A lot of my friends have been sucked into the Facebook black hole. Quite frankly, I find it merely okay. It's nice for screwing around for 10 minutes, but that's about it. Of course today it's been more interesting than normal. My Facebook inbox had a nice little note from some dude I don't know, who presumably messaged everyone in the Gay Toronto group I joined for no reason in particular. Take a look at this thing:


Hey…we are having another party!!!! …this one will be at a downtown hotel….we are just finalizing the hotel and will let everyone know the hotel and location tomorrow……over 100 fuckin crazy hot horny guys…guys gone wild!!!!… The last house party was awesome, with over 40 amazing hot horny guys…this one over 100 guys…if you’re up for a fucking hot anything goes night this is IT…. We will see you at This Friday Night’s Party at 11:00 P.M.!!!!

GUYS…. BE REAL! BE 19 to 40, BE DECENT SHAPE (height/weight proportionate), BE COOL, BE FUN, BE OPEN MINDED & BE READY to bust loose & have fun...

Cool Fun hot crazy horny guys…gay, bi dudes hanging out, chilling, beers, drinks…420….and doing anything guys want to do….its up to you!

Always a good idea to bring anything you may want to drink. Have a few beers here for guys who didn’t pick anything up….

A great way to meet some real cool fun guys…get into some real hot man on man……THE HOTEL LOCATION WILL BE RIGHT IN THE DOWNTOWN CORE

We will send the hotel info, address, directions and all the details..........upon check-in on Friday around noon we will send out the actual room number or call our cell contact number for a recording with the room number….

See you on Friday for an unforgettable fucking awesome night!!!
Yeah I'm afraid I'll have to send my regrets. Blind dates are bad enough, but blind hotel orgies? Sounds like a scheme for a bunch of old overweight creeps to lure a few fit, naive youngins over, get them smashed, and pass 'em around. The relative unattractiveness of the host underscores the danger in attending such a sordid affair.

I'm extremely curious about the identity of the kind gent who's financing the hotel room though. And extremely sorry for the poor cleaning lady that will have to clean up after this thing.

This is why I reserve orgies for trusted acquaintances only.

* Just kidding, I really am more of a one-on-one guy. The ride may run frequently, but there's only seating for one.

Forbidden fruit

I broke a promise to a close friend this week.

See, way back in the day Meaghan made me promise that I would never, ever date another Adam. I guess having her friend Ryan dating another Ryan was stressful enough.

I'm so sorry Meaghan. But he's just too hot. However, I will admit that it takes some getting used to. I'm usually one to say a partners name during intimate moments and, well, needless to say I won't be doing that in this instance. In my brain he sort of...has no name. And every so often I'll remember his name is Adam and consider how weird it is.

Anyways last night we had a date and it went pretty well. In fact, isn't this more likely to go well because we have the same names? That's like Harding's Law or something, right?

Having the same name led to a very cute event at dinner last night, at least. He was checking his phone, then turned it and showed me that he'd named me "Cute Adam" in the phonebook. Then I pulled out my phone and showed him that I'd named him "Hot Adam." It was quite the little moment.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to found a gay Garden of Eden. All we need now are a couple of Steves and a really hot straight guy to act as the forbidden fruit.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia.

Grind of war

Grinding is very accurately named. In fact, it's a lot like the picture on the right. Take something benign looking and put it through the grind, and the result is something nasty looking that nobody needs to see.

Now some of you might remember that it was scarcely a year ago that I scandalously took a trick I met at Stereo (who is now a close friend, incidentally) and essentially dry fucked him on the back stage. However, today I'm a more mature clubber and I'm here to tell you that it ain't right.

Now that I can actually dance worth a crap I'd much rather dance with a guy. And, truth be told, if he's got some good moves I'm going to be much more attracted to him anyways. If he grabs my waist and tries to pull me toward him he'd better be smoking, because that's two strikes right there.

