O Spiderman of sticky web
How did you end up in my bed?
I dreamed of this, you know, quite wet
Revealing that you're not quite het.
No Mary Jane could turn your head:
instead a fag in spandex skin,
A circumstance I revel in,
A situation, queer, indeed.
I can't believe your hairless chest
is getting my attention best.
I dreamed of this, a spider's nest
of comfy love togetherness.
A tighty white across my pecs,
You, Spiderman, made quite a mess!
Okay, Fans, all four of you. I realize that I've been remiss over the last few weeks. Lots of stuff has happened, and you don't know jack. If I were you, I'd go somewhere else to read the news!
Not that I'm mocking you, or anything like that, like you don't have lives or are a bunch of losers, no, no, Happy would never do that, unless he thought he could get away with it, and make you believe that he actually cared about somebody, other than himself, which is kind of an interesting concept, anyway, because why would anyone except an egocentric person with an outsized concept of self keep a blog anyway?
None of this has anything to do with why I'm writing this entry, or why I entitled it, Short and Sweet. With a title like that, you might think I was going to write about waffles or cookies, both of which can be short and sweet, and in fact, I have some great cookie recipes on my recipe blog. That's probably too literal a reading of the title of this entry. In fact, I was going to make this entry a short summary of my activities in the last two weeks, but that's probably boring. But I'll do it anyway.
High on the list, while I was at the IAGSDC Square Dance Convention, Chi-Town Shakedown last week, Brian sent me one of those email questionnaires that you complete and send out to 147 of your closest friends. Brian in his own responses indicated that I was slow, perhaps a little sarcastic, and (if you really read between the lines) somewhat unhinged. To my credit, I completed Brian's questionnaire, and I'm quite pleased with the results. I'm grateful to Brian for providing the opportunity, even though it was an immense distraction (me thinking about it while on the dance floor trying to do-si-do). It consumed me. I spent hours awake at night thinking about an appropriate response. So I'm glad that that's been dispensed with.
The square dance convention was fabulous. I helped lay the flooring on the Wednesday before the convention, and met Norman during the work. Norman is this nice optometrist from New York City. I could just fall into the pools of his eyes. Dreamy in a mature male, who hasn't gone to seed, bearish sort of way. We hung out together on the Advanced floor for a couple of days. He's trying to nail down his Advanced calls. I was slumming because I just couldn't face the Challenge 1 floor. I danced several tips there on Friday, and decided that my head hurt too much to continue. I was nursing a sinus infection, and just couldn't do Challenge. Norman and I took a very satisfying nap Saturday afternoon, that left me refreshed and ready for more dancing.
It's great fun to have enough confidence in a dance program to go on auto-pilot and just move about the floor. I can do that at Advanced, and it's my own little heaven. Dancing is a lot like organized religion. The caller calls, and the dancers obey. Sound familiar? It's very hierarchical, a real S&M relationship. I had a great time dancing with Norman.
So on Sunday afternoon, the very last session of dancing, I went back to the Challenge 1 floor. I had a fabulous time on it. I was in a square with three (straight) couples from England who were square dancing across the United States. They dance C1 flawlessly, and helped me through it. What a dream square. I moved on to another square, and this guy bops up, takes my hand and we dance together. I get into another square, and there he is again, smiling at me, and hugging me 47 nanoseconds too long at the end of the tip. I ask him, your room or mine. He says yours, and asks me if his partner can come along. Whoa!
So that's how I met Michael and Steve. Michael is a hot little cub, and Steve is a big and very friendly bear. So we snuffled off to room 1530, and I discovered my inner bear. It turns out that Michael had been stalking me since Silicon Galaxy, which was was five conventions ago. He saw me in the Moonshine Tip, and had to have me. Such are the siren ways of square dance conventions.
The other wonderful experience at the convention was the piano bar. Chip Prince played all the show tunes, and several of us belted them out. I haven't done that in twenty years, and I only know three musicals, but it was so much fun, and hilarious, too. Thanks, Chip!
Joe Branch and I went on the Fun Badge Tour together, seeing the nether regions of Chicago, then I trekked with Grace to Calumet Park, and spent the night at her place. She turned me on to Ancestry.com. Very Interesting.
Now I'm back home. I've been out on my bike. I'm getting ready for the IMEN Gathering. This is our week in the sun. I should be packing, but I'm not. Actually, I should be writing out Condo checks, but I'm not. That will get done before we leave, or the world as we know it will be fundamentally changed. I'm really in a mood to do nothing, so I'm writing this interminable blog entry, instead.
Last night, Leo came over after work. Work drag is a big turn on for me. So I drag him inside by his tie. Leo is an overachiever. Really. So he wants me to be the cowboy and ride, ride, ride. I agree that that would be a good idea. I put some lubrication on my fingers, and prepare my delicate regions, only to discover that I haven't completely washed my hands of the chili peppers that I was roasting and skinning for dinner. Oops. Later on, Leo tells me, "Your ass is on fire." Boy, was that an understatement. Toward the end of the performance, he needed me to help him reach satisfaction. I was hesitant to do it, because of the perhaps residual damage I might cause to his member. But he urged me on. He reached Nirvana. I hope it was not a lot hotter than he expected.
Today, a couple of Ron's friends came over, Chris and Peter who were later joined by Jay. We went out to lunch, then came home for a wonderful conversation about life as gay men. I do not believe that straight men sit around the living room (or a campfire) and talk about being straight. Believe me, gay men talk a lot about being gay. I think it goes with the territory. So I told them my Leo story. They laughed their asses off. So did I. In fact today, it's only a warm memory, rather than hot sex. Leo, it really was on fire.
For you readers who follow me on my adventures, you undoubtedly know that I am on the Manhunt site rather often looking for hookups, and chatting with buds, seeing who's online, etc. It's more than sex and less than satisfactory.
For the most part, Manhunt efficiently delivers the goods. Desperate men eventually find ways to accommodate each other's needs. Occasionally, though, you run into jerks. I ran into such a jerk yesterday, a gratuitous jerk with whom I had never had any contact. This is the message that he sent me:
Joker7727: wow..u are a fucking joke!!! 60 years old and u take naked pics of your self...fucking gross dude!!! no wounder people hate fags....guys like you give us all bad names. u look like a kid toucher!!! nasty dude!!!
This wasn't quite as bad as the message where a different jerk told me that "you old guys should just kill yourselves," but it's pretty close. The message is curious because I had never had contact with the sender, so why was he contacting me with this hateful, offensive message? I'm guessing he believes that old men shouldn't be having sex, or more likely we shouldn't be seen on Manhunt.
He pissed me off. So I replied to his message, not in kind, but intentionally. I fully expect Mr. Joker to block me after he reads my message. I hope he reads my message. But if he doesn't, at least the exchange is memorialized here:
wheaton_guy: No, I think you're the fucking joke. It's fags like you that give guys like me a bad name. I don't take pictures of myself in public restrooms like you do. And I don't know why you think I look like a kid toucher. Maybe you have some issues that you should explore with your therapist you self-loathing, ageist, bigoted asshole. Finally, if you live another 27 years, you'll be my age. You'll probably be hanging around here posting naked pictures of yourself. You might want to try a little humility, because when you're my age, you're certainly going to need it. It's my earnest hope that you never receive as hateful a message as you sent me. It's bad karma for you.
Don't mess with me.
Ron's out of town, and I'm randy. When I was 29 (or 39, or 49), I didn't expect to be sexually active, and well, horny at the age of 59. I thought the day would come when sex just wouldn't interest me anymore. That's not proving to be the case. The desire remains strong, even if the implementation isn't always exactly on target.
That's a blog entry in itself. When Pfizer put Viagra® on the market, it changed my life. Although the drug doesn't create or increase sexual desire, it makes the result of sexual desire obtainable. After decades of having no follow through whatsoever, Viagra was an epiphany, and an enabler of possibilities, and it probably kept my interest in sex active because it made the possibility of sexual connection with other men real. When I couldn't get a hard on, I always felt that I had let the other guy down. Now that I could actually have a much larger sexual repertoire (with Viagra's gentle, insistent help), I felt a sexual validation that I had not experienced in decades. Of course, that's in my head, and I should probably be talking to a therapist about that.
I used Viagra yesterday. I had a happy afternoon with Tim. We enjoyed the completely undignified time with each other. Sex like this reminds me of who I am.
