a brief moment in time, a woman lost from the present, remembered her past and appreciated that a world away, in a whole other time zone, two other men deemed her priceless treasure to be important.
I have no idea if she remembers anything of our discussion this morning but for Tony and me, the best gift we gave her was our time. And our attention. I am a writer and if my house was burning down, I'd grab my animals (imaginary monkey included) and my working manuscripts.
I have no idea why her movie was never made. Maybe it wasn't meant to be. I am glad she has her memories - when she has her memories - and me, I will never be able to look at an ice cube in quite the same way again.

Aloha oe,
A.J.

Currently listening :
Destiny
By The Brothers Cazimero
Release date: 2008-05-20

Irritable Male Syndrome

2008-09-28T15:13:00Z

Current mood: amused

Hi Everyone,

The following conversation will be brief and may or may not remind you of discussions in your home:

Eeny: You hogged all the hot water. I had to have a cold shower!

Meeny: Well, didn't WE get out of bed the wrong side this morning!

Eeeny: Listen, you ugly bastard. It was the good side until I found all the hot water gone! How long do you need to shower anyway?

Meeny: You need to shut up. You're giving me a headache.

Eeney: You're telling ME to shut up? I hate you! You always leave the toilet seat up. What are you anyway, a freakin' Neanderthal?

Meeny: Who are you calling a Neanderthal?

Now this conversation is not taking place between a man and a woman but two men. Yep, men need to er…man up and admit they too, get male PMS. Technically speaking it is referrerd to as Irritable Male Syndrome, or as my Jamaican friend Basil calls them, "Lady Days."

It may not surprise you to learn he's been married and divorced four times.

The above conversation happened between me and my brother. His girlfriend, who acompanied him on his visit to me wisely kept her mouth shut as we sniped at one another. It was all forgotten by the time we'd had our second cup of coffee but she tiptoed around for a good hour until then. Poor thing. She still looks traumatized.

Men get stressed. Men bottle things up. And then we act like nine year old girls over things like hot water, no gas left in the car and somebody stabbing his disguting cigarettes out in my tropical plants on the balcony.

But I digress. Yep, you too can be the proud paramour of a guy who loses it over incidentals. It isn't just gay guys who get those…well, hormonal fluctuations. My lovely friend Heather mentioned this yesterday and I thought it was about time to address this issue since well, it's my day to blog again. I mean, I probably owe apologies to millions of people by now for bad attitudes on my er…lady days.

But I won't. I will bottle it all up, carry it deep within me, all with a smile on my face until the next time some wiener cuts me off on the freeway. Yeah, them we'll see about how ladylike I can be. Now pass me the Happy Pills, please.

Aloha oe,

A.J.

Currently listening :
Jukebox - Deluxe Edition
By Cat Power
Release date: 2008-01-22

The Sagat Revenge

2008-09-28T00:33:00Z

Hi Everyone,

Almost every couple I know has a spoken agreement - mostly in jest, but clearly understood - that given the chance to bed some famous person of their fantasies, they get a free pass.
My partner and I have never discussed a Freebie List. I didn't think we needed one. We're still in that red-hot new phase...or we were until, as I blogged the other day he told me he was crazy about the character Jack on the Torchwood series.
Jack, he said, kisses with his whole body.
Well, since there seems to be only one guy on his Freebie List I suppose I could have taken it in good stride but I am A Greek-Australian man. That means, I think like an Australian, but my emotions are Greek. Gay Greek.
I needed revenge. "Oh, no, A.J," my partner moaned. "I am not watching Rock Hudson and Doris Day movies. I've seen 'em all...I-"
I laughed in his face. No, Rock and Doris weren't going to cut the mustard this time. I needed a real man to give my partner something to think about.
I needed The Sagat Revenge.
If you haven't heard of the French gay porn superstar or seen him in action, then you haven't lived. A Youtube video has surfaced of him recently, kissing a woman but there's no question the guy is gay. And yet, even kissing a woman, fully clothed, he is damned hot. Well, partially clothed. For Francois Sagat, underpants are practically formal wear.
A casual check on the Internet will show you this guy is Freaky (his word, not mine). He has the craziest blog in history. Loads of hot photos and inexplicable videos. Weird music. Very few words on the page and most of them seem self-loathing. Oh, and he does not allow reader comments.
So, he's definitely out there and seems to revel in simultaneously being naked, then skewering his own image. You can't Google any article or photo shoot with him where he doesn't start ripping his clothes off and touching his bottom.
But I digress.
"Oh no," my partner moaned. "Not Sagat."
Yeah, Sagat. And since it was my choice and I couldn't choose, we had an entire Sagat night, the Best Of Francois Sagat volumes 1-3.
My partner of course was intrigued. "Let me get this straight. He shaved his head because he was balding and he tattooed the hair that's on his head now?"
Yep, got it.
"I'm not thinking I get the Sagat thing," my French-Canadian man said finally. "Maybe I should watch that one scene I liked...you know, the one in the living room with all the antiques...just for research purposes."
In my case, revenge was sweet.
But the Freebie List in most cases is just that, sweet. It fuels bedroom fun. A couple of days ago, a female friend who has a Freebie List called to tell me her husband was working on a TV series with the actress who tops his Freebie List.
"What if she likes him?" she asked me. My friend's husband is one hot tamale. I mean, HOT.
"Erm...well, maybe she's gay?" I suggested helpfully and my friend shrieked.
"She's going to want him!" she fretted. "Why, oh why, did I suggest a free pass? I'm tearing up those goddam freebie lists." I could hear the rustling of paper and lots of shredding.
"You've got an actual list?" I asked.
"Yeah," she panted and the ripping continued.
"How long is it?"
"Mine is two pages long." Two pages! "His list has five names. Four of them are hers."
I had to cover the mouthpiece so she wouldn't hear me laughing.
"Not funny, A.J. I can hear you." My friend sounded a bit down. "What do I do?"
What we did was this. Yesterday, I drove her to Fredericks of Hollywood, bought her some very nasty underwear and we moved on to the Pleasure Chest for a tub of Honey Dust and some naughty toys.
"I've never seen anything like this," she kept saying and I took her home, set the mood with candles and music and a good bottle of wine and I left her to wait for her husband after covering her whole body in the Honey Dust. I instructed her on how to use it on her husband and left her lying on the bed. Waiting.
I was starting to worry that maybe her husband might have a heart attack when he walked into the room, but my fantasy is to die fucking, so I decided it might be his, too.
I took her kids out for pizza and a movie and by the time I called to check if the coast was clear, my friend was purring.
"We're going to start calling this our Sagat Revenge," she giggled. "My hubby says he could get used to this."
Who needs a freebie list when you've got Revenge?
Aloha oe,

