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sirdally's review
5.0
i am completely biased because i know and was raised by quite a few of the people mentioned in this book but i truly went through so many emotions while reading. i finished the book while i was at work and had to stop myself from crying just a bit. i will never stop loving and reading stories from this time.
rubyblueb's review
challenging
sad
medium-paced
4.0
This book was so sad, but really insightful about life during the AIDS epidemic. It's easy to think AIDS is something of the past, so having books like this to remind people of the generation that was lost to the epidemic and those that continue to be affected is really important!
Content Warnings
Graphic: Death, Hate crime, and Homophobia
Moderate: Addiction, Violence, and Alcohol
Minor: Sexual content
ralowe's review
3.0
when i think of people living through aids in the 1990s (and by "people"ќ in this context i'm probably always referring to gay white men, although one cannot mean exclusively gay white men as the sum of who lived through that time) i imagine a heroically politicized consciousness standing stern against the winds of history. that's a queer projection of what i want; a thought that resistance will survive covid-19. it should hopefully follow by that opening sentence the lengths to how i've had to reassess and reconfigure my naive initial guess. through the cluttered thrift store hoard of sundry go-go tchotchkes in alvin orloff's *disasterama* i trained in on a ravenous decades-spanning irreverence. it's present in an earlier moment where orloff imparts she didn't join the white night riots because it was allegedly enacted predominately by femmephobic clones. fair enough. i assumed this indecorous sentiment written from within the safety of the cocktail and the eurocentric epidemiological temporal consciousness of an "after,"ќ although there really is no after to hiv/aids, not by far, not for everyone on planet earth. is this merely a memoir of her and diet organizing the popstitute phenomenon during the "aids years"ќ? an alibi? a coping mechanism? it's hard to tell if *disasterama* is an entirely self-aware article of evidence against repressed mourning. i couldn't figure out how intentional these things were. just barely. whether it is the author, that is orloff, is attempting to honestly bare their authentic feeling from that time they suffered through and survived as it was then felt seems appropriate to assume, however much the sheer logistic challenge would impose itself. this might be what's trans queer in thinking about or against time. on page 171, orloff imparts secondhand of a parody protest (a protest of protest?) performed by the gender-blending performers at klubstitute's 1751 fulton location, boasting of how it was written about in *female masculinities* (going so far as to cite publication details), but while using its author's then-name, judith. the time distortion of grief? jack still accepts judith. but everyone i know uses jack, and it seems like jack uses jack more and more, but now. i bring this whole thing up as ostensible evidence of irreverence; i'm unsure. maybe i think it's evidence orloff appears outside the "jack"ќ-usage continuum. maybe it's only evidence of confusion. temporal anomaly. (jesus, could you imagine trying to ask confirmed troll jack about current pronoun usage? the person who wrote *gaga feminism*? and about how queer pixar movies are?) orloff's best moments? take chapter 28: orloff approaches empathy through depersonalization. what is meant by this? do i mean a life without hegel? do i mean that power should automatically redistribute itself without a demand for recognition? yes! yes, for all that's so demeaning in respect being conditioned upon identification. i wonder if underneath it all this is what orloff wants: an unconditional belonging. failing that, we get irreverence, misrecognition. i wonder what mattilda bernstein sycamore, whose work depends on authentic personal material detail to communicate intimacy, would think of this? but i don't think orloff is presenting queer anti-relationality to be trendy five years ago (yes, i'm deliberately snubbing its revival in the recent work of calvin warren (but not in the name of anti-relationality, maybe"_)). could orloff tell mattilda why faggots are so afraid of faggots? relationality is an unavoidable thing to ponder in a covid plague that intensifies divisions, exclusions and stratifications. that orloff gives us her apathy on the page during the time of the aids crisis as she experienced it might be period-accurate, but oh, am i doing the thing where i treat two distinct