This morning I was still a little blissful. I was walking past the Discovery Building in Silver Spring, on my way to the farmers market to pick up some produce. The Discovery Building has this huge mural along the sidewalk that combines themes of Prometheus, the Tree of Life, Neil Armstrong, Hal, and the Ultimate Answers of Physics (that's my interpretation). And the mural has a lot of penis-shaped objects in it: the Tree of Life, flaming planetoids streaking, fish of a sort, and a starry universe heading out to the Big Chill, penises everywhere, and it didn't take a huge amount of imagination for me to see them! They are there. I saw them with my own eyes. And I'm cutting my dosage in about half.
I remember at the beginning of this year, that I promised all of my readers that I would be updating this blog regularly. I guess it depends on how you define "regularly."
Some updates: My bedroom is still a complete mess. I need to set a deadline, then get to it. It's a scary prospect for me. I keep hearing about elderly hoarders, and I wonder am I contemplating my next forty years every time I look at that pigsty (and that's really being unfair to pigs) of a bedroom. What gives here? Am I mentally unbalanced. I also notice clutter creeping back into the office, and it's giving me the heebie jeebies. I'm entering some warped zombie-like universe. Everywhere I look I see awful premonitions of my future.
Michael and I made it to the Silver Spring Farmers Market early Saturday morning (okay, 9 a.m.) to pick up our box of CSA produce. I also purchased a baguette and a container of cardamom gelato. Later on, I proceeded to prepare a spinach potato dish that Spiral Path Farms had conveniently included in their newsletter. Spinach Colcannon is a dish worthy of your consideration, especially if you fix it like I do.
Tim and I went to Sushi Damo on Saturday afternoon, just after the lunch crowd. There's nothing quite like post-coital seafood. And that sentence is wrong on so many different levels. Not a hint of Tuna was to be found.... But the rolls were wonderful: the Eel Special Roll, and the Mango Sensation. I think I can speak for Tim (and Me!) and heartily recommend both creations. I have no idea how "authentic" these rolls are, but sinking back into the taste and delight of the moment makes that judgment wholly irrelevant, for at least this particular lunch time.
Sunday, Ron and I attended a (very) (gay) pool party in the neighborhood. The looksist and ageist demons were dancing in my head while I was attending this spectacle. Bawdy ballads, anyone? Care to hear about the latest naked sightings of young male celebrities? Are you interested in knowing the real inside dope between Sal Mineo and Tony Perkins? I thought so. The aforementioned Spinach Colcannon was devoured in its entirety. One-half pound of melted cheese just about guarantees a cleaned out dish at a potluck of this caliber, although I continue to be dumbfounded and amazed at the results and my reaction to those results. Sometimes, I just want to turn in my card, and slink back into the slimy shadows from which I emerged after Stonewall.
I'm finally on a computer that doesn't have a worthless browser like the one on my BlackBerry. Not that I'm dissing the piece of crap that passes for software on my phone. I'm sitting in front of my Mom's computer cruising the Internet, and doing my darndest to remove all traces of my virtual journey across the web. The boys in Moscow are having none of it, and that's probably okay, considering that most of them travel rather than host.
I went out to The Barn today out in Uniontown, Washington. The Barn houses an eclectic group of artists' studios in many different mediums, plus it has the world's niftiest gift shop. My sister, Katherine, has a studio there, and she showed me her latest watercolor that will one day end up on a grateful wall of my home. I like her painting for its sense of place, and my connection to the place. I guess I'm a natural born humanist, or something like that. Currently, The Barn is hosting an exhibit from the Washington State University School of Architecture about the wooden grain elevators that dot the Palouse country. I grew up seeing grain elevators everywhere, but without any connection or knowledge about them. I liked the exhibit, and will quietly regret the demise of these prairie sentinels.
Tie Dye. Who knew that it's alive and well in Moscow, Idaho? Moscow has a tie-dye business (curiously called Tye-Dye Everything) and has had for ten years. I talked to one of the owners, and we're talking hardcore hippie. She and her husband lived in the woods in a recycled school bus. She's been making tie-dyed goods since 1989. The shop is overwhelming. There is nothing there that doesn't come out psychidelically enhanced. I was impressed. It reminded me of my dorm room at Theophilus Tower.
Not every pirate has a beard,
an eyepatch, or a wooden leg.
Pirates come in all disguises
big and small, thin, fat - all sizes.
Country boy though I was reared
I've cultivated pirate beard.
But beard does not a pirate make
Unless you're in the Caribbean
Staring at the salty ocean
entertaining pirate notions.
Then, a beard is quite in fashion
to flame an inner pirate passion.
No lusty wench with which to wake
I'll gladly bed the Captain's mate.
My beard in search of pirate treasure
found a friendship and love's pleasure.
Here's a preliminary list.
None of these are earth shattering, but are some little things I really want to do, which should improve the quality of my interior planet considerably. As I lay in bed this morning, reveling in this New Year, I felt so grateful and happy, so alive to this arbitrary moment of made up possibilities. It was a perfect morning for a new year.
This blog is suffering from neglect, mainly because of Facebook and ManHunt. I'm not proud to admit that. Neither of those sites requires the intellectual curiosity nor the skillful storytelling that this blog demands. In a weird economic way, the base drives out the precious and this blog turns to dross. Oh well. I should get used to that.
The biggest new thing for me is cycling. I sit in a more gingerly fashion than I did in the past. I've been assured that my butt will eventually toughen up. In the meanwhile, I've been exploring the bike trails about town. Jerry and I went on another bike ride, this time to Mt. Vernon, then back through Rosslyn. I'm slowly increasing my mileage. And I'm having a lot of fun doing it. The bike riding weather has been beautiful, and I'm enjoying the bike immensely. Thanks, Jerry, for your inspiration.
I'm back in the groove with Big Bang Theory. Season 2 has arrived from Netflix. Those boys should all earn a Nobel Prize in Physics. And don't miss Modern Family. Wow, what a Costco moment. I'm embarrassed and empowered in the same instant. If this is what it means to be gay. I'm all for it.
Today, Ron took all of our closet "treasures" to a flea market held at the Wheaton Ice Rink. Imagine a vast sea of crap, but floating on top of that sea, a table filled with startling treasures, tastefully arranged, and priced to sell. And that's exactly what Ron did. He toiled from early morning to mid afternoon, and very little was left on the table, as he closed down at the end of the market. I'm very grateful that Ron took on organizing our forgotten crap, and turning it into shining treasures that a lot of people decided they couldn't live without. Well done!
In September, Ron and I attended a studio show of Joe Jacobs, a local artist in Gaithersburg. I found a painting I couldn't live without, and proceeded to purchase it. Yesterday, Frames by Rebecca called and told me to come pick up the painting. So I did today after visiting the farmers market in Silver Spring. The painting is beautiful, and now hanging quietly on the wall, like a poem ready to be read.
The Economist published an interesting editorial1 and article2 about America's sex offender laws, how those laws are unjust and misguided in their purpose.
The problem stems mainly from the sex offender registration and residence laws in each state. The laws vary from state to state, but often impose onerous requirements on offenders many of whom have served their prison terms and have paid their debt to society.
The problems with the current regulations are that they often do not have a nuanced approach to preventing future sex offenses and to returning the offender to society. Most sexual offenses are between consenting parties. Some offenders have been convicted for acts that are no longer offenses (e.g. sodomy). The vast majority of the offenders are not sexual predators or child molesters, yet often the registry and residence laws treat all sexual offenders in the same way, and do not make distinctions about the kind or severity of offenses.
Our politicians score cheap political points by passing oppressive laws that severely limit where registered offenders can live, where they can work, and with whom they can associate. The public clamors for information from the sex offender registries, not realizing that the registries make no distinction between sexual predators and high school kids who got caught sending indecent photos on their cellphones.
People who are on the registries are discriminated against in employment and housing. They are frequently harassed, and sometimes murdered. We don't paint other categories of crime with the same broad brush. Our society certainly shouldn't treat all 650,000 sexual offenders in the United States in the same way, either. Our states need sane registration and residence policies that target dangerous sexual predators, and leave everyone else alone.
I think it is interesting that the articles about the injustice being done to sexual offenders were published in the Economist, and not in an American publication. Sometimes the land of the free isn't so free. I guess this topic is just too hot to tackle in the United States.
1America's Unjust sex laws, p. 9, The Economist, Vol. 392 Number 8643, August 8 - 14, 2009.
2Unjust and ineffective, pp. 21 - 23, Ibid.