AJ

The Price of Love

2008-09-26T16:29:00Z

Current mood: breezy

Hi Everyone,

Remember that song? Anyway, I can't help hearing it dinging around my brain as I think about my friend...he MUST remain anonymous since he is extremely embarrassed and a well, a bonafide celebrity to boot. Let's call him Mook.
He was talked into auctioning himself on Ebay for charity. The rules were clear. Whoever won the auction, which entailed a three hour evening with him, would pick the time, the activity and in somewhere in the small print it read: This is not a sex date.
Now Mook did this with good intentions. Highest bidder would be giving money charity AND covering all expenses on the date. Mook started to panic a week ago and called me.
"Not one woman has entered the contest. They're all gay guys! No offense A.J, but I do not want to go on a date with a guy!"
I believe somewhere along the line a female or two bid for his er...affections, but a wealthy man in Malibu won the contest and last night they were schedule to go on their dinner date. Yep, dinner. That was it. the millionaire was checked and vetted by the program moderators who were relieved the credit card was legitimate and that reservations had been made at a swanky beach side restaurant.
Mook, who'd feared dinner a deux in the guy's leaky dungeon still freaked.
He took a couple of slugs of whiskey and called me from his hall closet an hour before blast off last night.
"Time to jump out of the closet, dude," I joked.
Mook hung up on me. Five minutes later he called back. "I'm sending a limo round to your house Llewellyn. You better be ready."
"But I'm doing book edits," I squawked.
He shrieked, "Fuck edits!" which assured me he meant business.
My Australian/Hawaiian friend Tony who has been going back and forth between Vegas Baby and my place in L.A. on business meetings, decided he just had to come to dinner too.
"Don't bring that crazy friend of yours," Mook warned down the phone.
Crazy friend? Which one? They're all crazy. He should have been more specific.
Tony and I downloaded the menu for Ivy By the Shore from the Internet and drooled over our choices as we sipped champagne in the back seat of the limo, cruising down Malibu Canyon. It was my second time ever in a limo (boy am I not livin' large) and I have yet to fulfill my fantasy of sex in the back seat of a limo...
But I digress. We arrived at the restaurant and found Mook in the bar, trying to take an apple slice out of his Appletini with his tongue. It landed on his nose just as his date arrived.
"Last time Kiefer Sutherland was in here, he made a bracelet out of drinking straws," a woman sitting next to me said.
The Winner arrived. he oozed money. If I had to describe him I'd say he's exactly the type I'd be petrified to date. Tall, balding, dressed impeccably, piercing eyes and with the sort of confidence an otherwise not especially handsome man has because he knows he's disgustingly wealthy.
If The Winner was surprised to see the date of his dreams with an entourage, he didn't show it. Maybe he expected it, since Hollywood celebs are supposed to have entourages.
"I think I'm in love," my Am-I-gay-or-am-I-not pal Tony whispered to me.
"No, you are not," I retorted. "You're in love with his black Amex card."
"Yeah, I think you're right. He doesn't give me wood unless he's holding it. That's telling, eh?"
Geez, Louise.
Mook sat glum and petrified through most of the meal. It didn't help that his date would take a forkful of something, then lick each tine suggestively, whilst gazing heavy-lidded at him. He also had a ghastly habit of helping himself to everybody else's meals...until you felt the urge to hide your plate under the table.
Still, about mid way through the meal, Mook spotted a girl across the restaurant and assured the night wouldn't be a total loss, roused himself out of his torpor and entertained his big-spending winner with funny anecdotes about his last movie. Most of them involved him and loose women in Vancouver on the set of a TV show he did...his intention clear: I am straight, buddy.
Tony and The Winner struck up a decent conversation on business and The Winner even engaged me in fairly decent repartee on the state of publishing.
Mook found some common ground too and by the end of the evening, we were all positively chummy.
Tony, who debated going off to have a night cap with him declined in the end, because as he told me, "I am most certainly going to find his dick in my arse at some point and I don't think I'm ready for that" and came home in the limo with me.
The Winner sent us home with chocolate cake, gave Mook a hearty hug and as Mook took off with his new girl toy, The Winner walked out to the valet and handed in his ticket.
"How was your evening, sir?" the valet guy asked him politely.
The Winner, not knowing Tony and I were right behind him, sighed.
"I never get lucky on those celebrity date things. My friends at the gym all swore Mook was gay. Why do guys b.s. so much?"
The valet guy looked frightened at the prospect of having to play amateur psychologist and took off running for The Winner's car.
Tony held me back, so The Winner wouldn't see us. "Let's give him some dignity," he whispered, which I thought was very kind. We watched him drive off in his Rolls and Tony shook his head.
"Guys do b.s. a lot don't they?" Before I could respond, he said, "And I thought women were hard bloody work."

Aloha oe,
A.J.

Currently listening :
Flesh + Blood
By Roxy Music
Release date: 2000-03-14

Unconditional Love

2008-09-25T16:19:00Z

Hi Everyone,

I want to talk about Unconditional Love today, in particular a Cause I have been passionately committed to: the canonization of the Belgian born priest, Father Damien. They called him the hero of Molokai because this incredible man was the only one who volunteered to service Molokai when death was almost certain.

He defied the Vatican’s orders not to have direct physical contact with his flock and went to the Hawaiian island of Molokai, a leper colony in 1873 to serve the sick and dying. Single handedly. Hundreds of islanders were banished to this island during the terrible plague traced to a ship load of Chinese farm workers brought to the islands and causing widespread panic and disease.

I have been devoted, along with many others to the Cause of seeing this Blessed man declared a saint. Make no mistake. I’m not Catholic, nor has God whisper in my ear dictating this long and winding road, but I did have an encounter with Father Damien that I have never forgotten.

Damien, thanks to the new Pope, Benedict XVI is on the road to Sainthood. At last.

The spiritual patron for Hansen's Disease, HIV and AIDS patients and other ‘outcasts’ has finally been embraced by the Vatican, once embarrassed that Father Damien, in caring for what he deemed his Children, fell victim to leprosy (now called Hansen’s Disease) himself and died in agony of it at the age of 49.

His story is remarkable. When he arrived on the lonely, isolated Kalaupapa peninsular, he was shocked to find so many sick and dying men, women and children, banished to the island with no food, shelter or any treatment for this hideous, progressive disease. Damien stopped the women from being raped, demanded food and medicine to be shipped to Molokai, built housing and a church for his children. He fed them, bathed them. Respected them. And he loved them. Utterly and unconditionally.

He must have been a talented builder because every single structure he erected is still standing and in use, by the remaining two dozen patients who will by Hawaiian state law be allowed to live at Kalaupapa until their last breath.

Visitors are allowed to Molokai, but a permit is required and no more than 100 tourists can be on island at the same time. A few years ago, after the death of my grandmother, who raised me, I fell into a deep depression and during a long stay in Maui, found a compilation of oral histories from former patients at Molokai. Their stories were devastating. So many families were destroyed by the “Separating Sickness.” I felt increasingly compelled to visit Molokai and read everything I could on Father Damien.

I became obsessed with the wonderful Australian movie, Molokai in which the extraordinary David Wenham portrayed Damien. Like many islanders, I became enraged when Father Damien’s steps toward Sainthood resulted in the Belgian government digging up his body from his grave in Kalaupapa.

Long before he contracted Hansen’s Disease, he considered himself a leper. I felt in death, as in life he would want to sleep with his children and when the Belgian government bent under international pressure and returned his right hand to the people of Hawaii, I felt even more strongly about paying homage to the man I considered a true hero.

Coincidentally, I won a book on ebay called Margaret of Molokai and couldn’t wait to receive it. Then I got an email from a man on Molokai was devastated because I had beaten him out on the book auction. He had tried to win it for his mother, a still-living resident at Kalaupapa. I offered to give him the book as soon I had read it. I promised him I would read it quickly and send it to him immediately.

He responded with a kind email saying I was the embodiment of the spirit of Aloha. This man and his wife and soon, his mother, started corresponding with me regularly and I ended up going to visit them. Anyone who has read my Phantom Lover series might be interested to know that Lopaka’s tutu [grandmother] is based on the woman who became my surrogate mother on Molokai.

She took me on a tour of the hospital. I was shocked to see all the barriers still in place, as a sort of memorial and living museum where family members were allowed to come and visit their loved ones in the disease’s curable stage, thanks to new drugs.

We went to Damien’s church and we sat in a pew. I will never forget the sun shining on me, the dizzying scent of ginger stems washing over me. I looked at the floor as I thought about my grandmother and all the things I might have said to her given the chance to say goodbye. I saw all the holes in the floor. That, I hadn’t expected.

“What are they?” I asked my friend.

“Spit holes. In the latter stages of leprosy, the victims during Damien’s time, before there was a cure, could not swallow. Damien still wanted them to come to church and he put spit holes in the floor so they could still come to church and pray.”

And then, a wondrous thing happened. I felt him. I really did. His beautiful, Holy ghost was in his House, and I, like all his other outcasts had just become one of Damien’s children. It was an indescribable feeling. It was a high feeling of pure love.

“He’s here, you can feel him, can’t you?” my friend whispered and I just sat, stunned. Had I been alone, I know I would have dismissed that moment as a fantasy. That feeling has stayed with me for years now and I reach in for it, whenever I need it.

Recently, Pope Benedict declared the inexplicable healing of 80 year old Audrey Toguchi’s cancer as a Miracle. Her fatal illness miraculously disappeared after a long visit at Father Damien’s grave. He has pushed Damien’s case to the head of the line where he should be.

Earlier this year, I went back to Molokai and took Father Damien a lei. I know it’s only his right hand there, but it still belongs to him. The hand that touched, nurtured, fed and held people terrified and feeling abandoned by their God.

In Hawaii, Father Damien Day is celebrated on April 15.

Beatified by Pope John Paul II in 1995, the Catholic Church commemorates Damien on May 10.
Known officially as “Blessed Damien of Molokai,” he will soon be known as Damien, hero, father…SAINT.

Aloha oe,
A.J.

