Christopher Ramirez

University of California, Santa Cruz

DANM 203

June 16, 2005

Mapping the Public Space of ‘(Homo)sexual’ Latino Men

Cuando los hombres alzan los hombros y pasan

o cuando dejan caer sus nombres

hasta que la sombra se asombra…

—Xavier Villaurrutia

“Nocturno Eternal”

(Eternal nocturm, 1938)

[When Men strug their shoulders and pass by

or when they drop their names

until even the shadows are startled…][1]

In the opening chapter of the book Compassion: The Culture and Politics of an Emotion, Lauren Berlant describes how ‘the subjective experience of inequality [can be] so powerful and intricate that it is hard to know how to respond’ (Berlant: 8). Consider all the women, children, and men who work for little, and labor under harsh conditions—individuals who live without their own histories[2] in the contemporary global market place. Berlant borrows a phrase from Loic J.D. Wacquant—the ‘labor of social mourning’ to return to that reality of making do with whatever is at hand, to get by, by whatever means possible[3]. The uncertainty of knowing what one moment will bring next prevents the possibility of envisioning any future tomorrow. For the laborers of social mourners their dreams and aspirations must be kept only as daily mental diaries of fantasy. In parallel, homosexuality the labor of social mourning that cannot ‘speak its name’: Both ‘are about what remain veiled in order that a scene of social belonging may still be experienced as such’ (Berlant: 8). So as long as homosexuality remains closeted—sexual acts hidden from public discourse—social belonging can remain fruitfully intact. The concept Berlant presents here in the phrase the ‘labor of social mourning’ inspires, Mapping the Public Space of ‘(Homo)sexual’ Latino Men: I borrow the term public (homo)sex from David Bell’s essay “Perverse Dynamics, Sexual Citizenship And The Transformation of Intimacy”, published in Mapping desire: geographies of sexualities. This is to point out the differences that occur between public sexual encounters of the opposite sex. Although there might be a commonality that links heterosexual public sex with public (homo)sex, societal pressure found in homophobia makes those activities very different. Bell also makes reference to the word (homo) to mean same, so as to not infer that all men having public (homo)sex are all homosexual.[4] The cartography of the space, the navigable path which connects one ‘homosexual’ Latino man with another, may include Latino men who are homosexual, bisexual, heterosexual, etc; especially since many Latino men don’t identify themselves as ‘homosexual’. From here, I will use ‘homosexual’ in inverted commas to include all Latino men who participate in same sex activities. The piece proposes to reveal the histories—the oral histories from the interviews I have already begun to record in my ethnographic observations of ‘homosexual’ Latino men—especially how this history gets mapped in the context of public (homo)sex. The project is not intended to create a moral drama, right versus wrong, etc., but to create a non-judgmental immersive environment where these histories (again oral histories) can be experienced by both homosexuals and non-homosexual audiences. The ultimate purpose will be to provide ‘homosexual’ Latino men with their own histories; a recognition and voice within the discourse of queer theory in contemporary postmodern culture. ‘Sexuality is – at last – finding a voice as a legitimate and significant area for geographical research’[5].