Michael Shaw really hit the nail on the head with his March 1, 2004 New Yorker Cartoon. The cartoon captures all of my ambivalence, confusion, fear, and outrage about gay marriage. Marriage hasn't worked all that well for straight couples, how will it work for the rest of us?
My ambivalence stems from how I feel about marriage. I firmly believe that if you and your sweetie want to get married that you should do it. I'm not convinced that marriage should be the norm among lesbian and gay couples. Ron and I have had a very settled existence for a couple of decades, but neither he nor I consider us married. Our relationship is not like most married relationships. Our commitment and faithfulness to each other doesn't depend on sexual fidelity. And yet, I'm quite sure that he and I are as settled and rooted in our relationship as any married couple. I believe that our relationship deserves equal respect too in our society. I also believe that Ron's and my relationship is an important part of the social fabric - we care for each other. We watch out for each other and for our chosen families. But I would not want to call us married, because marriage does not fit the kind of family, and the kind of relationships that I have.
Like the couple in the cartoon, I'm confused: why do gay people want to get married? Is it for the benefits? Is it for the respect? Is it for the shower gifts? What's behind the movement for same-sex marriage? Why is it so important that it has taken over the LGBT political agenda? Yes, the Defense of Marriage Act is an odious piece of legislation that needs to be repealed. Beyond that, many of the benefits of marriage can (and will) be granted by the states, and eventually the Federal government and the courts will follow suit. As for respect, you only get it by taking it. Respect is not a compelling reason to get married. That sentimental altar moment is not a compelling reason to get married, either. On the other hand, if the public commitment before the state is what you need to confirm your feelings for another human being, I guess you're going to have to get married.
I have fears about same-sex marriage, too. I think it strikes straight at some of the defining mores of our gay male culture. Will the brave new world of married gay male culture stigmatize men who do not seek out permanent relationships, but are quite happy with their sex buds and a circle of friends? This is a serious question because out gay male culture since Stonewall has celebrated not only gay sex, but a liberating notion about sexuality itself - that sex with others is a virtue, and that sex with many different partners is valuable. Yes, AIDS devastated our community, but we know now how to have sex that doesn't spread HIV or hepatitis or syphilus. We can enjoy sex without the constraints of marriage and outside our relationships - if that's what we want. We can enjoy being who we are and what we feel. I fear that same-sex marriage will so change our views of ourselves and others that we will lose an authentic value of what it means to be a gay male.
Finally, the arguments swirling around same-sex marriage are outrageous. The world as we know it won't end when everyone can tie the knot. Massachusetts hasn't been smitten by the rod of God. At last report, the seven plagues have not leveled the God-fearing people of Iowa or their highest court. Plainly, same-sex marriage has not undermined traditional marriage, no matter what the opponents to same-sex marriage would have you believe. People have legitimate fears about religious practice, and fears about the public sanctioning of homosexuality. But to use those reasons to oppose same-sex marriage is wrong. In the first instance, the First Amendment prohibits the government from forcing religious institutions to perform same-sex marriages, or for that matter, even letting homosexuals in the front doors of their churches. In the second instance, the state does not have a straight version of marriage and a gay version of marriage. It only has marriage.
So, I'll remain ambivalent on this issue.
This is a picture that I took of Ron a couple of days ago. I fiddled with it, but am really pleased with the way it turned out. It's almost artistic!
The problem with having a blog is that it is a beast that always has to be fed. I sometimes don't do that too well. Part of it is that the daily detritus of my life doesn't always seem to merit any report. Part of it is general laziness.
For the record, I'm continuing to heal. Simone, one of the physical therapists, wasn't too thrilled to learn that I had been walking up the Wheaton Metro escalator, so I told her not to tell anyone. The knee is not swollen very much at all, and I'm now doing strengthening exercises. Last week's inflammation seemed to be caused by irritation to my right leg's iliotibial band, but exercises to stretch that seem to be working well.
Yep, in other medical news, I made it back to my urologist. He checked out my plumbing and ordered a CT IVP. He doesn't seem to think there is anything to worry about, but is a little mystified why my penis sometimes bleeds after oral sex. That makes at least two of us.
I did go square dancing on Thursday night. It was an ABC dance, and Ronnie and I, injured though we were, danced. I felt it on Friday, but not too bad, and I was careful. It's another activity that I'm not reporting to Gretchen, my physical therapist. We had five visitors. Kent and Brian were calling. We'll have other ABC dances in July and August.
Yesterday, I braised some country pork ribs. I haven't fixed them since I was a kid. They came out very tasty. Next, I want to successfully fix them barbequed (slow-cooked) on the grill. It presents some logistical difficulties, but I feel up to it.
Finally, Mark Sanford, you've made my week. Every time I hear your name, I can't help but giggle. The depth and breadth of your hypocrisy, deceit, and mis-government takes the cake for Republican scandals this week. But I'm sure the GOP can do one better next week.
Yesterday, I was cruising around Facebook, and happened upon a group, Building connections to protect tradition (sic) marriage when the day comes again. Today, I notice when I went back to the group, that the post I was most interested in has been removed. Oh well. This site was started by a Brigham Young University alum, and has many Latter-day Saint members on it. Most of the posters appear to be deeply religious church members.
The removed post was part of a string, where one poster (who was not LDS) mentioned that some of the language and content of the other posters wasn't especially Christian or religious, i.e., the language was intemperate and could be characterized as being either bigoted or hateful. Another poster responded very quickly that the remark was a little hypocritical because, "Gays hate religion."
To be fair, the page creator respectfully requests posters to be mindful of their speech and to be respectful of others. Here's his complete statement:
This group is just to fortify the social networks for when the time comes to do what is necessary in protecting traditional marriage, whether it be to write state officials or rally the vote. We need to be passive to not fuel the anger right now as it is a sensitive issue at this time. Remember we are to love all and respect even when we are not respected.
Thanks!
Just an aside, not all gay people hate religion, but for those who do, they have cause for their feelings. Most religious groups kick out gay people, when the groups find out a member is gay. Religious groups rob gay people of their religious life, the groups hijack gay people's spirituality, and many groups condemn gay people to an unhappy, life (and death) in hell. Furthermore, the speech that many religious groups use is deceptive, if you hate the sin, in the context of homosexuality, you are hating the sinner as well. The speech from the pulpit can be a huge burden to bear. It often incites other members to shun or to even commit spiritual, if not physical, violence on gay people. I know this from my own experience as a gay man. It has happened to me, and to many of my gay friends.
While being gay (or as many straight people say, "homosexual"), can indeed be a problem for gay people, it's also a problem for people who follow any creed that purports to believe "Love your neighbor as yourself." The Christian version of this commandment is
Jesus said unto him Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all they soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. Matthew 22:37-40, KJV
Most religious faiths have similar formulations of this: Do not do unto others as you would not have them do unto you, or the affirmative of the same.
I invite religious people who disagree with me about the nature of my sexual orientation (I am gay, I am homosexual) to put their feet in my shoes. Believe me, I've already put my feet in your shoes. I really have. How does it feel to have someone say to you that you hate them and what they believe. That's a foul charge smearing all gay people. Honestly, we don't hate religion or religious people. I do, however, get irritated by people who let their sometimes blind belief trump science, common sense, and the Holy Scriptures, and then proceed to carry on with intemperate speech about my sexual orientation.
The problem is stigma. It all started 5,000 years ago with, "If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them. Leviticus 20:13 KJV. That scripture and six other "clobber" scriptures pretty much have molded traditional Christian (and Jewish) thinking about homosexuality. These scriptures are almost always ripped out of their historical, religious, and cultural contexts, and applied willy-nilly to gay people. One of the underlying characteristics of bigotry is that the people engaging in it (from its gentlest to its most rabid manifestations) can rattle off justifications for their behavior (clobber verses), but often do not consider the context of the justifications. They do not have a deep understanding of their behavior, and over time, it becomes a part of their irrational belief.
[A personal confession, here - I also have irrational belief and engage in irrational behavior. I have my own prejudices which probably border on bigotry. Just because I disagree with most religions' views of homosexuality in no way exempts me from experiencing the human condition, part of which is to engage in irrational belief and irrational behavior.]
Many religious people let their irrational beliefs about homosexuality color their feelings about gay people. That coloring is called stigma. Your stigmatization of me effectively makes me less a person than you, and by inference less than your humanity. I'm not a real person in your eyes. I know these may be difficult words for you to read. And I know that you may feel offended, disgusted, saddened, or angry. I know that you may not believe my words. I also know, that you have felt stigma because of your religious beliefs and practices. You are marked and mocked by other people (like me) because of what you believe. I know that you have felt emotional pain, ostracism, and conflict with the outside world because of your beliefs. I know how much that hurts.