Eat and Run

2008-09-23T16:28:00Z

Current mood: bitchy

Hi everyone,

One of my best female friends called me late last night, crying. My first instincts were to get dressed, jump into my car, find the man who did this to her and beat him to death. I'm a protective guy, especially when injustice involves one of my peepettes.
My brother, who is still visiting me from Paris has been in an increasingly surly mood because he is missing French table wine and the filthy, stinky cigarettes he can't buy here in the US.
He thought the idea of beating up a total stranger was also a fab idea...and then my gal pal told me her tale. She'd had a date via Match.com and the guy seemed to be everything she wanted... After several lengthy phone calls, they made a date. He actually showed up! He rolled up to the Beverly Hills restaurant they chose in his shiny red Maserati, he was as hot as she'd hoped and their conversation over dinner positively sparkled.
She was in the middle of a hilarious anecdote (I believe her take on the quality of her adorable social skills) when he dabbed his lips with his napkin, smiled, and excused himself. My friend took advantage of her companion's absence to squaff a few bites of food. They were in a very expensive restaurant and the food sublime, but she was doing that girl thing, not eating much in front of him. She sipped at her red wine and happened to glance out the window.
Her date was jumping into his horrible little sports car and zooming off! Without her! Sticking her with an $89 check!
Quelle horreur!
My brother who has been boring me stupid with his endless, "Well in France...everything is better" crap look stunned when I told him the guy was French.
"He can't be a proper Frenchman," he scoffed. "They don't do things like that." I stared him down. "Well, all right, maybe they do. What's with people who like to eat and run, anyway?"
And this is the reason I am relating all of this.
We attended a friend's birthday dinner on Saturday night. I don't mind saying the name of the restaurant because it is the most pretentious place I have ever entered and never will again. It's called JGelina and it's down in Venice.
First of all, the place is so dark and such a maze, you need a tour guide to find your table. The dishes are expensive and minuscule. My $16 shrimp dish had exactly three shrimp in it. Ka-ching! I almost wept when we'd agreed to eat "family style" and I was forced to take only one pass on the plate. There were 12 at dinner and dishes kept coming out, but most I couldn't eat because I don't eat meat or chicken. I did get two [tiny] pieces of squid and felt like a food hog. All night long, forks danced in the air at our table and one of the guys ordered bottle after bottle of wine. I was worried about how much all this was costing us, since I was a designated driver and couldn't drink.
Then the restaurant staff started hassling us to vacate the table because it was the only large one and there was another party waiting for it.
My half-starved Francofile brother gave the hoity toity hostess a piece of his mind and she backed off. A couple of people pleaded early mornings and left the table, not dropping down a dime for their share. Two other friends arrived late, ordered fresh dishes and another bottle of wine and suddenly vanished. It was hard to tell at first since the restaurant was punishing us by refusing to bring candles to our now very dark corner. It was only when they didn't reapond to questions that we knew they'd gone.
I stabbed a few fingers in my starving quest for a bite of food before the waiters took everything away. By the time the check arrived, there were eight of us left, seven of us picking up the tab to include the birthday boy. To say it was the most expensive meal I never ate is an understatement.
When I left JGelina, I was absolutely famished and broke. We drove by the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, those wonderful, lovely sexy golden arches.
My Hawaiian friend Kel, who was nuzzling his wife in the back seat screamed, "Shit! food! I want dinner!" We hit the drive through and Kel and his wife thoughtfully purchased me a filet of fish sandwich and large fries.
"This is even better than French food," my brother said from the depths of his chocolate shake. The absurdity, the sheer irony of having to stop for fast food after an expensive restaurant dinner was not lost on any of us.
The old "eat and run" routine did bring out some funny stories about the protocol of paying and we convinced each other that one day, this story too would be funny.
It already is.

Aloha oe,

A.J.

Currently listening :
Pu'uhonua
By Amy Gilliom
Release date: 2001-06-19

Hey, Jealousy

2008-09-21T15:20:00Z

Current mood: animated

Hi Everyone,

This is is a duplicate of my very first post today for 7 Wicked Writers www.sevenwickedwriters.com and since we are all writers of fairly wicked prose, I have to say one of the driving forces in many romance novels and yes, even the gay ones like I write, is jealousy.

In art and life, jealousy can be a dandy motivator. In my Phantom Lover series, my hero Kimo is the target of jealousy from others who covet his mystical, magical power. But he is a demigod and I am a hapless hack who tells the tales he dictates even when I'm sleeping.

I suffer jealousies too. Just yesterday, my lovely man who lives in another city, sent me an email and asked me if I could track down a copy of the DVD of the TV series Torchwood. "I am in love with Jack," he wrote. "That man kisses with his whole body."

What? What the heck is he saying? That I, AJ Llewellyn do not kiss with my whole body? What do I kiss him with? Half my lip and a pinkie finger? I read and reread that email and yep, that insensitve Canadian crumb really wrote that to me. I debated how to respond and decided the truth was most appropriate.

After a long walk with the dog, I came back with my funnybone a little less dislocated and wrote, "Hon, bad news. Jack is dead. Yep, hacked to pieces. Shame, eh?"

He wrote back: "Oh, that is sad. Can you find the DVD for me anyway? Kisses…"

I wrote back, "Sure." What I didn't add and it burned my fingers not to, was: Don't hold your breath, you clueless Canuck! The fat lady's sung!!

Now, in fairness, I probably am guilty of similar transgressions. I have mentioned more than a passing fantasy about Francois Sagat…but that didn't mean I wanted my man to run off and learn to make love like a porn star…although come to think of it…

Ahem. As I was saying, here's the thing. I am jealous of a fictional character. My love rival isn't real but hell's bells, I write fictional gay man and I know how compelling they can be. A fictional gay man can't complain about the toothpaste cap being left off or the sheets being hogged or your food being poached in classy restaurants. A fictional lover is perfect. They don't say, "Hey, babe, you got bad breath there." They're too busy kissing you with their whole bodies…

A fictional man doesn't scrutinize every word, every unspoken word for a hint of trouble. They don't criticize, judge, fart or fumble a perfect moment under a full moon. No, they kiss with their whole body.

Now the guy in question who plays Jack may not be gay but I don't give a crap. My man covets what he does with his mouth and I sure wish I knew voodoo because I think his lips would look very pretty with a severe case of canker sores. Mmmmm…

My man and I have not discussed this issue in person and probably won't. He probably thinks, oh, AJ is such a clown. But he has no clue that unlike Lord Byron who once said, "Jealousy dislikes the world to know it," my jealousy is out there on its own…and I am forced to maybe think about laying off the cupcakes. I mean he has mentioned that but I thought it was in jest. So I now find myself thinking about how to improve myself. I am not perfect, and I do tend to believe jeans and Aloha shirts are formal wear, so maybe I can learn a thing or two from that rotten, stinking bastard Jack and that ever-ready bunny body of his.

Maybe I need to do none of these, but like I said, jealousy is a dandy motivator. So excuse me whilst I go practice kissing with my whole body…the list of things to do with my day suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.

Aloha oe,

Currently listening :
The Voice of the Sparrow: The Very Best of Edith Piaf
By Edith Piaf
Release date: 1991-07-30

Society's Child

2008-09-19T14:50:00Z

Current mood: inspired

"I was a superstar at 14 and a has-been by 16. I had a brief fling with fame again when I was 24, but obscurity beckoned me once more. But like I told my agent back then, I want a small career, big life."
These were among the first words Janis Ian said when I met her last night.
The 60s folk music icon sat cross legged on a table telling her life story to a bunch of riveted fans. Nobody moved. Nobody scratched, coughed or fidgeted. It was like witnessing the Second Coming.
I am on the committee of my local library's Distinguished Speaker Series and since our small group came on board in January, we've shaken things loose and found some wonderful authors to participate in these monthly events. Earlier in the year we had former child star Jon Provost who came to discuss his book Timmy's in the Well. Jon was a doll, more interesting for what he didn't say than what he did. He didn't say much because his wife completely took over and answered every question for him…
Last month, we scored a major coup in luring the reclusive but reigning queen of crime, best selling author Faye Kellerman. Our selling point? The library. We found the same thing when approaching Janis Ian. We hardly dared hope we could get her since she is in the middle of a whirlwind tour promoting her new autobiography, Society's Child. What we have found is authors, I mean major literary talents willing to come to the library and talk to relatively small but packed audiences about their work. And it is a beautiful thing to see.
It took some doing getting into Janis' schedule and she arrived with a bad cold but after I ran through a mike check with her, I took her, her partner Jan and road manager Deborah to a small private room so they could relax.
This was all prearranged but they didn't do much relaxing. Between setting up their table to sell her book and accompanying CD, Janis demanded to know where the Library Donation jar was. We all looked at each other. Within seconds, she'd whipped out a jar she carries with her to all her library events and plonked it on the refreshment table.
The audience drifted in. The scent of patchouli, the moon in the seventh house and Jupiter's alignment with Mars were there in spirit with the oldest living hippies in the universe pouring in.
What I find fascinating with each new author is the caliber of their fans.
Last night, Janis Ian, a gentle, diminutive pixie of a thing found people who wanted to know how a 14 year old could have had such searing thoughts on things like interracial love, atomic war, prostitution. They wanted to know where she got her inspiration for her biggest hits, like At Seventeen and Society's Child. Within minutes, I knew we had a group of people who are simply in love with words.
I'd like to share with you some of the highlights:

On writing her autobiography: The first time I was asked to write it, I was sixteen. I thought it was ridiculous. My agent said, 'Listen girlie, lesbians won't be hot forever!' The second time I was asked, I was 56. I am now 57. I called 20 best selling writers and they each told me something different. But I have been writing since I was 9. That's how old I was when I started keeping my first journal.
I had no idea where to start. So I listened to one friend who told me to Google my name. I did. Almost nothing about me was true. I spent three months Googling Janis Ian. I even read that I was dead! I would go to bed at night, hardly able to wait until I woke up in the morning to read what interesting things I'd been doing the night before. Then, I forgot about all the research and I just wrote.

