Almost Back to Politics as Usual

And by that, I mean we're a day out from Washington, DC. Of course, the world revolves around DC, that's why we're headed back. We're camped out in a Fairfield Inn in Ashland, Kentucky for the night, then the long schlep home tomorrow.

We've had a nice vacation, and it doesn't seem like we've been gone for two and half weeks. But if you add up the days, that's what it comes out to. I've enjoyed the trip. Almost all of it was on Interstates. That was okay for me. I've seen a few places that I'd like to which I'd like to return. We stopped at Mammoth Caves National Park this morning, and I think I wouldn't mind spending a few days there, just knocking around.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to Mom and Alex, and made it to Bowling Green, Kentucky. We had a chance to get downtown, walk around the square, and had a delightful dinner on the square. As we were walking afterwards, we came upon some (slightly inebriated) college students who were playing a game with beanbags and a board with a hole in it. We politely inquired, and before the end of the conversation, we, too, were playing Kentucky Cornhole. It's very different than the cornhole game I was told about as a child. Oh well, who knew?

Ole Miss

Ron and I have been in Mississippi for the last couple of days. We attended the CMEN men's gathering last week (Saturday to Saturday). We both enjoyed the gathering, and I won a registration for next year as part of a raffle. We're seriously considering it for next spring.

Thumbs up: small gathering where you get to know many of the men; laid back and friendly gathering; pretty good food, considering. Thumbs down: mosquitoes, though they appeared to be slow and dumb; a few instances of uncomfortable crossing of intimate boundaries; a couple of guys who took themselves far too seriously.

I think what I enjoyed the most about the whole experience has been the road trip. I truly enjoy pointing the car down the road and watching the trees go by. After the gathering, Ron and I headed south to the Florida Panhandle, eventually arriving in Pensacola. We parked the car and took a walk around a boardwalk in one of the many beach towns. The air was hot and steamy, but we got in our daily walk.

We headed out of Pensacola toward Mobile. The weather was a little stormy, but nothing that a duck wouldn't like. We spent Saturday night in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. The parts of the Deep South that we've seen look pretty much like what you'd see in Maryland, or Illinois. Lots of Chilis, McDonalds, and a hundred other familiar franchises. There are a couple of regional favorites. Sonic is a regional burger joint. Kangaroo is a service station chain. We ate at an Outback Steakhouse Saturday evening. The food is predictable, because you could eat it at a hundred other Outbacks, but it's a pleasure to sit, listen, and observe the locals. I speak differently than the locals, and I really enjoyed listening to the cadence and vowels of close by conversations. It was a treat to see the dress, manners, and culture of Hattiesburg played out in the local Outback.

Saturday and Sunday, we drove all the way across Mississippi from the southeast to the northwest corner. Southaven is the first town in Mississippi south of Memphis, and it's a different kind of Mississippi than one would find in the Delta (I mean, we are so far NORTH that we're almost Yankees here). Sunday night we had dinner with Sherry, Evelyn, Larry, Kymberli, and Kiel. Sherry is a great homestyle cook. She fixed us some wonderful chicken, white beans and ham, cauliflower, and fried potatoes.

Larry and Sherry are friends of Mom and Alex. Like Alex, Sherry is taking care of her mother. I see situations like this, and I'm grateful for my own good health, and hope that it lasts me for the rest of my life. Old age isn't very pretty close up.

Georgia on My Mind

Tonight, Ron and I are staying in Columbus, Georgia at the Fairfield Inn and Suites. This sure beats last night's Quality Inn in Statesville.

Of course, work on the outdoor pool that started at 6:45 this morning didn't help my opinion of the Quality Inn. I'm an expert on "budget" hotels, and Marriott definitely has it over Comfort. Oh yeah, I know the Mormon connection and the outcry I'll hear from my boycotting comrades. But Marriott really does know how to make me happy.

We had dinner at Ben's Chop House. It had the weirdest prices. Evidently, spinach is a highly valued commodity in these parts. I had a chicken caesar salad, and Ron had grilled salmon. I coulda had a $45 steak, but didn't. The Tiramisu was remarkably good. We shared it.

