For today’s 80s Flashback, I’ve decided to share a personal post-80s story.
When I first moved to California, I used to work out at a gym in Manhattan Beach and developed a friendship with one of the managers. He was starting a health magazine with a few people and asked if I might like to get in on the deal, by helping with sales to HR departments at local corporations. I decided to explore the opportunity, but didn’t give any guarantees of my participation. So a meeting was set up to discuss the plan with the rest of the team and introduce us all to the primary financial backer — the inventor of acid wash jeans!
Naturally, I was dying to meet this guy so I went to the meeting at his mansion in West Hollywood. A young, single woman, I fantasized that I would be introduced to a hot, rich dude who would sweep me off my feet, etc etc. Well, he WAS rich, he WAS single, and he WAS good-looking. However, he was also the gayest guy I’ve ever met. And I do not say that lightly.
The walls of his home were covered in massive paintings of cartoon sperm, the wine glass he handed me when I sat down on a lovely leather-topped penis-shaped stool had a pewter stem in the shape of a nude man’s thin body,… I can’t even remember everything because the place was jam-packed with expensive gay art. It was like man-love wonderland. Really nice, funny guy, but…WOW. Homoverdose.
I later chose not to work on the magazine deal, because I was just too busy with work. But I think of that crazy guy every time I see some old picture of those jeans.
Just imagine: all those Jordache worn by Midwestern Bible-thumpers helped pay for his silver testical door knocker. Makes me feel happy inside.