For three more weeks, I’m staying at an artist’s residency in Santa Fe, New Mexico. It’s beautiful country here, roughly 7,000 feet up on a high desert at the tail end of the Rockies. Faceless and not, most men on the apps say I’m here for the best time of

The days leading up to Pride weekend were like the drawback of a tidal wave (Pridal wave?). In preparation, we cut two industrial-sized buckets of limes, around three days’ worth. We stacked boxes on boxes of beer and seltzer in the walk-in, evacuating our supplies to higher ground. By Thursday night, we were ready. A coworker and I earned the privilege of clocking out early.

It’s a sin when success complains. That’s how I feel as a gay man who moved to San Francisco from what Californians affectionately call “flyover country.” It’s pretty damn great, living here. So what if everything closes at 2am (#4) and there aren’t any bathhouses to go to (#5). Compared

I made a new friend recently. He just moved here from New York. Having tried to visit the Eagle but finding it closed, he texted me one evening. “Does SF close down at like, 11pm? I’m used to NYC where we don’t even start going out until then.”  Oh honey.

Cheers to the straight guys who have fooled around with me. I think of you from time to time, and I hope you’re well. You’re an integral part of my adolescence and early college years. I share our memories (anonymously, of course) with my gay friends to convivial laughter. They

A San Francisco Pride Experience Judging by looks alone, San Francisco was more than ready to party. An LED rainbow beamed up Market Street from a scissor-lift platform stationed in front of the Ferry Building. The leeward hillside below Sutro Tower bore an inverted, bright-fuschia triangle. It shone hot-pink at

I was at the movies on a double date watching that new flick “Everything Everywhere All at Once” when I thought to myself, “this is totally that quintessential date night activity”. While you can’t really beat those tried and true date ideas, you can do better than a typical date

I had found him online. He was a kooky sketch comedian, and he maintained an incredibly honest, introspective blog littered with cultural references I loved. He was beautiful in a wicked, ethereal way, but he wasn’t beholden to his beauty. His life seemed like one long, fascinating lurch towards the