points of lived affective intensity as fungible? the metaphors of secular humanism are so fucking hard to resist. i was recently re-reading *scenes of subjection* where saidiya hartman opens the book looking at the problem metaphor causes for empathy. hartman looks at the inter-sibling epistles of southern abolitionist minister john rankin and the secular humanist problem of ethical action based on identification. rankin resorts to imagining his white self and family on the coffle as a means to force his brother's epistemic break away from holding slaves, recently purchased. nice try! yes, i know of orloff's previous other more-colorful-seeming three novels from wikipedia but the real potential is in him pursuing this nouveau roman thing in chapter 28. how could i forget fredric jameson's disapproval of the nouveau roman: e.g. alain robbe-grillet goes on for *jealousy*'s scant total page count describing the measurements and spatial organization of a plantation without any written depictions of human affect or narrative action. the poetic (and enumerated!) diagnostic orloff offers in the fleeting chapter calls to mind the supplementary self-help sub-sections that accompany a whole recent generation of publications centered around certain needs of freshly formed subjectivities within vulnerable communities (especially books trying to help white people out of their racism). The Joey Graceffa memoir *in real life*'s second chapter concludes helpfully proffering a nice (non-diegetic?) list of ten reasons to be friends with one's sibling. again this never relents until SPOILER (are spoilers valid in memoir?) orloff's best friend diet/michael comes close to their deathbed in london; their host walter dies after they leave london. here, almost 200 pages in, orloff offers relief from the resolute misanthropy with an absolutely gorgeously written 8 sentences between pages 198-199. okay, i won't gush. *disasterama* is an engaged discourse on the power of sentiment and its conditions.
wildgurl's review
5.0
Disasterama! : Adventures In The Queer Underground 1977-1997.
by Alvin Orloff
due 10-8-2019
Three Room Press
5.0 / 5.0
Thanks to Library Thing for sending this ARC for review!
One of the most memorable memoirs I've read!
Alvin Orloff has such a joie de vivre and a kind, empathic nature that is truly amazing. He brings to light the socio-political environment conservatism of the time but puts the emphasis on the amazing and colorful people he met and that he shares he life with.
Alvin, was a shy boy growing up. He takes us inside the queer culture and counter-culture of 1977s San Francisco-his days with the GoGos for Gays; a group into the retro 1960s fads and styles, the Warhol Factory and Swinging London pop tunes. He discovered Castro Street and realized it wasn't for him.
He shares the loss and pain AIDS, sometimes not realizing how much you loved someone until they were gone, and his scare of broken condoms.....
The Popstitutes I'm sorry I missed. This band of queer artists and performance artists gave shows wherever possible. Alvin meets his soulmate, Diet Popstites and begins a lifelong friendship/loveship with him. They enjoy clubbing, strippers, dancing and Alvin loves to DJ at clubs. He also was a stripper, eventually giving it up to DJ.
Alvin has shared his life with intrigue, empathy, wit and a love of life, and the people he met. It's quite infectious.
We need more like Alvin Orloff. I will be looking for his other novels.
by Alvin Orloff
due 10-8-2019
Three Room Press
5.0 / 5.0
Thanks to Library Thing for sending this ARC for review!
One of the most memorable memoirs I've read!
Alvin Orloff has such a joie de vivre and a kind, empathic nature that is truly amazing. He brings to light the socio-political environment conservatism of the time but puts the emphasis on the amazing and colorful people he met and that he shares he life with.
Alvin, was a shy boy growing up. He takes us inside the queer culture and counter-culture of 1977s San Francisco-his days with the GoGos for Gays; a group into the retro 1960s fads and styles, the Warhol Factory and Swinging London pop tunes. He discovered Castro Street and realized it wasn't for him.
He shares the loss and pain AIDS, sometimes not realizing how much you loved someone until they were gone, and his scare of broken condoms.....
The Popstitutes I'm sorry I missed. This band of queer artists and performance artists gave shows wherever possible. Alvin meets his soulmate, Diet Popstites and begins a lifelong friendship/loveship with him. They enjoy clubbing, strippers, dancing and Alvin loves to DJ at clubs. He also was a stripper, eventually giving it up to DJ.