I invite you to examine some of the stigmatization that I live with, stuff that I hear and experience all the time. What follows isn't pretty, and may seem offensive, but again, I ask you to get into my shoes, and my skin, and be open to that experience. Please.
I am a homosexual who really deserves less than straight people. This stigma is stated in explicit terms with the phrase, Gays want special rights, not human rights. When a person utters this phrase, the first thing it does is rob gay people of their humanity, because the speaker is saying that gay people are not human. It implies that special rights are privileges, and privileges that "normal" (straight) people don't have. Here are the "human rights" that straight people regard as their own (any may not even think about): freedom from bullying and violence, non-discrimination in housing and employment, the freedom to love (and marry) someone, the right to speak out on public issues. Here are the "special privileges" to which homosexuals aspire: freedom from bullying and violence, non-discrimination in housing and employment, the freedom to love (and marry) someone, the right to speak out on public issues. I know this, because I am a gay man who aspires to these human rights.
Why do I feel stigmatized by this attitude of feeling less than straight people? Let me give you a few For Examples from my own life.
This particular stigma has real consequences, affects real people, and stunts the lives of others. It is a very uncomfortable stigma with which to live.
Gay people deserve what happens to them, because they choose to live that way. This is a difficult stigma to shake, because deep down, many religious people appear to feel that homosexuality is such an immoral aberration that gay people couldn't possibly choose to live that way.
First of all, if you read the sacred texts with an open heart and a mind wanting to know the truth, and you study the historical, cultural, and religious context of those texts, you'll find that the assertion of immorality often made by religious people isn't nearly so cut and dried as many of those people assert it. So please, I pray, reread the "clobber verses" and study them with an inquiring mind wanting to know your Creator's will.
Secondly, so what if I did choose to live the homosexual life? Democrats choose to live the "Democrat" life. Baptists choose to live the "Baptist" life. I am guessing that part of the reason the stigma of choice remains so important to religious, straight people is because of their misunderstanding and demonization of gay sexual practices. Admittedly, some of those practices are pretty weird. But, you don't hear gay people talking about straight people choosing to be straight, and you don't usually find gay people critiquing straight sexual practices (Dan Savage, aside). Why? Because sexual practice is in the realm of private conduct, and it should stay there. Frankly, gay sex is very similar to straight sex, more than either gay or straight people want to think. Straight people have straight sex with other straight people all the time, and don't get accused that they are choosing to be straight.
Finally, choice is a curious word. Let's put it in the context of a gay person, "choosing" to be gay. Here's what that person is often choosing: opprobrium from family and former friends, bullying and physical violence, and social ostracism, to name a few things. Think about it: people don't choose to live a life like this. Instead, a life like this often finds gay people because we have an intrinsic and innate need to behave congruently with our feelings and our attractions, just as straight people have an intrinsic and innate need to behave congruently with their feelings and attractions. Gay people don't choose to be gay any more than straight people choose to be straight. Any other conclusion is unsupportable by scientific, cultural, and moral evidence.
Here's a couple of examples of the affect of this stigmatization in my own personal life:
I ended up with broken bones and a broken heart because I chose to be gay.
God Hates Fags! This particular stigmatization comes out of a certain mean-spirited fundamentalism masquerading as human kindness. Yes, I know that Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church are extreme caricatures of faith, but I don't see a lot of religious people, like you, protesting their hateful speech and vitriolic phlegm. Go to Fred's web site, and read and see gay stigmatization at its most reprehensible. It's disgusting. It's hateful. It's an Old Testament God (who wrote Leviticus) untempered by the life, acts, and teachings of his Son, Jesus Christ. What Would Jesus Do? It certainly would not be what Fred Phelps does.
One of the reasons I ended up with broken bones and a broken heart, (not to mention fired from my job), is because good religious people believe what Fred Phelps teaches. These good people believed that God Hates Fags, so they could do evil to me. And I believed, at one time in my life, that God Hates Fags, and I hated myself, too. Stigma hurts. It hurts those who practice stigma, and it hurts those who carry its burden. In fact stigma makes religious people less Godly, and it has the power to make gay people afraid, injured, friendless, and unemployed.
Thank you for spending some time in my shoes, well boots, actually. I'm grateful that you gave me the opportunity.
Remember when it was great to be gay because you could avoid the draft, you couldn't get married, and you didn't have kids? And we didn't think a second thought about it. Oh, how much forty years makes a difference. We're too quick to walk away from those early days. We dreamed a gay revolution, but woke up in the straight suburbs. We left many of our gay principles behind, and we should re-examine them, because adopting straight institutions and values can lead us astray, and it never makes us straight.
Although "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" is an offensive and unfair policy, repealing it doesn't speak to the issues of the role of the military in our society, and the role that gay people should play within that military and the larger society. Our society lacks a highly visible critique of the military role in today's world. We are asked to support the military complex in its fight against terrorism and in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Gay people should demand an end to Don't Ask, Don't Tell, but we should also be critiquing the military complex. It takes a big chunk of change out of our pockets as taxes, and it sends men and women into peril every day for what? I read a lot about what the United States does, but not a lot of why. There is a lot of blood on the ground.
When I came out, getting married was not a high priority. In the 80s, the gay community had a huge debate about whether marriage should be an issue for us. I understand why people want to get married. But if it's only about the benefits, tax advantage, and inheritance, we're not being principled in this endeavor. Marriage certainly doesn't fit my family, and it doesn't fit the families of many other gay people I know. If the rush to gay marriage is about honoring gay relationships, then the goal has to be something more than about two people. Because my marriage to Ron would say nothing about my love for Tim, Perry, and Brian. And faithfulness and fidelity would have to be re-imagined. But I'm not hearing that from the gay marriage activists.
I heard a tale from Harry Hay that he told me in my living room in 1994. A lesbian couple who were friends of his had a baby, and wanted to share their happy experience with him. He would have none of it. He felt that gay people were meant for a different kind of existence than child-rearing, and he told his friends that. They were not pleased. Harry Hay had a special wisdom. Gay people have a different life than their straight neighbors. We should not give up our own ways too easily.
Drugs, sex, and rock and roll, anyone?
Gee, time flies when you're having a good time. This square dance convention is just about history. I am suffering from extreme sleep deprivation, but all of my friends here assure me that they can't tell any difference. The dancing has been good (what little I've done), and this event is a combination high school reunion, family picnic, cruise bar dancefest all rolled into one.
My sister, Grace, couldn't attend because she's on a cruise in the Caribbean. Several people asked me where she was. We all agreed that she should have been here. This is a SCANDAL in my OWN FAMILY! I'm working on it, and I hope to have MY reputation repaired by next year. I'm not sure how CHEEZ DOODLE is going to repair HER reputation....
The entertainment turned out wonderful. The DC Different Drummers Swing Band is fabulous. Their music, the dance class, the energy of the dancers made it a perfect foil to the Honky Tonk Queen Contest. Which has its own history, quite separate from entertainment.
Last night, we had a country-western dance and a karaoke room. BJ Brown, the CW DJ, kept the energy up and the people moving. RJ, the karaoke guy, coaxed the best out the singers. Mein and I got up and sang a happily forgotten version of Happy Talk.
And the DC Cowboys, wow. The crowd pretty much stepped on their tongues and slobbered on the floor. I actually got to touch one of the hot, sweaty bodies, afterwards. The Cowboys danced two sets during the CW dance, and the crowd pretty much had a collective orgasm. At least the guys did.
I felt good about the entertainment. I think the dancers enjoyed it. I don't know if I want to manage events like this in the future, but it was a growing experience.
No, I didn't disappear, I just couldn't get around to writing in my blog for a month or so. I apologize to my blog readers, everywhere. So here's the scoop:
1. I bought a walking stick. My knee has been a problem, so I went looking for a walking stick. REI carries a sleek one that doesn't make me look too much like an old geezer. It's adjustable, and it fits into my carry-on bag.
2. Because I was going on a sailing trip. Except that the walking stick looks like a gun, so I had to check the bag, anyway. But it was a very nice sailing trip with six other guys. Three of the guys were pretty experienced sailors. I pretended to cook. Actually, I made the food list and helped herd cats while shopping.