We also drove across the northwest corner of South Carolina. Being on the Interstate makes driving easy, but boring. So it's nice to get completely off the road for lunch. We ate at Tucker's Restaurant and Bar in Anderson, South Carolina. It's casual, but upscale. Our waitress had honey blonde hair, looked like an aging cheerleader (still a good looker), and the Southern vernacular fell from her lips in a sweet, comforting speech that bespoke breeding and good manners. How could I not have a splendid lunch? Seared tuna with a side of black beans and rice. I was not disappointed.

I received an email from my friend Jerry. He's on the ultimate bike trip across America. Read more about it on his blog. He and I are hoping to meet sometime this summer on his epic trip, either on this trip, or when I'm in Idaho later in the summer.

On the Road Again

Ron and I got on the road about 10:15 this morning, all the way to the Silver Diner. He had Blueberry Pancakes, and I had the Ragin' Cajun Skillet. After a quick stop at CVS, we were off!

Virginia is a big state! We took the Beltway to I-66, then I-66 to I-83. We eventually ended up on I-77. We passed through Harrisonburg, Blacksburg, and Roanoke, but you really never know it when you are on the Interstate. We made two or three rest stops (Hey! Quit rollin' yer eyes!) to stretch our legs.

Tonight we're staying in Statesville, North Carolina. I'm not sure what Statesville's claim to fame is, but it has two interstates crossing at the north edge of town. We're staying in the Quality Inn on Sullivan Road. We went out to Carolina Bar-B-Q for dinner. The sauce is North Carolina (thin and vinegar) and Texas Pete. Pulled pork, hushpuppies, fried okra, and a curiosity: BBQ coleslaw. Ron had barbequed chicken. I wasn't complaining.

I'm not used to the speech here. It's not what you hear on the mean streets of Wheaton. Ron and I probably sound a bit strange, too.

Idaho Holiday

I've had a wonderful time on this Idaho trip. The family's doing fine, and I've eaten too much. The Lavender Graduation gives me a lot of hope for the future.

Giant Sequoia
Shattuck Arboretum

On Friday, my brother, Frank, drove up from Boise, and he, Katherine, and I traipsed around the Shattuck Arboretum with Paul Warnick, the University of Idaho Arborist. We were looking for a site for a memorial bench to remember our Dad. We selected a spot near the arboretum's Giant Sequoia. It's a reflective, beautiful place.

Frank Katherine, and I went out to a bed and breakfast that we'll be staying at in July, then we stopped off at a coffee shop, because that's what you do in the afternoon in Moscow, Idaho.

We dropped Katherine off back at her work, then Frank and I drove around town, and stopped at the cemetery. As we walked through the rows, we read off names of many Moscow and Potlatch families that we knew, had grown up and gone to school with.

The cemetery is a mysterious place. We ran into a series of five stones, all with the same family name. On four of the stones, the dead had all died on the same day, in total seven people. Some mysterious tragedy killed four children, a grandmother, an uncle, and a husband. I searched the family name on the web, but couldn't find any information.

Frank and I also stopped near our childhood home. It's an old farmhouse that was built in the early 1870s. Notice that little tree next to the house. It was about half the size when I was living in the house in the 1950s and 60s. We moved away from here in July 1966.

Moscow Farmhouse and Doug Fir Tree

 

Happy Giving a Speech

 

An Idaho Gay History

I gave this speech on April 30, 2009 at the University of Idaho's Lavender Graduation. Ten remarkable students were honored at this event. The Coordinator of LGBTQA Programs at the University's Womens' Center, Rebecca Rod, welcomed all of us to the celebration, and the University's President Stephen Daly-Laursen gave heartfelt welcoming remarks. Below is my keynote speech, which was followed by Audrey Ebert's Valedictory, and the presentation of the graduates.

