Thankful for My Teeth

I've been told by two different dentists that I have good teeth, genetically speaking. That's quite a blessing, especially since I've rarely seen a dentist in the last 15-20 years. Like many longtime survivors of AIDS, preventative dental care took a backseat to trying to save my life.

Now, in my twenty-fourth year living with the virus, I've made a re-commitment to my teeth. Not only will I continue to be a diligent brusher, I will also be a diligent flosser and get regular check-ups and cleanings.

Recently, I had my first x-rays in years. Some deep cleaning ahead and one minor filling, but that's it. Nothing major needed. I love my teeth. For giving me my smile. For holding up so well, even in neglect. And for reminding me of the amazing gifts my ancestors gave me.

May I use them to the best of my ability.

Best Reality Show About Raising Kids

A reality show with a title like World's Strictest Parents has two strikes against it: it's a “reality show” and the title bespeaks of extreme freakish behavior. But the reality is, World's Strictest Parents is a breakthrough from which we can all learn a thing or two.

A show that originated in the UK, the American version, as seen on MTV, features two “troubled” teens going to live with a family with “strict parents” for one week. The teens--one male, one female--don't know one another and come from families where their parents have reached their wits' end managing their rebellious kid. Think: How did my sweet little girl turn into this monster who says, Mom, fuck off!

The “troubled” teens are similar in that, at home, they lack things such as enforced rules, consequences for bad behavior, the notion that bad behavior includes saying, Leave me the fuck alone! and walking out of the house. Many of these teens smoke, drink, use drugs and love to skip school and party!

"No back talk, no attitude, no complaining, no rolling of the eyes."

Most sane adults over age 35 would tell you: these kids are heading down the wrong highway in life ... unless you want to end up a statistic, as my parents would say. But the “troubled” teens are clueless. They know it all, and no one can tell them any different. Anybody else remember those days? lol

Cue the World's Strictest Parents to save the day. Send these bad-ass kids off to Brady Bunch Camp--21st century-style--and behold the transformation. By the time they reunite with the folks, the exorcism is complete, and the teens have rekindled the better version of themselves that says, “I love you, Mom and Dad, and I wanna help out around the house (and stop sneaking out and partying every night)."

What does the trick? Better parenting--not by better people, but by parents who have better tools.

For the “strict” parents, parenting is a full-time, hands-on job, on which they remain vigilant and consistent. Their kids have house rules, chores and consequences for disobeying. Expectations!

"Maybe it's not so bad having a strict, loving parent to keep you on the right track."

The “strict” parents explain to their kids they're doing this out of love, to better prepare them for the real world, which has rules, chores and consequences for disobeying, whether you like it or not.

The “strict” parents are consistent. They check rebellion at every level, no back talk, no attitude, no complaining, no rolling of the eyes--you know, the stuff that gets you fired from your job, if you get the job at all?

The “strict” parents hold their kids accountable. Lying has consequences, often physical work. That'll make you think twice. These parents don't back down or give in--you know, the way a prison guard won't give in when you're doing time for drug possession?

The “strict” parents do charity work with their kids, so their kids learn the value of helping others (instead of always thinking, me, me, me!), so their kids see how some people are less fortunate (and maybe it's not so bad having a strict, loving parent to keep you on the right track), so their kids see how they might end up if they keep skipping high school.

The “strict” parents have fun with their kids, usually a reward after a hard day's work around the house (as a team). This helps kids learn there's a time for work and a time for play.

The “strict” parents take time to explain themselves to their children in calm, rational voices. No screaming. No violence. No abuse. As a result, the teenage kids of the “strict” parents seem far from “troubled” and much better equipped for the road ahead. They also seem like the kinds of kids who would never dream of saying, fuck off! to their parents.

While on furlough from home, the "troubled" teens receive a letter from their parents, and hear for the first time how much they've hurt their parents with their foul language and disrespect.

Most of the teens are shocked, as if it had never occurred to them they might be sending daggers through their parents' hearts with each flippant remark. That alone is enough to break any last resistance. Honesty. Another useful tool in parenting. We could all learn a thing or two from the world's strictest parents.