We sailed on a 40-ft monohull, the Wombat, and that's about as technical as I get. The captain would start talking about lanyard and halyard and mainsail, and I would hyperventilate. I had a small library with me, and I was working on those menus....
3. In the Caribbean. Ah, yes, this all took place in the Caribbean, more specifically, the British Virgin Islands. They use greenbacks there, too, but they only seem to go half as far. Markets in the BVIs are interesting places. The range of products is somewhat limited, but the prices are not. Near the moorings and anchorages, the markets cater to the sailors, and the products have a peculiar skew to them. More particularly, sailors apparently have a huge appetite for potato chips and alcoholic drinks.
One of the guys on the boat mixed rum punches every afternoon. It's a very civilized practice, and quite in keeping with local custom. His recipe is 1 part rum, 1 part tropical fruit juice, 1 part whiskey sour mix, a few drops of grenadine syrup for color, and a couple of dashes of bitters. Stir and serve over ice.
This is my second trip to the British Virgin Islands. This is a beautiful place, and well worth the visit, especially by sailboat. Check out the Baths and Gorda Peak on Virgin Gorda. Enjoy the beauty and the beach on Sandy Cay. Sail around the Dogs.
4. With a side visit to Puerto Rico. Before we found ourselves on Beef Island, we spent a long weekend in Puerto Rico. This was the first time that I had visited Puerto Rico, apart from spending many hours in the airport. We stayed at the Luquillo Sunrise Beach Inn. One of the guys, Lee, had lived in Puerto Rico, so he was our tour guide. He used to live near Fajardo, which is near Luquillo, so he knew the local area, and took us to all kinds of interesting places to eat.
Luquillo is outside San Juan, on Puerto Rico's northeast coast. The beach is very pretty, and we had a nice hotel. Every night, the local caballeros would ride their horses down the street in front of the hotel.
Lee took us to El Yunque Rain Forest and Las Cabezas de San Juan Nature Reserve. We also visited an unofficial nude beach, Playa Escondida, which is near the nature preserve. To get to the beach, park in the Seven Seas Beach parking lot, walk all the way to the west end of Seven Seas Beach, then walk north along the shore to Playa Colora, then cross the neck of land (there is a trail) separating Playa Colora from Playa Escondida. Public nudity is not permitted in Puerto Rico, so we were discreet (and respectful).
5. Sometimes conch tastes good. I once ate a conch fritter in Key West, and it seemed like a vastly overrated dish designed to separate tourists from their dollars. So when I saw conch on the menu in Puerto Rico (in a sandwich!), and on Tortola (in a fritter!), I was skeptical. The sandwich was outstanding. The conch was tender and tasty, just like my men. I think I had conch on three different occasions, and I was very pleased. It may be a tourist treat, but it's a tasty one.
6. Ron and I hosted a MGMC Potluck. Ho Boy! What a starry social gathering of Montgomery County's Gay A-List! About 30 guys showed up with dishes in hand. I made my famous Scalloped Potatoes. They were finished in approximately twenty-five minutes. I liked James's lemon pie, which he says consists of lemon juice, condensed milk, and Cool Whip®. I googled the ingredients. Tim (the other Tim) stopped at Whole Foods and brought some potato salad and some vegan General Tso's Chicken. I slapped them in some serving dishes to avoid potluck shame. They were both tasty, too, because it's okay to cheat at potlucks, as long as you don't serve it in the store container.
I provided half-time entertainment when I caught my pants on the arm of the couch, then stumbled and took a gracefully 2-1/2 reverse turn dive into the corner landing behind the China dogs, and missing the glass table with the cloisonne fish. The gargoyle was also unharmed. I ended up with bruises all over my right arm. I did not break anything, and my dignity remained somewhat intact. The guys enjoyed the party (so did I!), nobody got hurt, and nobody went away hungry.
7. I visited my dermatologist. She saw my peeling, sunburned skin and tsked a bit. Can't say as I blame her. I had a good excuse. She froze three spots, an old one and two new ones. She has a certificate hanging in the examination room that says she attended a workshop in 1994. Should I ask her about that? She's African-American, and I'm always the only white guy in the waiting room, usually the only male, too. I think she's a great doc. She asks lots of questions, carefully explains treatment options, and she spends time with me. That's my kind of doctor! She's already cleared up a nasty skin infection that I had had for fifteen years, cleared up a skin rash, and now we're working on those actinic keratoses that appear in fair skinned men of a certain age. She's using Solaraze on it. So far, I haven't noticed any difference in my skin color (it reddens and dries out the skin). But I've been on it less than a week.
8. A guy in the mall tried to sell me drugs. (I think...) I had gone to the mall for a haircut, but my guy, Joe, couldn't see me for several hours, so I thought I go to Bubbles, and check it out. I got an appointment there if I could just wait fifteen or twenty minutes, so I did. I sat reading in a public area of the mall, and this guy walks up and starts chatting, (which is annoying if you are trying to read The Economist) commenting on my clothes, the time, asking me what I'm doing. He finally says something like, "I could get something for you, if you know what I mean." I replied, "No, I don't know what you mean." He smiled and walked off, turned on by his cell phone. Yep, right here in downtown Wheaton.
9. And I got a haircut. Mai Li cut my hair at Bubbles. The salon has an astonishingly awful web site. It loads slow and the Flash just doesn't do that much for me. Mai Li gave me an okay cut. I think, though, she was probably more interested in pushing product. It's more expensive than the Hair Cuttery, but not much. Okay, I'm cheap. And what kind of name is Hair Cuttery, anyway?
10. I bought some jeans. My old pair has a hole in the crotch and is extremely thin in the butt. I've had to wear underwear the last couple of weeks. I got a pair of Wranglers, "loose" fit. Cambodian Made. They are a little bigger cut than I like, but I'll get used to it. The old pair was regular fit, and I think that caused them to wear a little faster in the aforementioned places. I'm a big boy! While shopping for jeans, I also picked up some $9.99 shirts (at Target), Woody Woodpecker, Superman, and Iron Man. I'm now girded with protection.
11. I've been square dancing because cortisone works wonders. It took nearly two weeks for the cortisone to fully kick in, but it has. The knee pain is gone, so I've been square dancing. John Marshall, Ett McAtee, Bill Harrison, if they call C-1, I dance! Tim's been quizzing me on definitions. At Ett's on Monday, I nearly lost it completely. Some of the dancers blamed it on the full moon, but it certainly was some gothic (horrifying?) dancing! Quantum physics came into play when one of the dancers created an indeterminate wave-field while attempting to orient her spin to a head or a side wall. Observation of the experiment didn't help as she hovered between the two positions. The field finally collapsed and she found herself in the wrong position, in a much lower energy state. Quarks at work. It happened at the Cherry Hill Campground.
12. I've been keeping my boys happy, at least smiling. I missed my guys! I'm glad to be back. I was kind of horny, too, because it is possible to be in the middle of the Caribbean, in one of the world's most romantic places with six other gay guys, and remain somewhat frustrated and randy all at the same time. I think this is only a guy issue. So I was glad to see the boys, and I'm making up for anything that I missed.
13. You can't buy a brief-styled swimming suit in the mall. What is the world coming to? Evidently, straight guys are interested only in board shorts. I looked at Macy's Penneys, and Old Navy. The sales clerks clucked at me, and told me to come back when the seasonal clothing was in. Yah! Every direction, nothing but board shorts. Unflattering! Hey guys, what's up with this? I found some online, but it's definitely not the same shopping experience.
14. I predict that the California Supreme Court will uphold Proposition 8. Ron and I took a walk earlier this week. We have a regular path through the neighborhood. We were talking about California, and the Supremes. I'm betting they will uphold "the will of the people" because the court is elected, and the voters will kick them out of office. An elected judiciary is a dangerous, sometimes timid creature. Ron and I often have really important discussions on our walks. Here are some possible outcomes: The court could overturn Proposition 8, which I think is highly unlikely. It may, however, leave the 18,000 same-sex marriages in California intact. I think there's a good chance of that.
My own personal druthers is to have the state offer civil unions that must be performed by civil officers, then let anyone who wants to, get married by their priest or rabbi. The church should not be validating civil contracts between people who want to establish a domestic or civil relationship with each other. Get the church out of marriage.
