Blind Item #8 - A Dancing Boy Blind
Here's one about, in part, something I haven't discussed before:
Sunday brunch, in college times, consisted of Challah French Toast, black coffee, and the children of celebrities, and assorted prep school throwaways nursing nosebleeds and hangovers from the night before.
In this one case - later in those years - I was joined by two friends, both of whom would become journalists. Neither of them mentioned it, but sometimes you can feel the stares of others, even when they're at your back.
"Why are they looking at us?" I asked, pretending to read the Times.
"I don't think they're looking at us honey. I think they're looking at you."
"How come?"
"According to (one of the people at the table - the son of a disco-era R&B singer/bandleader known in particular for this one song about partying), there are pictures and video of you on the net - from when you were in San Francisco."
"I guess we know what they're into," I said, audibly.
"Some things you wish you hadn't seen," he replied.
I turned to him, looking straight into his eyes, and said: "You chose to look at that stuff, unlike all those people who come to your house on campus, and find themselves greeted by your naked and erect self."
And that was that.
The first question people ask me, when they hear about this part of my past, is if I had known about the internet, would I have done it still. The answer, if it's my current self, is a resounding no. But, in truth, you'd be asking my adolescent self, who had a limited sense of consequences, and on the worst days - owing largely to the shame and self-loathing that comes with abuse - little expectation of making it past 30. His answer, I'm afraid, would still be yes.
But hey: at least I didn't use my real name - which brings me to the second part of this blind.
A few weeks back I got a phone call from one of my aforementioned friends. It seems this person's employer wants to be the publication that breaks the story of a major celebrity scandal (which you all now know about). In involves of course one of my friends and forthcoming players - who I had vowed years back to help lift up if I ever got back in the game - and something that began when he, like me, was fourteen.
I told her exactly what he told me, which is that he hasn't decided if he's ready to speak with the press yet, but he's getting closer to that point. (I also said - and this is inside baseball stuff - that a certain reporter from a different news organization, known for this one law prof/blogger, would have to share the byline. I feel I owe him this.)
"What about you?" she asked.
"You want to do a story about my illustrious career as a teen porn star?"
"No, not really," she said.
And then, silence.
"You still there?" she asked, finally.
"Yes, and you know the answer. It isn't that I won't but I can't - not now anyhow."
"Fair enough," she said, and proceeded to tell me this story. It's about someone you may or may not have ever heard of, but who in recent years was on the short list for a top job in his profession. What scuttled his bid? There is a picture, of course, just a google search away. But that wasn't the only one they found during the vetting process. There were numerous others, pictures and videos, from his late teens and early twenties - all apparently circulating on barely legal websites since the 1990s. And not even that was all. According to one his friends from back then, he often played the "son," "nephew," or "protege" of wealthy, closeted politicians, judges, and even in one case a country singer at parties in his home state - never using a pseudonym. It may not be a scandal in Hollywood, but it certainly would be there.
Sunday brunch, in college times, consisted of Challah French Toast, black coffee, and the children of celebrities, and assorted prep school throwaways nursing nosebleeds and hangovers from the night before.
In this one case - later in those years - I was joined by two friends, both of whom would become journalists. Neither of them mentioned it, but sometimes you can feel the stares of others, even when they're at your back.
"Why are they looking at us?" I asked, pretending to read the Times.
"I don't think they're looking at us honey. I think they're looking at you."
"How come?"
"According to (one of the people at the table - the son of a disco-era R&B singer/bandleader known in particular for this one song about partying), there are pictures and video of you on the net - from when you were in San Francisco."
"I guess we know what they're into," I said, audibly.
"Some things you wish you hadn't seen," he replied.
I turned to him, looking straight into his eyes, and said: "You chose to look at that stuff, unlike all those people who come to your house on campus, and find themselves greeted by your naked and erect self."
And that was that.
The first question people ask me, when they hear about this part of my past, is if I had known about the internet, would I have done it still. The answer, if it's my current self, is a resounding no. But, in truth, you'd be asking my adolescent self, who had a limited sense of consequences, and on the worst days - owing largely to the shame and self-loathing that comes with abuse - little expectation of making it past 30. His answer, I'm afraid, would still be yes.
But hey: at least I didn't use my real name - which brings me to the second part of this blind.
A few weeks back I got a phone call from one of my aforementioned friends. It seems this person's employer wants to be the publication that breaks the story of a major celebrity scandal (which you all now know about). In involves of course one of my friends and forthcoming players - who I had vowed years back to help lift up if I ever got back in the game - and something that began when he, like me, was fourteen.
I told her exactly what he told me, which is that he hasn't decided if he's ready to speak with the press yet, but he's getting closer to that point. (I also said - and this is inside baseball stuff - that a certain reporter from a different news organization, known for this one law prof/blogger, would have to share the byline. I feel I owe him this.)
"What about you?" she asked.
"You want to do a story about my illustrious career as a teen porn star?"
"No, not really," she said.
And then, silence.
"You still there?" she asked, finally.
"Yes, and you know the answer. It isn't that I won't but I can't - not now anyhow."
"Fair enough," she said, and proceeded to tell me this story. It's about someone you may or may not have ever heard of, but who in recent years was on the short list for a top job in his profession. What scuttled his bid? There is a picture, of course, just a google search away. But that wasn't the only one they found during the vetting process. There were numerous others, pictures and videos, from his late teens and early twenties - all apparently circulating on barely legal websites since the 1990s. And not even that was all. According to one his friends from back then, he often played the "son," "nephew," or "protege" of wealthy, closeted politicians, judges, and even in one case a country singer at parties in his home state - never using a pseudonym. It may not be a scandal in Hollywood, but it certainly would be there.