Of Grapefruits and Men

I used to think all males were either straight or gay. Then I grew up and realized the truth about men.

You, too, can behold the secret. You, too, can know the knowledge. You, too, can be wise to the wisdom.

How? Find out in The Grapefruit Theory, or What Men Really Do, only at Randy Boyd's Blocks!

No Blacks, No Asians, No Offense

The Segregation Era lives on in my racist gay world. This is what it looks like in pictures.

WHITES AND LATINS ONLY, a photo essay featuring gay men's online words in images reminiscent of the segregated Old South.

NFL Players: Lighten Up on Your Gay Teammates

Pro football is bigger than ever. Gay people are everywhere. Does this mean some of the gladiators of the NFL are gay? Duh!

Any player--or fan--still under the illusion that there are no gay football players has probably suffered from one too many blows to the head. Men who have sex with men exist in every segment of every society.

It's time for pro football players to grow up and accept a fact of life. And be men about it! Find out why in Dear NFL Players: Tear Down This Wall.

A Writer to Reckon With

The following book review for my second novel, Bridge Across the Ocean, appeared in the September 2000 edition of the Lambda Book Report.


The follow up to Randy Boyd's Lambda Literary Award nominated suspense thriller Uprising is a surprising change of pace.

Bridge Across the Ocean is an intimate novel about relationships, most specifically the relationship between an HIV-positive African-American man who encounters and befriends two straight white teenagers while on vacation in Cancun in 1988.

The book encompasses several themes: the attraction between an older man and a boy below the age of consent; the possibilities of racism and homophobia; and the question of whether it is possible for a gay man and a straight boy to be friends in a society desperately afraid of pedophilia. That Boyd is able to not only pull these difficult themes off without either pandering or moralizing is a testament to his enormous writing talent.

“A powerful, emotional novel that cannot help but move the reader.”

The sexual attraction that Derek, the main character, feels for the older boy, Rob Velarde, and the conflict this poses for Derek is beautifully handled. Although the temptation is strong, Derek realizes the danger inherent in attempting to seduce a teenager, and ultimately has to decide whether a seduction is worth the potential damage it could cause, not only for himself but for Rob's emotional and psychological development.

The characters of Rob and his younger brother, Skeeter, are realistically drawn. The scene where Derek comes out to their mother, Roberta, is almost painful in its realism and raw emotion.

Ultimately, this is a powerful, emotional novel that cannot help but move the reader. Derek is a heroic figure dealing with an almost impossible situation, and his emotional conflicts are further complicated with dealing with his own HIV status in the late 80's, when the current meds were a far-off dream.

The book words on every level, and Randy Boyd is definitely a writer to reckon with.

• Get Bridge Across the Ocean now at Amazon.com
• More Bridge Across the Ocean on Randy Boyd's Blocks.

Black and Proud (of America)

Black People of America, I am proud to say: I have officially deleted all my skepticism about the United States of America and its great democratic experiment. And I am here to tell you: You can, too!

That's right. You, too, can believe that America is the greatest country on earth!

You, too, can feel good about being born in the USA. Find out how in Black Man Confesses: I Love America!

Boomer's Blocks

When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, a periodic journal or memoir or blog thingy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks (.com).

America's Next Top Dog Model
Boomer Nose Best
Staying Connected to Your Pet (or Loved One)
A Dog with an Ear for Cell Phone Signals
Why Pet the Dog When In Doubt?

Nigger with a Smile Like Joe Bruin

“Black boy feels like shit his whole life, so he makes up a dream world where people like and accept him. But he’s still not convinced they like him for him, so he imagines living his whole life in somebody else’s headspace.

All anyone really sees of the poor bastard is the manufactured mascot head he wears at all times, cool Bear/Joe Bruin, the black boy nobody could hate too much, especially with that goofy grin plastered on his face. I mean, what white man would ever hang a nigger with a smile like Joe Bruin?”