What if that voice lives within a queer theory – mostly silenced – with limited spaces to map out their own sexuality. The geographies of sexualities that queer theorists have mapped are most notably those of ‘whites’ within contemporary culture[6]. This may present a bleak reality when taking into consideration the identity of ‘homosexual’ Latino men. However, the editors of Mapping desire are also aware of the many absences of sexuality contained in their anthology. The editors hope that the research provided would in part inspire others to fill those gaps[7]. The piece Mapping the Public Space of ‘(Homo)sexual’ Latino Men aims to fill one of those gaps. This offers a sign of hope and encouragement for ‘homosexual’ Latino men, but does not eliminate the inherit problem of ‘whiteness’ in queer theory. What it means to be gay in American culture, is to be ‘white’, middle class and educated – popular television shows like Will & Grace and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy invokes this mainstream representation of gay identity. An identity many ‘homosexual’ Latino men have a hard time relating with. In a recent episode of Will & Grace, The Birds and the Bees, Rosario Inez Consuela Yolanda Salazar (known also as "Rosie" and "Ro-Ro") played by Shelley Morrison, and who plays the part of Karen Walker’s (played by Megan Mullally) maid, told her “when ever I get together with my friends and we talk about who works for the craziest bitch, I always win’[8]. Rosie always gets the last laugh before she walks off stage, but I can’t ever remember seeing Rosie together with any friends except her boss Karen. In fact, in a recent episode of Inside the Actor’s Studio, hosted by James Lipton, all the main cast members were present except for Rosie (who is now considered a main cast member)[9]. Rosie’s character, both on stage and off, lives in a paralyzed ‘labor of social mourning’. Shelley’s own sexuality and history – recognition and voice – cannot speak its name in contemporary culture. In parallel, ‘homosexual’ Latino men also struggle to make their daily realities ‘real’ in public (homo)sex discourse and contemporary culture. Every human deserves to have a history – spaces which are open to difference.

I grew up feeling that no one would ever want me—and that, most certainly, no one would ever want to be me.

Nick cited in Murray 1999: 167

In “Intimacy: A Special Issue”(the introductory essay from the book Intimacy), Lauren Berlant discusses how intimacy ‘involves an aspiration for a narrative about something shared’[10]. The intimacy that ‘homosexual’ Latino men experience in ‘hidden’ public spaces is a history that lives without a voice—shared narrative. Berlant recalls asking her students ‘to explain why, when there are so many people, only one plot counts as “life” (first comes love, then…)? Those who don’t or can’t find their way in that story—[‘homosexual’ Latino men]—can become easily unimaginable, even often to themselves’[11]. My best friend Jorge was one of those individuals who couldn’t find his way into that story. One of the few places where Jorge could experience part of a remote shared narrative was in secret off a ‘hidden’ path at a beach right outside Santa Cruz. His ‘hidden’ intimacy with other men was one that could not speak its name, even to his brother who had no clue of Jorge’s ‘hidden’ identity. Mapping the Public Space of ‘(Homo)sexual’ Latino Men has also been inspired by Jorge and all the other ‘homosexual’ Latino men who continue to live their lives without a voice – shared open intimacy. This ‘unimaginable’ existence can weigh hard on the individual person. These ‘hidden truths’ can eat away a person’s insides, can even ‘amputate’ whole parts at a time, and leave some with life long scars that never heal. Everyone deserves their own ‘plot’ in this life, a plot that can be openly expressed in whatever community they find themselves living. The project is not intended to normalize the practices and behaviors of ‘homosexual’ Latino men—making the practices and behaviors of ‘homosexual’ Latino men akin to the heteronormative values and standards of heterosexual culture—or assuming that homosexuals in general want to experience a shared intimate life openly in mainstream society. The purpose of the project is to create a space for ‘homosexual’ Latino men to share their stories anonymously, in the hope of making their shared histories visible and giving them a voice in the discourse in queer theory.

The shared spaces that ‘homosexual’ Latino men use for meeting each other, either for conversation or sex, are highly contested spaces in heteronormative culture. In Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner’s essay “Sex in Public”, they point out how the city of New York was planning to implement new zoning laws that would shut down most of the adult entertainment businesses—places most frequented by homosexuals[12]. The authors share a concern for how this would leave few spaces for homosexuals to meet each other, and how the few spaces that would be left to meet are very dangerous. This raises the possibility for gay bashing assaults and even death. For example, law officials continue to find ways to block these ‘homosexual’ acts, by implementing raids and/or arrests at the sites where they have discovered this activity, and placing signage that they hope will prevent homosexual men from meeting each other in public. The message is clear that the histories can only exist in the daily mental diaries of their fantasies. Mapping the Public Space of ‘(Homo)sexual’ Latino Men will attempt to map the cartography of this history—the navigable path that ‘homosexual’ men use to meet each other and the interviews I am currently recording of their shared histories—both which will be part of the immersive environment individuals will encounter in the piece. This will make public the ‘unimaginable’ shared geography of ‘homosexual’ Latino men – enabling an opening and love to flow and coexist with the one plot – first comes love, then comes marriage. Many ‘homosexual’ Latino men see their own behavior as bad and unhealthy, a behavior that can’t be brought forward, even often torn by guilt and shame. By creating a space that allows these visible-shared histories of ‘homosexual’ Latino men to coexist within heteronormative culture, the piece can begin to enlarge the possibilities in which ‘homosexual’ Latino men can see and envision themselves in contemporary culture.