Sometimes I can tolerate it. Grinding at Fly is just a fact of life. And at Pride, well, it's all about boys. But keep grinding out of my beloved Comfort Zone. It's a dancer's club people! It's not a pickup club. We don't need to see groping on the dance floor, let alone a five-person grind sandwich like I saw this past weekend.

I'm not even saying you can't have your fun at the Zone. Hell, there are seats and dark corners everywhere. I've been known to partake myself. Have at it.

But the Zone is a mixed club and you're giving our people a bad name when you act tactlessly. Why not show off some of our stereotypically impressive dance moves instead?

Image courtesy of Secretly Ironic.

Gossip is a standard part of any community. Inevitably as people get to know one another they start passing on rumors about each other. The Comfort Zone gay subculture is one such community, with the hardcore comprising perhaps 100 people. I guess sooner or later people were bound to start talking about me.

I'm sort of used to being in the background. I guess I've never really thought of myself as gossip-worthy, save during the big outing of 2001. Well dear readers, I've hit the gossip scene with a bang. I was chatting to someone last night when the bomb dropped.

"I heard that you're doing porn now."

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!? This is worse still because it came from one of the few people in Toronto whose opinion I actually care about. Let me go on the record now to state that Adam has not done porn. Boys who work full-time and do porn do not have empty bank accounts. In fact, if things were THAT dire I'd probably start selling drugs before I'd do porn. But don't worry, it won't come to that. It's sort of a which-limb-would-you-lose type of situation. Neither option is particularly appealing.

So where the hell does a rumor like this come from? I'll admit that with my hair now at visible-scalp level shortness I do have a generic, if popular look. Perhaps a case of mistaken identity? Or is someone deliberately trying to sabotage me?

The worst part is, it makes me look back at people I saw a lot of potential with whose attitudes suddenly changed and wonder if maybe they heard it too. This is the kind of rumor you just can't quash. I can't very well go around asking everyone if they heard my false porn rumor and really truly honestly it's not true and please tell everyone because it's just really embarrassing...can I? It'll just make things worse.

So essentially, I'm getting all the negative stigma of doing porn with none of the benefit$. Gay Toronto 69, Adam 5.

  1. His verbal diarrhea is suddenly replaced by verbal constipation.
  2. His internal monologue is suddenly externalized. He's heard muttering to himself throughout the day.
  3. When asked how his weekend was, he emits a loud moan and goes back to what he was doing.
  4. He glares at his coworker when "Manic Monday" comes on her radio.
  5. The bags under his eyes are large enough to double as change purses.
  6. He's 10 pounds lighter than he was on Friday.
  7. He fell asleep on the subway to work...standing up.
  8. His voice sounds exactly as you'd expect after yelling for 16 straight hours.
  9. He's constantly texting some random dude he met over the weekend.
  10. He slightly alters the lyrics while singing along to "Sexy Back"
  11. He absentmindedly puts his water bottle in his back pocket as he walks about the office.

"Adam doesn't fit in."

I am a perpetual outcast. Until age 19 or so this was largely due to extreme social immaturity and high-level loserdom. Today I've come to realize that I'm sort of a scene-spanner.

In high school I was too keen while everyone else coasted. In university I was too blasé as everyone else was keen.

Too pragmatic for the intellectual scene. Too intellectual and introspective for the club scene. Too trusting to be in Toronto.

The bottom line is: people just don't get me, especially here.

I'm an individualistic person in a very cliquey city. I dance my ass of at the pick-up club. I'm too wordy, too thoughtful, and above all else, too honest.

Toronto I am so sorry that I refuse to play the game. To sit back and look disinterested. To never smile. I'm sorry that I tell people when I like them, that I'm honest about myself. I'm sorry I refuse to pursue someone all night, and instead just tell them they're cute. I'm sorry I'm real. I'm sorry that I thought that, just maybe, people might like a friend that's not exactly like them.

Oh wait, no I'm not. Fuck you Toronto.