On Sex: I was worried because when people write their autobiography, they write about sex. They write about who they slept with, why they slept with them, would they sleep with them again, was it any good when you slept with them in the first place…but I haven't slept with anyone interesting or famous. My lawyer said, 'make it up' and I did think about saying I had sex with a Kennedy. I mean most of them are dead so they can't deny it. Of course, I didn't do it.
On writing Society's Child: [this was one of the first questions she was asked. Janis wrote this iconic song as a teenager. Here are some of the lyrics]

ONE OF THESE DAYS I'M GONNA STOP MY LISTENING
GONNA RAISE MY HEAD UP HIGH
ONE OF THESE DAYS I'M GONNA RAISE UP
MY GLISTENING WINGS AND FLY
BUT THAT DAY WILL HAVE TO WAIT FOR A WHILE
BABY, I'M ONLY SOCIETY'S CHILD

I got the inspiration for this song on the bus. I grew up in Orange, New Jersey. We were a Jewish family in a black neighborhood. There was a black and white couple, only a year older than me and they were sitting on the bus, ignoring the glares. I thought at the time it was horrible. You should be able to love who you want to love. Now as I am older I do understand why black parents don't their children to fall in love with white people and vice versa. You don't want your kids to struggle, to face that kind of bigotry. Incidentally, my mom didn't care who I married as long as they were Jewish. They could be black, white, male, female, just as long as they were Jewish.

On Being 57: Once you get to 50, honestly you have to ask, what else can you do to me? I've seen it all. I've lived a full life. But I write. What I want to do when the touring is over and I am back home with my partner and my two dogs is write. A writer writes. You just do it.
[Janis Ian glanced at the cover of her book and the smile on her face was wistful]
So that's my book. I hope I've done my songs justice.
You have Janis, you have.

Aloha oe.
A.J.

PS. Janis Ian's donation jar brought us $75.63 and her personal donation from proceeds of her sales brought us another $78. All of this will be used to purchase books and DVDs for our library and to fund our children's prorams.
She also donated two books and two CD's. She asked us if we wanted them autographed but her partner quickly nixed the idea saying that patrons would steal them.
Me, I got to hug Janis Ian goodbye last night. I hope some of that woman's grace and grit rub off on me, even if she does have a cold.

Currently listening :
Best of Janis Ian: The Autobiography Collection
By Janis Ian
Release date: 2008-07-22

Coloring Outside the Lines

2008-09-18T15:12:00Z

Current mood: determined

Hi everyone,
I have a day job that for a writer sounds like a dream come true. I get paid to read. All day long, I read, read, read other people's screenplays. My job is to crush other writers' dreams. But occasionally, just occasionally I find a gem I cannot in good conscience, send to the gallows.
As a Coverage Writer, my job is to do that. I'm supposed to be the passionless executioner.
But what happens when you read something that colors outside the lines so well, you have to risk putting your own neck on the chopping block?
For the first time in two years that happened to me this week. I read a screenplay that I am surprised even made it to my desk since it came in scary packaging and wasn't even formatted to industry standard.
Then there was the content. It is everything Hollywood hates.
Historical. Big no no.
No action or violence. What, are you kidding me?
The lead character is a woman. You're smoking crack. Right, AJ?
I opened this screenplay and from page one, I was hooked. It was about Mary Wollstonecraft, the world's first feminist writer and I was captivated by her passion and her huevos (yeah, women can have those).
Then there was the writer's period detail such as Mary W's refusal to wear a powdered wig to the opera.
I have read sci fi screenplays that have stupid things like people racing cars on the sun – how? – but this screenplay intrigued me with fantastic dialogue, famous poets, drunken writers. Man, she even describes the smell of London streets three hundred years ago...I'm thinking, Hello, Oscar.
How could I type: PASS on my cover sheet?
Since I had to go into battle for the writer - and my reputation at the studio - I assembled my arguments like chess pieces.
I came up with a list of top ten starlets who could play Mary W. Good thinking, AJ!
There's a sexy sub plot of a love story - Wollestonecraft's daughter Mary and her scandalous marriage with that roue Percy Bysshe Shelley. Another list for these characters. Ha! You got 'em now, AJ!
There was nudity! YEESSSS!
And wait! Mary W. covered the French revolution! King Louis's head actually tumbled onto her shoes. We love blood!
I championed this screenplay mightily just by typing CONSIDER in the appropriate box. I wrestled with my conscience over that one and felt I had to go one step further.
My best friend in the office, Charlie, begged me not to do it.
"Career suicide," he kept muttering. "You won't even get a job in the mail room after this."
But I did it. I put my ass on the chopping block and typed: RECOMMEND.
I sat and waited for the first bomb to drop.
I fretted for a day and kept plotting my insanity defense. I wanted to use the screenplay's attention to authenticity as my trump card. It didn't take me long to find a Yahoo group with the niche interest of Wollstonecraft and a general post to the group sent back 50 responses in a mind-boggling avalanche of information.
Yep, the story was true and our gal defied tradition, going bare-headed to the opera. The scandal! The drama!
As predicted, my boss wasn't happy. I'm not supposed to interrupt his golf game with an actual, workable screenplay. I came back from a meeting with another writer and found a Post It on my desk lamp.
See Me.
Yeah, I knew I was about to get ripped a new one, a couple of them actually, so I assembled my arsenal of arguments, grabbed a donut out of somebody else's mouth and went to the front lines.
The result was this. My writer did not sell us her screenplay. But her gorgeous writing got her noticed and I will fight to the death to get her a pitch meeting.
I am not allowed to contact her and coach her but I hope one day she knows that a man sitting in his office in Hollywood read her baby and loved it.
I hope she never loses her passion. I hope no writer does, because it's a fucking hard business being a writer and it's awfully hard to keep hearing, NO.
I guess what I want to say is this.
I fully believe love finds a way and this screenplay was a love letter to a literary goddess. If there is a God, and there is really a heaven, the guardian angels of writers everywhere will help this screenplay find its Green Light.
And I will just reassemble my arguments, keep tilting at windmills and go back to the trenches for it.

Aloha oe,

A.J.

Currently listening :
Hawaiian Tradition
By Amy Hanaiali'i Gilliom
Release date: 1997-04-22

8:09 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos -

Tony the Tiger

2008-09-17T21:20:00Z

Current mood: chipper

Hi everyone,

So my friend Tony, an Aussie living in Hawaii and travels back and forth between the islands and the mainland for his bakery business, flew into town last night because my brother was visiting from Paris. We all grew up in Australia, went to the same private school, ridiculed each other's regulations short pants, hats and ties. It's been 20 years since I graduated and 18 for them.

Time slipped away as we gathered Chez Llewellyn to have a glass of champagne and toast our continuing friendship. My brother's new French girlfriend was bemused by Tony's angst over his sexuality.

"She gives me wood," he informed me in the kitchen. Thanks for sharing, big guy.

My brother's girlfriend informed me she is just discovering what a freak he really is. They just came back from Morrocco where he went to take photographs and she did not appreciate being treated worse than the camels. Nor did she enjoy the brothel my brother unwittingly booked them into.

"Babe," he kept saying, "It was the only place with running hot water."

As a man living in Los Angeles, (my boyfriend, who lives in Canada and has sworn me to keep him out of my blogs says LA is for people who believe in hell) I was eager to share some of the fine, ethnic cuisine I enjoy/

Tony the Tiger and my brother, the French Crumpet were adamant they wanted to go to Moonshadows, the restaurant where Mel Gibson got arrested for drunk driving last year.

I tried to tell them the food is awful (sorry, but it is) and that Mel hasn't shown his face there since that fateful escapade, but off we went to Malibu and the only people cluttering up the joint were other tourists. I was the only person not toting a camera. Everybody wanted their photos with a drunken Mel who was probably at home sucking up a lager in privacy and comfort.

On the way home, Tony wanted to stop at Macy's and get a new shirt for a business meeting today. His luggage went AWOL and he was concerned about the meeting.

"I have to look good, mate. I have to close this deal," he fretted.

We went to the one in Santa Monica and we invaded the menswear department like multicultural fleas and this is where our problems started.

My brother's girlfriend was aghast at the prices of things and began peeling off sale price stickers from one shirt to another with well-versed fingers. She even managed to switch whole tickets from one garment to another.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Everything's bar coded and I think it might be illegal," I warned her.

She already thinks I'm an idiot because I am not dating some hot movie star, so she ignored me.

"'Old Zees," she instructed Tony, pressing a shirt against his body. Tony, grateful for any type of female contact, stared into her eyes. Poor fool. Store security descended on him and the upshot is he was charged with ticket swapping and is due in court in three weeks.

"That does it," he told me when we were frog marched from the store. "I've had it with women. From now on, I'm strictly dickly."

Aloha oe,

A.J.

Currently listening :
Destiny
By The Brothers Cazimero
Release date: 2008-05-20

Gay For Pay

2008-09-15T15:04:00Z

Current mood: contemplative

Hi Everyone,

My new book A Vampire in Waikiki was published at midnight and I am very excited about this one, because it was inspired by a true story. My publisher challenged me to write a M/M vampire book and to be honest, the M/M part was easy since that's all I write. The vampire part had me stumped. I had never written one and was worried about the whole idea of messing with accepted legends and lores.

