We Interrupt this Interruption!

I've got something very important I want to tell you.

Could you be in the grips of a new disease that's ruining your life?

Have I got news you won't want to miss.

It's urgent. It's information you need to survive in this ever-changing, increasingly scarier world.

It's news that only I can tell you. News you need to know. News that I'm going to reveal. After the break.

"A phone used to sit and wait for us. Now we sit and wait for the phone."

We interrupt this important announcement with another important announcement.

One simple tweak of your voice mail system could help change the world. That's right. Save the world time because time is money.

Tired of listening to a voice mail's automated voice tell you over and over again ... "to leave a voice mail, press one, or just wait for the tone. To leave a text ..."

How much collective time would the world save without having to wait for this message (doesn't matter that pressing 1 helps. Most people don't know this).

Do your part to end the voice mail madness. Save yourself and everyone who calls you the pain and misery of an automated voice telling you over and over again ... "to leave a voice mail, press one, or just wait for the tone ..."

How? To find out how to terminate the automated voice, stay tuned to the next break of this interruption ...

Back to the matter I was blogging about before I interrupted myself: I opened this post by saying I had something very important to tell you. I hinted at a gripping new disease.

Then I mentioned that it was news that only I could tell you, granting myself an exclusive, slowly building your interest in this vague story I'm telling you.

Like modern TV shows, I'm giving you this recap of what I told you before the break, just in case your multi-tasking brain went elsewhere and forgot my message, the one I was telling you before my other message about automated voice mail messages consuming the world's precious time.

Now that you're fully up to speed again, here's the original breaking news you won't want to miss:

The digital age had produced an alarming side effect in human behavior.

That side effect: distractaphobia, the fear of missing out on that which is transmitted digitally.

A signal from the digital gods is a Clarion call to interrupt life and pay homage to the signal.

Answer that phone. Listen to that voice mail. Read that text. As soon as you're called upon, forsake all others and bow down to the interruption of life.

And if you can't respond immediately, you owe the gods an explanation for your failure to worship, complete with details, like:

"I was just getting out of the shower, picked up the phone, got it all wet, had to wipe it off, and by that time, it stopped ringing so I figured I'd dry myself off and put some lotion on before I called you back ... and now I'm getting your voice mail, so I guess ... oh, wait, this is probably you calling back on the call waiting while I'm trying to leave you a voice mail, hold on while I call you back while you're calling me back ..."

We interrupt this interruption to get back to my point.

A phone used to sit and wait for us. Now we sit and wait for the phone. Or text, or email, or voice mail.

When the call comes, the call becomes all there is, above all else, including that which is in front of us, to see, to feel, to touch, to engage. Those have become the things we do between the interruptions, which have become more of what life is all about.

Twisted I know. Only you can't twist it back.

Don't run like Pavlov's dog when the bell rings, forsaking that which you were doing before the interruption. Tongue hanging out, salivating over what comes after the bell.

Ask yourself: what else can I be, besides someone who keeps interrupting myself? Think about it, during this brief interruption, or station break.

So how do you stop your callers from suffering through the automated misery of an automated voice saying, "to leave a voice mail, press one, or just wait for the tone ..."

It's easy. Most voice mails have "user options." Most user options include a BYPASS AUTOMATED INSTRUCTIONS option. Just think, if you use it, and tell one person to use it, and they tell one person to use it, and maybe Tyra Banks or another beautiful celebrity does a public service ad, we could all bypass that automated misery.

What would you do with all that spare, uninterrupted time?

Anyway, sorry for that little interruption. Wait, what was I blogging about? Writing this post has taken longer than I expected. I had to stop to listen to two voice mails. One was hard to hear, so I had to send a text, asking for clarification. If that text or call comes in, I have to interrupt this piece again.

Like I was saying, distract yourself from distractaphobia. Don't be in such a rush to answer that bell. Terminate the automated instructions on your voice mail. But remember: always to stay plugged in to Randy Boyd's Blocks.

We promise less interrupted disruptions. And now back to our previously scheduled interruption.

When Authors Dream

Shakespeare. Twain. Boyd. Whitman. Baldwin. Boyd. Irving. Boyd. Randy Boyd ... the great author from the 21st century, a time long, long ago...