In Michael Bronski’s book The Pleasure Principle, Bronski provides ‘an exploration of the tension that exists between heterosexual fear of homosexuality and gay culture’[13], specifically the fear surrounding the sexual activities homosexual men engage in with one another in private and/or public. The obvious thing for homosexual men to do then is to become more heterosexual in their values, morals, and behaviors. By assimilating back into heteronormative culture, homosexual men can gain acceptance, perhaps equally, love and understanding as individuals. Gay “assimilation” is predicated on the notion that homosexuality is only a minor human differentiation, and that if gay people were willing to become less obvious, in their social and sexual affect—meaning how out they are in both identity and sexuality—heterosexuals would be more accepting of homosexuality. By making sex less publicly visible, withholding an open shared narrative, homosexuals can go about their business in a ‘normal’ fashion. What about self-expression and freedom? First comes love, then comes marriage, is a self-restricting norm and plot that limits the possibilities of self-expression and freedom in heteronormative culture. It doesn’t allow for other plots to coexist, neither a place for homosexuals to experience their own dreams and aspirations beyond their own mental dairies of fantasy. Moreover, to see oneself in contemporary cultures doesn’t necessitate assimilation into normative culture.

The intention then, is to create a shared narrative, voice—which can begin to map the cartography of the visible shared histories of ‘homosexual’ Latino men, within the discourse of queer theory and contemporary culture. I share with Bronski, the vision[14] of developing a notion of community, which would ‘remake the world in a way that would prioritize freedom over repression, and to understand that pleasure and sexuality are vital tools in creating a society and culture that is humane, celebratory, and life-sustaining’[15]. As a ‘homosexual’ Latino man, I still find myself living in a repressive culture—which provides few places for other ‘homosexual’ Latino men to meet with one another in openly shared public spaces[16]. In parallel, to be part of a plot that can coexist as life, which takes us beyond ‘first comes love, then comes marriage’[17]. This repressive plot does not allow for other imaginable plots to co-exist with it, and thereby disempowering the potential of how ‘homosexual’ Latino men envision themselves and their relationships with other ‘homosexual’ Latino men. The goal of the project will enable (instead of disabling) the possibility of a ‘shared narrative’ – an aspiration which involves a narrative about something shared: in this instance, the shared narrative between ‘homosexual’ Latino men that can coexist with the heteronormative narrative.

In exploring the historical memory of the 1950s and 1960s in the United States, ‘it was not unusual for the police to arrest men and women, often in private homes, for actual or suspected homosexual activity. People who frequented more public places, such as bars, clubs, and parks, were routinely arrested and charged under a variety of laws including those against loitering, solicitation, intent to commit an indecent act, and wearing clothing inappropriate to one’s gender’[18]. This struggle that many homosexual men and women were faced with then, may sound foreign to some in the context of contemporary culture. But one doesn’t have to look so far back to see how very little progress has been made since. In a recent decision made in October 1995, the New York City Council passed a new zoning law, which affect adult book and video stores. “Of the estimated 177 adult businesses in the city, all but 28 may have to close under this law” [19]. This is crucial, because homosexual men “have learned to find each other [this way]; to map a commonly accessible world[20]; to construct the architecture of queer space in a homophobic environment”[21], one that still echoes with the 50s and 60s[22].

