Leb BloGosphere’s Brand New Two

Two great additions to Lebanon’s gay blogosphere came to life last month -- two new blogs that will cover exciting and still unrevealed facets of our gay life in Beirut.

One is Karim’s Rainbow Experience, the blog of a teenager living in Beirut who sounds extremely motivated and courageous, and who’s got a lot to say about how it is to grow up gay in Lebanon nowadays, to come out of the closet in our society and affirm oneself so early on in life. Keep it up Karim, we at GiB (for one) are really eager to find out if, and how, gay Lebanon has changed for the upcoming generation.

Skim through drugs, swinging and other Beirut
excesses... to gay confessions on Page 14.

The other blog is that of a pioneer of gay activism in Lebanon, human rights militant and founder of Helem, Georges Azzi. For GiB, the new blog holds a high promise, that of shedding some light into the knots and bolts of LGBT advocacy, community and NGO work in Lebanon... which might also carry with it a powerful message for those of us who’ve been stuck for too long in the 'silent majority'.

With these two new up-and-comers, it may seem that 2010 is ushering a new trend in the Lebanese bloGosphere. Together we’re boosting the online presence of the Lebanese gay community, which can only make us stronger, make our voice louder and serve our case better…

…And it seems we’re getting the general public's interest and getting free publicity, too! Gosh, some of us just made it onto Beirut TimeOut’s “baddest” issue!


-- by Gib#2
(Photo courtesy of Beirut Boy)

Part 7/7: “Ya Bash!” – Lessons Learned

“Ya Bash!”

That was probably the sound I heard most often during my weeklong stay. The sound echoes on the floor anytime a detainee tries to get the guard’s attention, be it for a cigarette, for food, for a status check, or because some detainees are pulling up a fight.

No shutting up! Speak out like these flower burgeons
on a blossoming tree in Geitaoui

Turns out “Bash” comes from “Pacha” and dates back to the times of the Ottomans, who ruled Lebanon in the early 1900’s and to whom we owe much of our carceral system today. No wonder then that the system seemed so archaic seen from the inside.

Besides getting acquainted with Jail culture, Jail etiquette and Jail jargon (as mastered like no other by this underground rap band called “Irhab” from Roumieh), I also had enough time to digest quite a few lessons that I hope will keep me on the safe side in the future:

We live under a corrupt Justice system…

Yes, we already knew that, but as much as I’d heard about it before I was still shocked to see it at work from the inside. If you get arrested in Lebanon, the legal limit on detention time (up to 48 hours) without getting a hearing, exposing the charges and proofs against you or speaking with a lawyer, simply does not always apply. You can linger in for days and weeks before they even turn to your case, especially if you don’t take the proper steps to get help from the outside. And even more than in our society in general, socioeconomic class plays a huge role in the kind of treatment we get and whether our rights are secured or not.

… where you really need to have your ass covered

Getting help from the outside in such an emergency situation meant I had to involve my family into the details of my case. They in turn had to attempt anything and everything to get me out of there, like trying to call Someone who knows Someone or hiring a “good” lawyer – and making 2,000$+ readily available for it. Ideally, I would already have a lawyer’s contact that I would have called myself. Getting this kind of help is the only way out of the rotten structure, for the system’s so corrupt that one guy can make it all the way to Roumieh to serve a jail sentence, while for the same exact charge another guy might get out straight from the courthouse without even a hearing with the judge.

… where they won’t hesitate to intimidate you

During what probably added up to 4 hours of interrogations and filling out endless sheets of Q&As in my deposition, my interrogators added a number of twists here and there to my own version of the events, sugarcoating it at places especially the beating part. I ended up signing on a declaration that I did not entirely agree with. While this probably spared me some physical torture in Hbeich, some others’ interrogations did not go as softly as mine. As for mental pressure, I did have to cope with the humiliating remarks of some of the guards, and almost broke down on my first day in the basement of the courthouse in Baabda, the closest place to Hell on Earth I ever experienced. I was lucky I did not catch the eye infection that many of us were starting to get.

… where drugs can aggravate any other case

Urine tests seem to have become commonplace in the detention centers, the airport and other security checkpoints. They can test you for THC (cannabis), cocaine and morphine regardless of whether you are being arrested for a drugs-related issue or not. That a test comes out positive from smoking up in the last month or snoring a line in the last couple days, would aggravate any other case with the heavy charge of ‘drug consumption’ (ta3aati), a charge that remains on criminal records for 2 or more years. And that’s regardless of which kind of drug it was, how much of it, how long ago, if it was found on you at the time of arrest… and even what country you were in when you used it!

… where homosexuality is still considered a real crime

Yes there is a flourishing gay scene in Lebanon, yes Beirut is full of horny guys and gay sex is everywhere, yes Beirut boasts loads of gay friendly places from bars to clubs to hammams to cruising spots, you name it, it has it all... So much that we tend to forget at times that it also has Article 534 of the Constitution, the law that makes homosexuality illegal in Lebanon, a law we keep in mental denial like only we Lebanese know how to. Most of the time it seems like this law is collecting dust in some chief officer’s drawer, but yet in other instances like in my case (which may be exceptional, I don’t know) it seems like they just take it off-hold and use it sporadically, like a joker card they can pull out anywhere, anytime.

… and we need to do something about it!

Seven packs of cigarettes, seven days and seven nights later, looking like shit, smelling like shit and feeling like shit, I’m finally out and back home. Apart from the scars, it already feels like a bad dream and I could easily act as though nothing had happened, call it a bad week and slowly forget it – But some good friends are telling me that maybe it happened for a reason and I have to do something about it. So I decided to write it down on GiB, share it with the local organizations such as Helem and Human Rights Watch to support their upcoming report on police brutality, and consider filing a complaint. Was this a courageous or a suicidal thing to do, a good thing for me and with a positive impact on the community or another drop of sand in the Sahara, and do I have this freedom of speech in Lebanon today... I guess I’ll have to wait to find out!

-- By GiL. Photo by GiB#2.

Part 6/7 – My Own 12 Angry Lebanese

I met my 12 Angry Lebanese during a week’s time spent locked up in three different detention rooms, trying to stay clean, well fed, positive and friendly – maybe even trying to make the best out of it. Every day had its share of hellos and goodbyes as some of us went out and new people came in. We shared a tiny space, a disgusting toilet, junk food, personal stories. Solidarity between convicts is something that comes naturally and is touching at times – Not everyone had enough money for food, or relatives sending them supplies.

This one goes out to these 12 and to all the others, some of whom made it out before reaching prison, some others probably up in Roumieh by now. Let this series of portraits also be yet another standing ovation to Zeina Daccache for her most moving and inspiring work with “12 Angry Lebanese” – a tribute to the thousands of people living through the horrors of Lebanon’s jailing system day in and day out, whether they’re experiencing it first-hand (the prisoners) or second-hand (their relatives).