The author falls asleep at his desk. He dreams of a faraway future, a future where his works are studied, like the great literary voices of the past.

But will his own works pass the test of time?

Dream Sequences, coming soon to Randy Boyd's Blocks.

A Yell for Help

"I had only 'gotten mine' because some of the other yell leaders had lobbied for me to get the Indiana road trip, seeing as how it was my homecoming.

"To my astonishment, the same guys who constantly made 'black' jokes surprised me by standing up for me.

"If only I had remembered that before telling a big white lie."

—from Black Yell Leader Tells Big White Lie

New Love for Old Glory

Now I get it! All those white people were right!

I have officially deleted all my skepticism about the United States of America and its great democratic experiment. America is the greatest country on earth!

Anyone can rise up and become president of the United States! A man born five months before me, President Obama, is living proof!

—from Black Man Confesses: I Love America!

Do Black People Attend White Weddings?

It stands to reason, not all of white America has overcome all of its hatred and fear of black people.

Perhaps it's not expressed as it was in the past, but look at today's wedding photos. How many wedding parties are integrated?

Look at people's Facebook pages. How many white people have only white friends, more or less?

If you judge America by people's personal photos on the Internet, black and white are not so integrated in modern America life.

—from Tea Party for WHITES AND LATINS ONLY

Any Grapefruit Will Do

Once upon a time, I assumed all guys were either gay or straight.

Then I grew up and realized the truth about men.

What truth? Find out in the Grapefruit Theory, or What Men Really Do, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

Not Politically Correct

"A provocative compelling tome that is decidedly not politically correct. The story, part thriller, part love story, adds up to a morality tale that basically asks the reader: is violence ever justified?"

—IN Los Angeles
on Uprising
by Randy Boyd

How To Survive Being HIV-Positive in an HIV-Negative World

Dear Poz People, don't let the negative bigots define you.

It's a tough, negative crowd out there. People call themselves clean and disease-free to distinguish themselves from those of us who are living with HIV/AIDS.

Bug free. No diseases whatsoever. Super duper clean. UB2.

Before, AIDS those phrases did not exist. Since AIDS, insensitive people have created an entire lexicon designed to keep out the virus and anyone with it.

As if doing so keeps them safe, or implies better worth.

"You do not have to apologize for living with HIV/AIDS."

Do not let them get away with it.

Tell your friends how it feels, hearing them use those words.

Call out websites and media outlets that permit that kind of language.

Make these words and attitudes unacceptable in your life.

Do not integrate these thoughts into your vision of your world.

When these words invade your world, see them for what they are: an invasion. Consider the source ill-informed, ill-willed or simply an invader.

Most important, don't let how the world feels about people with HIV define how you feel about people with HIV.

When communicating with others, don't frame your personal situation in apologetic words: I'm a great guy, the only thing is, I have HIV.

Too apologetic. You do not have to apologize for living with HIV/AIDS.

Or: I'm HIV-positive, if you can't handle it, move on

Too defensive. You are not on trial for having HIV/AIDS.

How about a better approach?

Oh, by the way, I'm HIV-positive, and I'm hoping you're educated enough to know about safe sex.

Hope you're educated enough to know I'm not a threat to your health if we have safe sex.

We can have a great sex life, even if you're HIV-negative, as long as you're open-minded, open-hearted and educated about safe sex.

I love to eat butt, but you must be educated about safer sex with poz dudes. Not here to eat dumb asses.

Reveal your status, not like it's a dark secret or deal-breaker.

Reveal your status with a confidence that says, I'm merely revealing something a little more intimate about myself, and I certainly hope, for your sake and mine, you're educated about HIV and safe sex.

Life with HIV/AIDS doesn't have to be full of gloom and doom.

Life with HIV/AIDS can be whatever you dream it to be.

My Psychotic Little Pulp Novel

"A psychotic little pulp novel about Kordell Christie, a square gay businessman who becomes part of a mystery that involves mind control and a place called the Facility where there are drug-enhanced masturbation machines."

—Unzipped Magazine
on The Devil Inside
Now available as an eBook

The Blogger Who Inspired Me

His name was Michael. His blog told of his quest for a liver transplant.