David Bell in his essay “Perverse Dynamics, Sexual Citizenship And The Transformation of Intimacy”, published in Mapping Desire: geographies of sexualities writes ‘Public (homo)sex also runs against many societal constructs of intimacy, with the casual anonymous encounter being thought of as the very antipathy to the romantically charged (and heteronormative) model of sexual love’:

‘Impersonal’, ‘casual’ or ‘anonymous’ sexual contacts had and still have a bad reputation among the majority of people. It is the kind of sex that violates notions of romantic love, steady relationships or longterm commitment, ideas which are widespread in our culture … That this kind of sex is pursued and enjoyed as an end in itself seems shocking to them … Public (homo)sexual encounters are contrary to conventional morality and (therefore) to legal rules.

Lieshout 1992: 3-4 cited in Bell: 306-7

Anthony Giddens provides another perspective on the subject of public (homo)sexual encounters, by characterizing them as a:

Positive form of everyday experiment … [which] expresses an equality which is absent from most heterosexual involvements, including transient ones. By its very nature, it permits power only in the form of sexual practice itself: sexual taste is the sole determinant. This is surely part of the pleasure and fulfillment that episodic sexuality can provide.

Giddens 1992: 147 cited in Bell: 307

Scott Tucker provides yet another perspective in his own account of public (homo)sexual encounters: ‘Gay people often have no freedom to be gay in the privacy of their own homes, due to family and neighborly [sic] pressures … Lacking a secure privacy, they may find an insecure privacy in [public (homo)sexual encounters] (Tucker 1991: 17 cited in Bell: 307). As a fifth generation Mexican American, I grew up in Perris, California, a small rural environment like Salinas and Watsonville. Like many Latinos – I grew up in a very strong Catholic home – where ‘homosexual’ Latino sexuality did not exist. As you get older, and as you become more familiar with your own sexual desires—‘hidden’ sexual desires of the cute Chicano boy—the one who always sits across from you in church every Sunday—you begin to ask yourself, does he feel the same way about me? Remember, this desire makes you a little crazy, because you cannot openly share this with anyone. You’re always looking out to notice, if anyone is noticing you in passing. My first public ‘(homo)sexual’ encounter happened with my aunt’s best friend’s boyfriend, who was also Latino. It was after a party, on a dirt road near my house. This experience eventually lead to others, until I was able to eventually see after several years, how other ‘homosexual’ Latino men where using the same navigable path I was—in meeting and locating each other in public. It’s still difficult for Latinos to be sexually out at home and in their neighborhoods. In my own personal experiences, I have not come across one Latino from Salinas or Watsonville who does not maintain a ‘hidden’ sexual identity. This represents a partial history into the cartography of ‘homosexual’ Latino men in these public and/or ‘insecure private’ spaces.

In continuing to develop research into this partial historical cartography of ‘homosexual’ Latino men, Cuban born poet Reinaldo Arenas, has these poetic words to extend:

In Cuba we had a typical “cruising” routine, no different perhaps from that of any other country. You walked a few blocks and a young man would follow; you would stop briefly at a corner and he would stop also. You started walking again and so would the young man. Finally, a match, the time, the weather, or the usual question of whether you lived nearby.

Arenas 1999: 40

The “cruising” routine of ‘Homosexual’ Latino men from Watsonville and the surrounding area, has created a navigable path that leads them to Vista Point – where they occasionally make a match or – ‘the time’ – ‘the weather’ – ‘or the usual question of whether you lived nearby’[23]. Except here there are no street blocks, just a scenic path, with an enormous view of the Pacific coast descending in the background. Jerry Lee Kramer’s essay, “Bachelor Farmers and Spinsters: Gay and Lesbian Identities and Communities in Rural North Dakota”, published in Mapping Desire[24], provides a model to the ethnographic study of Vista Point and a cruising area located outside an adult book and video store in Salinas, California; by mapping the cartography of gay identities and communities of rural North Dakota. Some of the ‘homosexual’ Latino men I have spoken with in Vista Point have shared with me that they found the place through others. Some discovered the location simply by passing through[25]; curious to explore why others were parked there, sometimes late at night. As one interviewee mentions in Kramer’s study of Minot, North Dakota[26]:

‘Even before I was of legal age, my mother[27] would allow my driving to the rest area on the highway for drinking water […] I began noticing the same cars frequenting the rest area, and that men seemed to just sit in their cars and watch me […] I realized that this rural rest area was a meeting place for local men seeking to meet other men traveling the highway.’