—from Walt Loves the Bearcat

Once upon a time, there was a little black boy, who was me, who doubted his worth. Compared to all the other boys and girls around him, the boy felt worth less, like a black fag. Then the boy fell ill and the illness foretold of scary things to come from the scariest of new worlds: the land of a i d s, that mysterious new beast in the whispers of the dark of the early 1980s ...

The boy, who was a college boy and a college cheerleader, felt like a black fag bound for AIDS, and began to dream of a whole other life, a life where he was HIV-negative, carefree and partners with the love of his life, the quarterback to his cheerleader, of course. Duh! Black male cheerleaders have dreams, too. lol

So the boy, who would be HIV-positive, dreamed of a whole other life where he and his QB buddy tested HIV-negative, and went on to become the “Mr. and Mr. Jackie Robinson of Professional Sports History.” A great love story worthy of an heroic epic. Walt, the quarterback, loves his cheerleader, the Bearcat. A dream come true for a black boy who likes to dream, and write stories about those dreams.

But a curious thing happened on the way to My Whole Other HIV-Negative Life. That version of me took on a life of its own, so to speak. That guy--that HIV-negative, quarterback-loving, famous screenwriter black guy--that fictional character, well, he became his own man: Bear Coleman.

And Bear Coleman kept shouting to my author brain: Hey, writer man, hey, brain! Hey, you! I also have a dream!

And the writer man took note.

Bear's dream: the boy, who would be HIV-negative, dreams of a whole other life where he tests HIV-positive and he and his QB buddy never met! Can he survive as a single man living with AIDS in the modern world?

But a curious thing happened on the way to My Whole Other HIV-Positive Life. Bear Coleman, my dream boy, couldn't escape feeling worth less compared to all the other boys and girls, either! He, too, felt like a black cheer fag who doesn't deserve happy endings, even though he's got his quarterback!

My job as the writer man: merge my dreams and these two characters together into one seamless story about love, football and some very potent daydreams. And create some happy endings, for goodness sake!

Once upon a time, there was a little black boy, who was me, whose world was rocked by a little virus that would change his life forever. To survive, he had to dream of better dreams. One of them is my fourth novel, Walt Loves the Bearcat.


Walt Loves the Bearcat
by Randy Boyd

A Lambda Literary Finalist
Best Romance

Available wherever books are sold

Get Walt Loves the Bearcat at amazon.com

More about Walt Loves the Bearcat


"A madcap whirl, Walt Loves the Bearcat is first and forever a love story, one written with a roller-coaster brio and a magical intensity that demand and deserve the reader’s perseverance."
SF Bay Times (Read full review).

"Warm-spirited ... resonates with soulful queries into the nature of love and life." Bay Area Reporter (Read full review).

Best Halloween Trikke Ride Ever!

Six months ago, I was a guy who bought a newfangled, three-wheeled bike he saw on an infomercial. I had neither seen nor heard of a Trikke, nor did I know of anyone else who had seen or heard of a Trikke. One look at one commercial and the kid in me said: I gotta have one!

Six months later, I now realize: I didn't just buy a newfangled bike. I bought a whole new passion: And I'm not alone. The Trikke is the Joyride of the 21st Century and a treat that's creating a whole new breed of people in the world: Trikkers.

Like surfers, trikkers come in all varieties but share one common goal: the feeling you get when you're riding the wave. The rush of the wind going past you. The rush of you going past the wind. The oneness you feel between your body and the board, I mean, your Trikke. The feeling of flying, no wings necessary.

"I'm not alone in my childlike giddiness over this uniquely human powered vehicle."

Unlike surfing, you catch a Trikke wave by riding solid ground, not raging waters. All the more convenient. You can “catch that wave” going to the grocery store or doing your errands. Or going for a quick ride slash workout after a stressful day. Or going for a long, wandering trek where the only destination is your imagination. The Trikke is like that. It becomes something you feel the need to incorporate into your everyday life. Why? Because it's that much fun!

I'm not alone in my childlike giddiness over this uniquely human powered vehicle. The more you Trikke through life, the more you're bound to stumble upon this small but growing community of ordinary folks who have discovered the joy of trikking.