29 year-old Mazen whom I met over in the “Mores” floor. An average Joe, a good guy, Mazen fell to the exact same modus operandi that they used on me. He was the first catch for that night, I was the second. When I could finally open my mouth to speak past the first night, we found support in each other. He made it out in about 3 days because he was clean on the drug test.


40 year-old rich kid from Cairo and his girlfriend are speeding through the security check at the airport as they’ve started calling their names for boarding, carrying loads of Champagne from the Duty Free. But remains of coke in a straw which was cut in half and forgotten in a box of cigarettes, added a prison stay to the couple’s 5-day non stop Orchid/Skybar Beirut marathon.


17 year-old Mohammed from DaHiye gets caught with 114 carefully packed one-halves of Freebase. Says business has been good lately, and that he’s been making up to $12k a month. Now he’s absolutely certain that it's the militia running up his neighborhood that sold him off to that other gang who busted him. But Mo’s almost happy to know that his next stop is Roumieh: he’ll be joining his four older brothers who are already in, and who continue to do their business from within.

Zeina Daccache's theater play "12 Angry Lebanese"
and the related documentary: Two must-sees.

28 year-old Rami is in for the eighth time. Says the fourth day without heroin is the most critical, that the withdrawal symptoms are worst. His stomach won’t take in anything. He’s vomiting water. Rami knows all the guards by now, and does a great job at guessing which one of us is getting sent up to Baabda next. Rami has never done a proper rehab, only 8 prison stays. Each and every time after he got out, he’s gone back to H.


19 year-old Karim’s car gets searched over and over again at a checkpoint, as though they knew there was something. The hair of his two friends and his looked too crazy indeed not be hiding something. The cop finally finds a tiny piece of hash: it’s the leftovers of these university students’ first-joint-ever. The three friends came in knowing virtually nothing about this world, but got out a week later from what felt like a crash course in Criminology and Toxicology.


38-year old family man Salim is so coked up when he gets thrown into the room at 4am that his eyes are shining in the dark. We are 8 people in a 10m2 room trying to get some sleep, but he won’t stop talking to whoever seems to be awake. Salem’s stories are so hard to believe it’s almost funny, but there must be some truth to them as he did end up spending time in each of the Drugs floor, the Mores floor, and the Gambling floor.


80-something year-old Abou Mezher is brought down from his village somewhere up in the mountains still wearing his gardening clothes. He was arrested in his own garden where it turned out he’s been growing one marijuana plant next to each plant of tomatoes. He calls it l nabte shareefe (the Plant of Honour) and has been making a living off it for years, but that’s probably the end of his little family business.


21 year-old Johnny has been helping his entire village get through the hurdles of official exams and paperwork, by forging legal signatures and documents. He’s been doing it for years now and has become such an expert at printing and faking techniques, he might be headed for a big career. While his crime appeared to be pretty big in terms of social impact compared to some others’, he was the first one to come out and without even a hearing (da3wa).


15-year old Abboudi has been away from his house for weeks. He’s still too high on Rivotril and Benzoxyl when he gets picked up, that he’s unable to recall why he’s getting arrested this time around. Something to do with Abou Ali, his older brother from another mother and also his drug dealer. As his fiercest protégé, Ahmed likes to hang out with Abou Ali all the time, it feels so light and mellow when he’s around, and all that counts is he is with him now.


35 year-old Abou Ali is the Pablo Escobar of his district, but only for prescription pharma drugs. Over the 15 years of his 5 past imprisonments, he has accumulated so many scars on his body that – by his own words – he looks like a zebra. Based on jail experience he’s found self mutilation to be the best way to keep the staff away. Abou Ali doesn’t mind pissing outside the hole despite the smell, and telling Hassan to clean after him.


16-year old Palestinian boy Hassan looks after everyone, keeps the room tidy and organized, even cleans the “bathroom” after Abou Ali, spreads the good mood. Hassan says he shouldn’t be here, that they’re trying to make him admit of raping a mute child from his neighborhood, and that he has no clue where they got this crazy idea from.


And last but not least…

50-something year old Umm Omar, mother of four, mother of all convicts, the only feminine presence around. She kept us well fed throughout the day and smoking cigarettes that she would smuggle in for us. Umm Omar makes a decent living as the cleaning lady to the floor, and also gets bonus reselling us goodies from the snacks and stores around Bliss street… at 50% percent premium.


(all stories as told, names were changed)

--by GiL. Photo by GiB#2

Part 5/7 – From Remorse to Revolt

“I did my time… time and again…”

The line from Queen’s “We Are the Champions” is in repeat in my head for about 36 hours by now, and I still haven’t talked with anyone yet it's like they forgot about me in there. Oh yes I did tell the guard “No” when he came asking if someone wanted to use the single phone call we're allowed to. Of course they would be the ones making the call, and I can't trust them talking to my parents on my behalf.

I’m taking on me.

"I’m doing time for all the times I’ve done similar things before. For every time I’ve taken these kinds of risks, even greater ones sometimes. For every time I’ve had sex in the car, for every time I’ve smoked a J in the car. For all those times I crossed fingers at the darak checkpoint, high as a kite."

"I’m doing time for every time I’ve succumbed to each one of these two vices of mine."

The voice in my mind is jumping three languages but it’s saying the same thing over and over:

“I’m a fag and a junkie. Ana Loote w 7eshesh. Je suis un pédé et un drogué”.

I’m about to get punished for both vices, at once. Two in One. I’ve been playing with the devil for too long, as though to force this destiny, and look what’s happened. "You ruined your life. You happy now?”

Still taking on me. The hours seem endless, the mental maturbation is becoming unbearable.

Until finally hours later at the sound of the early morning adaan, the only indication of time since last night, my tears suddenly go dry – And those would be my last tears until I hugged my parents a week later outside the courthouse in Baabda.

For in a moment of clear consciousness, I started to wonder:

“Wait a minute here. Forget the drugs for a second and try to keep it down to the facts. What did I just get arrested for, what the hell was my crime?  The only real facts are: 1) I picked up a guy from the street in a cruising area and 2) I admitted to him that I MAY have sexual intercourse with him because I made it sound LIKELY I’ve had gay sex in the past.

That’s it.

There were NO talks whatsoever about money, which would make me liable under sex-for-money charges. There was NO sexual contact between me and the guy whatsoever, which would make me condemnable for having gay sex in public. There were NO drugs involved at that point.

It’s clear to me today: To put a long story short,

On a random night of 2010 in Beirut, I was ARRESTED FOR BEING GAY.