Then I had Christmas Eve dinner with a friend, a lovely woman who is in her 50s and looks younger thanks to punishing body workouts at the gym. She knows obviously that I'm a gay man, and asked me if I had heard of a certain gay porn star.

Well, I had, and listened breathlessly as she told me he'd hit on her at the gym. I don't want to say his name here since he has now quit the biz and is in AA and trying to make big changes in his life. So, let's call him Joe.

The fact that she is 20 years older than Joe, and a woman on top of it, kind of stunned me. In his last two movies, this muscle bound top turned bottom and let me tell you've I've watched him get fucked and I've watched him eat a man's cock and ass with relish. He is gay. Sorry. GAY.

"But he's gay," I kept saying.

"No," she replied matter of factly. "He's gay for pay."

Before they had sex, I suggested she watch a few of his movies.

"I'm not watching those, they're disgusting," she snapped. I begged her to use rubbers. At least if they had safe sex I wouldn't worry so much. I felt this was going to end badly but her nether regions were on red alert. The forbbiden gay fruit and all that jazz.

They had sex a couple of times and she swears it blew her panties into the next room because it was so good. Well, I would hope after banging some of the hottest guys in the porn world a time or two he'd know his way around the human body, but I knew my friend was circling the block for a world of hurt.

Gay for pay. Does it exist? Well, like I said, I've watched this guy's movies and not having any type of special attachment to his sexual status personally, I could swear he's gay. At the very least, he's bisexual.

I was very clear with my friend that she wasn't going to get her rosy-hued outcome. Some people can deal with bisexuality, but it's a tough enough road to make a relationship work when you're gay or straight, let alone when you can't decide. I tried to give my friend a visual image to help her understand my logic. It's like being in a car on the freeway. You have to pick a lane to drive in; you can't straddle two.

Each time she and Joe had an encounter, she'd call and tell me about it. I was fascinated frankly only because of who he is, but it did not honestly sound like he was trying to start a relationship with her. It all sounded tawdry and gross. He wanted a quickie while his boyfriend was at work. She was having a hot time in the bed he shares with a man.

Then she found out [checking his text messages] that he was doing this with a few other women from the gym. She was devastated. Like I said, this guy Joe has some problems. The one I feel truly sorry for is not my friend, but the gay boyfriend, who works hard, thinks he's got himself a sexy, troubled former porn star boyfriend that he is fully supporting. A sexy, troubled user of a boyfriend who can't wait until he leaves the house to do all kinds of things.

I could have predicted things with Joe would have ended badly for my friend, except that he is still in her life and she now helps him financially and puts up with a lot of crap without any of the 'benefits' she used to get. This is where the idea for A Vampire in Waikiki came from.

He puts the bite on people who genuinely care about him. He's an equal opportunity fucker-upper. He may or may not be gay but now he's in AA, he can't sleep with anybody which is probably a good thing because he can't hurt anyone, man, woman, gay or straight, for a year - if he sticks to the program.

I finally met him and would have been dazzled by him because he is still looks gorgeous and he's thoroughly charming, but I knew what he was doing to my friend. Besides which, she told him about A Vampire in Waikiki and he'd put off meeting me because he thought I might be mean to him.

We actually get along very well and the few times we've met, he is either a total pussycat or a complete jackass. I put a lot of his bizarre behavior down to a crushing Meth and alcohol addiction. On good days he was a sweet guy, on bad days, you wanted to be ready with a stun gun.

Joe has never read my books - "What, me read?" was the first thing he said to my friend when she told him about me.

When we first met, he worked as hard at seducing me as he did her and over dinner, acted like I was the most riveting thing alive. I felt very bad for my friend, especially when I got him to admit he's bisexual. I didn't strong arm him, I didn't do anything other than gently suggest he should be honest with her.

At least now she has some facts and is starting to see more of the real man underneath the layers of bullshit. He left us in the middle of our meal to go on a date - with a man - and my friend was left in a puddle of tears. As we waited for the valet guys to bring us our cars, she looked up at the perfect full moon hanging low in the sky and I put my arms around her.

"You know, what, AJ? You know what's good about all this?"

"What?" I asked her.

"You got a great book out of it!"

Aloha oe,

A.J.

Currently listening :
Maestro
By Taj Mahal
Release date: 2008-09-30

Shark Dialogues

2008-09-12T15:11:00Z

Current mood: amused

Hi everyone,

I am winding up my visit to Waikiki. I am still staying with my wonderful, batty friend Tony who had a near brush with homosexuality this week, only to discover he digs chicks after all. I hadn't seen him since Wednesday night when I left in the ample bosoms of two ladies visiting the islands from New York.
Let me tell you, maybe it's because I'm a gay man but these women scared me a little. They circled my poor, broken-hearted friend like tiger sharks on the blood hunt. Unfortunately he didn't want to be saved so I left him to it and I've been writing and editing upcoming books over in his apartment, hoping he isn't in some downtown sex dungeon servicing anyone called Bubba.
Last night, I was watching the TV news about surfing champion Todd Murashige's near death experience with a shark, as in a real shark in a surfing area known as Crouching Lions.
A day after being attacked on his board, this remarkable fellow was lucid and laughing in a press conference with his surgeon at Queen's Medical Center.
He described how he was sitting on his board waiting for a wave when the shark glided right up to him and tried to bite off his leg.
"I looked down and there's this huge shark's head just sitting in my lap." Murashige still looked stunned.
This amazing tale of seeing his entire right thigh trapped in the shark's jaws was interrupted by my mate Tony barreling into the house.
"Mate!" he huffed. "Mate! I had my first threesome!"
"That's...nice." Isn't that what you're supposed to say about these things? I mean, what else do you say? "Hey, nice going, stud." Yeah that was better. Tony was smiling now.
On the TV, Todd Murashige described putting his fingers in the shark's mouth to fight for his leg. "He cut my pinkie finger, but I got his teeth off me."
"Mate!" Tony paced the room and I saw he was wearing the same torn pants from Wednesday night but was now going Commando.
"The girls took my underpants as a souvenir." Tony grinned. "Mate, they were wild. They wouldn't let me out of the sack. I had to beg to go potty."
I looked at him. "Really?"
He nodded. On the TV, Todd Murashige described paddling for his life away from the shark.
"I turned to make sure the shark wasn't going to finish me off and I see, like a chunk of flesh kinda just hanging there from my leg. And bits of my board just floating..."
Tony nudged me. "One of them used a strap on and you know...shoved it up my you know what. Is that normal, AJ?"
"With women? I have no idea."
His eyes were wide and as Todd Murashige described another surfer, whom he called his angel, wrapping his thigh "like a piece of meat" to get him to the hospital, the surfer said he thought he would die so he called his mom and his wife and told them he loved them.
Murashige was momentarily overcome at the memory. I felt total admiration for his courage and his heart...but I had two different shark dialogues going on at once and I felt the one with Tony deserved my full attention.
"Tony, are you telling me you were raped?"
"Golly, no. I hollered like a scream queen but it felt good. I'm grabbing me a shower. The girls are picking me up in an hour. They're insatiable, AJ.''
Todd Murashige will walk again but his surgeon said it's up to the surfer if he goes back out to the beach. I suspect he will.
As for my mate Tony, he too will walk again, into the arms of his girl sharks.
And I will keep working on my books.
Aloha oe,
AJ

Currently watching :
Jaws (30th Anniversary Edition)
Release date: 2005-06-14

Hawaii’s Most Beautiful Man

2008-09-11T14:30:00Z

Current mood: amorous

Hi Everyone,

My friend Tony is still in a dilemma after kissing another man the other night over whether or not he is gay. I don't think he is to be honest, but I've enjoyed watching him wrestle with the idea. I mean, he was dead drunk when he kissed the guy in question and if he ever got a glimpse of the guy he manhandled the other night at Hula's Bar and Lei Stand I might have to bury him. He would just not want to live anymore. Anyhoo, last night over virgin Hawaiian iced tea, we watched the news and there was a report on the Hawaii's Most Beautiful Man Contest.

Tony started jumping up and down because not one of the five finalists gave him 'wood.'

"That doesn't mean anything," I told him. "I'm gay and I am not particularly turned on by any of them, except…if the guy on the far left turned up in my bedroom, I wouldn't make him sleep on the sofa."

"Geez, AJ. You mean….I might still be gay?"

I was about to tell him to relax. It's been four days since his girl walked out on him. Mind you, I think she had a point. He is a fabulous guy but he could get a little friendlier with the idea of fiscal responsibility and things like doing dishes and…changing his socks occasionally.

"We have to go to another gay bar," he insisted, picking up his Gay Hawaii brochure – wait, where did he find that?? – and flipped through it. "Let's go to Angles, AJ."

"Angles?"

"The hottest gay bar in Honolulu, AJ. Look, it says right here. Where cool breezes and hot bodies come together in the heart of gay Waikiki."

How does he find out this stuff? "Er…you might want to change, Tony."

"What's wrong with this?"

"You're wearing underpants and a wife beater."

"The guys might like it, AJ."

"The guys would love it if you looked like Steve Cruz -"

"Who?"