15. Scalloped Potatoes. I can't help myself. These potatoes are good. These are not your usual scalloped potatoes.
7 T unsalted butter, divided
2 lb Golden Yukon potatoes, pared and sliced (1/8")
1 medium onion, sliced (1/8")
1 small green pepper, chopped
1/2 lb mushrooms, coarsely chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 c flour
2-1/2 c milk
1/2 lb Gruyere or sharp Cheddar cheese, grated
1/4 t cayenne pepper
1/2 t Louisiana hot sauce
salt and pepper, to taste
1/2 c chopped parsley (optional)
In a large, heavy skillet, melt 4 T butter over low heat. Add the onions, green pepper, mushrooms, and garlic, and cook over low heat until the vegetables are cooked down and soft, about a half hour. Stir the vegetables occasionally, while cooking.
While the vegetables are cooking, pare and slice the potatoes into a bowl of cold water. Drain and rinse the potatoes in a colander.
Butter a 13" x 9" pan with 1 T of the butter. Set the pan aside.
Stir the flour into the cooked vegetable mixture (keep the burner on low). Slowly stir in the milk, and bring to a boil over low heat. If you haven't already done so, you should grate the cheese, now....
While the sauce is cooking, arrange one-third of the sliced potatoes to cover the bottom of the prepared pan. Salt and pepper to taste. As soon as the sauce boils, stir in the grated cheese, and stir until all of the cheese is blended in. Stir in the cayenne pepper, hot sauce, and parsley. Remove the skillet from the burner.
Spread one-third of the cheese sauce over the potatoes. Layer one-half of the remaining potatoes, and salt and pepper them. Top with one-half of the remaining sauce. Top with the remaining potatoes and sauce.
Mix the bread crumbs and 2 T melted butter. Spread the bread crumbs on top of the potatoes. Bake in a 350° F oven for 45 minutes.
16. Why being condo treasurer is too much like work. Well, for one thing, I have to fill out spreadsheets and keep records. Then I have to pay taxes. I send out late fee notices. It goes on and on. If I pick up a few more gigs like this, I'm going back to the office.
17. I'm so gay. I grew a beard before I went to the Caribbean so that I could look like a pirate. When I came home, I went square dancing (with a bunch of gay guys), and they unanimously agreed that the beard should stay. One of the guys even told me that I looked hot. My profile on ManHunt has also been getting comments like, "Woof" and "Hey!". I'm going with the flow on this one.
18. I fell off the wagon, but the horse hasn't run over me yet. Cleaning the office has turned into a joke. I can't face that room. Tim suggested that I post a picture everyday on Facebook of the office, showing what progress I'm making in its cleaning. I may be reduced to that very soon. Stay tuned. This could turn very ugly very quickly. I'm thinking about it.
19. Three issues of the Economist remain pretty much unread. I'm rolling my eyes and wringing my hands. I'm so far behind. But I have to at least read this week's issue because it's the technology issue. All kinds of interesting stuff to read. I also like reading the obits.
20. This blog and every blog must be fed. I haven't written in here for nearly a month. I went on vacation, then I suffered blog fatigue. For those of you who wait breathlessly for each installment of my blog, I apologize. I hope that you haven't suffocated. The fact remains, I have to come up with something to say, and often I draw a total blank.
21. What are we going to do about Mexico? Ron and I watched a program on CNN about the drug war in Mexico. The United States should legalize drugs and regulate them in a way that effectively changes the government drug policy from one of criminal enforcement to one of public health. Legalizing drugs, although an imperfect fix, should have the same broad social effect as that of ending Prohibition. In the long run, we'll probably end up with more drug addiction, but possibly at a much lower cost to our society in terms of cost for police and prisons. The current "war" model keeps people out of treatment, and only enriches the cartels. It promotes a prison industry in the United States, and encourages gang wars in Mexico and other production and transit countries. It causes a huge human toll (over 8,000 murders in Mexico last year because of drugs). The best way to help Mexico's law enforcement in its drug war is for the US to end its drug war.
22. Computer envy. One of my friends (Brian J. you know who you are), has one of those teeny laptop computers. I get hard just thinking about his computer. Sleek, powerful, but small is really big when it comes to computers. I lust for it. Captain Rick on the sailboat also had a mini laptop (his was an Asus). In the meantime, maybe I'll forgo the swimsuit, and get myself a sexy computer, instead.
23. The Spanish Civil War and other light reading. I'm reading Antony Beevor's The Battle for Spain, The Spanish Civil War 1936 - 1939. It's a slow, depressing slog, not so much for the writing, but for the subject. The Nationalists appear to fascist monsters who engaged in a policy of wholesale terror and killing, and the Republicans who were so factionalized that their response to the Rising was fatally weakened. Each page of this book is depressing, but I'm trying to continue through it.
24. Convention Insanity. Less than a month from now, hundreds of gay square dancers will be in Washington, DC for DC Diamond Circulate. The age of procrastination is at an end. The convention is already raising contention on the national list serve. I'm guessing we're in for a lot of griping over the next four weeks.
25. Reconnecting with high school classmates. I've been making friends on Facebook. Many of my new friends are from Moscow High School, classes of 1968, and 1969. The class of '69's 40th reunion will be this August in Moscow. I plan on being there. I'm trying to drag my twin brother along, as well.
In a half hour, I leave for the Dr.'s office to have him do something about a sinus infection I've had since Portugal. I'm getting tired of it. My right knee hurts, and this is after Dr. Bernstein stuck a 2-inch needle full of cortisone into it on Friday. I'm the other dwarf, today = Grumpy. I hate being ill. I don't do well with it, because I usually don't slow down, and eventually, the creeping crud catches up with me, and that's what has happened, three days before I fly off to Puerto Rico.
Okay, enough of the complaining. I'm through with it. I've acquired an interest in Bear Codes over the weekend. I devised a decoder, then discovered some others out there. The decoders are not "canonical," (in the NBCS sense) and the results from them can be variable. Just like all the bears that I know. Oh, it takes a cave to make a cub! (I am not a bear.... (sounds plaintively similar to I'm not gay)) Here's the Turkish canonical version. Isn't that amazing!
It's pledge week at WAMU, and that ALWAYS ramps up my Seasonal Affective Disorder. I get terribly depressed listening to Diane Rehm cajole extra bucks out of the listeners. "We have 11 hundred dollars to go - three minutes to go!" Oh, yeah, I'll make my contribution before the week is over, but it won't make the voices go away! I despise these pledge weeks. They are just a little lower in the universal order than pond scum contaminated with mercury.
Tim's been out on the Internet Highway, discovering all kinds of anthropological gems. To wit:
I just found out my blogger and bear codes. This really isn't a good idea, but what the heck?
Bear Code (laughable?): B3 dvc-- e++ f- g- k+ q r s+ t
Blogger Code (I'm lying): B9 D+++ T++ K S-- F- I++ O++ X+++ E+++ L C-- Y1 R+ W P++ M5 N-- H--
Obviously, the Bloggers have it over the Bears in terms of technical innovation. After all, if you are a blogger, you only have to click a link! I guess the Bears are still in their caves, invading each other's personal space. Hello!! - it is winter here. Here, manually decode my bear code. You tell me, am I a bear? Both of these are so last century anyway, which only indicates how far behind the times Tim really is. And with a Mac!
1. Harry Hay and John Burnside slept here. They actually slept in our bedroom during the gay March on Washington in 1993. Before the march, a friend of mine called me up and asked if Harry and John could stay with us, along with their minder, Stuart Timmons. My friend warned me that Harry could be a little irritable, and that John could be passive-aggressive. We had a memorable weekend, and my partner and I were honored to have them stay with us. Harry was a little irritable. He had no patience with people (like me) who wanted straight privilege and the gay "lifestyle." He also didn't particularly like lesbians with children. He urged me to wear pearls to work. In retrospect, I should have. John Burnside was a somewhat demanding queen, but fun to talk to about physics and life. Harry was into politics and sex - an excellent choice, and Stuart was into my partner. We had a wonderful weekend, and I got to dance with all the radical faeries on the mall, and had sex in front of the Museum of Natural History with one very hairy, somewhat smelly faerie from Tennessee. Life goes on.
2. I was the only person at a rail crossing in downstate Illinois to wave at Jimmy Carter when he was rolling through in 1976. He waved back at me. I also waved at Jerry Ford at the same rail crossing. He also waved back at me. Ultimately, Jerry got my vote, but thankfully, Jimmy won the election. I was a grad student attending Illinois State University in Normal, IL. Let's hear it for the Redbirds. It was a little weird. I was at a rail crossing just off campus. The crowds were further down the line in Bloomington. I had my own private moment with the candidates.
