A New Home.

As some of you might remember, this blog used to be titled “17th and Sanchez.”  It was blog about my life–how I ended up living near the corner of 17th Street and Sanchez Street in San Francisco.  I loved that old place.  I’ve moved!

This is where I lived for my first 6 years in San Francisco

I have so many incredible memories from 17th and Sanchez.  (By the way, I lived on the middle floor, front unit, house with the orange garage.)  However, it was time to move.  It was time to get a roommate and move into a nicer and roomier place.  And, on top of that I found a place that is even gayer than my old place.  I moved into a 2 bedroom apartment that is basically at the corner of 18th and Castro.  For those of you have been to the Castro, you know that I now live at the heart of the gay mecca.  Quite literally.  I’m living at the crossroads of Gay and Gayer.  And I love it.  Of course, I only had to move 2 blocks to get to where I currently live, but somehow I feel as though it was a significant move.

So, with a new address comes a new blog.  I won’t be changing the URL address of the blog.  It will continue to be http://www.tyflyguy.com.  But, you will see numerous other changes–probably less flight attendant stories and more gay community stuff.  Of course, I will continue to draw from my conservative Christian past.  And you can be sure that I will sprinkle it with stories about my new gay roommate J. (We’re just roommates, not lovahs)  Oh yes, and I shouldn’t forget J’s pussy Leo.  I already have developed a strong relationship with J’s pussy.  Now before you get your panties all wadded up, I’m talking about my roommate’s cat.  His name is Leo.

So welcome back to my blog.  Let’s call it tyflyguy: 18th and Castro, at the corner of Gay and Gayer.

Porn and my 88-year-old Grandmother

I’ve been going through a tough time since the break-up.  But, I’m getting better.  Frankly, I just haven’t felt like writing or being creative.  I’ve been drinking too much and watching too much TV, not to mention watching too much porn.  I’ve been very lazy.  Over the last several weeks, however, I feel like I finally have turned the corner and am on a new and much improved street.

But let’s get back to what I’m sure caught your attention in the first paragraph.  Porn.  Now, I realize that I have a rather diverse, yet small, group of readers.  And I’m sure that all of you have strong feelings about this topic.  Some of you may be “disgusted” by it.  Some of you may be “confused” by it.  Some of you may have numerous online subscriptions to various porn websites.  Whatever.  There is room in this world for all of you.  And I’m not here to discuss the benefits or detriments of porn.  So please don’t turn my blog’s comment section into a porn discussion board.  Different strokes for different folks.  eh hm.

Anyway, in the interest of full disclosure, here’s my perspective.  After all, it is my blog.  I like porn, I like nudity, I like sex.  I always have.  And I treat it like I try to treat anything else in my life:  Moderation in all things.

Here’s a little history of me and porn.  It all started in 1985 when I was in 5th grade.  A friend of mine named Bret invited me to his house to show off his stash.  Evidently he had been slowly stealing Hustler magazines from his dad’s collection.  As I entered his bedroom that special day, I had no idea what awaited me.  But, I was lucky, Bret was already a porn “pro” and was able to explain to me what all the parts were and what they did.  Honestly, 24 years later, I still haven’t thanked Bret for what would be my initial lesson in sex education.  My parents were not what I would call communicative. We did not discuss problems or even really have any kind of discussions at all. Especially when it came to sex.  So I was clearly on my own.  Until Bret stepped up to the plate.  Thanks, Bret, I owe you one.

Without getting too graphic, let’s just say I learned on that very special afternoon a lot about human anatomy.  Honestly, I don’t remember much about the woman in the picture.  But I can still describe to you in full detail the man (including his feathered, bleach blond hair and 80s porn ‘stache).  It was enough to fully pique my interest.  And from that moment on, I was incredibly curious about men’s anatomy.  My imagination went wild.  Which is why I loved my new best friend…the JC Penney Catalog.  You see, the JC Penny catalog had like a 5 or 6 page spread of men in their underwear.  It was like the holy grail of soft porn.  And when my Grandma would receive her quarterly catalog, I was in underwear heaven.  It was like being allowed to visit a guy’s locker room–without the teasing and shame and threats of swirlies.

I think this model (on left) is actually Ashton Kutcher's dad...

Well, my history with porn strangely came full circle this past summer when I was home visiting my grandma.  While sitting next to my grandmother showing her pictures that I had taken at the Iowa State Fair, I inadvertently entered into a very special and very private section of pictures in iPhoto.  Shit.  Yes, that’s right.  I accidentally showed my 88-year-old grandmother gay porn. Full on, hard penis, legs spread, gay porn.  And this was G-ma’s response to seeing some random dude in all his glory: “Ohhhhhhh.”  Immediately my fingers fumbled across the keyboard, in an effort to close iPhoto, only to forward through several more naked photos. Finally, flustered and unable to stop the peep show, I just slammed the laptop shut. I took a deep breath, feeling my face burning red, and slowly slid away from G-ma.  After several minutes of painful and complete silence I simply said, “I’m kind of tired, Grandma, I think I’ll go to bed.” And that was that.