Graduates, friends, members of the University community, and family members, I'm grateful for the invitation to talk with you tonight. I'm touched by it, and deeply appreciative for the University of Idaho, for its Women's Center, and more particularly for the thousands of people like us who have graduated from this school.

When my father, Vernon Burlison, died in 1997, I wanted to remember him. He was an instructor and professor here at the University for three decades. He was also a pastor of a small community church in Juliaetta, Idaho for many years. He was beloved by all who knew him. I wanted to remember his life. I worked with the University of Idaho Foundation to establish a fund in his name at the University to benefit LGBTQA* programming through the Women's Center. I value the Women’s Center and these programs, and I invite you to support them, financially and otherwise. I especially want to thank Rebecca Rod for her fabulous work as coordinator of these programs.

Back in 1969, we were mostly homosexuals. Today, we're transgendered, lesbian, bisexual, gay, queer, or questioning, and allies.

Tonight, I want to tell you some Idaho stories, stories of my youth, and of what happened to me at the University of Idaho. It’s important to tell our stories because they weave a history of who we are and give us a perspective on where we might be going.

When I was growing up in Idaho in the 1950s and 60s, I knew I was different from an early age. I learned relatively early that I was a homosexual, but I had no idea what to do with that information. Because of a conservative post-WWII culture, as many of you may have felt at one time or another, I felt invisible.

I found out about myself by reading an article in Life Magazine, which had written about the homosexual lifestyle in San Francisco. The article showed pictures of men dancing with each other. I told my mother about the article, and she told me, "We don't talk about things like that in our home." That was quite all right with me. I was elated, because I knew, finally, who I was. It was a fact, another thing that I knew about myself. I think I was 10 or 11 at the time.

In junior high school and high school, I was the typical dork. My pants were too short. I had a very scary fashion sense. I couldn't throw a baseball or hit a basket. Football terrified me. Does any of this sound familiar? A couple of guys took delight in bullying me, but I was pretty careful to stay out of their way. I had parents who loved me just the way I was, and thankfully, they didn't ask many questions. I was smart, did well in school, and actually enjoyed PE, except for dodge ball.

And the girls, boy did I sell them a bill of goods. I liked girls. I wanted to grow up, get married, have kids, and live happily ever after. And girls liked me. I dated, but rarely kissed. And I didn't even think about sex. My mother told me that the only reason girls went to high school was to find a husband, and if I EVER got a girl pregnant, I'd have to drop out of school and support her, and oh, by the way, I'd be on my own, and how could I support a family? She had a lot less to worry about than she thought at the time.

By the time I got to high school, the family had moved to Potlatch, just up the road from here. I had a crush on one of my male classmates, but the sexual attraction was transmuted into this deep, wonderful friendship of track, hunting, fishing, and playing cards.

I continued to date girls, wondering once or twice what the hullaballoo was all about. I was popular in high school, but socially awkward. I later found out that the girls liked me because I could carry on a conversation, and I didn’t make demands. But word also got out that I didn’t make out or kiss, which probably should have set off a few alarm bells.

In my senior year of high school, I got engaged to Susan. She lived on a neighboring farm. We were in the same 4-H club. She was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or Mormon, and I was Methodist.

Times were changing across America in 1969. Hundreds of thousands of people were protesting the Vietnam War. Nixon had just been elected President, promising to get us out. We had watched the beating of protesters at the Democratic Convention in Chicago. All of us in Potlatch saw this, but it hadn’t really reached us yet. We were hunkering down preparing for a confrontation between our deeply conservative selves and the Hippie proponents of Peace and Love. It was a visceral conflict, and I thought those Mormons might have some good answers.

So what was my conservative brain thinking? I was thinking that I wanted to be happy. Like some of you, perhaps, I couldn't imagine a world where I didn't have a wife and children. In 1969, there were no places in Potlatch, Idaho that had meaningful information about homosexuality, and my high school Family Living Class certainly didn't cover that topic. It wasn’t something that was on the TV News. I could hum the tunes of the musical, Hair, but I wasn’t about to join the cast. The world 40 years ago was a very different world than today. It punished sexual deviancy. It was a world where homosexuality was completely invisible, even to those of us who were homosexual. There was no gay history in Potlatch, Idaho.

