I'm persona non grata at the New Yorker.

I was raped. That was a hard thing to write about. I never owned that part of it. Guys don't look at themselves as being raped. We're not raised that way.

We didn't know each other [with Larry Kramer at Yale], but we had a lot of mutual friends.

I believe we really became friends [with Larry Kramer] when we bonded at our fifteenth class reunion in 1972.

I was raped: I said no and he wouldn't stop. I also had a scar on my back and blood coming out of my ass. To some that's just rough sex. Some would read that sentence and be turned on by that: the 51st Shade of Gay.

Another example of what I have to put up with from him. But there was a time I was mad at all my straight friends when AIDS was at its worst. I particularly hated the New Yorker, where Calvin [Trillin] has published so much of his work. The New Yorker was the worst because they barely ever wrote about AIDS. I used to take out on Calvin my real hatred for the New Yorker.

[Calvin Trillin] was very "shoe," which means he was a big jock, a big deal.