--by GiL. Photo by GiB#2 from a bookstore in Paris

Pink Dollars

Beware people of the world! GiBs are waging a war: beating Tel Aviv as the gay capital of the Middle East.


According to an article posted in the business section of L'Orient-le-Jour, our local French daily, Beirut is gaining notoriety as a touristic destination for gays from around the world. Can you imagine the potential impact on Lebanon’s economy? And do you realize how efficient this war can be? Drop the guns already. It’s time we compete economically and socially.

This other post provides interesting statistics as well as an overview of the rivalry for the Pink title.


While Tel Aviv offers a somewhat tolerant environment towards gays, GiB lifestyle is mostly underground. This secretive aspect makes everything sexier, sassier and spices things up a notch.


The Tel Aviv Tourism Association recently launched a campaign to market the city to gay communities around the world in a campaign called “Tel Aviv Gay Vibe.” How soon should we expect the Beirut version?

Part 4/7 – Hbeich It Is

I’m now in the back seat of their car, what’s left of my T-shirt red with blood. We’re finally having a conversation but I still have doubts they’re truly from the police as they’re saying. I’m trying to behave as a good boy, and allude to the fact that I’m willing to give them “anything they want”, but not getting a clear answer.

I’m getting driven through Beirut, and I soon figure out I’m headed to the Hbeich detention center – the infamous Hbeich that I’d heard so many horrors about during college.

Hbeich's floor arrangement – Ground floor is 

'Storage house for the Drugs department’ (!!), 

'Mores' on 2nd, ‘Drugs’ on 4th, ‘Gambling’ on 5th,

‘Civil Matters' on 7th

Up two floors and into a hallway, they make me take off my pants and confiscate them (I later learned it’s because I could use the strings that serve as a belt to hurt myself). Then they make me strip off naked and do ten sit ups, in case I’m hiding something in there. Finally they push me into a cell where two other guys are asleep, in that unbreathable smell of urine.

Hours later, my head is still buried under my shirt as I’m desperately trying not to breath the smell. Occasionally I stick my nose through the tiny window opening in the door, which serves both as the only contact with the outside world (them) and the only air ventilation for the room.

I feel humiliated and miserable like never before, and still don’t realize what’s going on. It must be around 5 am when life takes yet another strike at me. Between two sobs, it sounds so quiet outside that I can hear the sound of my car coming out from the street: it’s this unmistakable noise that it’s been doing when I drive it at low speed.

Oh great. Now they’ve brought my car over. They’re gonna search it down. They’re gonna find the little piece of hashish I forgot in the hand compartment. I’m gonna be in for drugs too. I’m gonna be in months. Someone please help me die. I burst into tears.

--by GiL. Photo by GiB#2

Part 3/7 - Abduct a GiB

Him: “Make a right here. Keep going. Now park here this is a good spot.”

Me: “But there’s cars that pass by this street!”

Him: “Don’t worry they can’t see anything if your headlights are off.”

Me: “But dude THEIR lights are on, so THEY can see us.”

Him: “Don’t worry here’s good”, he says as he lights up a cigarette. “Just turn off your lights”

A guy comes out of the shade and is now approaching my car from across the street.

Me: “Funny looks like this guy’s coming to pee next to the car he hasn’t seen us here!” I say in way of joke.

But the guy outside keeps getting closer and closer to the car. He’s now speeding up his pace.

The Slap - from an Amsterdam Graffiti

[PAUSE HERE] Of the whole experience following what is about to happen, this is the one moment that still gives me chills today: It is the precise moment when I figured out what was going on, while it was too late to take off.

“Oh no please don’t tell me this is what I’m thinking, please don’t tell me this is happening to me”, I think to myself. Next thing I know the guy outside is grabbing my shirt through the window and giving me my first slap in the face. The one sitting next to me, who for a second had pretended he was unbuttoning his jeans, is now lending him a hand.

The slapping is non-stop and getting more intense as I start screaming, screaming as loud as I can. In my head and as far as I could tell from these guys dressed in civil and from the way they set me up, there is no doubt I am getting abducted and/or stolen my car and things. I’ve heard this scenario more than once before.

The two guys have dragged me out of my car by now. I throw myself on the floor. They’re trying to get me inside a white Toyota with a civil plate, they won’t stop hitting and I won’t stop screaming. They’re trying to quiet me down and tell me something but I can’t hear anything. There’s cars that pass by every minute or so, but they seem to ignore my screaming so bad that it really feels like I’m in a nightmare.

One of them is finally able to handcuff one of my hands. If they get the second one on, I’m done. I must resist. I’m fighting back as much as I can, I even bite one of the guys as hard as I can. It must have been about 20 slaps in the face so far, I’m completely detached from by body at this point, my whole body feels numb. I can taste my own blood but I still find the time to check with my tongue if my teeth are still in place.

And then comes the grand finale, a proper Hollywood-style punch in the eye. Within a split second my eye feels swollen and blind. I finally surrender to my two aggressors.

--by GiL. Photo by GiB#2

Part 2/7 – Ambush a GiB

The man standing on the curb looks like he’s coming straight out of Mr Lebanon's cast. Tall, muscular, handsome, and just standing there, at night, by himself.

I’m on my way back home but wait, this guy looks hot as fcuk. Plus this is the Freeway cruising area so he has to be up for some fun. Wow he’s even giving me the look now, that unmistakable look.

It’s kinda weird though, I could swear this guy's Lebanese. Everything about him. And that makes him the only Lebanese guy around here not cruising in his car: The sidewalk is the turf of foreign workers turned rentboys.

There’s something mysterious and hot about this guy. I’ve got to figure him out. Let alone I could use a hunk like this before bed. I pull over the car and stop right next to him.

- Me: Hey there, how are you?

- Him: Good and you… what’s up?

- Me: Nothing much. Just driving around…

- Him: Just driving around eh?

- Me: Yup heading back home. But then I saw you!

- Him: You wanna fcuk or get fcuked?

- Me (thinking: guy's fast!): Umm neither I think… just go for a ride and see what happens.

- Him: You like to scuk?

- Me: Yeah I guess that part could happen. Listen do you want to come up or not?

- Him: Ok I’m going to walk back this way and you’ll pick me up from over there.

- Me: But why from over there? Just hop in here it’s much more quiet!

- Him: No, I want people to see me get in the car with you.

- Me (thinking: WTF?!): Fine, let me pick you up from over there then”

I drove forward into the light and picked him up.

How is it I could ignore all the signs, how is it I couldn’t see that everything about this guy was getting weirder by the minute, I still can’t figure….

... I guess the fish-hook must have been way, way too pretty and the fish (me) must have been way, way too horny.

-- by GiL. Photo by GiB#2 in Paris.