Stonewall changed all of that. Judy Garland, an icon to all of us who are "Friends of Dorothy," died on June 22, 1969. As a result, the queens of Gotham were depressed, and some of them were drinking at the Stonewall Inn when the police raided the bar on the humid, scorching evening of June 28. The New York City Finest handcuffed then beat up a bulldyke with their billy clubs. A large, quiet crowd of homosexuals gathered outside the bar waiting for the paddy wagons. Desperate and angry the bloodied bulldyke cried out to the crowd, "Why don't you guys do something?" In that moment gay consciousness and gay history were born. Her angry and despairing words sparked a three-night riot, which sparked a movement, which fundamentally changed how you and I see ourselves and each other.

I was working at the Potlatch lumber mill that summer. I watched men walk on the moon, and I read about the Stonewall riots in Time Magazine. It was a very short article. I saw myself, again. This time, I was gay, still determined to get married and have kids. Still in love with my fiancée, Susan, but quite sure that I was gay, and totally clueless about what that meant to me and to the ones I loved.

That fall, I entered the University of Idaho. This was a time of personal exploration, looking for moral compass, trying to figure out what was what. One of the student Audio-Visual technicians that I worked with introduced me to pot. I also started drinking heavily, more to enjoy than to escape. My Methodist mother was appalled when she found out. She and Dad cut me off financially, for which I am grateful. They cared about me.

During this time, I also took the investigator lessons from the Mormon missionaries. I was baptized a member of the LDS Church when I was 19, and my fiancée, Susan, was very happy. My Mother was relieved (except for the LDS part), because it appeared that I was turning my life around. Strange as it may sound to you, I saw no contradictions in all of this. Without a history to know and understand, it's extremely difficult to gauge one's behavior. There was no gay past in Idaho from which to learn.

I was also a janitor at the Student Union Building and the University Classroom Center. One of the restrooms that I cleaned at the Classroom Center was notorious. It had lots of phone numbers, and some graphic suggestions about social activities. I knew that other men like me were out there. I had read their phone numbers and their messages. They may have sat next to me in my classes, but we never connected, and it never occurred to me that this could be a community in the making.

I dropped out of school my junior year to save money to go on a mission for the LDS Church. At church, I was a Sunday School teacher and a Priesthood Advisor to some of the men in the congregation.

I moved into the Mormon fraternity, Sigma Gamma Chi, next door to the LDS Institute. One Sunday evening in 1972, my roommate, Kay, a member of my Sunday School class, came into our room quite visibly upset and said he had to talk with me. He told me he had just had a sexual encounter with his zoology professor. In a moment of clarity about who I was, I responded, "Kay, I'm gay, too." He and I had a torrid affair. It was full of sex, danger, intrigue, secrecy, and desperation. We were always hiding out from our fraternity brothers, and yet they knew what was going on. We were a scandal, and we were terrified.

Kay and I loved each other passionately, and I think deeply, and we tried to imagine a world where we could live together. But we couldn’t imagine it. Moscow, Idaho was not San Francisco. We were sandbagged by a repressive religious culture. And in the midst of the biggest social and cultural upheaval of the 20th century, instead of Making Love Not War, we were at war with ourselves. We did not hear stories of other people like us. We had found each other, but could not create a world in which we fit.

We talked to our bishop, our stake presidents, and eventually, I was told to talk to one of the LDS Church authorities about my gay problem. I remember Elder Henry D. Taylor well. He told me, "Brother Burlison, I promise you that if you fast and pray, and get married in the Temple of the Lord, it will take care of your problem." Did he ever get that right! It took care of my problem, and confirmed to me, more than ever that I was gay as a goose.