I didn't just buy a newfangled bike. I bought into a whole new community of avid trikkers.

Owning a Trikke is sort of like owning a bike back in the early 1800s, a few years after somebody dreamt up a bike. But thanks to the Internet, websites like TrikkeTalk.com are connecting trikkers, local dealerships are opening up, and Trikke rides are becoming the norm in many areas.

Such was the occasion for the first-ever, Trikke & Treat Halloween Fun Ride, sponsored by SouthBay Trikke of Torrance, CA. A prime example of a rising, local Trikke dealership, SouthBay Trikke invited So. Cal trikkers to treat themselves to a 10-mile trek along the South Bay's spanning beaches last Saturday, October 31st.

Halloween turned out to be one of those dreamy Southern California days that remind us why we live here. Can you say perfect beach day at the end of October? Volleyballers played in costume, bikers rode in costume, but there was no treat quite like the sight of nearly a dozen trikkers rockin' and rollin' up and down the bike path--or should we say, Trikke path?--many in costumes.

The most impressive costume, in my humble opinion, was the 75-year-old trikker who came as herself, a 75-year-old Trikker. Someday, I hope to don a similar get-up.

I didn't just buy a newfangled bike. I bought a whole new lifestyle.

Getting together with other trikkers at events like the SouthBay Trikke Halloween Ride only confirms my sanity. Yep, this thing called the Trikke is indeed, that kick ass. It's a good feeling, realizing others feel the same way you do about a product you bought from an infomercial, that others understand the need for this speed, the craving for carving, the sheer kid-like joy of owning a Trikke.

I didn't just buy a newfangled bike. I bought something that's gonna change the world. It's already changed mine. Introducing Trikke Randy, a new and periodic column, or feature, or blog thingy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks (.com).

How Down Low Will He Go?

In my first novel Uprising, a famous but closeted black pop star plots to assassinate a homophobic US Senator while a straight white FBI agent goes undercover to stop him.

Raider Kincaide is the straight white FBI agent. A former college athlete, Raider is now a Harley ridin', skirt-chasin', rock-lovin' father of a 10-year-old son. His assignment: go undercover as a gay man, bust the bad guys.

Early on, Raider almost blows his cover during a confrontation with a gay activist in a grocery store. The following excerpt follows Raider, after the confrontation:

The California sunshine was a welcomed sight. As the market’s doors closed behind him, Raider dumped the roast beef in a trash bin in front of the store and walked hurriedly to his car. Right now, the thought of eating anything handled by a gay guy....

He collapsed in his Jeep, out of breath as if he’d gone through more than the mental gymnastics it took shopping at Mayfair Market. With the six pack in his lap, he slumped over until his head was resting on the wheel. “Get the job done and get the hell out of here,” he ordered himself.

This was the hardest UC work he’d ever done. Pretending to be a dope dealer who got off peddling crack to junkie mothers was cake compared to pretending to be a fag. He knew at any time he could call it quits, say adios to Othello and Boystown and return home to his Harleys, his son and Sally’s Bar and Grill. It was FBI policy. Yet that option never seriously entered his head.

"He was exploring territory he never thought he’d explore in twelve lifetimes."

Why? he asked himself daily. Simply put, he could smell the glory. Each night, going to bed in that West Hollywood apartment, he envisioned the legendary status sure to be his amongst the boys in the bureau after Panty-Raider Kincaide ferreted out this whole bizarre plot against God and country by three world-famous, in-the-closet homos.

Why, he could retire on the book and movie rights alone, not to mention becoming a fabled agent whose name was invoked with reverence by and for all the rookies at Quantico, just like his boss and mentor Dockweiller.

But in the deepest recesses of his mind, Raider also knew there was more to his drive than mere fame and fortune. By becoming submerged in the gay world, he was exploring territory he never thought he’d explore in twelve lifetimes. Not that he ever, ever wanted to have sex with a guy, but now, at least while he was under for the count, he could let his mind roam a little freer and think about things he previously didn’t know how to think about, nor want to think about.