It Gets Better | by Art Hake

Something’s been messing my mind. This epidemic of teen suicides in the US, involving kids who were taunted for their sexuality and then chose to end their lives in order to escape the bully. Four independent incidents in a month do not label as an epidemic, thankfully, but I hope we can agree that it’s four times more than acceptable. Some of the kids were not even sexually active yet; they were different. Some stronger kids called them “fag” or “sissy” and hit them. They became frequent victims of groups. They got cornered. They were lost. And they couldn’t take it anymore. 

The sad part is, if enough light is shed on the topic, I’m sure we can come up with darker numbers.


As a result of low media exposure and total inertia from authorities, the “It Gets Better Project” was founded. And things did get better. At least for the movement. Joel Burns’s emotional speech, a city councilman from Texas, was streamed on YouTube more than 2 million times. Ellen DeGeneres featured a special on her show. How cliché! And President Obama raised his eyebrows. But most importantly, hundreds of individuals from around the globe uploaded amateur videos of their own “it gets better” experiences on the net, facing their videocams from their bedrooms, voicing hope and support to the confused youth. I can’t get enough of watching these films. Google them! The Google Employees’ video is not bad at all either.


Being a sexually-confused teen is no easy job, especially in Beirut. Hell, being Lebanese is no easy job! Justin Aeberg. Billy Lucas. Cody Barker. Asher Brown. Seth Walsh. Raymond Chase. Tyler Clementi. All gone. How many Tonis, Abdos, Ahmeds and Alis were bullied for being GiBs? To be honest, we don’t hear of too many scary stories. Beside a fishy double death this summer, I do not recall of any major GiB news headline lately. I guess these things are kept within intimate circles, away from social scrutiny. Never underestimate the fear of shame.


We hear stories or rumors or both. Probably both. But not on the news. We’re not worthy of being mentioned. We don’t exist! But we’re targeted. By jokes. By law. By practice. By habit. By norms. By local gods. By locals. By ignorance.


Our strongest feature as a society is our ability to bond with each others and develop social networks. They replace support groups and LGBT-friendly associations. They also cause wars, sometimes, but they do keep us away from dying old in total solitude. However, in most cases, what else do we have but ourselves?


These videos refreshed bad memories. I was so fucking lucky for an unbelievable family and for the luxury of a decent education. I was granted good health and an agreeable lifestyle. Despite everything that was offered to grow up normally, I couldn’t escape those bumps on the road. I was different; I tried hard not to show it. The bullying was acceptable: it’s more or less what every kid goes through. We’re big on asserting who has bigger balls. And some occasional verbal abuse did sting. But it was nothing compared to my incomprehension of my feelings and urges. At first I refused my body’s choices. I will spare you the emotional rollercoaster I went trough. But god what a ride! You’re packed, ready to go and things still go bad. With the challenges of school and friendships, the shooting hormones, the identity crisis, the one-way infatuations, the fear of reaching out, the terror of being caught… you’re in deep to your knees. Not to mention the burden of an injured country with bad odds. University days were softer due to a new level of independence. I just wish I had GiB friends to talk to back then, they would have spared me discovering myself through creepy sexual encounters fetched on the Internet. Ambushed by diseases and sexual deviants, this is how most of us start our GiB career. When I finally accepted myself, I was an adult already. But time was on my side. I met incredible people. I lived in a happy city for a college year. I met the man of my dreams. I came out to friends and friends came out to me. I don’t live in a GiB ghetto, I am a hardworking Lebanese man with a career and big hopes. And friends. I love my life despite all its imperfections. I’m motivated. I want more of life.


This is my little contribution to the Project. Look at us, in tiny Beirut, thrown like unwanted puppies in the forest. Things will get better.

Part 1/7 – Let’s Go Get Some Gays!

It’s about 10 pm and it sounds quiet on the Adaab floor of makhfar Hbeich (1). The convicts must be asleep. The voice of a taHarre (2) breaks the silence of the interrogation room, a small room with a minimalist décor done in typical Lebanese Bureaucracy style – an empty desk, two chairs, a rusty file cabinet and no computer. Except it now boasts a camera, supposedly imposed by Human Rights following a morbid scandal of torture interrogations last year:

The entrance to the Hbeich detention center next to AUB

- “Boss we only have one guy in number 2 tonight, Boss. The stinky old Syrian guy. And he’s leaving tomorrow!”

- “Hmm that’s not good… Alright let’s go get some gays, then. We’ll do it as usual, you stand, I hide”, the Boss, a robust family man and former torture interrogator, says with a smile.

- “Yeah of course Boss, I’m the good-looking one around here!”, the young and handsome guy says laughing.

- “Yeah that much is true kid… remember I’m the one with a wife and two kids!”



1- Adaab: the floor dedicated to ‘Mores’ in the infamous Hbeich police detention center next to AUB
2- taHarre: undercover police agent in Lebanon - they dress in civil

(Conversation Fictional).
-- by GiL. Photo by GiB#2

GiL’s Wake Up Call

GiL comes to GiB with a seven-post series retracing his experience being arrested in Lebanon under charges of homosexual activity, followed by charges of drug use.

Lucky he took only a week for it.

Only it takes more than a week to recover. GiL decided to write it down to help himself move on from this dreadful experience.

As a testament of GiB’s full support for GiL, for the next couple weeks GiB will be the outlet for his story. A tribune for his cause. A loudspeaker for his call.

A call to those like Diamond Walid who in her recent piece in the Guardian “Gay, straight, or just Lebanese?” pretend that “the anti-homosexuality law is no longer really applied” in Lebanon: sorry my jewel but… go check your sources.

But GiL’s wake up call is actually two-fold:

- One to the local GiB community saying: “Stay Careful and Hang in There”,

- and the other to the rest of the world out there: “Beirut Ain’t Gay Heaven on Earth, Dude”.

… Two messages that were well relayed by Helem at the IGLTA (gay travel) conference that was held in Beirut two weeks ago .

Now without further ado… the seven-post series by GiL.

- by GiB#2. Photo off the Net.

Superfagadelicious!

It might seem like ages ago in Beirut standards, but the Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious party two Saturdays ago, is one that’s worth stopping back at for a minute.

When the trendy gadget shop in Saifi commissioned an as-GiBfriendly-as-it-gets bunch of folks, to help it throw a theme party to advertize its brand, the result was simply brilliant. Litterally.