"A very hot gay porn star."

"I could look like a gay porn star if I worked out a bit. Is there much money in gay porn, AJ?"

Ye Gods.

"Get dressed, Tony," I snapped. And he did. I don't think he was very comfortable. I can't remember the last time he put on pants that didn't have Velcro snaps. He waddled up Kuhio Avenue.

"My panties are in a bunch," he whined. Oh geez, he is gay! "And my shoes hurt."

We stopped on the street and I looked down. "You've got your shoes on the wrong feet."

"That explains it." He sat on the pavement like a little kid, swapped shoes, stood up and his entire pants split up the back.

"That'll make things…easier once we get in there," I grinned, once I stopped laughing.

"Wait. I'm not going in there like this."

"Why not? Aren't you comfortable?"

"They can see my tighty whities, AJ."

"Not so tight there, Tony. "

"So, they're a few years old…" he shrugged.

We walked on up and the music flooded out and within a minute, Tony was hunched on a stool, his back to the wall and I was buying the Mai Tais. I sidled back to him.

"Think anyone can see my underwear?" he fretted. I checked. It crossed my mind to freak him out and lie, but I assured him his er…assets were safe from prying eyes.

"There's a guy across the room staring at me," he whispered. "Is that the guy I kissed the other night?"

I looked over. He was an Adonis. Talk about wishful thinking. "No, Tony, that's not him."

"Was he cute?"

I hesitated telling him the truth when a guy in chaps, his bare, naked ass hanging out of his pants blew past us.

"That looks mighty comfortable." Tony leaned over the table for a closer look. I saw the drinks slide, saw his stool topple over and before I could stop him, Tony hurled head first into the arms of another leather daddy walking by.

"Hey big guy," the leather daddy grinned.

"Wanna kiss me?" Tony asked and the leather daddy laughed.

"Not particularly."

"Geez," Tony said when I bought us a fresh round and he was back against the wall, hiding his underpants. "I get rejected by everybody. Men and women."

"I'm thinking he was looking for younger, skinnier fare, Tony."

"Hmmph. " He scratched his chin and a funny look came over his face. "Well, fuck me!"

"Look, Tony. I thought we already had this discussion."

"No, not you…look. There's two chicks over there giving me the eye!"

I turned to look.

"Why did you do that?" he hissed.

"You told me to look!" I was surprised to find these two chicks really did seem to be giving Tony "the eye" and the women joined us for cocktails. And just like that, Tony discovered he wasn't gay after all and I, AJ Llewellyn returned to Tony's place alone. Just me and my computer. I turned on the late news and surfed the news broadcasts in search of repeats of the Hawaii's Most Beautiful Man Contest.

Even in Paradise, beggars cannot be choosers.

Aloha oe,

Currently listening :
E Essential
By Noiseworks
Release date: 2007-04-30

Inspiration

2008-09-09T15:01:00Z

Current mood: amused

Hi everyone,
So yesterday, back in civilization in Waikiki, and after many cups of coffee (and three cherry napples) at Napoleon Bakery in Ala Moana Mall, my mate Tony (who is now flirting with the idea he could be gay) walked into Barnes and Noble bookstore. He went to check out photos of nude men to see if they gave him a woody (his word, not mine) and I shot straight to the Hawaiiana section. I was incensed to find this pervasive, self-published paperback by a certified moron who claims the 1893 US sanctioned overthrow of the Hawaiian Monarchy's Queen Lili'uokalani never happened. This is exactly like saying the US invasion of Iraq never happened. This ridiculous book even had its own display, front and center.
I quickly busied myself hiding each and every copy under the biggest, heaviest books I could find while one of the store employees stood there and watched. I don't know what this guy thinks of me, since I do this chore every time I walk in there but anyway...I hunted down Tony, who claimed not to be feeling anything as he stared at pictures of some pretty hot guys.
"I need to keep looking," he said with a cheery wave. "I want to feel the earth move, baby."
So I left him to his investigative duty and I grabbed my car and drove to Iolani Palace. I was pleased to find that the beautiful Hawaiian flags from the weekend celebrations of the Queen's birthday were still in place.
An ugly, futile pro-sovereignty coup was staged here a few weeks ago leading to twenty arrests and the temporary closure of the palace. I was glad to find it is once again open for tours and I joined the twelve people already in line to take the last one for the day.
I've done it countless times but I take it often to remind me of my inspiration. When the Queen was overthrown, she was arrested, charged with treason and held captive in a room on the top left floor. It's the room Jack Lord always payed homage to in every episode of Hawaii Five-O.
This room is my inspiration because although it was her prison and she was denied access to musical instruments and newspapers and personal visits, this wonderful, talented woman wrote 250 songs during her long, hideous trial and her sentence. These songs still remain the most important ones Hawaii has ever produced. Whenever my friends tell me their troubles, the troubles that stop them from writing, I hammer them with her story.
I think I joined the geriatric group outing yesterday. I was the only guy there under a hundred. We were sitting on the side lanai, putting on paper booties over our street shoes to start the tour inside the palace when Tony came cluttering up the stairs.
"A.J! Mate!" he screeched. "It's all right. I'm not queer!"
All the little old ladies sitting beside me blinked and stared at him.
"Tony, you might not be gay but you are queer, mate," I responded.
"No, no. I saw a picture of Madonna and mate! Wood galore! I got me a fuckin' forest of redwood in my pants!"
One of the little old ladies giggled. She laughed so hard, she almost choked, took her teeth out of her mouth, spat on them and put them back in.
(Eeewww!)
Tony knew without my having to tell him, but I did, just in case he needed help. He was about to find himself in a world of hurt.
"Madonna gave you wood? Mate. That definitely means you're gay."

Aloha oe,
AJ

Currently listening :
Hard Candy
By Madonna
Release date: 2008-04-29

Kidnapped!

2008-09-08T14:22:00Z

Current mood: adventurous

Hi everyone,

Well, I've had an interesting five days so far in Waikiki. Waiting for a meeting with Honolulu City Council on a bookstore I'd like to buy. You are reminded you're on Hawaii Time by everybody, even the Tiki Trolley and The Bus drivers when you're here, which means, shut up dude, and relax. So yesterday, I gave up stressing and moved from one friend's place to another. My friend Tony whose girlfriend just left him, suggested I come and stay with him for a few days. He is pining for her and I am pining for an answer. What a pair we are.

So yesterday, he asked me what I was working on so feverishly. I was hammering out final edits on my new book A Vampire in Waikiki, which comes out next week, the same day as eXtasy Books' paperback anthology Sanguinary Seductions in which I have two short stories. Tony was seriously missing his girl and clearly wanted to talk, but was content to watch reruns of 24 as I kept working.

I mentioned that A Vampire in Waikiki has a few scenes in the most famous gay bar in town – Hula's Bar and Lei Stand – and that's when my troubles began.

"We should go there, soak up the atmosphere."

"But you're straight," I reminded him.

"I don't care. I have a Hui card. We get free entry and cheap Mai Tais from 5 to 7 on Sunday."

"How come you know so much about a gay bar, Tony?"

He rolled his eyes. "I know about good, cheap drinks, AJ. "

Tony was speaking the language of me, AJ Llewellyn and soon, after agreeing to one drink each, we were walking from his apartment right on Kalakaua Avenue to Kapahulu Avenue a few blocks away. The place was rocking. The Hui card got us in free as predicted, and the drinks were awesome.

Tony was pissed because as he went from our table to the bar, guys kept feeling him up. Geez…I tried it twice and nobody was feeling me up. Then he was pissed because some good looking Asian guy was sending him free drinks. Geez, I wasn't getting any of those, either.

"You don't give off that available vibe, AJ."

"I'm not trying to. I'm not looking. I'm busy. I'm--"

Tony shook his head. "You don't make eye contact."

Eye contact? No wonder they're all copping feels.

"You're always writing in that stupid notebook, AJ. And it would help if you weren't wearing your I-Pod headphones."

"What?" I shouted. The bartender was pretty generous with the booze and I started to worry less that the giant catamaran that dangles from the middle of the ceiling would fall and land right on my head.

Actually, I was starting not to give a shit about anything.

And then the old biddy in a holoku dress came in and tried to flog me roses. "I don't want a rose, but here's two dollars."

"Have a rose."

"Thank you, but I don't want one." I was beginning to regret my relentless niceness and Tony was now kissing a hairy guy in a red Aloha shirt.

"My daughter is a psychic," the old lady announced.

"That's nice." I glanced up at the catamaran, suddenly wishing it would fall. I swear, the strangest people always come up and talk to me.

"She can give you a reading."

"I'd like a reading," Tony piped up and next thing I knew, we were being bundled into a smelly old Pinto and being driven up Nu'uanu Pali by the old lady who floored the Pinto like she was Danica Patrick on crack.

"We're in trouble, Tony," I whined.

"Was I just kissing a guy? I keep finding hairs in my teeth."

"Yes, Tony. You were kissing a guy." I spotted white chicken feathers all over the floor. Jee-zus. The old bat was some kind of voodoo nut. She was going to sacrifice us to some island god of roses and corn or something. She was going to punish me for declining one of her bloody roses.