His photos revealed a handsome man who had traveled the world over.

By the time I discovered his existence, Michael had died, leaving behind his blog featuring photos of a life well lived.

Why would I ever do a blog, I once wondered. After discovering Michael's Liver Transplant, I had my answer.

I blog as another way of shooting all my wads while I can, as a writer, as a creative artist, as a human being.

Thanks, Michael.

The Epic Sports Novel that Dares to Dream

Walt Loves the Bearcat dares to dream of the first pro athlete who admits his love for another man while in the prime of his career.

Walt is a young white QB whose football career goes virtually unnoticed until he wins the Super Bowl and becomes an overnight sensation.

An old photo with a mascot sparks a public obsession. When the world assumes the person under the bear suit is a girl, the world is happy because Walt loves the Bearcat.

When the truth comes out that the Bearcat is Walt's black male lover, life and the football world will never be the same, all because Walt Loves the Bearcat.

Walt Loves the Bearcat
by Randy Boyd

The Epic Sports Novel that Dares to Dream
A Lambda Literary Finalist for Best Romance

Available wherever books are sold

Get it now at Amazon.com
More about Walt Loves the Bearcat

Every Boy, Sweet Dream

"Here’s to the day when a kid can be honest with himself and the world from the moment he conceives of himself as a lover of men, and be afforded the exact same chance as every other kid to have a successful career in professional basketball, football or baseball, without one single atom wasted, harassing him for being who he is."

—from
Walt Loves the Bearcat

Big Boy, Bad Dream

"The coach had envisioned us as twin towers. Between the blond kid and my exploding feelings for guys in general, it was all looking like a train wreck in the locker room with me as the only victim.

"Instead of risking my life as I knew it, I quit basketball."

—from
Black Teen's Tough Choice: Play Sports or Be a Fag.

Little Boy, Big Dream

"I'm going to dream of all the NFL coaches learning to live with or deal with or tolerate or accept without judgment or open their hearts to all players regardless of sexual orientation.

"It may seem like an unrealistic, child-like dream, but I remember a little boy who once dreamed his city would someday get a football team and do great things, even though the odds were stacked against his city and his dream."

—from NFL Coach Dungy's Homophobic Dreams

Fear of a Black President

Dear President Obama,

If you came out and said the sky is blue, certain citizens of our country (and certain members of a certain political party) would oppose your accusation that the sky is blue.

Furthermore, they would declare that you calling the sky blue is just one more way you plan to run America into the ground.

Kinda reminds me of adolescents who contradict and oppose everything said by their parents. Teenagers do it as a rite of passage, it seems.

Certain Americans (and members of a certain political party) seem to be doing it out of fear of a black president. What else could have them so spooked by and opposed to every single thing you do?

It's as if certain people want to party like it's 1947, when a black man wanted to play big league baseball.

Personally, I think you're doing a remarkable job, especially in light of the America you inherited. This American approves of your presidency, not that any pollster has bothered to ask.

So hang in there, Mr. President. I have faith that you shall overcome certain Americans' fear of a black president.

P.S. I won't tell anyone, but I know the secret to Obama's success!

Acting Out at My High School Reunion

August 1990: Saddam Hussein invades Kuwait, igniting the first Gulf War; Madonna is world touring with her blond ambition; and one overachieving but under-socialized black man is acting out at his 10-year high school reunion in Indianapolis.

In this case, acting out means: donning a crazy, MTV-awards-show-inspired outfit (I dubbed it rock and roll formal) and letting the North Central High School Class of 1980 know that the "black geek you assumed was a fag" is happy, healthy, hunky and still here, direct from Hollywood, dressed like a freakin' rock star fairy or something. And he's a great dancer, too! Take that!

"The photos were simply more evidence that I wasn't one of the beautiful people."

White tuxedo shirt. White jeans. Bolo tie. Tiger-stripped cummerbund. Leopard print boots.

What was I thinking? lol ... I wasn't. I was feeling. Feeling all that resonating energy from high school still bottled up inside me, in need of uncorking.

Afterward, I felt let down. What had I really accomplished, save proving to myself, once again, I can create a challenge, then meet it?