Interviewee cited in Kramer: 205

Kramer also mentions how the availability of an automobile can facilitate a discourse of ‘car cruising’ (Kramer: 207):

‘What you do is this:after dark, especially on a Friday or Saturday night, you go downtown. You drive along the high street about four blocks, and stare at the people in the car that passes you, checking to see if they are looking back. Then you drive around the blocks again, to see if they are doing the same thing in reverse. If you are interested, you then pull over and flash your lights before turning them off. If they’re interested, they’ll come back and pull in next to you…There have been times when what occurs is a relative block party, with some five or six cars and as many as ten people in a parking lot at 2am on a Saturday night.’

Interviewee cited in Kramer: 207

At the adult book and video store in Salinas, you can pull up into an adjacent shopping center parking lot and park, while the other car pulls up next to you if they’re interested. I have never witnessed anyone pulling over and flashing their lights to signal someone, before turning them off. If a car pulls up next to you, this is where you begin having casual conversation with another individual. Sometimes they may ask blunt questions like, ‘Are you large’, or ‘Do you like sucking’; while other times they really just want to exchange small talk like, ‘Where are you from’, or ‘Do you go out’. “Communication takes place in relation to the space, and the likely possibilities for the use of that space. Participants reach conclusions as to a man’s sexual availability based on how he approaches and occupies the space, and they use the space in ways that the other man might recognize” (Hollister: 60). So in the instance of ‘car cruising’, ‘homosexual’ Latino men in Salinas are able to identify how each one is communicating with the other in relationship to the space. The politics of the space is not only laid out to encourage sexual exchange – for many ‘homosexual’ Latino men – this is the only space where they can experience a marginal sense of community and identity among other Latino men. Many ‘homosexual’ Latino men form friendships in these environments. It’s the only imaginable way they have been able to invisibly exist in contemporary culture. And still for others—this navigable path has lead to the discovery of love with other ‘homosexual’ Latino men.

Here is the next sweetest thing he did for me, although it came first: He gave me a small gold and silver crucifix on the thinnest gold chain ever made, which he bought on layaway from a Market Street jeweler, and which he’d had engraved:

MIKE

LOVE

BOB

and when he gave it to me he said, “It’s so you’ll be safe when I am not around to protect you.”

Lassell 1999: 124

This cartography represents both the mapping of the activities themselves of ‘homosexual’ Latino men, and the physical constructed space of the piece. ‘Homosexual’ Latino men identity comes with its own conflicting ordeals, as in the recent implementation of a city ordinance that does not allow ‘car cruising’ from 7 p.m. until 4 a.m.; outside the location of the adult book and video store in Salinas. Still, many ‘homosexual’ Latino men in Salinas take the chance of fostering the growth of this cartography—the navigable map that makes it possible for a connection to occur between one Latino man and another—while living with the realization of harassment from law enforcement agents and undercover squad patrol. There is also the threat of being harassed by gang members, as I have discovered in reading a comment another individual posted, on the website cruisingforsex.com:

New comments added January, 2005:

“Don’t go near here. Out back are gang members. They rub their crotches and get in the car with you then out comes the knife and they rob you. Some let you suck them off and then rob you calling you a fag or ‘maricon’….”