Tony smacked his lips. "Wasn't that bad, actually."

Now I'd heard everything. I waited for us to hit a red light but we were going further and further into the wilds and now we were careening across the top of the Pali into an area of no street lights, no…nothing.

"I'm going to be sick," Tony announced.

"Not in my car, you don't." The old lady screeched to a stop and we tumbled into the front seat, smacking our faces on the dashboard. I did the dutiful friend thing and helped Tony out and the old lady took off, leaving us in the middle of nowhere.

"You think she's coming back?" Tony asked after he quit barfing.

"No, Tony, I don't think she's coming back."

I helped him to his feet and in the now blanketing darkness, wondered how many hours it would take us to get back to Waikiki from the top of the world.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" Tony looked at the Honolulu city lights below us.

"Yeah, it's beautiful." And in truth, it was.

We started walking home. "What do you think the psychic would have told us if we'd gotten to see her?" Tony mused.

"Two things. We're both gay and we are totally fucked."

Aloha oe,

Currently listening :
Music for a Bachelor’s Den, Volume 6: More of the Best of the Arthur Lyman Group
By Arthur Lyman
Release date: 1996-04-01

Writers’ and Readers’ Internet Tag

2008-09-06T14:41:00Z

Current mood: blissful

Hi everyone!

Today we're playing Writers' and Readers' Internet Tag! If you read this, it's YOUR turn to post the following questionnaire on YOUR blog and answer these questions!

What are you reading right now?
A History of Spanking. No, not really…I am a pathological liar.

Longest book you've ever read: Tough question, there, cookie. I can Hoover through an 800 page Harry Potter book in 24 hours, yet I wanted to kill everybody then myself, trying to read Anne Rice's painful tome Christ, the Lord out of Egypt.

Strangest title of a book that you've read:
Bombproof Your Horse: Teach Your Horse to be Confident, Obedient and Safe No Matter What You Encounter…
Despite my penchant for invention, this is a true and incredibly stupid title. I mean, think about it. Let's say you're sitting astride a horse and same gun-toting weirdo runs up and sticks a grenade up the horse's ass.
Let me know how confident and obedient he turns out to be. Yeah…good luck with that.

Stupidest ending of a book you've read:
And then, I died…
Yep, that was the ending.

Which literary character have you related to the most?
Adrian Mole

Do you prefer fiction or nonfiction?
Non fiction – because the truth is so often so bloody weird!

Did you have a series of children's/young adult books that you once enjoyed?

*Blushing* Yes. I loved The Fat Slags. Actually, this is a British comic strip in Viz magazine. Um…I still collect them and get quite a kick out of those cheap, boozy whores!

Can you enjoy reading the source book after seeing the screen adaptation?
Unfortunately, I have to because of my day job. I do screenplay coverage for a movie studio. I believe most authors will tell you their work was vandalized. I strongly disagree. It was hung, drawn, quartered, then burned at the bloody stake.

Have you ever read a novelization of a movie or TV show?
Yes, unfortunately. My brain still hurts.

Book that "turned you on" the most, erotically speaking:
The Wit and Wisdom of George W. Bush. No, not really, I'm lying again.

Is there a real-life person that you've read more than one book about?
Yes, I am a research ho. But the person who continues to fascinate me is the Black Dahlia, (Elizabeth Short). There are tons of books out there and I've read 'em all. I'm amazed that three of them are written by people ALL claiming their own fathers did it. Christmas dinners must sure be fun at their houses!

Book that everyone's read but you:
The Story of O.

Favorite "classic" writer/novelist:
George Eliot

Favorite contemporary novelist (let's say 1950s on):

Maxine Hong Kingston

Favorite short story writer:
Felice Picano

Favorite columnist/journalistic writer:
Jilly Cooper

Favorite poet:
Nan Whitcomb a wonderful Australian poet. My favorite of hers goes: Dirty Politics, dirty wars…make the dirt in my garden seem so clean.

Favorite guilty pleasure book or series:
Spanking magazines. No, not really. I'm telling lies again.

Favorite book by written by a famous actor or musician:
Get in the Van by Henry Rollins (my future ex husband). He could tie me up and do whatever he wanted to me…er…except shove a grenade up my bottom.

Author whose work you once enjoyed but no longer do:
Patricia Cornwell – poor research and same, regurgitated storylines. She needs to get a good spanking by Rick R. Reed – no, wait, that would make me jealous – but she needs to be edited by a proper editor, not a fan.

Favorite comics/graphic fiction author:
Gene Luen Yang…I love his YA stuff…no bombs, no horses…plenty of Geekdom.

Did you read this? Then -- TAG!! You're it!

Aloha oe,
AJ

Currently listening :
The Cream of Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel
By Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel
Release date: 1999-03-22

Alec Baldwin Swan Dives OUT OF THE CLOSET!

2008-09-05T15:56:12Z

Current mood: exotic

Hi everyone,

Did you happen to catch the 8,000 word piece The New Yorker did on actor Alec Baldwin this week? http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/09/08/080908fa_fact_parker?currentPage=all
Why Me? a fascinating glimpse into the addled mind of a troubled celebrity does nothing to make you feel a little warmer and fuzzier about the guy until you come across this little nugget:

"In East Hampton, I'm a nudist and I eat meat," Baldwin—a vegetarian—had said before my visit, expanding on the idea that he lived a quite different life on Long Island than he did in New York. "I shoot deer with a bow and arrow. I smoke the deer meat and eat it every morning with my eggs and toast. I am a homosexual. I listen to rock music, loud." We had met at his house. Baldwin was wearing sandals; his shirt was untucked. There was nobody else at home.

What a shock! Baldwin's a homo when he's on vacation!
Well, Alec, I'm a homo all the time and let me be your tour guide as you step out of the closet and hey, don't forget to recycle that closet door. It might make excellent kindling.
Firstly, if you come to Waikiki for a vacation, we're happy to accept you as a homo. Truly! I just took a glance outside the window and unhappily, I see no deer here...but there are a few chubby tourists - you know the kind, short shorts, long socks, sandals, shirts untucked, cameras in hand - just ripe for the picking.
Just don't pack that bow and arrow in your suitcase or you might find yourself enjoying a strip search with the accompanying anal probe.
Then again, being a Holiday Homo, you might enjoy that.
You enjoy being nude? Have at it. We homos love the male body in any form, but nekked works in almost any situation! Don't forget to pack the bongo drums!
Smoked deer with your eggs and toast? We here on the islands can do better than that. Ww have Portuguese sausage and it's smokin' good!
As for loud rock music, I've checked with a few other local homos and the consensus is you might truly be actually, completely, full-time gay if you enjoy things like art and music.
Your extremely bitchy references in other parts of the article to other shows on your network's lineup being "Cooked" and "Done" indicate you might know your way around the kitchen. Mmm...yes, you too, could be a home goddess underneath the bluster.
Alec, I think you could very well be an honest to goodness friend of Dorothy's, Alec. You sound horribly domesticated. But don't worry, it isn't contagious. Just hold your breath and let me be the first to welcome you to the dark side.
I'll leave the light on for ya.

Aloha oe,

A.J.

Currently listening :
Taboo: The Exotic Sounds of Arthur Lyman
By Arthur Lyman
Release date: 1996-09-24

Confessions of a Wannabe Fluffer

2008-09-02T14:42:00Z

Current mood: bouncy

Hi Everyone,

My lovely friend, the talented, tremendous author Rick R. Reed posted a blog yesterday with one of those ubiquitous surveys and of course, it was brilliant because it was all about him. Rick is great. I thought, hey, I could do that! So I stole his idea. Mind you, I come from the land Down Under and things such as petty theft got my people there in the first place, so I am sure Rick will understand that as an Australian and as a writer, nothing is sacred. So stand back. Here are some things you may wish you never knew about me.

TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Name: AJ Llewellyn
Birthday: May 5, 1971
Birthplace: Sydney, Australia, home of the former British Penal Colony (I thought I would mention it before somebody else does).
Current Location: Honolulu, Oahu
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Dark brown
Height: 5' 10"
Right Handed or Left Handed: Right
Your Heritage: First generation Greek born in Australia (that's right, the one that was a former British Penal Colony. Thought I'd mention it again in case you think I'm skimming over sordid historical facts).
The Shoes You Wore Today: Crocs. No, actually, that's a lie. Those are the ugliest-ass shoes I've ever seen in my life. I wore tennis shoes to take my dog for her morning trek (in Honolulu, not the country that used to be a penal colony…)
Your Weakness: red velvet cake
Your Fears: Waking up weighing 500 pounds
Your Perfect Pizza: Never met a pizza I didn't like
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year: Stay madly in love with my new man
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger: ROFLMAO but I am still gonna use it.
Thoughts First Waking Up: Do I still have all my own teeth?
Your Best Physical Feature: My winning smile
Your Bedtime: 12.30-1am
Your Most Missed Memory: My mother, who died when I was six
Pepsi or Coke: Neither. I LOVE Dr. Pepper
McDonald's or Burger King: Sorry, I'm a Zippy's guy
Single or Group Dates: Single
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Neither. I drink PG Tips or Fort Mason tea
Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocolate
Cappuccino or Coffee: Both
Do you Swear: As often as possible
Do you Sing: Ask the dog, she'll tell you.
Do you Shower Daily: What a question! Of course I do. Two to three times a year.
Have you Been in Love: Love? Oh yeah, I remember that...
Do you want to go to College: I am currently doing my Master's in Hawaiian Religion and Philosophy at UH Manoa.
Do you believe in yourself: Yes…wait…who am I again?
Do you get Motion Sickness: Only when George Bush opens his mouth.
Do you think you are Attractive: I'm a bloody handsome bastard!
Are you a Health Freak: I am the cupcake king of Waikiki.
Do you get along with your Parents: Dad yes…even though he thinks my books are disgusting. Mind you he read Phantom Lover. Cover to cover…
Do you like Thunderstorms: Not when I am walking my dog. They scare her. She's my sweet girl!
Do you play an Instrument: Ukulele
In the past month have you Drunk Alcohol: Yes. Mai Tais on the beach at Waikiki
In the past month have you Smoked: No....wait...yes. Second hand smoke at an outdoor cafe.
In the past month have you been on Drugs: No. Are you offering me some?
In the past month have you gone on a Date: Yes
In the past month have you gone to a Mall: Yes. My favorite Zippy's is in Ala Moana Mall. I go to Zippy's every day.
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos: No. Why did you ask me that? Now I want one.
In the past month have you eaten Sushi: Yes.
In the past month have you been on Stage: Yes. No, not really. I'm telling lies again.
In the past month have you been Dumped: Yes. I wiped out surfing at Waimea. Grazed my limbs. Ouch! And after all my efforts to keep my elbows smooth...
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping: No, dammit.
In the past month have you Stolen Anything: No. I did think about swapping a song download with a friend but felt too guilty.
Ever been Drunk: Yes
Ever been called a Tease: Mmm…not that I can recall.
Ever been Beaten up: No
Ever Shoplifted: Yes...when I was five. I stole a chocolate from a milk bar. That's an Australian thing, like a corner store. You know Australia…the one that used to be a penal colony. Criminal behavior is in my genes! HAAAAALP!
How do you want to Die: Fucking some hot guy's brains out.
What do you want to be when you Grow Up: Francois Sagat's fluffer.
What country would you most like to Visit: French Polynesia
Favourite Eye Color: Anything but red
Favourite Hair Color: Where would this hair be?
Short or Long Hair: Ditto
Height: Mine? Don't think it changed since you asked me the question before.
Weight: Mine? I have no idea. Pass me one of those Oreo cookies, you mentioned. Or else.
Best Clothing Style: Nekked
Number of CDs I own: An embarrassing number of CDs, LPs, 78s…
Number of Piercings: one in each ear.
Number of Tattoos: None. Never been drunk enough
Number of things in my Past I Regret: That I stole that bloody chocolate.

Aloha oe,
AJ

Currently listening :
Moondog
Release date: 1991-07-01

Passion's Legacy

2008-08-29T15:23:00Z

Current mood: animated

Hi Everyone,

I have mentioned in previous blogs that I volunteer at my local library, collecting public-donated books and handling our book sales last Saturday of every month. Every cent we raise goes to buying new books and DVDs for the library, children's programs etc. It's just me and a handful of very old ladies I call my girls and our benefits for this unpaid work are getting first crack at books we might want to buy ourselves.

Being old ladies, my girls are breathless over romance novels and I am thrilled that well into their 80s they even think about sex. They read volumes of Harlequin Novels and have devoted literary crushes on people like Linda Lael Miller, but refuse to even put certain authors books out for sale. One author in particular "writes so much crap she goes on the free cart" is the refrain.

When my girls found out I was writing erotic fiction, they started collecting the trade paperback erotic fiction novels coming into the library and putting them aside for me.

Over lunch, we chat about sex and how the language and tone of romance books have changed. They snicker like teenagers over the older books that use classic euphemisms for a man's cock. The leap of his desire is one that makes them cry with laughter. His throbbing manhood has them screaming for mercy...cocks straining pants to the point of bursting make them wish for the movie trailer...

I am astonished how many of the books finding their way to us are from the UK and are very expensive. We get a ton of Ellora's Cave books too.

On Wednesday, we had our setup meeting (today we put the books out for the mad rush tomorrow) and one of my girls handed me a paper bag.

"AJ, this is your type of book. I put this aside for you." She gave me a knowing wink and went off to to maul the cupcakes.

I opened up the bag hoping to see David Beckham sans culottes but instead found a pair of women in Victorian garb. Passion's Legacy, by Lori A. Paige. A Victorian lesbo love fest!

Wanting to scream, "I am a HOMOSEXUAL man why would I wanna read about two chicks?" I smiled instead thinking, I'll give this to one of my writer buddies, like Beth Wylde who writes F/F fiction. She won F/F author of the year (and is branching out into M/M now), she might like this. I brought the book home and curiosity, which killed the cat, got me and I read the book in a couple of hours.

I was actually quite intrigued. There is no sex to speak of, a feat in itself considering a hot seduction sequence in an attic room (they always happen in attics in clean romances) but despite the fact it was written in 1991, there is no purple prose. The Alpha Girl is much like the Alpha Male and the Beta love of her life is very sheltered and a bit stupid not to have twigged to her benefactor's Sappho ways sooner but hey, this is Victorian England we're talking about here...

Yesterday afternoon, I drove one of my girls to the store. She lost her driving privileges last week and now has to read with a magnifying glass and a flashlight. She will read until her eyes clap out on her totally (her words, not mine) and she admitted she'd read the book Passion's Legacy.

"What did you think of it?" I asked her.

"Give me a big dick any day," she huffed.

I'm with ya there, sister.

I laughed out loud and she said, "There isn't anything I don't know about cock sucking. I kept my husband happy for 58 years."

"Good for you," I laughed. "What was your secret?"

She smiled. "I read romance novels and pounced on my husband. I never took no for an answer."

Good to know.

Aloha oe,

Currently listening :
The Art of Seduction: Gypsy Nights - Belly Dance Music of the Balkans
By Various Artists
Release date: 2006-06-27

The Inner Red Pencil

2008-08-27T20:10:00Z

Current mood: amused

Hi everyone,
I have been dying to tackle the topic of how I do not believe in Writer's Block. I had that inclination smacked out of me. You see, many writers talk about the dreaded WB but as a trained journalist who rose the ranks of a daily newspaper, I was not allowed the luxury of giving into WB. Not much would have been written if I gave into WB, but then, I was so fortunate to have a news editor who would not allow me to believe in it.
His name was CJ McKenzie and he is probably long dead. Oh, he was an absolute ogre with foul breath, grotesque facial features thanks to a hideous drinking problem. He was a classic "newso" with a fifth of scotch, a quarter finished novel and the filthiest hanky in the world in his bottom drawer.
You guessed it, I absolutely adored him.
CJ always had a row of red pencils in his breast pocket that colored the seam so it looked like he was slowly bleeding. He red penciled everything, even bar menus and handed them back to hapless waiters.
He had been an actor who never said the word Macbeth - it was "The Scottish Play" and his superstitions didn't end there. It was the same with WB.
CJ taught me the muse is always there, but not at our convenience.
His hard line in writerly thinking and that damned red pencil taught me well. On those dreaded midnight to dawn shifts when I could not find the right words, he spanked my hands with a ruler. truly.
"Write," he would holler. "Just DO it." In those days, computers did not exist and I pounded away on a big old typewriter using carbon copies. Oh, I can still smell those blue sheets!
I have an inner CJ and God help me, my own muse looks just like him. I find when I am kept away from the 'puter, I become a total jerk...but actually do some of my best writing, believe it or not.
Cooking is the perfect "simmering" time. Walking the dog I get tons of ideas too, if I allow my mind to drift and focus on my books and not on things like playing "beat the bank" with deposits etc.
For some unfair reason I get my best ideas in the car and I use a Dictaphone recorder to make notes.
I carry a small note book and pen at all times in my pocket. I'm a gay man, but not ashamed to say Hello Kitty rides shotgun with me. I have tons of those pink pens and note books. I will stop and make notes. The dog is used to it and has accepted with some alacrity that I am a weirdo.
You can often find me in the bathroom at parties, writing stuff on toilet paper. It's dialogue I scribble mostly because I am the nosiest person alive and no conversation is secret with me around. I jot down scraps because it's the cadence I might miss when I am back at my desk fleshing things out.
When all else fails I call my own voice mail and leave a message with a line I've suddenly come up with. But don't forget, living is what we writers should be doing in between cranking out those pages.
So what about you, how weird is your muse and what lengths have you gone to in order to obey him or her?

Aloha oe,
A.J.

Currently listening :
Wonderful World
By Israel Iz Kamakawiwo'ole
Release date: 2007-06-26