So in May of 1973, Susan and I finally got married in the LDS Temple at Logan, Utah. I had had a difficult year. Kay had gone on a mission to Brazil, and I missed him a lot. My mother died the previous December after a long illness. Susan and I had broken up, and then had gotten back together only to rush off to Logan to get married, because it would take care of my problem. She thought everything was fixed. I felt like a heel. But I really wanted to marry, have children, and live happily ever after. I just wanted to be happy. I wanted my wife to be happy. Needless to say, Susan and I weren't happy. We loved each other. We tried to ignore the elephant sharing our bedroom. I was gay. Ultimately, our love for each other wasn’t enough.

I continued school here at the University. My academic advisor was my bishop. He was very concerned about me being gay and married, and all that. 1976 was a very scary year for me on campus. But I finally graduated, much to my relief!

So that was growing up gay at the University of Idaho. I discovered that not only was I clueless, but everyone else was, too when it came to homosexuality. Nobody knew what to do about my problem. Everyone, even those who I loved dearly, could only give me really awful advice. The reason for that is because we had no gay history. No one was telling our stories.

Actually, there were two lights in the dark. When my mother was dying, I went to the student counseling center because I needed someone to talk to. The director of the center and I talked my way through the anger and pain of my mother's illness. Then he asked me if there was anything else. I told him I was gay. He told me, "That's okay." During the same time, another janitor came out to me (an incredibly brave thing for him to do). He introduced me to a staff member who took me to his room, and held me one afternoon. That's all he did, but I needed that more than anything else at the time. I was afraid and distraught, and he held me.

I went to graduate school. I got a job. Susan and I had four beautiful children. I was excommunicated from the Mormon Church. Susan and I got divorced. I was fired from my job because I was gay and a security risk. I moved to Washington, DC. I met Ron, the love of my life. I got on with my life.

So what is the object of my story? Gay people have a history. And it's not just a personal history like I've recounted, it's a history in the context of world events.

We now know a lot about sexual orientation. We know a lot about gender identity. And it's my earnest hope that we're learning something useful from our histories. But to learn from those histories, we have to hear the stories and understand their impact.

I belonged to a religion that ultimately felt so threatened by my sexuality that it excommunicated me and tried to rob me of my spiritual life. Today, people who are members of sexual minorities are still under grave spiritual assault in most organized religions and denominations because of who we are. The most heartwrenching web page I've ever read is a page listing links to obituary notices of members of the LDS Church who have committed suicide because they were exposed as lesbian or gay, in their local churches, kicked out of their spiritual community, and robbed of their spiritual life. Their blood cries out to us.

Today, even in the smallest hamlet in Idaho, young women and men can find out important information about their sexuality or their gender identity. There is a history out there for them, maybe not in the local library, but it’s on the Internet. It's not a neat history, and not always a truthful story, but the word is out, and for the most part, the word is, it's okay to be gay or queer, or transgendered, or confused for that matter. I invite you to add your voice and your history so that you are heard. Don't be quiet.

I want to say a few words about love. Love is a wonderful expressive, intimate, and creative gift. Be happy with that gift. Be open to its giving and its receiving. There is a joy in love, and for me it comes down to this, I choose to love someone of my own gender. We must be very clear with ourselves: it's okay!

I still sometimes wonder about those men who left their phone numbers in the UCC men’s room. I hope they survived the plague of AIDS, and I hope they have gone on to live lives of purpose and dreams.

I wonder about you. I wonder about other students on this campus outside this room who should be here, listening to your stories, recounting their own. You offer hope, compassion, and strength in what is a chaotic, difficult collegiate world.

Some final advice: find your own family. I have stayed in Washington, DC, not because I like the traffic, or nine million people being in my face every day, but because I love Ron. For twenty-six years, he’s been my man! Twenty years ago, I went to a pool party, and bumped into Brian, and he's with us, as well. Fifteen years ago, I met Perry at a potluck, and he joined our family. Ten years ago, I square danced with Tim, and he became part of our tribe. I love these men dearly and completely. They are my chosen family. My hope is that you will choose your families too.