My family has mastered the art of not talking about things, at least directly.  So I called my sister the next day and told her.  It’s just how we communicate.  I’m fairly confident Grandma and I will never talk about it.  Just like we never talked about why the men’s underwear section of her JC Penney’s Catalog was always missing or left tattered.

A Summer in Review

What a summer.  I mean really.  It started with the break-up in May.  June was filled with lots and lots of work and one kick-ass gay pride celebration.  Pride weekend was sort of like my official re-entrance into the social world.  I was able to hang out with lots of friends, reconnecting to many people who I just lost contact with along the way.  Saturday night of Pride weekend I had a spontaneous cocktail party.  It was so much fun.  I just played bartender and enjoyed having my apartment full of drunk flight attendants.  (not unlike many layovers throughout the years…)

Flight Attendant Pride Party

Flight Attendant Pride Party

In July I decided to take a vacation by myself.  I haven’t been on many true “vacations.”  And this needed to be a true getaway for me.  After basically working myself into the ground in June, I needed to take it easy.  So… New York.  I’ve been to New York a bunch of times, but I’ve never gone by myself.  I liked the sound of it. It seemed like the right thing to do as a single guy.  I didn’t want to go to a place that I knew lots of people, because the trip would be about seeing everyone.  I wanted to completely operate on my own whims and schedule.  And I did!  I found a great little Midtown hotel online called the Pod Hotel.  I flew out for free on Virgin America. (my airline has a reciprocal agreement with them) The trip was absolutely perfect.  I geeked-out at several museums.  I went to one very powerfully emotional musical.  I roamed Manhattan.  I had lots of sex.  Like I said, the trip was perfect.  I even started to joke about the trip by calling it my sex-cation.  😉

On that note, I have to admit that I was actually surprised by how uptight New Yorkers were about sex.  Maybe it has something to do with living in a city that embraces sexuality in so many ways.  I thought I would take a very direct approach, this was NYC after all.  They invented the art of getting to the point.  However, it seemed to scare off a lot of guys.  The internet has created a very sterile approach to sexuality.  People try to weed out every guy that isn’t perfect in every way.  But, perfection doesn’t truly exist.  So, most guys just play around online.  They chat.  They cam.  They spend a lot of time alone with their hand.  Maybe I should write a whole post just about these issues.  I’m a-gonna.  For now, I’ll move one.  Regardless, here’s a couple pictures from New York.

at MoMA, in the "mark your height" room.

at MoMA, in the "mark your height" room.

on Broadway!  I was just trying to give a Broadway pose.  I just look crazed.  It was fun trying to get this shot...

on Broadway! I was just trying to give a "Broadway" pose. I just look crazed. It was fun trying to get this shot...

having a drink with old friends and meeting new ones

having a drink with old friends and meeting new ones

In August I went home to Iowa to visit my family.  Since I haven’t been home since February of 2008, and I am trying to get back to Iowa more often, this trip was essential.  I went for seven whole days and had an incredible time.  My friend Phoenix joined me for a few of those days.  We spent the weekend in Des Moines at the Iowa State Fair and went to Des Moines’ gay bars.  The gay bars were disappointing, but the Iowa State Fair absolutely lived up to it’s reputation.  I’m not just biased, having grown up on the ISF.  It really is truly amazing.  Great food.  Great entertainment.  Great eye candy, which is why Phoenix joined me. 😉  If you are a size queen, it’s one of the country’s largest fairs.  Just Google it to see why everyone needs to visit it before they die.

Also, while I was in Iowa, my grandmother had her 88th birthday party.  But the real surprise for me was the night I spent at the 2009 Sprint Car Nationals.  Um, yeah, you heard me correctly.  It went against everything that I believe in, and I had an truly incredible time.  Sometimes you just have to say, “Fuck it. I’m gonna relax and have fun.”  It was awesome.  I’m not sure I’ll ever go again, but I’m glad I went this time.  Overall the trip was great.  I spent a lot of time with my grandma, and I finally met my youngest nephew Cash.

Phoenix and I, posing with the Iowa State Fair Ribbons.

Phoenix and I, posing with the Iowa State Fair Ribbons.

Here I am posing with a sprint car.  Don't you think I fit right in?

Here I am posing with a sprint car. Don't you think I fit right in?

That just about sums up my summer.  Be sure to check out all my photos on flickr.  So far, I just have the NY ones loaded.  The Iowa ones will be up soon.

Just the news…please.