Alvin has shared his life with intrigue, empathy, wit and a love of life, and the people he met. It's quite infectious.
We need more like Alvin Orloff. I will be looking for his other novels.
thepermageek's review
adventurous
emotional
hopeful
sad
medium-paced
5.0
A tender portrait of 1980s/early 90s AIDS-ravaged alterna-queer San Francisco
sassimiko's review
5.0
I feel as if Disasterama will stay with me for a while. It definitely tops the list of books I read this year. I immediately lent it to a friend so I could talk to someone about it.
Orloff has a relatable, endearing narration style that makes it easy to jump into his memories with him. He's funny and sincere. Living in the Bay Area, my heart ached over some of the places he mentioned which have recently closed down (The Stud, Lucky 13,) as he described a San Francisco that is both familiar, nostalgic, quirky, and a bit before my time (90s baby reporting in.)
Orloff fills in some holes of the AIDS crisis, that I think I had always felt were missing from my historic knowledge. Growing up, it seemed to be distant boogie man adults would vaguely threaten us with. The Queer elder who spoke at my high school's GSA, barely touched on it. Perhaps because we were too young, or the wounds too fresh. It's likely he was not allowed to give us many details.
I don't think I have cried so much over a book since the Red Fern Grows** in 4th grade.
**(Which is obviously fictional and hopefully not insensitive to mention, as Disasterama is based on real lived experiences. I simply mean to express that I was very moved while reading of Orloff's and his friend's experiences.)
Orloff has a relatable, endearing narration style that makes it easy to jump into his memories with him. He's funny and sincere. Living in the Bay Area, my heart ached over some of the places he mentioned which have recently closed down (The Stud, Lucky 13,) as he described a San Francisco that is both familiar, nostalgic, quirky, and a bit before my time (90s baby reporting in.)
Orloff fills in some holes of the AIDS crisis, that I think I had always felt were missing from my historic knowledge. Growing up, it seemed to be distant boogie man adults would vaguely threaten us with. The Queer elder who spoke at my high school's GSA, barely touched on it. Perhaps because we were too young, or the wounds too fresh. It's likely he was not allowed to give us many details.
I don't think I have cried so much over a book since the Red Fern Grows** in 4th grade.
**(Which is obviously fictional and hopefully not insensitive to mention, as Disasterama is based on real lived experiences. I simply mean to express that I was very moved while reading of Orloff's and his friend's experiences.)
kesterbird's review
5.0
__received as part of LibraryThing's Early Review Program__
Like many memoirs, this is secretly a love story. Because it's a queer, punk love story, it's a love story to many people; to chosen family, to practical strangers, to lovers, to crushes, and to one great love who, as is so often the case in punk queer love stories, was never a lover at all.
This book could easily have tipped into the maudlin. It did not. It is sometimes nostalgic, but in the good way. As the author explains retro camp, so could he explain this book; and I can't do any better.
This is a book we need about a time when there was so much death, and so much fierce life raging around, in between, and before that death. We, the next generation of queers, hear about the death, and we're stopped in awe f the magnitude of it, afraid to ask about it, but we need to know about all the rest of this; just so very much love.
Like many memoirs, this is secretly a love story. Because it's a queer, punk love story, it's a love story to many people; to chosen family, to practical strangers, to lovers, to crushes, and to one great love who, as is so often the case in punk queer love stories, was never a lover at all.
This book could easily have tipped into the maudlin. It did not. It is sometimes nostalgic, but in the good way. As the author explains retro camp, so could he explain this book; and I can't do any better.
This is a book we need about a time when there was so much death, and so much fierce life raging around, in between, and before that death. We, the next generation of queers, hear about the death, and we're stopped in awe f the magnitude of it, afraid to ask about it, but we need to know about all the rest of this; just so very much love.
expendablemudge's review against another edition
4.0
2020 UPDATE Nominated for a Lambda Literary Award in the Gay Memoir/Biography category. The Awards are announced on 8 June 2020.