3. I was born in the only county in the United States that was created by an act of the United States Congress. I'm from Latah County, Idaho. It seems that the northern part of the county didn't like the long ride in a buggy to the county seat. Idaho's delegate in Congress, Willis Sweet, introduced legislation to separate the northern part of the county from the rest, and Latah County came into being. Latah is the dry split pea and lentil capital of the world. I grew up in Moscow, a small university town on a rolling prairie. It was a wonderful place to be a kid. My parents were college professors, and we lived in an old remodeled farmhouse at the (then) edge of town. The old house is still there, much smaller now, than I remember. We had a wood furnace and a woodlot, so I spent part of every summer that I was growing up in the woods, cutting wood for that damn furnace. I hated it. I was not big on physical labor then, and truth be known, not so keen about it now.
4. At any given social gathering, I can usually make a winning bet that I have more grandchildren than all of the other people present put together. Once upon a time, I was married to the neighbor girl just down the road. Although I loved her, and I think she loved me, it was a star-crossed match, but resulted in four children. All of them have provided progeny. I should have seventeen or eighteen grandkids before the end of 2009. They are all good Latter-day Saints, and I'm grateful that my former wife raised them to be good upright men and women. They are treasures, and I'm sure that all of those grandkids are treasures, too. My life is very different than theirs, but I love them dearly, and keep them in my heart.
5. My partner Ron and I have been together far longer than most married couples, but we can't get married. Harry Hay, I know that marriage isn't your gay issue, and it isn't necessarily mine. But this whole backlash against gay relationships is TRULY mean-spirited. Gay marriage is not a threat to marriage. DIVORCE is the threat to marriage DUH! I say that having been through divorce, and it is not pleasant. But if I had lived in a society that valued the happiness of all of its members, I might have married a guy to begin with. Now don't get me wrong, I don't regret marrying and having children, I love them all; I do regret the divorce. It seems to me that people should be free to forge meaningful relationships with other people, regardless of how those relationships fit in with religious doctrine. Furthermore, those relationships should be made by the state, not performed by religious groups as agents of the state. Churches performing acts of marriage really blurs the line between the recognition of the state and the blessings of the church. On the other hand, churches should be free to bless marriage in a manner that sanctifies that relationship for those being married.
6. I make bad, but potent, mixed drinks. A couple of years ago, I picked up a mixology book plus a cocktail shaker. What a potent combination. I'm not an alcoholic, but after 4:30 p.m., it's okay to mix a capairinha or a margarita. The nice thing about drinking at home is that I don't have to drive home, and it's certainly cheaper, and the drinks are stronger. What's not to like?
7. My favorite vegetable is the potato. Idaho is known for its Famous Potatoes. I am Mr. Potato Head's spiritual advisor. Do I have to say anything more about potatoes? I like them just about any way they can be fixed (including Ore-Ida's Tater Tots). My favorite salad is Potato Salad in initial caps. Potatoes, green onions, dill pickle, hard-boiled eggs, vinegar, oil, mustard, mayonnaise. Of course, if you add pickled beets and herring in sour cream, you get extra points. No kidding. I think potatoes are basically the perfect vegetable. I recently acquired a mandoline, and use it to slice and julienne potatoes so that I can fry them. You don't need a lot of grease, just an iron skillet, low-medium heat, salt and pepper, and patience. Mashed potatoes taste better with some garlic. Baked potatoes need sour cream. MacDonald's makes the best french fries. Scalloped potatoes are a great potluck pleaser. I worked on a potato farm in 1972, changing sprinkler pipe, near Ashton, Idaho. It was the summer before my mother died. I had broken up with my girl friend and had a crush on the farmer's son. George McGovern was running for President. I was moving sprinkler pipe in a potato field wondering what life would be like without my mom.
8. I have a twin brother (and lots of other siblings). I grew up a twin. He and I don't look a bit alike, but people always got us confused. He lives in Colorado. When we were in high school and college, we were very close. We've drifted apart, but we try to bridge the gulf of distance and religious belief that separates us. We love each other, but it's a difficult love to endure, sometimes. I've cried for him, because I'm afraid of losing him, and losing half of myself. I think he's afraid I'm going to hell, and he'll lose me, too. It's an uneasy brotherhood, but thankfully, both of us still try to make it work somehow. I have lots of other siblings: all told, two brothers, a step-brother, two step-sisters, and sister. Our family thinks it's close, and I guess perception is everything. I love them all. I worry about them. I wish, sometimes, that I didn't live 2000 or 3000 miles away.
9. I'm growing facial hair to match my religious avocation. When I grow up, I want to be a Pastafarian. Okay, I know, pirates and all that stuff. But it really makes sense, just as much sense as Christianity to Sikhs. To grasp a new faith, you need an open mind. Once you've found that faith, you need to close your mind, like a steel trap. That's why I'm a Pastafarian. Just open that mind of yours, and try it. You'll like it. Beer volcanoes....
10. I was at the organizing meeting for the activist group that began the fight for civil rights for gay citizens in Maryland. I think my efforts helped make a difference. I went to the meeting, because I had a crush on one of the other guys. Sexual opportunity is a great political organizing principle. In fact sexual opportunity is a great principle for just about any human endeavor, indeed, that's why we're all here. I never got in the guy's pants (well, only once), but we did change a lot of minds in Annapolis, Maryland. In the beginning, legislators would not even make appointments with us. Eight years later, they were calling us, asking us to organize fundraisers. I learned this: twelve determined people can make a huge difference. We took on the political establishment of Maryland, and we eventually won our fight. The fight goes on; I'm no longer active in it. But we made a difference.
11. My mother's name is Prudence and my sister's name is Grace. My name is NOT Chastity. Oh, what is in a name? What was my grandmother thinking? Someone once told my sister that my parents had a lot of nerve. My mom calls me John, and so do family members, and friends from work. Everybody else (thousands upon thousands of square dancers) calls me Happy. I've been that since coming to Washington. It's a collision of the worlds when I'm at a function where some of the people are calling me John and some are calling me Happy. I get confused very easily. You decide. Confuse me any way you can.
12. I was a liturgical assistant for five years at an Episcopal parish in downtown DC. I love the Episcopal Church. If I could leap across the chasm of faith I would be an Episcopalian. The liturgy is beautiful, and fills my heart like no other ritual. During the Eucharist, I really do feel the Holy Mystery of the presence of Christ. I just don't believe it, and that has caused a problem for me. I knew how to be a crucifer. I knew how to hold the alms basin, me standing on the chancel steps, flashing the reflected light from the brass basin across the gathering of congregants. The church secretary told me once that when I was accepting the offerings, that people gave more. As liturgical assistant, I was a master of ceremonies and a traffic cop. I took my duties seriously, and seriously loved what I was doing. One of the priests was a "dry" alcoholic, and couldn't help himself and always blessed far more wine than the parish could consume. He hated pouring it down the piscina, and always insisted that I drink the consecrated wine after the service. Maybe that led to my love of mixed drinks. He also had a warm interest in me that went beyond collegial. I kept our relationship professional. Closeted married gay men should not be part of the clergy. It can get in the way of their ministry.
13. Before that, I was a Latter-day Saint. My mom (who is also my aunt, no kidding) still thinks I'm a saint. Shortly after high school, I converted to the Mormon (LDS) church. I was in love with my high school sweetheart, who is Mormon. I took the discussions because of her. But I didn't convert because she wanted me to. I converted because I wanted to. At the time, I was restless with my Methodist upbringing. I wanted some answers, and the Mormon missionaries had the answers. I struggled with it for ten years, eventually leaving that church. All of my children were raised in the Mormon church, and are all active. It's difficult for me to talk with them about my faith or theirs. I would love to have the opportunity to know and hear about their faith.
14. I squeezed into seven years of college what most people expand into four. Okay, it took me a long time to get through college. I started in 1969, and finished in 1976, graduating from the University of Idaho in Moscow. I graduated from the same school as Sarah Palin (the School of Communications), just a few years earlier. I loved my time at the University, and continue to support it and its Women's Center. I worked my way through school as a warehouseman and truckdriver, and later a janitor. I graduated without any debt, and went on to graduate school. While in college, I got married, and by the end of graduate school, we had two kids, and another on the way. Moscow, Idaho is a beautiful college town. It's small, but a great place to live. It's also the most liberal town in Idaho, which may not be saying much if you live in Takoma Park, Maryland. In any case, I have very fond memories of college.