(http://www.cruisingforsex.com/index_1.php?fw=faq.html)[28]

The difficulty ‘homosexual’ Latino men face with maintaining a navigable path to meet each other often comes with its consequences. However, the reality of living in a homophobic culture limits the possibilities of where these ‘hidden’ identities can be lived and shared. This truly echoes Wacquant’s ‘labor of social mourning’: An existence that is determined by making do with whatever is at hand. In most instances, there are no other available options for ‘homosexual’ Latino men to form communities with each other. Indeed, there are members of the gay community[29] who are not in agreement with other men meeting each other in these types of environments, but ‘for those in rural areas[30] the opportunity to meet with men, and sometimes to get information about gay lives beyond the immediate area, marks the highway rest area as an important milestone in many individuals’ sexual histories’ (Kramer: 207). These sexual histories’ are not just limited to sexual interaction, but provide opportunities for other ‘homosexual’ Latino men to meet and connect with one another for conversation, to build relationships that extend beyond the limited boundaries of the space, and even create a loving relationship with another ‘homosexual’ Latino man. What some members of the gay community don’t realize – if the cartography available to ‘homosexual’ Latino men did not exist – my own ability to potentially navigate a shared narrative with other ‘homosexual’ Latino men would be greatly compromised. Also, there are demographic issues involved. Most mainstream gay culture is located in metropolitan areas. The locations being explored for this study are located in rural areas, with the exception being Los Angeles[31]. Moreover, what is distinctive about each of the locations, they are mostly populated by Latinos and encompass more an undereducated, working class community; whereas in mainstream gay culture, they are primarily composed of a ‘white’ educated, middle class community. For ‘homosexual’ Latino men to transition into mainstream gay culture, issues of race and class would stigmatize that journey.

These spaces help open up the possibility of allowing ‘otherness and difference’ to be experienced. I believe love is an essential component in our own understanding of others. However, there are many theorists who feel that “love is a much more tricky thing to theorise than sex or sexuality. In a survey of sociological work on emotions, Stevi Jackson (1993) notes that love’s large role in public culture, it is often projected so far into the private (intimate) sphere as to be virtually untouchable, and also seen as so mysterious as to be untheorisable”[32]. Moreover, there are theorists like Kelly Oliver, who offer profound contrasts on how love can be theorized:

The loving eye is a critical eye, always on the lookout for the blind spots that close off the possibility of response-ability and openness to otherness and difference. Love is an ethics of differences that thrives on the adventure of otherness. This means that love is an ethical and social responsibility to open personal and public space in which otherness and difference can be articulated. Love requires a commitment to the advent and nurturing of difference.

Oliver 2001: 20

It is important for us as humans to move beyond, simply, a recognition of otherness. In my recent travels into queer theory, I recognize the underlining struggle for recognition. This recognition cannot be conceived only as being conferred on others by the dominant group, because then, we are only merely going backwards into the dynamic of hierarchies, privilege, and domination[33]. But, ‘if we conceive of subjectivity as a process of witnessing that requires response-ability and address-ability…especially through difference, then we will also realize an ethical and social responsibility to those others who sustain us[34]: The laborers of social mourners. Can we ask then – what is love beyond recognition? It is a love that ‘requires a commitment to the advent and nurturing of difference’[35]. Kelly Oliver’s statement above provides a point of departure for my own theorization of love and premise for producing this work.

In Stars Maps, a film written and directed by Miguel Arteta, the story begins on a bus with a young Latino immigrant from Mexico named Carlos (played by Douglas Spain), who has fantasies of becoming a star in Los Angeles. As he proclaims to his sister early on in the film, “I can’t explain what it feels like to be in front of an audience”[36]. The only audience Carlos finds himself performing for in the film are the tricks his own father Pepe (played by Efrain Figueroa) is hustling him for. The screenplay boldly uses prostitution as a metaphor for the racism and exploitation many minorities face in the global entertainment marketplace. What is also startling about the story is how Arteta implicitly deals with representing a ‘homosexual’ Latino male sexuality that is absent in most motion pictures in contemporary culture today. Arteta’s work has come to inform my own work and still inspires a longing to break free the last frames of the film—where we see Carlos walking down a street, helpless and defeated—positioned within a racist, homophobic culture that does want to be vigilant in their own self-reflection. Can Carlos’ dreams and aspirations become more than mere projections of his own making? Can his own struggle for recognition – extend beyond recognition – into a love that thrives on the adventure of otherness. Or does he simply continue to thrive on the labor of social mourning. His identity to live his own history as a ‘homosexual’ Latino man[37] remains ‘veiled in order that a scene of social belonging may still be experienced as such’[38]. The intimacy that ‘homosexual’ Latino men experience in ‘hidden’ public spaces is a history that continues to live without a voice. More importantly, an existence that will continue as such, unless we can arrive as a culture to a scene that thrives on a commitment to love and nurture difference. Mr. Arteta’s work serves as a reminder to my own work – continue pushing the boundaries – until the silence is finally broken. As a ‘homosexual’ Latino man, it is my hope that this project will continue to open up the possibility of a plot[39] that can be openly expressed and shared in contemporary culture.