Take care of yourselves. It's okay to be yourself. It's okay to fight for what you believe in. Don't let anyone rob you of your spiritual birthright. Be playful and silly at least once a in a while. Let the ones you love know how much you love them, every day. Tell your story; please tell your story so that it can become part of a rich rainbow tapestry as beautiful as the Palouse Hills as resilient as the spirit of the people in this room tonight. I hope that each of you has a wonderful life. My life has been wonderful because of the men and women I have loved. I do not want anything less than that for you.

Thank you.

*Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, Queer and Questioning, and Allies

Back in My Hometown

Here I am in Moscow, Idaho. Mom and Katherine picked me up in Spokane after an uneventful flight from BWI.

Katherine and I went out to her studio. Although her show closed a few days ago, it was still up, and I got to see it. I liked the show because it showed paintings from all stages of her work as a watercolorist. It was a treat to see that range of work in one setting.

Later Kat and I had a light dinner and drinks at a Mexican restaurant. I enjoyed just catching up and talking. I'm glad she's my sister.

My New Camera

Sometime toward the end of last year, my pocket camera disappeared. I've finally gotten around to replacing it with a Canon PowerShot SD890 IS Digital Elph. I've already taken about a hundred pictures with it over the weekend, and so far, I like it. It fits easily in my pocket, and the controls are similar to my old camera. I haven't figured out how to do much with it yet, but I'm taking the user guide as reading material on my flight to Idaho this week.

I really enjoy digital photography. I'm not the best photographer, but if you take hundreds of photos, sooner or later you will take a spectacular picture. You just have to wade through a lot of bad photos. I always process the pictures that I take, and that's part of the fun (and drudgery), too. The picture is not what a camera records, it's what the mind imagines, and I have to add that to the camera's record. It's not great art, but it can be great fun.

Breakfast - That's a poached egg

Tim in his backyard

Tim's Garden

The back side of Bucknell Terrace

The Dogwoods

Catch me if you can!

Joe, thinking green

 

Quinceanera

Our neighbor installed a huge concrete patio and parking area behind his house last week. The construction tore up what little yard remained, but it was certainly a stimulus package for the neighborhood: a lot of industrious activity going on.

Friday evening, a mysterious Moon Bounce appeared in the backyard, and Saturday, all kinds of pink bows and pretty tablecloths were being spread. About 4:30 in the afternoon, the sound and light crews descended and finished the preparations.

Ron and I were going out to a concert last evening, and as I was getting ready, I could look out my window and see the quinceanera party unfolding on the patio below. The Moon Bounce was full of kids, and the princess was all decked out in pink and sitting on her improvised throne. A whole lot of people were eating a feast that had a tantalizing aroma, and the music was playing very loud.

The music was mostly pop-rock from a couple of decades back. I enjoyed listening to it while getting ready. Ron and I left for the concert, and afterwards went out to the Hollywood Diner with some friends. We arrived back home at 12:15 a.m. and the music was still playing.

I thought to myself that this might end up being a long night. Promptly at 12:30, the music stopped, the little princess in the pink dress slipped away in her glass slippers, and we all went to sleep, peacefully.

Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart

Okay, I admit, the only reason I remember our anniversary is because I put it on my Google Calendar. Technology saves my butt once again! Ron read a timely Ask Amy in the Washington Post about a man who forgot his 18th wedding anniversary. The man and his wife both handled it badly.

Ron, thanks for a wonderful life. I love you, and more than anyone else, you have affected, changed, and enriched my life. Thank you. And you're still smiling!

DC Diamond Circulate, II

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.

DC Diamond Circulate

The gay square dance convention, DC Diamond Circulate, is just about to begin. It's here in Washington, DC, and I've been doing nothing but convention-related stuff for a couple of days. Make that daze. I couldn't do this for a living. But, the entertainers are booked, confirmed, and ready. The programs are finished and only need to be printed. I'm doing laundry so that I'll have plenty of wardrobe choices. It's all coming together. Now if I can just figure out an easy way to get downtown....

Guns out of Control

Thirteen more people were killed in a mass shooting yesterday. In the last month, 40 people have been killed, and others have been grievously injured. Our politicians have been thunderously silent about these deaths. Oh, there's been some tut-tutting, politicians expressing regret and outrage, and praying for the victims, until the next shooting occurs, and the whole sorry charade is replayed.

