It’s always the same kind of people that complain about a lack of culture. They are always white. Quite often they are “artists” in the most mediocre sense possible. Almost always they are unsupportive of their local scene, never contributing to it themselves. Quite often these kids talk about how they are going to move to New York City because “there’s more culture there”. Whiney white kids. I am only comfortable generalizing so much because I’ve had to struggle through this conversation at least fifty times.

Something drew me there. Part of it was morbid curiousity. Part of it was my fascination with criminal psychology. Part of it was my investment in the hype machine. America’s greatest soap opera this year didn’t cost a million dollars to cast…it cost the life of a little girl.

It is July 4th. America is celebrating its birthday. In Tampa the air is hot and thick. I check my Facebook and as usual my friends are bickering about the merits of Lady Gaga’s existence. And thousands of miles away, over an ocean and in a different time zone, work has begun on a new Madonna album.

Michael Alago has had an interesting life. He is the gay man responsible for discovering Metallica. He spent the 1980s as a behind-the-scenes driving force in the illustrious New York City music scene. Now he has a new book of erotic photography. Check out what he has to say about his new work.

Gay marriage has been legalized in other states, but this is New York. This is the state that reared me. Iconic. A man can marry a man in New York. And a woman can marry a woman. Fuck yes.

Once I realized I could see almost any guy I wanted to see naked for $100 or less it was like the day Superman realized his own powers. Spiderman had the power of agility and Wonderwoman had the power of her breasts. In the shadows of neon I have discovered the balance between the power of the Benjamin Franklin and the power of the cock.

When I visited New York last year I read an article in a zine from a girl who prefaced her name with about seven adjectives. She was a “radical feminist punk vegan queer blah blah motherfucking blah” writer. And as I perused her article one side of me “aww-ed” at the cute idealism of pre-packaged youth, while the other side of me guffawed at the explicit self-stereotyping going on.

When I was five my mother married a new man named Don. Don was a country boy. My first memory of him was on a motorcycle. My childhood heart was guarded and defensive. Who was this new man stealing my mommy?

In 2002 I was leading a double life that I am certain many gay men live. In public I was all smiles and jokes. No matter how outrageously fun the dance floor was or how many laughs I shared at a meal with my friends…I always went home and immediately got on gay chat sites.

When Miss America wins the pageant she often wishes for world peace. If I was Miss America my one wish would be for my mother and my brother to be less sad.