15. I was once a member of Young Americans for Freedom. I'm sorry for that. Oh oh. This happened in college. I don't know what came over me. I was a pretty conservative lad, probably more libertarian than conservative. By 1972, though, I was a George McGovern supporter. So something happened. I do find as I have grown older that I am more conservative, and I'm not sure that I like that. Oh well, the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and always has been. I'm for Young Americans. I'm for freedom. I'm not for Young Americans for Freedom. I should mention here one of my college professors, Tony Skrbek. He was a bird far from home when he flew to Moscow, Idaho. An alleged communist, and definitely of the leftist ilk, he taught American government. This was in 1970, right after the Cambodian incursion, and the whole campus was in uproar. I didn't like Tony's politics, but he forced me to think, and he forced me to question my assumptions and my values. That's the real gift of a college education.
16. I've been to 47 of the 48 contiguous states. Vermont is on my list of places to visit. Maybe this year. When I was a kid, most summers, Dad would load us into the car, and we'd drive somewhere many states away. As an adult, I've had the opportunity to do much more travel. As soon as I visit Vermont, I'll turn my eye to Hawaii. I'm not sure about Alaska. My nemesis, Sarah Palin lives there.... And it's cold, and I'm a wuss. I could always do the cruise thing, I suppose.
17. I love sailing in the Caribbean. I love being on the water. I go nearly every year, and love the water, the wind, the beaches, and my mates. We've had a lot of fun. It's not always the same group of guys, but always includes repeats from previous trips. It's a great way to get over winter's depression. I heartily recommend it. I love St. Vincent and the Grenadines. Climb up the volcano. Stay a few extra days at a cheesy resort. Eat the mussels. Drink the rum.
18. I love square dancing anywhere. I started square dancing in 2000. Since then, I've danced all over the country to some great callers with a lot of wonderful people. I'm not a social square dancer. I'm what's called an aficionado or a fanatic. Coincidentally, I'm having knee surgery on April 23. I could have had it a week earlier, BUT there's square dancing that night, and I wouldn't want to miss that, would I? I don't care how much the damn knee hurts, I'm going to be square dancing. The knee problem has been around just about as long as the square dancing, and they are highly corelated. I would have had the surgery much earlier, but I have too many other things going on, like a square dance weekend and a square dance convention. I just can't take off the month for recuperation. I tell this to my square dance friends, and they understand exactly what I'm talking about. For the record, I don't have a prairie skirt or crinolines, but I can dance either girl or boy. That kind of freaks out some of the guys when I'm dancing with other clubs. In gay vernacular, that's known as being "versatile."
19. I'm a sexual kind of guy. Those of you who really know me figured this out a long time ago. Sex, preparing for it, experiencing it, snoozing afterwards, its hormonal rush, the ecstatic feelings, the power, the lust, the messiness, the physicality of the act, the connection, the carnality, the intimacy, the shallowness and silliness, the reflection of me and the other, and that's just THINKING about it. I value sex. It's very important to me and the quality of my life. Even bad sex has its rewards, and good sex is a consuming, transformative awe full experience. I love my friends. I love having sex with my friends. I don't want to be delicate about it. Our society is squeamish about sex. I'm not interested in disgusting other people with my behavior, but I refuse to concede the moral ground to those who have a different view about it. The act created me, and in the act I have a profound connection with the men that I love.
And for those I don't particularly love, I check them out on SilverDaddies and ManHunt. Oh what the Internet has done for sex.
20. In 1968-69, I was student body president of Potlatch High School. My political career has stumbled badly since then. Being a homo probably won't help your political career. We're making progress, though. I don't think Barney Frank is going to be President in 2016. When I visited legislators in Annapolis, I learned that they are a species wired a little differently than the rest of us. We wonder why our political leaders behave the way they do. They are a self-selecting group of people who like power. And there's nothing wrong with that as long as the people who elect them know that. I discovered that our "public servants" often thought that because they made the rules, they were, somehow, above the rules, or the rules just didn't apply. When the rest of us read next week's scandal, whatever it may be, we will all be thinking "What was that politician thinking?" And the pol will be clueless. Their minds work differently than ours. So I discovered that I was not the political animal I had thought I was. I ended up being a technical writer and an analyst. That seemed to suit me better.
21. Growing up, I wanted to be either a medical missionary doctor or POTUS. This is something of a repeat of the last paragraph. I was really taken up with God when I was a child. I grew up in a religious home, though not onerously religious. My parents believed in service and taught all of us kids the same. Albert Schweitzer was one of my heroes. Or I could be President of the United States. I was not a very sophisticated little gay boy in Idaho. I finally gave up the medical missionary stuff about the seventh grade. POTUS went out the window when I recognized that I was the color purple.
22. I haven't cleaned "my room" since 1994. I've made several attempts. And I'm in the midst of one now. I'm not very proud of this unpleasant little fact. I don't know how to file anything. I'm horizontally organized, which means that I pile things on the floor, on the table, on chairs. It's not pretty. I've carted hundreds of pounds of paper out of my room, and much, much more remains to be done. It kills me.
23. I'm a geek, but not a very good one. I love my computer. I love gadgets. I couldn't program a DVR or run our DVD player without Ron's steady guiding hand. I know quite a bit about business requirements. I know how to design form interfaces. I can program in a couple of languages. I love my Blackberry. I'm just not real good at it.
24. I'm a good cook. My mother wanted my brothers and me to be good husbands, and to know our way around the kitchen. Cooking is a kind of recreation for me, when I'm in the mood to do it. I'm a throw something together, it'll taste good kind of cook. I've been stirring the pot since I was six or seven. I love soups. I love potatoes. I like to experiment. I make a fabulous Pad Thai. I'm pretty good at figuring out a recipe, although I consider recipes merely advisory. After all, it's my kitchen. So far, my cooking hasn't killed anyone, and I'm very happy when I cook.
25. I'm a cityfied Idaho Country Farm Boy. When I fell off the farm truck in downtown DC in 1983, I was one sorry hayseed, a hick from the sticks. I've kept the cowboy boots, but don't feel obliged to be the bumpkin anymore. My friends still think I talk funny after all these years, but I'm a Marylander now, through and through. I love the mountains and prairies of Idaho. I get back there once or twice a year. But my home is definitely on this side of the Mississippi River, and when I'm on the plane home, and am flying down the Chesapeake, I'm happy to be back home.
If you haven't seen Slumdog Millionaire, you should. This is a deeply moving film about hope and love against a backdrop of violence and unimaginable poverty. It's a fable and a metaphor for our time.
Late-breaking Square Dance Bulletin - Tim and I went to the DC Lambda Squares' community dance last night. It's theme was 50th Birthday Party. So I wore some original 50s gear that I acquired when the club danced at the Hillwood Museum and Gardens. I looked pretty good, and those fifty-year-old clothes were pretty spiffy.
Tim and I went to the Corcoran today, the last day of the Richard Avedon show. You missed it, if you missed it. Avedon captured the souls of the great ones for a couple of generations. Their ghosts come to life in this exhibition. As Tim said, "Beware of cameramen who want to take your portrait." The result isn't always a pretty picture. Why didn't Avedon ever take a picture of Annie Liebovitz? And if he did, why wasn't it hanging on the wall of the Corcoran... life's little mysteries? And why wasn't Avedon's image of Rudolph Nureyev's jewels pictured in the exhibit's catalogue? And why was Yeoman 3rd Class B. Murphy Stovie absent from the same book with his fabulous grin and his happy right hand? Does the Corcoran host a vast right-wing conspiracy that is out to censor homoerotic or gay-themed content from exhibition catalogues? Hmmmm.
Then it was on to the OAS to see an exhibition of art about the Desaparecidos. These were victims of the military dictatorships of Uruguay, Chile, Argentina, Guatemala, and El Salavador. The words somber and depressing pretty much sum it up, but the bones, the images, the stories are a grim reminder that when the state has absolute power, freedom is extinguished in violent and ugly ways. These regimes were not attempting to rehabilitate their critics. They were exterminating them. Of course, it makes me wonder who has disappeared in our own war on terror?
Finally, we ended up at the Katzen Arts Center at American University. We saw a disturbing exhibition of the work of Evri Kwong, Just Pretend Everything is Okay. Kwong's work is a polemic about our drugged out, consumerist, racist, mysogynist, violent culture. His paintings, his Sharpie doodles, are biting and satirical indictments of cultural values gone bad.
Well, after that downer, we headed back to Rockville for some hot sex, a nap, and two episodes of The Office. That was this month's attempt at culture.