Not too long ago, I had a ritual.  I would wake up, stumble to the corner café, read the news, and get high on coffee.  Coupled with the amazing people-watching, it was a spiritual experience.  I don’t know for sure when it happened, but something ruined my high.  I still go to the café and get high on coffee, but I can’t tolerate reading the news.  It’s not just that it’s so negative.  It’s that, on top of the negativity, the news has been dramatized.

It has been said that I enjoy drama.  This is a truth.  I do love a great drama.  But the joy of escaping into an intense drama (books, movies, or otherwise) has always been deeply tied to the inevitable return to reality.  That’s what makes the drama enjoyable–it’s not reality.  But, I need reality.  We all do.  We all need to be connected to the reality of the world around us.  The problem is that we no longer can get the news without the drama.  Front page articles in major US newspapers are reading more and more like editorials and op-eds.  Less and less it seems that we are just given the facts and allowed to develop our own opinion.

The result is that I must read a wide variety of articles covering the same topic in order to get all the facts.  This isn’t a bad practice.  It’s just time consuming.  And, it means that I have to also sift through a lot of crap.  And, let’s face it, I just want the news.  I don’t want a writer’s opinion of the news.  Or a worse trend, writers filling their space with opinionated quotes from people.  Just the facts, please, just the facts.

I think this is a huge part of the downfall of American journalism.  They’ve lost the ability to investigate or report.  The newspaper companies like to blame the internet.  But, in reality, the newspapers are failing because they are crap.  People no longer trust them for the news.  The very fact that papers can be clearly divided into a liberal or conservative groups, is proof that good journalism is dead.  In addition, the belief of the reader that they can only read papers that have the same political sway as them is proof that we’ve settled for this truth.  Journalism is dead.

The whole situation has left me feeling frustrated with and apathetic about the news.  We don’t need to make the current issues seem any better or worse than they are.  They are what they are.  So please just report them that way.

This is just my opinion.


I must have mentioned before that my least favorite part of my job is not dealing with difficult passengers.  It’s dealing with difficult flight attendants.  The passengers come and go, but when I work with someone that is difficult, I’m stuck with them for 3 days.

Usually the problem is laziness.  It’s like pulling teeth to get certain co-workers off their asses to do anything.  They just want to sit and read.  Or worse, stand in the galley and talk about themselves.  They’ll make sarcastic comments like, “Oooo, look at the super stew.” This is the response I get for answering a call button immediately instead of letting the passenger sit and wait and re-ring it several times.  To their credit, they are so tuned-out that they didn’t even hear the call button.  But, this wasn’t the problem with a male flight attendant who shall be known as Stinky.

Stinky falls into the category of flight attendants who have personal hygiene issues.  Stinky is a nice guy.  He really is.  I have flown with him before and enjoyed it.  Clearly, for Stinky, things have changed.  On my way to the gate, I saw Stinky and didn’t even recognize him.  His hair is grown out and rather unkempt.  He has a beard.  And the uniform…  Oy.  Ill-fitting and dirty.  He was wearing slip-on athletic shoes that his roommate left behind, “They looked fine to me, so I took ’em.  They did have an odd smell though…(chuckle, chuckle)”

And did they ever.  Stinky was wearing what I can only assume were decades-old, white socks.  I’m not sure if the smell was coming from the socks or the dirty brown shoes.  But, he was completely unfazed by them.  He insisted on crossing his leg with his foot pointing directed at me.  Despite my vigorous fanning with a safety information card, he never seemed to get the clue.  I like this guy, actually, and I just didn’t have the heart to practice my recent decision to be more direct.  I tried.  I just couldn’t tell him.  What can I say, I’m a work in progress.  That’s why I blog.

On top of the shoes, Stinky used an old-school brown hanky to blow his nose into and then stuff back into his pocket.  He did this several times a flight.  That is something my grandpa would do.  I thought it was gross then, and now it just seems downright unsanitary.  Although, considering that he picked his nose on the jump-seat and hocked loogies into the trash while he was pouring drinks, I don’t know why I didn’t expect him to also reuse the same hanky for three days.  I mean, it only makes sense.

I totally forgot the best part about stinky.  He cross-dresses.  Talk about an interesting mix.  He is an über-dude with a mountain-man beard, unkempt hair, poor hygiene, who likes to duct-tape his man-breasts together to make some cleavage and put on a fabulous pair of pumps.  eh-hem. Nobody puts baby in a corner…  or a box.  Stereotypes be damned!  Maybe this is why I like the guy.  He just is.  Take him or leave him.  Although, that doesn’t mean he has chosen an appropriate career path.

My airline is in the process of changing our uniforms a bit.  They are making the futile attempt of making the flight attendants look nicer.  One of the changes is that we can no longer wear brown dress shoes, only black.  Stinky informed me that he had a nice pair of combat boots at home that he probably was going to wear.  They were black after all.  Oh Stinky, he’s trying.