Over the last several weeks, certain memories would pop up out of the blue like ghosts, until now hidden in the shadows of his psyche. On the plane out to LA, he had told himself he never once thought about being with another guy. Now, he had to confess this was untrue, as unnerving as it was to admit.

"That’s when he knew for sure he’d never be a fag."

When he was a kid--fifteen, maybe sixteen--he thought about homo-sex more than once, but more in the sense of wondering why one guy would want to be with another guy. To try to figure that one out, he would imagine putting his mouth on one of his buddy’s dicks or having that buddy’s lips around his own penis.

It seemed so weird, he remembered thinking every single time. He also imagined getting corn-holed, even stuck his finger up his butt once, when he was seventeen. But it hurt like hell and that’s when he knew for sure he’d never be a fag. What a relief, the teenage Raider thought.

There were also other memories that now demanded attention, like all the crazy questions he and his pals used to put to each other in high school. It was always a matter of: if you were forced to choose, which would you rather do?

Eat a ninety year-old woman’s pussy, or give a buddy a blow job? Have your right arm cut off, or only have sex with guys for the rest of your life? Take a dick in your ass, or in your mouth? Lick a filthy public toilet seat in the restrooms near the beach, or let Philip Larsen, the school fag, suck your dick?

"We can admit that to each other because we’re not fags."

Posing these kinds of stupid questions was their favorite past time while hanging out at the shore, drinking beer. And now that Raider thought about it, the questions almost always had to do with homo-sex. If anyone ever sounded as though they would actually commit any of the gay acts, everyone else would laugh in disgust and called that person a fag for a couple of minutes. But the homo-sex option was almost always part of the game.

And then there was Lenny, his best friend at Dartmouth, the straightest guy Raider knew other than himself. Together, the two of them terrorized Hanover, New Hampshire, for four years, not missing one hot girl or killer party between them.

They hardly kept in touch these days--Lenny had snorted his life away--but back then Raider and Lenster must have screened every straight porno video on the market and they never failed to talk about the male star’s “hose-potential” and how they both loved to see the stud jizz in the movies.“We can admit that to each other because we’re not fags,” Lenny used to say.

And when he got drunk, which was often, Lenny also used to say,“Panty-Raider, man, before I die, I’m gonna fuck you in the ass, man, I swear.” To that, Raider would laugh, then they’d hit each other, hurl a derogatory name or two and start wrestling or boxing.

To think now that Lenster might have really meant it, that Not-So-Skinny Lenny might have had gay tendencies. For the first time in his life, Raider conceived it as possible. No way did Lenny Jerricho look like a fag, but neither did some of the guys Raider saw walking around West Hollywood. Some of them actually came off like guys he could have played sports with. Did Lenny turn out to be gay? What about the buddies of his youth who used to joke about it so much? Any of them ever try it? Ever want to?

Drudging up all these incidents from the past was unsettling at best, yet Raider couldn’t control the mechanism in his brain that rendered these memories insignificant until now. It was this job, he knew, and West Hollywood and Othello pursuing him. And Freedom and ACTNOW and Jasper Hollinquest and Deon Anthony--Deon Anthony for Christ’s sake; who wasn’t gay? Who didn’t think about it? One thing was for sure: Raider wanted to bust the case and get the hell out of Boystown before he had to deal with that $64,000 question.

Get Uprising now at amazon.com

Uprising: the Suspense Thriller
by Randy Boyd

A Double Lambda Literary Finalist
Best Men's Mystery
Best Small Press Title

Available wherever books are sold

More about Uprising

Dear Oprah: Can I Get a Witness?

How does a little known black author let Oprah Winfrey know about his little known but wonderful novel? He contacts her through Oprah.com like billions before him.

What does a little known black author say in a one-page, one-shot letter to the goddess who could make his little known but wonderful novel a worldwide phenomenon?

If the letter had room for only one passage from the little known book, what passage would the little known author choose? Find out in Dear Oprah: Please Read "Walt Loves the Bearcat"