Sausage Sightings of Adult Devon Sawa and Jonathan Taylor Thomas

Vancouver, Canada

Cal me Rick.  In 1999, I was a a senior at King George Secondary School in Vancouver, a Glee Club geek, pale, skinny, eyeglassed, kind of homely, with a pretty good voice but no social skills.  I knew I was gay, but I wasn't out yet.

Then my buddy told me about auditions for minor parts in Final Destination (2000), starring Devon Sawa (the 21-year old star of Casper, The Boys Club, Wild America, and Idle Hands).   I figured it would look good on my uni apps, and I had a little crush on Devon, so off I went.

 I got the part -- one line and crowd shots, took about an hour -- but somehow Devon noticed me.  We went out to lunch, and then to the Aquarium, and before I knew it I was coming out to him -- the first person I told!  And that weekend he escorted me to my first gay bar.

We never hooked up -- he said I wasn't his type.  But I never forgot the emotional connection and support.

One night he asked me, "Of all the actors in Hollywood, other than me, who would you most like to sleep with?"

Without a blink I said "Jonathan Taylor Thomas."

I watched every episode of Home Improvement (1991-1999), even though I despised that awful, homophobic Tim Allen, and the "real men" grunting, playing sports, and talking about tools.  I had enough of that growing up in Vancouver, thank you.  But Jonathan Taylor Thomas (1981-), a teen dream fave rave, an androgynous prettyboy with soulful grey eyes and puckered lips.

How could you help putting his poster on your bedroom wall and kissing it every night?

Even though your parents misinterpreted your interest in Home Improvement and kept giving you tools for Christmas.

"Jonathan's pretty cool," Devon said.  "We've been friends for years.  Tell you what -- come visit me in L.A. sometime, and maybe I can arrange a meeting."

When filming ended, he went back to L.A., and I went on to the Victoria Conservatory to study voice, but we stayed in touch.

I finally did visit at Christmastime in 2001, and was disappointed by two things:

1. Devon is straight, or maybe bi. He was dating Danielle Fischel of Boy Meets World!  I did get a date with Ben Savage out of the deail, but that's a story for another time.

2. Jonathan Taylor Thomas had left Hollywood to study philosophy at Harvard, and wasn't in town for a hookup.

The next few years of my life were rough: I flunked out of the Conservatory, broke up with my boyfriend, lost my brother, tried to make it as a singer, and finally went back to uni for my teaching credential.  I got my degree in 2008, and became a high school music teacher, first in Hamilton, Ontario and then in Toronto.

Devon and I became "Christmas and Birthday Card" friends.  I was invited to his weddings, to Jessica and Dawni, but didn't go.  The last time I saw him in person was in Montreal in 2006.

My schoolboy crush on Jonathan Taylor Thomas dimmed a bit when I saw his gay-themed movies, Speedway Junkie (1999) and Common Ground (2000), and read his homophobic response to the reporters' standard question: "Does playing a gay character mean that you are gay?"

JTT: "Of course not!!!!!   I've played murderers.  Does that mean I'm a murderer?"

In his interview with The Advocate, his response was just as vociferous: "It's a blatant lie."

I didn't see him in any more movies, and assumed that he had left Hollywood for good.

[

According to Popsugar, he graduated from Columbia in 2010 and left Hollywood, returning only to direct three episodes (and guest-star in four) of his pal Tim Allen's sitcom, Last Man Standing (2013-2016).  I don't know who the boyfriend is,]

Last summer, I had to go to Los Angeles for a conference, and I emailed my friend Devon to ask him to lunch.

"Lunch, nothing!" he responded.  "You're staying with me in Calabasas.  That is, if you don't mind a houseful of kids and cats."

More after the break.

Adam and Iddo Goldberg Nude

If you ever wanted to see a naked photo of Adam Goldberg, the previously cute star of Dazed and Confused, Relativity, The Hebrew Hammer, My Name is Earl, and Entourage, here's your chance.

Gross -- the guy has tattooed up grotesquely.

  But he seems to have a very nice, thick Bratwurst

As a bonus, here's a photo of someone named Iddo Goldberg, who I've never heard of.

Lane and I Go Cruising in Lithuania

West Hollywood, June 1997

Lane and I haven't lived together for a year, and I've been sort of dating Kevin the Vampire, so we're not sure if we are a couple or not.  But we don't want to break our tradition of a trip every summer, either Europe or a road trip across the U.S.

"Paris, Brussels, and Amsterdam?" I suggest.  "We haven't been there in a while.  Or maybe Germany?"

"No Germany!"  he exclaims.  "I want to go somewhere off the beaten path.  Lithuania.  In search of my Jewish ancestors."

"Your mother was Polish -- we've already been to Poland to check out her heritage -- and your father was from California."

"But Dad's parents were Litvak -- Lithuanian Jews.  Bubbe -- Grandma -- immigrated with her parents in 1915.  She used to tell stories of the shtetl of Kvedarna, where her father was a rabbi."