The Publisher Says: DISASTERAMA: Adventures in the Queer Underground 1977 to 1997, is the true story of Alvin Orloff who, as a shy kid from the suburbs of San Francisco, stumbled into the wild eclectic crowd of Crazy Club Kids, Punk Rock Nutters, Goofy Goofballs, Fashion Victims, Disco Dollies, Happy Hustlers, and Dizzy Twinks of post-Stonewall American queer culture of the late 1970s, only to see the “subterranean lavender twilit shadow world of the gay ghetto” ravished by AIDS in the 1980s.
In Disasterama, Orloff recalls the delirious adventures of his youth—from San Francisco to Los Angeles to New York—where insane nights, deep friendships with the creatives of the underground, and thrilling bi-coastal living led to a free-spirited life of art, manic performance, high camp antics, and exotic sexual encounters.
Orloff looks past the politics of AIDS to the people on the ground, friends of his who did not survive AIDS’ wrath—the boys in black leather jackets and cackling queens in tacky frocks—remembering them not as victims, but as people who loved life, loved fun, and who were a part of the insane jigsaw of Orloff’s friends. In Disasterama, Orloff tells their story: the true tale of how a bunch of pathologically flippant kids floundered through a deadly disaster.
My Review: I'm Author Orloff's age. Despite being born within hailing distance of the place, I spent little time in San Francisco, more in Austin (a surprisingly queer place even then!) and New York, but the world we lived in as young men has utterly vanished. Many of the guys I knew are dead...many aren't...but all of us have empty slots where loved people once stood. But enough long-face!
What a fast-paced and nostalgic look back at a moment when being young was fun! It can't be helped that AIDS took the lives of so many. It feels like the world Orloff describes (and illustrates with candid snapshots and collected ads, posters, and the like...who the hell keeps this ephemera?!) is as distant as World War II. These days, fun seems dead and young people have to think about what we had the luxury of ignoring.
Selfishly, I'm glad I could ignore it. Responsibly, I wish I hadn't had that choice.
The Publisher Says: DISASTERAMA: Adventures in the Queer Underground 1977 to 1997, is the true story of Alvin Orloff who, as a shy kid from the suburbs of San Francisco, stumbled into the wild eclectic crowd of Crazy Club Kids, Punk Rock Nutters, Goofy Goofballs, Fashion Victims, Disco Dollies, Happy Hustlers, and Dizzy Twinks of post-Stonewall American queer culture of the late 1970s, only to see the “subterranean lavender twilit shadow world of the gay ghetto” ravished by AIDS in the 1980s.
In Disasterama, Orloff recalls the delirious adventures of his youth—from San Francisco to Los Angeles to New York—where insane nights, deep friendships with the creatives of the underground, and thrilling bi-coastal living led to a free-spirited life of art, manic performance, high camp antics, and exotic sexual encounters.
Orloff looks past the politics of AIDS to the people on the ground, friends of his who did not survive AIDS’ wrath—the boys in black leather jackets and cackling queens in tacky frocks—remembering them not as victims, but as people who loved life, loved fun, and who were a part of the insane jigsaw of Orloff’s friends. In Disasterama, Orloff tells their story: the true tale of how a bunch of pathologically flippant kids floundered through a deadly disaster.
My Review: I'm Author Orloff's age. Despite being born within hailing distance of the place, I spent little time in San Francisco, more in Austin (a surprisingly queer place even then!) and New York, but the world we lived in as young men has utterly vanished. Many of the guys I knew are dead...many aren't...but all of us have empty slots where loved people once stood. But enough long-face!
What a fast-paced and nostalgic look back at a moment when being young was fun! It can't be helped that AIDS took the lives of so many. It feels like the world Orloff describes (and illustrates with candid snapshots and collected ads, posters, and the like...who the hell keeps this ephemera?!) is as distant as World War II. These days, fun seems dead and young people have to think about what we had the luxury of ignoring.
Selfishly, I'm glad I could ignore it. Responsibly, I wish I hadn't had that choice.