REFERENCES

Arenas, Reinaldo. 1999. Before Night Falls. In E. Guerra, ed. Latin Lovers: True

Stories of Latin Men in Love, pp. 39-41. New York City: Painted Leaf Press.

Bell, David. 1995. Perverse Dynamics, Sexual Citizenship and The Transformation of

Intimacy. In D. Bell and G. Valentine, eds., Mapping Desire, pp. 304-317. London: Routledge.

Bell, David and Gill Valentine. 1995. Introduction. In D. Bell and G. Valentine, eds.,

Mapping Desire, pp. 1-27. London: Routledge.

Berlant, Lauren. 2004. Introduction. In L. Berlant, ed., Compassion, pp. 1-13.

Chicago/New York: Routledge.

Berlant, Lauren. 2000. Introduction. In L. Berlant, ed., Intimacy, pp. 1-8.

Chicago/London: Chicago UP.

Berlant, Lauren and Michael Warner. 2000. Sex in Public. In L. Berlant, ed., Intimacy,

pp. 311-330. Chicago/London: Chicago UP.

Bronski, Michael. 1998. The Pleasure Principle. New York: St. Martin’s Press.

Hollister, John. 1999. Highway Rest Area As a Socially Reproductive Site. In Leap,

William L., ed., Public Sex/Gay Space. New York: Columbia UP.

Irwin, Robert McKee. 2000. As Invisible as He Is: The Queer Enigma of Xavier

Villaurrutia. In S. Chavez-Silverman and L. Hernendez, eds., Reading and

Writing the Ambiente, pp. 114-146. Madison: Wisconsin UP.

Kramer, Jerry Lee. 1995. Bachelor Farmers and Spinsters: Gay and Lesbian Indentities

and Communities in Rural North Dakota. In D. Bell and G. Valentine, eds., Mapping Desire, pp. 200-213. London: Routledge.

Lassell, Michael. 1999. Loving Roberto. In E. Guerra, ed. Latin Lovers: True

Stories of Latin Men in Love, pp. 123-136. New York City: Painted Leaf Press.

Murray, Stephen O. 1995. Self Size and Observable Sex. In Leap, William L., ed., Public

Sex/Gay Space. New York: Columbia UP.

Oliver, Kelly. 2001. Introduction. In K. Oliver, Witnessing, pp. 1-20.

Mineapolis/London: Minnesota UP.

Star Maps. 1997. Dir. Miguel Arteta. Perf. Douglas Spain, Efrain Figueroa. VHS.

Twentieth Century Fox.

The Birds and the Bees. 2005. Dir. James Burrows. Ex. Prod. David Kohan, Max

Mutchnick. Tivo. NBC Universal.

Tongues Untied. 1989. Dir. Marlon Riggs. Perf. Essex Hemphill. VHS. Frameline.

Work Consulted

Bell, David, and Gill Valentine, eds. 1995. Mapping desire: geographies of sexualities.

London/New York: Routledge.

Berlant, Lauren, ed. 2004. Compassion. Chicago/New York: Routledge.

….…, ed. 2000. Intimacy. Chicago/London: Chicago UP.