The more I research Lithuania, the less I want to visit.  Granted, the Lithuanian language is the closest we have to the original Indo-European.

English:  My sausage is very big.
Hindi: Mera sosej bahut bada hai
Lithuanian: Mano dešra yra labai didelė

But it is an extremely homophobic country, like Mississippi squared.  No gay bars, no bathhouses, no nothing.  Plus 95% of the Jewish population was killed in the Holocaust.

95%!  Why would you want to go there?

But Lane is adamant about investigating his Bubbe's Rabbi father, and he is paying for the plane tickets, so....Paris, Amsterdam, and Lithuania.

Day 1:

There are no nonstop flights from Amsterdam to Vilnius, so we hav to go through Frankfurt, arriving at 1:30 pm.

Six years after independence, Soviet influence is everywhere: most signs are in Russian, not Lithuanian; there are long blocks of Brutopian apartment complexes, and statues of liberated workers gazing defiantly at the future; there are police officers and soldiers everywhere, who keep asking for our papers.

But our hotel is in the Old Quarter, on a winding Baroque street near the University and the Signatory House (where independence was declared).

We tour the rather austere Palace of the Grand Dukes  (above) and the Vilnius Cathedral, and have dinner in a French restaurant.

Then back to the hotel and to bed, having not met any actual Lithuanians, gay or straight, Jewish or Gentile.

Day 2:

After breakfast, we rent a car (quite a feat in a country not set up for tourism) and drive to Kaunas, about an hour east, which once had a Jewish population of 40,000.  Today it's about 500.   

We arrive in time for Shabbat services at the Ohel Jahov Synagogue, where the congregation consists entirely of elderly men.  We don't talk to anyone.

In the afternoon, we visit the Museum of the Devil (the Žmuidzinavičius Museum), with over 3,000 statues and images of devils from around the world. Yes, many of them are naked.

Kaunas Castle.

The depressing memorial to the Jews who died in the Holocaust.

Then pizza.

"This is all very interesting," I tell Lane, "But I need some masculine companionship.  What's the point of traveling, if you don't meet locals?  Preferably hot ones."

Our Spartacus guide doesn't list any gay bars in Kaunas, but it lists a "mixed bar," Baras, which caters to "students, bohemians, transvestites, fairies, and misfits."

Although we roil at being labeled "misfits," we check it out.

Mostly students and bohemians, not a lot of cruising going on.  I try to strike up a conversation with a twink reading a paperback book and drinking beer: in his 20s, slim, pale, weird half-mohawk hair style, horn-rimmed glasses:

"Mano vardas Boomer.  Aš esu iš Toronto." (I always claim to be Canadian while traveling in Europe, to avoid the extreme anti-American prejudice.)

He responds briefly and coolly, in English.  Soon I back off.

Well, at least I talked to a local.

Day 3

Our hotel has a gym, so we can work out before heading out to Kvedarna, population 1,500, where Lane's great-grandfather was a rabbi.  It's about two hours west over flat, green countryside.

The only trace of a Jewish presence is a small, overgrown Jewish cemetery, with fifty or so markers in Hebrew.  We can't find one for Lane's great-grandfather, the rabbi, although there are a few with his Bubbe's name that could be relatives.

The trip has been a bust: some interesting sights, but mostly sadness, loss, and loneliness.  It's an odd feeling being in a country of 3.6 million people, and not knowing anyone.

Since there's no restaurant in town, we stop at Kvedarna's small grocery store for some meat, cheese, and bread to make sandwiches.

There's a twink boy outside, eating a popsicle, shirtless even though it's a cool, rainy day: slim, pale body, pinprick nipples, tight abs.  He has the same weird hair and eyeglasses as the guy from last night.

For a moment I think it's the same person, so I say "Sveiki!  Small world, isn't it?"

He smiles.  "Americans?"

I realize my mistake.  "Taip.  I'm Boomer, and this is Lane.  We're from Hollywood, California."

"Joku."  He switches the popsicle to his left hand so he can shake our hands.  "You are from Hollywood!  You are movie stars?"

"We've been in some tv shows," I lie.

"Palike!  You will give me your...your..."  He made a writing sign.  "Why you come to Kvedarna?"

"My grandmother was born here,"  Lane said.

"Tikras!  My grandmother, too.  Maybe we are...um...cousin.  Come, cousins hug."  He wrapped us both in a bear hug.  "You come home, meet my mother and brothers?"

So we spend an hour having tea and very sweet pastries with Joku and his mother, two brothers, and two very hot friends, discussing Hollywood celebrities, Lane's Jewish heritage ("lots of Jews in Hollywood, no?"), and, obliquely, being gay:

Brother: "Do you have wives in California?"
Joku:  "Lane and Boomer don't want wives.  They are free."

Then it is time to drive back to Vilnius to catch our plane in the morning.

No sex, no gay people, that I know of.  But sometimes, meeting a local is enough.

 Especially a hot one.