Whereas I didn't go to the prom or other social functions in school because I was socially retarded and alone, I went to my reunion, still alone but now comfortable with myself (enough to go rock and roll formal, mind you!)

"I can now see beauty in myself, where I couldn't see it in high school."

When the evening was over, I returned to my childhood home, still occupied by my mother. Mom and I chatted about the reunion, then she noticed the unused film in my camera.

On the floor of the den, I began posing for my mom, making her laugh hysterically. Typical behavior for us, me making my mom laugh. I love making my mom laugh.

When I first saw the results of my impromptu photo shoot, I could barely look at them. To me, the photos were awkward and simply more evidence that I wasn't one of the beautiful people, the ones living the good life, as seen on TV and in the movies.

Cut to me twenty years later, coming across those same photos and falling in love with the young man posing to make his mom laugh, looking so young and fresh. I guess that means I can now see beauty in myself, where I couldn't see it in high school, then couldn't see it ten years later, at my 10-year high school reunion.

At age 48, I love those post-reunion pics. Randy @ 28. Still young, still glowing, still me. That impromptu photo shoot turned out to be the best part of reunion weekend, the bonding with my mother, the laughter, the images of myself I can now appreciate (see more post-reunion pics on my "sexy" blog).

My 30-year high school reunion happened earlier this year. Didn't go. I was 2,000 miles away. I'm taking it as a good sign that I no longer need to act out at my high school reunion.

Are All Male Cheerleaders Gay?

"At some point in time, at least 110% of the population will question your sexuality based on the fact that you once were and always will be: a male cheerleader.”

—from Walt Loves the Bearcat

Having been a male cheerleader for four of my five years in college (at two major universities, USC and UCLA), experience tells me: the question burning in every red-blooded sports fan sitting upon high is ... are all male cheerleaders gay?

I'm reminded of a young male cheerleader who missed a big event to help his girlfriend, who was getting an abortion.

Does it really matter whether or not all male cheerleaders are gay?

See cheerleading from a different point of view in the blocks labeled Cheer Up, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

Gone Trikking

Remember those days as a kid when you were content to merely go outside and ride your bike, no destination, no agenda, no worries? The Trikke is a three-wheel carving vehicle that turns you into that kid again, no matter your age.

Best of all, when I ride my Trikke, I become a kid who doesn't want to stop playing, er, exercising. An hour workout turns into: ah, just twenty more minutes, then I'll go home and be a responsible adult again.

When's the last time anything, let alone a bike, made you feel that young?

"Never have I felt more athletic, agile and passionate about exercising (just for fun)."

Loving my Trikke automatically makes me feel like a spokesman for the joyride of the 21st century. Riding my Trikke makes me feel like a spokesmodel. Hearing "wow" and "cool" a dozen times during a Trikke ride makes me feel like a superstar. Those are just some of the 10 things I learned while trikking.

Riding with a group of other Trikkers makes me feel like I'm part of a new breed of extreme sports athletes. Or a new kind of biker gang. lol. Such was the case at the Best Halloween Trikke Ride Ever or the upcoming Labor Day Trikke Ride of Long Beach.

The Trikke is a wonder drug. It's helping to reduce my blood pressure, body fat and stress level, all while increasing my muscle tone, self esteem and zest for life. Never have I felt more athletic, agile and passionate about exercising (just for fun).

So You Think You Can Trikke? Sounds like a ton of fun? Raring to rock and roll? I say go for it. And if you're a big and tall like me, go for the Trikke T-12, the bigger toy for bigger boys. I call it the Cadallic Escalade of Trikkes.

Invented in the mid 2000's, the Trikke community is growing daily. Right now, it's like owning a bike a few years after bikes were invented. Someday, the world will be full of more trikkers than bikers.

Civil Wrongs

If gay rights is akin to civil rights, why does so much blatant racism exist in the gay world?

Never have I encountered more racism than I have in the places gay men frequent, a fact that renders any so-called link to black civil rights laughable.

—from The Hypocrisy of Gay Civil Rights

Summer of One-Eighty

The events of the summer of 1980 happened like a blurry dream in my 18-year-old mind. The star of that dream was a young black man whose fate changed dramatically in the span of a few hot months, all while the entire world obsessed over Who Shot JR?