As the colorful, stylish and energetic crowd, quite mixed really but with way-above-average GiB attendance – a crowd that looked similar in some ways, but fresher and healthier than today’s Cotton Candy by an order of magnitude…

…Took over this amazing outdoor venue busting a 180 seaview from the rooftop of an abandoned sugar refinery on the Zalka seafront amidst splashes of artwork, candy and goodies all over the place, with a full-fledged Lomogrpahy photo exhibition featuring some pretty good pieces… and with mandatory glitter for everyone

…Moving to eclectic music by DJ’s Caline, Djette (Leila) and the 5-hour closing set by duo-de-choc Richie and Georges (pictured) playing all kinds of 90’s / 2000’s ear-candy tunes that kept the crowd going and going till the bar went dry, the glitter got sticky, the free water bottles moutain eroded, and the crowd got gibbier…

And then…

I did something I’d never done before ‘in front of everyone’ in Lebanon, not even in a shady corner in Acid. There, out on the dancefloor on this nicest pied-dans-l’eau terrace and surrounded by the cutest things in Beirut...
… I Kissed a Boy.

And I Liked It!

Only that three days, four showers and another one-time-guy later… I still had glitter on.


- Post and photos by GiB#2.

GiB | Celebrates and Calls on Contributors

The golden number is 10. GiB was born on November 10 last year. It’s 2010 now, GiB is 10 months old. And incidentally, GiB readership just crossed the line of 10 thousand unique visitors.

Dear readers, it’s about time GiB thanked you all for your readership and support. And to celebrate the occasion, based on some of our latest-greatest Google Analytics statistics, please allow GiB to bestow upon you our GiB Reader Awards!

But first, GiB wants to make a call out loud to potential GiB contributors out there to consider taking part in GiB. Your stories, your opinions on gay life in Beirut matter to GiB and we want to hear them and post them, so do get in touch!

Now without further ado, the 2010 GiB Reader Awards (presented by Lady Gaga)...

The GiB-In-The-Making Award goes out to…

All of you readers who emailed GiB with questions on things to do and places to go, as you were contemplating your trip to Lebanon (usually also Syria), whether you ended up coming or not. Now tell us… did gay Beirut live up to your expectations? Well guess what, they just closed down Acid on us!

The Lebanese Porn Award goes out to…

The 30+% of readers who landed on GiB via the listings on GayDemon and bestmaleblogs, the two popular online gay directories based in the U.S. that are used mostly for porn: Sorry to disappoint you folks, but GiB ain’t showing Lebanese hunks with huge dikcs anytime soon… and you don’t have to apologize for spending merely 30 seconds on average on GiB!

The Adventurous GiB Award goes out to…

 The 150+ readers who reached GiB by googling “gay sauna beirut”, “beirut gay sauna”, “gay bath beirut” , “hammam al nuzha gay”, “beirut bathouse gay”, “hammam tripoli gay” and came across the post Up for a Scrub? So tell us guys did you end up trying the sauna? How was it??

The Keep the Faith Award goes out to…

The UNIQUE VISITORS from Azerbaijan, from Zambia, from Tajikistan, from Uzbekistan, from Cameroon, from Mongolia and from Nepal (please do tell your friends!) and to the UNIQUE VISITORS from China and Cuba (is GiB banned there or something?)

The Intellectual GiB Award goes out to…

The 400+ readers who opened the page for the post “Arab Naïveté and the Silk Cocoons”, GiB’s single-most read post according to the stats. I wonder, is it because of the catchy title, or are you guys really into this kind of weird metaphors and allegories?

The Curious GiB award goes out to…

The 2000+ visitors who found GiB by googling things like “gayinbeirut”, “gib beirut”, “gay beirut blog”  or “gays in beirut gibs”, and who spent more than 5 minutes on average reading GiB’s stuff. Way to see it in action, Beirut word-of-mouth really works wonders!

The Foreskin Attentive Award goes out to…

The ~60 readers who landed on GiB by googling things like “are lebanese men circumcised”, "are lebanese men generally circumcised", “lebanese cut or uncut”, “circumcised in Beirut”, “christian circumcision beirut”, or “lebanese circumcision”, only to find a mitigated answer in the post r u c/uc?. Question to the reader who googled “lebanese karam circumcised”: now tell us… did he turn out to be cut or uncut?

The Nosy GiB Award goes out to…

The 25 readers who googled “hamed sinno gay”, “hamed from mashrou3 leila gay?”, “hamed leila gay” or even “hamed sinno is homosexual”, and probably went on reading Party in a Steel Factory or Tattooed All Over. Now tell us… did you ever find out? Are you sure? Sure sure sure? But wait… isn’t he also the guy who waved a rainbow flag on stage at Byblos in front of major politicians, for the first time in Lebanon’s history (Photo)?

And last but not least…

The BFF GiB Award goes to…

Our folks in the online/blogger community in Lebanon, GiB's fiercest advertisers, supporters and commentators, to Dani, LGBT Monitor, GiAD, Ra’fat, Beirut Boy and all the others… Seriously, it would not be the same without you!

 … If GiB can be proud of one thing today, it's got to be that it's doing a fairly decent job taking part in The Gay Electronic Intifada of Lebanon ... but gosh how we hate the sound of that word!

GiB#3 | Eid Greetings And The Masks That Come With Them

Mask 1:

So you’re sitting down, paying attention not to glue your legs too close to each other or cross them over each other in your favorite royal pose. Just keep them “ajar” enough to air your balls (do refer to the description of the balls in the earlier post). This, my friend(s) is what we call: “a3det rjeil”, the sitting of the men.

Tonight is the night your endurance with you daddy’s TV programs will be put to the test to see how much attention you’ve been paying attention. Tonight, the Sitting of the Men will talk about the politics they saw, the religions they condemn, the economy they loathe and the women they aspire to touch. All those topics wouldn’t have found their way into the “sitting” had it not been on the Mecca of TV stations amongst those men: Al Arabiyya, Al Jazeera, the Lebanese channels. Between each outburst of either unanimous agreement or individual discrepancies, you find yourself nodding at this and shaking your head on that. But of course you wouldn’t exhibit such opinions if you weren’t directly or indirectly asked to pronounce your thoughts on the matter, be it wih a sudden stare from the “family friend” or a verbal permission from your father to speak that comes out as, “don’t you think so, my son?” signaling the time for you to support his opinion, regardless whether you agree with it or not. If you happen to presume that you know better and would like to add in your wit to the argument at hand, and it just so happens that it is not in conjunction with the ruling mentality, then your father would sadly admit that you’re ignorant, while his “family friends” would console him ever so gently that you’re just too young to understand. And “god burn America for ruining his brains”.

