PLEASE ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF
I’M A MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE
I’VE BEEN AROUND FOR A LONG, LONG YEAR
STOLE MANY A MAN’S SOUL TO WASTE
AND I WAS ‘ROUND WHEN JESUS CHRIST
HAD HIS MOMENT OF DOUBT AND PAIN
MADE DAMN SURE THAT PILATE
WASHED HIS HANDS AND SEALED HIS FATE
Like many gay men of a certain age, I went through my own ‘Interview With a Vampire’ phase. It happened mostly when the books were cresting on the bestseller lists, and had a brief Renaissance when the movie version with Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt came out. That movie was playing on television the other day and while it hasn’t aged as well as I remember it (I was all in on the fantasy and over-acting realm back then) it still has a killer ending with an amazing song that segues seamlessly into the rolling credits. It’s not the original ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ by Rolling Stones, but the cover done by the rock band of my generation ‘Guns N’ Roses’ that brings it all home here. I’m not mad about it, and I won’t be judged for it. Much as I won’t be judged for my outfits of the time, which I jauntily wore to the supermarket with Suzie. Hannaford didn’t know what hit it, and I was amused and annoyed at the reactions. Live and let live.
PLEASED TO MEET YOU
HOPE YOU GUESS MY NAME
BUT WHAT’S PUZZLING YOU
IS THE NATURE OF MY GAME
Ahh the 90’s – and oh what a fashion world I fashioned for myself. Caught somewhere between International Male, Merry Go Round, and urban outfitters, I was such a hot mess I couldn’t even begin to explain what was on my mind and how or why I made such sartorial choices. Trying on different guises at break-neck speed, mostly I was searching for an identity without realizing that changeability is the toughest personality trait to identify and own. Frilly shirts and top hats and neck bites? The lure of the vampires would do just as well as any number of costumes. Their decadence and unabashed hunger appealed to me as well.
I STUCK AROUND ST. PETERSBURG
WHEN I SAW IT WAS A TIME FOR A CHANGE
KILLED THE CZAR AND HIS MINISTERS
ANASTASIA SCREAMED IN VAIN
I RODE A TANK
HELD A GENERAL’S RANK
WHEN THE BLITZKRIEG RAGED
AND THE BODIES STANK
PLEASED TO MEET YOU
HOPE YOU GUESS MY NAME, OH YEAH
WHAT’S PUZZLING YOU
IS THE NATURE OF MY GAME, OH YEAH
There were more serious underlying themes to the vampires as well. AIDS was still ravaging the gay community. An exchange of bodily fluids could be deadly. Blood was once again a matter of life and death. I didn’t delve that deeply. Embracing their superficial appearance, and the darkly romanticized atmospheres of New Orleans and Paris, I focused on the horse-drawn carriages with velvet curtains, satin capes that flowed and floated, and the outward trappings of Anne Rice’s fantastical vampire world. There was safety in staying solely on the surface.
I WATCHED WITH GLEE
WHILE YOUR KINGS AND QUEENS
FOUGHT FOR TEN DECADES
FOR THE GODS THEY MADE
I SHOUTED OUT
WHO KILLED THE KENNEDYS?
WHEN AFTER ALL
IT WAS YOU AND ME
LET ME PLEASE INTRODUCE MYSELF
I’M A MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE
AND I LAID TRAPS FOR TROUBADOURS
WHO GET KILLED BEFORE THEY REACHED BOMBAY
There was evil in wading no deeper than the surface as well. Escaping the reality of the early gay 90’s didn’t mean I could escape from myself. It only delayed certain inevitable heartbreak and hurt. It delayed meeting and facing the person beneath the frills. A costume was not only a mask to the outer world, it disguised me from seeing into who I was as well. I was not immune to losing myself to the games I played. Part of the elaborate dress-capades were certain elements of distraction, designed to keep everyone off the scent of my tracks when cologne wasn’t enough.
PLEASED TO MEET YOU
HOPE YOU GUESSED MY NAME, OH YEAH
BUT WHAT’S CONFUSING YOU
IS JUST THE NATURE OF MY GAME
JUST AS EVERY COP IS A CRIMINAL
AND ALL THE SINNERS SAINTS
AS HEADS IS TAILS
JUST CALL ME LUCIFER
‘CAUSE I’M IN NEED OF SOME RESTRAINT
SO IF YOU MEET ME
HAVE SOME COURTESY
HAVE SOME SYMPATHY, AND SOME TASTE
USE ALL YOUR WELL-LEARNED POLITESSE
OR I’LL LAY YOUR SOUL TO WASTE
Mostly, though, these sartorial shenanigans were what passed for entertainment at a time when other past-times could have quite literally proved deadly. In the small town of Amsterdam, home from college on Thanksgiving or Christmas break, I would prowl the nights decked out in such silly finery, and the worst that might happen were a few snickers or raised eyebrows at the check-out line at K-Mart. That didn’t bother or offend me. My self-ordained fabulousness shone so brightly and so intently that it obliterated everything in my path – even, and perhaps especially, ignorance and ridicule. Like those fabled vampires, I felt invincible, untouchable, and impeccable. If it only took a top hat and velvet cape to make myself feel like a hero, how far from the real thing could I have been?
PLEASED TO MEET YOU
HOPE YOU GUESSED MY NAME
BUT WHAT’S PUZZLING YOU
IS THE NATURE OF MY GAME
TELL ME BABY, WHAT’S MY NAME
TELL ME HONEY, CAN YA GUESS MY NAME
TELL ME BABY, WHAT’S MY NAME
I TELL YOU ONE TIME, YOU’RE TO BLAME
On those November nights leading into the holidays, when madness and debauchery and glamour collide, I can still feel the pull of sumptuous fabrics and candlelit rooms of mystery and dark allure, where shadows hid both honor and baseness. Whispers of vampires, caresses of fangs, and the metallic sting of blood can be the stuff of kisses or death. No bejeweled costume could save me from that.