The Birds and the Bees. 2005. Dir. James Burrows. Ex. Prod. David Kohan, Max

Mutchnick. Tivo. NBC Universal.

Bronski, Michael. 1998. The Pleasure Principle. New York: St. Martin’s Press.

Califia, Pat. 1994. Public sex: the culture of radical sex. Pittsburgh: Cleis Press.

Chavez-Silverman, Susana and Librada Hernandez, eds. 2000. Reading and

Writing the Ambiente: Queer Sexualities in Latino, Latin American, and Spanish

Culture. Madison: Wisconsin UP.

Egash, Ron, et al., eds. 2004. Appropriating Technology: vernacular science and social

Power. Mineapolis/London: Minnesota UP.

Guerra, Erasmo, ed. 1999. Latin Lovers: True Stories of Latin Men in Love. New York

City: Painted Leaf Press.

Leap, William L., ed. 1999. Public Sex/Gay Space. New York: Columbia UP, 1999.

Lefebvre, Henri. 1996. Writings on Cities. Trans. and eds. Kofman, Eleonore, and

Elizabeth Lebas. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.

Oliver, Kelly. 2001. Witnessing. Mineapolis/London: Minnesota UP.

[2] In using histories here, I am referring to the individual lives we past by each day and don’t even notice, or perhaps not care to notice-like the immigrant laborers working in the fields while driving on Hwy. 1.

[14] a shared vision Bronski has inherited from Norman O. Brown, Paul Goldman, Shulamith Firestone, R. D. Laing, Kate Millett, and Herbert Marcuse; see Bronski (1998: 3-4).

[16] And this includes queer ghettos like the Castro, and West Hollywood—which I often find myself avoiding as a result of being more marginalized and alienated. See Riggs (1989) for a personal testimony of an African American gay perspective on this same issue.

[19] see Berlant (2000: 315-16) how this creates other problems for homosexual men. For instance, because of the few remaining adult book and video stores, the rise in heterosexual men encountering homosexual men in these locations will increase. The majority of places that homosexual men once visited before the rezoning decision will close, including all the stores on Christopher Street (a major location for homosexual activity in New York City). Because homosexual men will be left with fewer places to connect with each other, this raises the possibility of being harassed by heterosexual men, including being attacked or killed.

[20] Just as the ‘homosexual’ Latino men have come to map a commonly accessible world for themselves at Vista Point, a location right outside of Watsonville and the street cruising activity that takes place outside an adult book and video establishment in Salinas, California.

[25] some have said they have stopped there alone, while others said they were with friends.

[26] I am using an excerpt from Kramer’s ethnographic study to illustrate both the similarities and dissimilarities of how this space gets mapped.

[27] Ironically, it was also my mother who would let me borrow her car to drive to school in Riverside, California—where I was attending community college—that I discovered in Fairmount Park, during my lunch hour and after classes, that other Latino men were cruising around the lake to meet other men.

[28] stroll down until you find Salinas- L'Amour Shop-you will find the list of comments for that particular location.

[29] as Kramer points out, ‘(metropolitan) gay community’ see Kramer (1995: 207).

[30] like Perris, Riverside, Salinas, and Watsonville, California. It’s also important to point out that even in urban centers like Los Angeles, the places for ‘homosexual’ Latino men to meet, are often situated in parks, adult book and video stores, and alleys. I can only speak from my own experience and say that this has a lot to do with not identifying with what it means to be gay (in the mainstream sense of the word) and how religion and environment, particularly the harshness of living in a homophobic culture, plays a key role in how ‘homosexual’ Latino men learn to meet each other.

[31] However, there are some who would argue that Los Angeles, demographically, is akin to Salinas – especially the racially populated areas of LA.

[37] When the film came out in 1997, I was overwhelmed by the possibility of experiencing a shared narrative with others: A narrative that thrives on the adventure of otherness. In this instance it was the shared narrative I had with the filmmaker and other ‘homosexual’ Latino men who were affected by these images in similar ways.

[39] A plot that other artists, poets, theorists, have already begun to create before me.