If the men decide to play cards or backgammon, then you’re to follow them, even if you don’t have a player’s seat or you don’t necessarily smoke. Do remember that second-hand smoking effects do not exist in this blessed gatherings, so don’t busy your health-conscious self with these insignificant details. And anyway, the clouds of smoke will switch you off in 3 minutes flat. So you’re in safe hands. You’re bored and you lost interest with the games? Then eavesdrop at what the women on the other side of the Salon are gossiping about, but do not even dare to join in the discussion. Just sit, smile courteously, cheer when your father wins and grin if he loses (or rush to clean his ashtray and get him a cleaner one). Sit and wait for the mixed nuts to come, followed with the a combination of either Pepsi, Miranda, Seven up and mixed fruit cocktail drinks. And wait patiently for the cakes that were bought from the closest patisserie. This, my friend(s) will be the height of your entertainment. After the sugar rush is gone, the yawning syndrome governs the room, your mom gives a “habibi, let’s go because I think our little daughter is on the internet and not asleep as we think she is” look. Your dad excuses himself by getting up, after which you’d have to mirror him and shake hands with the guests one after the other, in the same order as he did.

Mask 2:

You sit amongst the men who define their sex by the number of children they helped procreate and the throng of women they fantasize to share their seeds and fluids with. You think to yourself, “but I like men, why am I listening to this”?

My friend(s), I don’t think such conversations should bother us because we don’t relate to them. Personally, they bother me because they don’t add any intellectual value to my being. But that’s about it.

In such gatherings, I think to myself: why am I going through this? One possible answer is because I need to show that I am supporting my father. I am whom he will entrust his name to be passed onto his heir. I am who will bring this heir to this life (there is a funny pun in here which I’d like to highlight: the pronunciation of “heir” and “ayr” is identical somehow). I have to be part of these gatherings so that his friends won’t look at him in sympathetic camaraderie, as if wanting to say, “your train is gone and you’re all alone now. Your name will never be procreated”. My presence fuels his hope. My presence silences their doubts. My presence kills me. And yet, I am to sit smiling, grateful that I have such lovely parents (and they are lovely, loving and adorning) who bestow on me a good living. I am to sit there answering questions that neither change my life nor the course of life outside those walls. I am to sit there accepting the sugar-filled, toxin-intoxicated drinks and swallow them in gratitude of the unparalleled hospitality I am receiving. I glance at my mother every now and then. She glances back at me with eyes of pride, but clouded with stares of concern. Stares that want to say, “I know what you’re going through”, but instead translate to, “your father loves you and I’m proud of you for getting along with him, finally”.

I look away, so that I may continue arguing about politics which affect nothing but my travel plans, religions which, should I decide to follow them, save me from nothing but further criticism of my choices, and people whom I will never cross paths with. All for the sake of proving that my parents have raised me well. That I have “chosen” to abide to their beliefs because I have the common sense to see they are the common sense amongst the rubble of Man.
 
 
(Also on http://gayinabudhabi.blogspot.com/. Photo by GiB#2 of a shop in Badaro)

GiB#3 | Dress to Impress: Eid Machismo Tips

So it’s Eid. And the string of family visits is endless. I endure all the “3a2belak”, “nefra7 mennak”, “wayn bint el 7aleil” and “I have the perfect woman for you. Fresh from secondary school” comments with a mere nod of the head, smile on the face and the usual “I’m still young”, “I haven’t found the right person yet”, “I am following my uncles footsteps and will marry when I’m 35” replies. Ever so eloquently, seeking approval between each response from my father sitting nervously at the edge of his standard couch, hoping I won’t disappoint him with one of my “western” ideals responses in front of his sisters and brothers; those very same brothers and sisters who boast to their brother, my father, about what new cusswords their grandchildren are learning to call them with. All this is customary routine, regardless of any religious holiday or family event. The challenge is when it’s out of the family circle.

And so, again, it’s Eid and after the relatives come the ever-dwindling list of family friends. This will prove more challenging than relatives because now the image is crucial. The preparations start with choosing what to wear. It has to be something that, if it doesn’t convey my real age, should preferably make me look older. Because, as wise straight Arab men from Abdel Nasser era would say, “the older you look, the wiser”. How to accomplish this task? You start with the size: select something that is at least 2 size bigger than your size. Wearing an XS size to show off your biceps would gain you a “take off your little sister’s tank top and dress like men do” comment. You think: “but see, muscles = manhood!” and he think: “this tightness makes you look younger and effeminate”. So, my two-cent worth of advice, skip le drama and abide to the above rule. And the rest which will shortly follow.

After deciding to choose the desired size (usually hidden in the lost corners of your closet) make sure to pick a formal black shirt and matching formal pants. EXACTLY MATCHING. Suzy Menkes of NYT Fashion would gasp at the notion, but it is a life saver. Just don’t be creative. Think, “oh, Grandfather would’ve loved this”, take a deep breath and put them on. Let me not forget the shades of colours preferred for such occasions. They could range from pitch black to ash gray or from dark brown to khaki beige. White is obscene unless it is a traditional Emirati dishdash (jallabiyya), because white “make you look younger”. The shoes definitely black and whatever colour palette you decide to wear from the above dashing menu, make sure you’re wearing either white socks or socks that match either the EXACT shade of your shirt or the EXACT shade of your pants. Any other attempt to be creative would be shunned as “obscene and mbahdal”. Unless you’re wearing a suit, your shirtsleeves should be rolled up to show masculinity (thickness of arms) and adulthood (buttoning your sleeves with no tie and jacket is considered to be childish and out of kinder-garten uniform manuals). Shoes should most certainly be either coal-black or chocolate brown. Leather in most cases, but suede may be accepted if the texture miraculously matches your trousers.

Before you sprint out of your room spreading your legs 20 inches apart to simulate the feeling of having enlarged balls due to lack of sex and abundance of seafood stored in your groin, waiting impatiently to burst out, don’t forget to spray yourself with a classic perfume. Classic means spicy and heavy. Nothing subtle. Or else, your delicate swiff will be a tell-all.

Done? Now, walk out of the room and look for mom. Mom gives you the nod of approval to go and seek dad’s opinion. Dad looks you up and down. Still not uttering a word, you should know that he wants to see how snug the trousers are on your ass, so pretend as if you’re walking away and save him the embarrassment of asking you to give him a 360-degrees exhibit. As you walk away (slowly, of course) the approval will sprout out from his mouth sometimes so reluctantly, as if he was waiting to catch you with red-handed, but you’ve managed to out-smart him.

Stay tuned tomorrow to know all about carrying out a conversation with straight men 2.5 times your age that seem to have nothing better in life but to evaluate how capable you are to carry your father’s name through your blessed seed that will conceive an ardently waiting egg. Somewhere in a remote village.

(Photos off the Net)

GiB#2 | Religious Homophobes

Dr Laura Schlesinger is an observant Orthodox Jew from the U.S., who sadly enough also runs a radio show. She recently stated that "homosexuality is an abomination and cannot be condoned under any circumstance". In support of her opinions, Dr Laura quoted statements from the religious book by Leviticus.