I began the summer as a shiny new high school graduate in Indianapolis, Indiana. I ended the summer as a USC freshman in Los Angeles. One month later, I was a USC yell leader. WTF? lol

In the interim, I held three summer jobs in Indy, one cleaning a parking lot, one cleaning an office building, and one working at the state headquarters of the Republican Party.

That's right. I got paid to call Republican donors and ask for more campaign dollars. If the democrats had been hiring, and had put an ad in the paper, and my mom had seen it, perhaps I'd be saying I spent two summers working for the donkeys.

And yes, even more shocking: I admit it. I played the Village People's "Ready for the 80's" on the 8-track in my car throughout senior year. An even bigger hit for me, though, was their classic, "Go West." Duh!

From Hoosier boy to LA man in the span of a few hot months. Then, before America found out who shot JR, I was a USC yell leader.

And to think I had never taken one step in the state of California until a week before college. WTF?

Paragraph for Oprah Winfrey

Dear Oprah,

The following passage from Walt Loves the Bearcat best expresses what it feels like being me, a black male homosexual who has survived AIDS since 1985:

"We live in an age where we are inundated with countless images from countless sources, from TV to movies to pop-up ads. A huge percentage of those images deal with love, sex and romance.

"Still, rare or nonexistent is the occasion where I encounter an image that reflects who I am and what I dream of. Even rarer and more nonexistent is the occasion where I encounter an image that might encourage another soul to dream of loving someone just like me."

—from Dear Oprah: Please Read Walt Loves the Bearcat

Golden Days

Life with my golden mutt has taught me many things, none greater than, yes, I can raise another living thing, and when in doubt, pet the dog.

When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, a periodic blog column, or memoir, or pet diary, or journal thingy about my life with Boomer, aka Phat Dog, aka Boo, aka Daddy's Special Buddy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

Black Wedding

Politicians won't support same-sex marriage until the majority of voters agree.

However, the majority of black voters disagree with gay matrimony, so say the polls, and now that black folk got they own president, the bruthas and sisters are gonna be voting more and often.

So what's a fag to do? Have no fear: check out 10 Ways to Get Blacks To Support Gay Marriage.

Pink Reception

"I have bitched and moaned about this whole same-sex marriage deal being a little freaky deaky from time to time, but now I get it.

Yes, that's right. Since I've been hanging around Walt and the Bearcat (with my hot wife, mind you), I see gays marrying in a whole new light.

I, heterosexual wide receiver Hail Larry McPherson, now think that homos deserve the right to marry. But there's just one thing ... "

—from Dear Queers, Give Black People Blue Jeans!

The Marrying Kind

"They just don’t get it, most homosexuals. Don’t they realize that marriage was invented for the red-blooded, natural citizens of nature?

Just imagine, if gays marry, the whole world will go crazy and not know what to make of marriage anymore, and the sports world will not be immune to the chaos."

—from First Gays, then Animals, then More Cock-Teases

Titty Clickers

No block at Randy Boyd's Blocks gets more hits than a certain post about a certain wardrobe malfunction at a certain Super Bowl in 2004.

It's not so much the incident itself, although Justin and Janet created quite an uproar. And it's definitely not my prophetic insight into the infamous moment, as much as I'd like to dream it so.

The revealing event led to a bad week on the boob tube, but what I wrote about it has become the most popular post on the Blocks, thanks entirely to the title of the post.

On Gays Bashing Obama

"Relax, LGBT people of America. Let the President deal with the deep shit he inherited before he gets to the fags.

What--you think you'd be better off by now with John McCain or Sarah Palin? Think you'll be better off with any republican?"

—from Yo', Homos: Get Off Obama's Back!

Who Be this Randy Boyd?

Hockey player? No. Oregon teacher? No. Writer and author? Yeah, that's the one. That's this Randy Boyd.

The former USC and UCLA cheerleader. The author of four novels, nominated for five Lambda Literary Awards.

A Hoosier by birth. A UCLA graduate. A Pacer fan. Getting the picture? For more, check out this Randy Boyd's bio.