Karrnal Knowledge: Dear Diary
by John F. Karr
Department of How Things Are Trending:
When cutie star of The Hunger Games Josh Hutcherson says in an interview in the current issue of Out magazine, "I would probably list myself as mostly straight," the article's author editorializes that's so typical of the 21-year-old's generation.
In other words, if you're a young str8 dude and wanna be considered cool and in-the-know, a taste or two of gay sex is not only sanctioned, but recommended.
Used to be, any amount of gay sex made a str8 guy gay. But a more flexible generation can subscribe to Hutcherson's Hollywood Handout on Hip and say, "Aw, go on, a little buddy/buddy sex is rad, dude! And you’re still str8."
It's a new dawn, a new day. Where will it all end? Will Henry Cavil come looking for me? I know one thing. The traffic ain’t going both ways on this street. It’s great for str8 boys to dabble in gay sex. Just don't expect me to do any hitchin' on the het side.
Department of Conflicting Information:
On one huge billboard in the Castro Street MUNI station a hunk laments, "I never believed someone my age could die of AIDS." And another huge billboard assuages, "People with HIV who take their medication regularly reduce the risk of transmitting the virus by as much as 96 percent."
Well, which will it be? One seems to say, Batten down the hatches, AIDS is comin' to get ya, while the other says, Whatchya worryin' about, take your pills and you can ditch that condom. As I see more and more producers of porn both on-line and on DVD rushing into bareback, I'm distressed by these mixed messages. Help!
Department of Film Review:
You know how distressed I am that the b-word has been popularized into common usage. It's the equivalent toward women as nigger, fag, kike, etc, are toward others. So I was initially repelled from a recent AlternaDudes DVD with the title, Diary of a Bitch Bottom. Yet I go for the tattoos, ear plugs, mohawks and so forth that typify an alternadude. And the DVD was unusual in featuring one performer with a different partner in each of its five scenes.
Diary is an anthology of AlternaDude scenes young Tristan Mathews has filmed over the last couple years. I was curious to see him in alterna-porn, without the high gloss, less spontaneous set up of the many, many mainstream flicks he’s been in.
This collection has been sadly and misleadingly mistitled. There's nothing of the b--ch about Matthews. He’s actually rather affable. So much for a sensationalistic film title, which is correct only in the star's status as the film’s ongoing bottom.
The story line Tristan’s concocted—he gets a writer’s credit!—has him down in the dumps after a breakup. So he's taking an anti-depressant, with side affects of strange dreams and increased sex drive. So every evening after he confides in his diary that he saw some cutie at the gym or somewhere that day, he falls asleep, and dreams about said cutie. There's no attempt at making the dream seem dreamlike; the episodes are the standard, cold daylight loops you'd expect to see at a web site that’s trying hard (and succeeding) at not appearing too polished.
The camera work can be swoony, and the lighting unforgiving, with the lack of make-up revealing zits and all. And you can forget sets. The camera tries to convince us we're in differing locales by pointing toward the rumpled bed, the kitchen counter, or the battered couch, of a single extremely cluttered studio apartment. Imagine the haphazardly helter-skelter home of a sk8terboi.
But the location doesn't count so much as the action. It may not be distinguished, but it's not bad. Formulaic, but energetically and never mechanically performed. There's mutual kissing, after which Tristan gets rimmed, rides astraddle cock before getting it doggie style, and finally gulps some savory amounts of cum in each scene but one.
Hairy-chested Tristan's on the real-world side of cute; the box cover makes him look handsome. Two of his partners are a little older—well-built, shaved headed, lightly furred and succulently cocked Adam Russo, and uncut, sausage-dicked Alessandro Del Toro. Well-known Cliff Jensen's not as high-powered here as he's been elsewhere, but, hey, who's gonna complain—the dude's hot.
Even hotter is lean, sorta mean Jack Hammer, who not only gives good OCS (what a volcanic blaster!), but takes it, too. Finally, and new to me, is Adam Moon, who reminds me of the rocker formally known as Prince. Moon's skinny, but his dick isn’t. And he’s a little goofy/gawky, until sex mode clicks on. Then, the punky dude's got it goin' on. Except for when he calls Tristan "a fuckin' b--ch." That's considered hot sex talk in uninformed circles. Perhaps the news will trickle down. Moon redeems himself when his cum trickles down Tristan's throat.
A final note to author Mathews. When writing in your diary, you don't have to inform it, "It's me again, Tristan." Like, someone else is gonna be writing in your diary?