I looked up what "cannot be condoned" means. It means it "cannot be overlooked", "cannot be forgiven". Thank you Dr Laura for the enlightenment. Also for spreading homophobia. I hope you can read through my sarcasm though, for what I really mean is "shut the fcuk up you little whore, and I hope ALL your sons and daughters turn out gay".

Hate mails put aside, today a friend forwarded me this thoughtful and well documented response to Dr. Laura, signed by Dr. Kauffman. This must-read is not just HILARIOUS, it also happens to make quite logical arguments. It teaches us that if someone waves a book at you as a means to attack you, don't just look away in shame or disdain, instead, why not open that book and chances are you'll find many reasons to wave the same book back at them!

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law.

I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination ... End of debate.

I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of Menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination, Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle-room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I'm confident you can help.

Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Your adoring fan.

James M. Kauffman, Ed.D. Professor Emeritus, Dept. Of Curriculum, Instruction, and Special Education University of Virginia

(Photo off the Internet)

GiB#2 | Eurotrip Goodie Bag

My friends are finally back from their month-long Eurotrip… True they left out poor GiB#2 behind, however their “Please Welcome Us Back” goodie bag was full of wonders:

- a sexy military-green fishnet thong that looks like it was stolen off a German gay porn movie set – Guys are you serious I should try it on?? Please tell me it's meant as a joke...

- an adorable metal figurine of a Tom of Finland-type hunk with a huge boner, likely hand-painted by some retired gay dude sitting in the boudoir of his sex den, somewhere in this all-gay mediterranean beatchtown.

- last but not least, a bottle of top-notch Jungle Juice LEATHER CLEANER supposedly headache-free and with the mention “Do Not Inhale”. Fine I admit this one is not really a gift since I actually asked for it… you know there’s this stain on my leather jacket…

… Gosh can a goodie bag get any gayer than this?!

It makes me realize yet again how deprived we GiBs are over here …Will they ever open a real sex shop in Lebanon?

(Photo taken on a Beirut balcony)

GiB#2 | Play That Glowstick

Finally. At last. They invented it. From now on, I can follow the light and never, ever lose it in the dark again.

(Photo taken on the Jounieh hignway)

History in the Making | by Art Hake

Once upon a time, on a beautiful shore of the Mediterranean, a group of men and women installed their little brick houses and called it home. They soon got bored thus thought of a way to better communicate. They invented the alphabet and developed the first sea port. Since they didn’t always agree on what to say and ended up fighting a bit, some went off to faraway places, creating little colonies around the Mother sea: Nice, Ibiza, Larnaca, Malta, Carthage, Palermo, etc. fetching gold, turquoise and slaves in exchange of cedar wood and Tyrian purple while identifying good vacation spots for future generations. Those who stayed opened fish restaurants and got screwed by most tourists and visiting neighbors.

The women were so gorgeous; they drew attention from kings and princes around, dragging the cities into endless wars.

Their relatives across the globe kept on sending aid and visiting from time to time, but like you’d get overwhelmed by a creepy old aunt in your family that wouldn’t die, visit intervals got longer and longer, until centuries passed by. Guilt feeling left few open channels but nonetheless, Phoenicians of Lebanon had to count on nobody but themselves.

Nowadays, you’d find Phoenicians somewhat happier with their lives, despite the fact that not much has changed. Their commerce is growing, they have no more wood to sell but their mastering of the languages makes them amazing negotiators of whatever-it-is-you-need, women manage to grow even bigger boobs, they still import slaves and continuously get screwed by their neighbors (although to be honest, I think they’re starting to enjoy this).

The fish restaurants are quite good, which tempts tourists and descendants of their diaspora to come back.

But some things did change. Our natural resources are now limited to sun, sea, liquor, parties, sex & drugs. With the extinction of the murex, origin of the purple color, the disappearance of the green forests, the pollution of the blue sea, the melting of the white snows, the place is threatened of grimness. We need to bring back the glee. Happy people from around the world unite, come in and spread the rainbow, which is also a perspective of the peace flag, the only flag we believe in. Berytus is your next destination!

GiB#2 | Trippin’ on Acid

I was delighted a few weeks ago to come across two really cool blogs from fellow GiB bloggers somewhere out there in the blogosphere. I don't know how else I would have found them if it weren't for LGBTMonitor’s real-time monitoring/twitting of everything LGBT pertaining to Lebanon, as well as +961's eclectic Lebanese Blogosphere Weekly Link Roundups.

When I visited them, both blogs had a recent post about our (in)famous yet (un)avoidable, our longstanding survivor Acid Nightclub. When you're talking about gay Lebanon, there is no way around Acid indeed.

I thought I'd repost some excerpts from these posts, to illustrate how widely opinions about this place vary in the GiB community. In fact, Acid is at the same time the must-go-to weekend party spot for some, a big no-no for others, with everyone in between including the regulars, the occasionals, and the after-party Acid-goers. As for gay tourists, the ones I went with once really loved it calling it ‘exotic’ for the GiB belly-dancing and ‘incredible’ for being located in the middle-east.

As a GiB who stands somewhere in the middle of this wide spectrum of opinions, by going there every few months over the last ten years, I have seen the place change so drastically over time, that I have come to think that it's the one place that best embodies recent GiB history, and carries its timeline, more than any other place in Lebanon.

... From back when it opened in the 1990’s as a wanna-be-hip straight club, boasting the biggest bar (and Buddha statue) in the country, to when it started turning GiB competing with nearby Orange Mécanique, when it closed down for some time, then re-opened as super-GiB-friendly, through the then-frequent police raids…

... From back when you would see GiBs by the dozens over-doing the effeminate thing wearing make-up and matching handbags, and from there all the way up to the relative carelessness and ‘normality’ of the crowd today… With its see-and-be-seen and don’t-ask-don’t-tell attitudes, its crowd of guys of all ages coming from every region in Lebanon and the nearby countries, with its commercial electronic music and its traditional Arabic set around 2am... Acid has a little bit of everything for everyone (or not) but it definitely remains a major landmark for gay Lebanon.

Now without further ado…

Gary from The G Life speaking of another remarkable dating disaster (We'll both get there Gary, I promise!)

“ I found myself in front of Acid when we had agreed to go elsewhere. Now for those who haven’t been to Acid before… It’s a nightclub that is still stuck in 1999, including the green laser and bad music that goes well with the trashy wall décor; although I doubt the people who frequent Acid take the time to notice such things.”

...And Boy Breathing Beirut in his amazing piece “A Night in Acid” (Keep it up GuyMeetsWorld, I'm loving it!)

“ My friend’s friend goes there to have sex with seven strangers in the parking lot. He blew every single one of them.

Bitches go there to practice the new dance moves they saw in the latest Lady Gaga video.

Trannies go there to party and feel comfortable in their own skin, shaking their derrières for the world to see.

Zuhair goes there to get some pussy. He thinks at least one of those bisexual women would be interested in boning him.

[…]

But you don’t go to Acid to find love.

You don’t go to Acid to build friendships.

You do go to Acid to have a good time, dance, scream, sing, jump around, act crazy, dirty dance with a few friends (or strangers), drink your ass off, run into a High School classmate who you didn’t know was gay, get a couple of numbers, have a one night stand, and of course, gossip at the ‘ugly’ boy next to you cause you know he’s currently dating your ex.”

(Photo of Acid Nightclub by day)

GiB#2 | Way to Go Argentina!

This is already old news by now but I had to put it down.

It’s a small change in the text of a Constitution to replace the phrase “a man and a woman” with “the two contractors”… but it’s a huge change it brings for the LGBT community, and for society as a whole.

Argentina became on July 16, 2010 the first country across South and Central America to legalize same-sex marriage, following the steps of a few other forward-thinking countries in the world (and a few U.S. states). Two weeks later, the first Argentinean couple (aged 54 and 65) sealed their love in front of the mayor.

This sets a great example for Lebanon. While Argentina is probably not as diverse and complex in terms of religions as Lebanon, it is still very much a religious and conservative country… and yet this didn’t prevent the vote to go against the will of the conservatives (Catholics). It’s the more-tolerant majority that got the last word.

This kind of victory of democracy and tolerance against prejudice and taboo, is one that every society, including the Lebanese, deserves.

But let’s stay realistic here, and admit that we’re ages behind Argentina. We don’t even have the basis for same-sex marriage… So let’s shoot for civil marriage for the time being!

(Incredibly amazing artwork by… me)

GiB#3 | The Genesis of Paranoia

Let me share my new thought which lightbulbed last night in my head.

So, not so long ago, I was questioning myself: when do you draw the line between "instinct" and "paranoia", ok? But then I discovered something interesting - and this is all of course the birth of some series of unfortunate dating events.

Our instincts are never wrong. They seem to be true and strong to us once they agree with our desires. The moment our instincts warn us from our desires, we quickly bury them six-feet under.

In a short period of time, those seeds, buried in the soil of disbelief, will quiver for life, just as our hearts quiver with fear, and voilà: paranoia is born and it sprouts out to be fed by the sun of disillusion.

If your instincts and desires are intersecting, then that's la vie en rose bilmshabra7. If you feel one hint of parallelism, then be on guard and sing to the Elephants avec Rachel Yamagata.

(Picture off the Web)

GiB#2 | Be a PLAYBOY and Get Some PUSSY

B-rated local Red Bull energy drinks… just what the Lebanese dude needs to get through a hectic summer.

GiB#2 | All Day Sobhiyye with Matinée

It happened. Last Sunday gorgeous Riviera Beach opened up its doors for the long awaited pool party by Matinée. A perfect day in the sun for hundreds of ‘beautiful people’ to wander around the pools showing off those abs (and implants) and dancing all day long to housy tunes by international and local DJs. My hat goes down for the local DJs especially the closing set by Madjam, to the Matinée beach balloons floating in the pool and used as GiB carrier pigeons, and the Matinée logos made of foam passing above our heads. My hat stays on however for the stage ‘performances’, sorry but a well crafted costume alone doesn’t make up for a good show.

The venue was a bit too spread out, and in my mind GiBs and friends don’t need that much 'sectionization' (what’s with the VVVVVVIP thing?!), although it didn’t prevent the party from getting wild at times. With twice as many guys per square meter in the pool and half as many girls at the party, this could have seemed like a Matinée party in Europe... but it doesn’t make it any less amazing for Lebanon! It was great fun indeed.

Kudos to the Ghazal brothers for putting all this together, it was a definite success guys. Hope this is a first of many more to come!

GiB#2 | "Gaylebanon on MIRC sent you a message on Facebook”!

It was hard to believe when I read this email subject line last week – way for a single line to take me a decade back in time…

As much as I miss my teens, I can’t say I miss the early days of online GiB dating.

As some of you may remember, to meet fellow GiBs online in the 90’s, we had to log in through the crappy mIRC application to the shady #GayLebanon channel on creepy 192.168.0.1-type Undernet servers – or was it Dalnet?

The nicknames were freaky, people remained religiously anonymous, and dishonesty prevailed. Could have been my young age, or how gay Lebanon was back then, add to it the whole ‘hacker’ culture of the time: in either case it sure felt like we were doing something illegal, something wrong at best.

GiBs had to go a long way to take a breath through this narrow window – it was the times of the shady Internet cafés and the stuttering dial-up Internet connections – but mIRC’s #GayLebanon was all there was. It’s where it started.

As such, #GayLebanon’s dictators clique of “admins” and “operators” can tout themselves today of being the pioneers of online gay cruising in Lebanon!

But is it really much different nowadays? Granted, GiBs can now pick and choose between Manjam, Gaydar, GayRomeo, Helem’s chat, the newcomer gaylebanon.info, Facebook or even the BBM service on Blackberry… then cherry-pick from thousands of GiB faces and asses on display…

As far as I'm concerned it still feels like the same hit-or-miss shooting in the dark, the same fear of fakes, the same hate of flakes, in that everlasting gloomy atmosphere… So come to think of it, it wasn’t that bad in the 90’s!

(Visual concocted by GiB#1)

GiB#2 | Oh Jimmy Come On

Lebanon’s “first male stripper” got himself some quality airtime last winter.

In this funny article from the Jerusalem Post (!), this hot Lebanese hunk who goes by the name of Jimmy, self-proclaimed himself the first professional male stripper in Lebanon. Perhaps rightly so, as Jimmy seems to emphasize what he means by ‘professional’: a fully-booked schedule, an outfit for every occasion, a pair of handcuffs, and a kick-ass rate that dwarfs his day job’s as a personal trainer.
As far as us GiBs, here’s what PT Jimmy had to say: "Lots of gay men ask me to strip for them but I only strip for women." "I don't dance alone and I only dance with girls.” "I don't want to be people’s bitch." "I do this for fun and extra money, so I have my rules and I want to be seen as respectable."

So Jimmy doesn’t do boys? Not that it matters so much – you can probably score a male-for-male stripper on Manjam in no time. But I doubt that Jimmy is telling the truth, because it’s his number that my GiB friend was given out once when he was shopping around for a male stripper for his (male) friend’s bachelor party.

Jimmy says he charges $500 for 20 to 30 minutes and that he plans to raise the rate to $750 this summer.

Any GiBs out there willing to outbid Jimmy with that killer-offer-he-can’t-refuse? Oh come on now Jimmy. I know you can do it.

[For Jimmy’s contact, contact the GiBs!]

(Photo from linked article)