We can do better on this one. Waiting periods, background checks, and automatic weapon bans work. None of this should imperil the constitutional rights of deer hunters and skeet shooters. Until reasonable regulations are implemented, the killings will continue. We know the NRA's position on gun control. What's the NRA's position on mass shootings?

April Madness

Well, at least insanity. I haven't done my taxes yet, and the DC Diamond Circulate Convention, gay square dancing's premiere annual event, is next week. I'm on the convention committee. I've been averaging 50 - 100 emails per day.

The committee had a "stuffing" party yesterday during club night. Many fingers make light work, and it gave me a chance to flirt with one of the other dancers. This morning, I've been sending out emails to performers and to the committee, once again confirming entertainment details. I also have one Silver Daddy Date lined up for convention. I may be busy, but I'm a busybody, too.

My Next Bright Idea

I'm in the midst of trying to create a web site manager for use with small groups. I've put pieces of it together on several different web sites, but I have never put a whole package together that would solve most of the management problems for a small, not-so-tech oriented group.

The impetus for all of this is my experience in working with small organizations. Most small organizations and boards lack the institutional memory and resources to remain effective over long periods of time. Each time the leadership changes, the new board starts from scratch and reinvents everything. Most records are kept in dusty boxes in board members' basements.

Also, in many organizations, members don't have good access to resources that their group might offer such as upcoming events, contact information, a directory of members, news, etc. So I've been working on a web-based application to do all that. And believe me, it's not been pretty.

So far, I've put together an authorization and contact module to track changes in a group's membership. My next task is to add a content module that will enable a group to build and maintain a website. The mechanics of doing all of this is relatively straightforward.

The challenge is to create a design that is simple for users, but also powerful. Many contact and content management programs are out there. Some of them are even free or open source. Most of them, though, are far too complex for a small organization to implement without significant technical help, and most small organizations would be hard pressed to maintain any such program.

So I'm continuing to work this. I'm trying to make something that a reasonably intelligent person who has some web experience could deploy. That's a very difficult task, because most developers, me included, assume that our users know far more than they do. But at least I know my goal: a simple software package that even my mother could deploy. I may not accomplish that, but it gives me something to aim for.

Square Dance Weekend!

Tim and I just got back from a square dance weekend - an Advanced program put on by John Marshall and Mary Hutchinson. The weekend was held in York, Pennsylvania at the Yorktowne Hotel. Tim and I both enjoyed ourselves.

Advanced dancing is a program that can separate aficionados from the social butterflies, and I don't mean to impugn anybody's character with that remark. In my own experience, the conceptual leap from Plus to Advanced is greater than from Advanced to C-1. Advanced really opened up my eyes to the endless possibilities of square dancing.

The other dancers on the floor, for the most part, had much more experience than Tim and I. Most of the couples were older than us, and the floor probably moved more slowly as a result. That's not a bad thing, either. Many of the couples do not have regular opportunities to dance Advanced, so they eagerly look forward to this weekend. The reach of square dancing is declining, and I keep hoping that something will happen in America to rekindle its interest in this folk dance.

John had a number of dance surprises for us. While the level of the dancing wasn't particularly difficult, his calling demands a focus on his instructions, and a strong grasp of square dance call definitions. John always means what he says, no matter how confused the dancers are. He had us do several calls from non-standard positions, and he taught us some new moves, too.

Tim and I danced together. We were the only gay couple, and we alternated boy/girl each of the five dance sessions. The women quickly got used to one of us dancing as a girl. The men were a little more challenged by it, but by the end of the first session, were not have any difficulty with it. A couple of times, a guy would mistake our "changed" gender, but that didn't happen very often. And to the guys' credit, almost all of them would swing us when we were in the girl's role.

The Yorktowne Hotel is a great square dance location. It has hardwood floors in the Continental and George Washington Rooms. The hotel has composite flooring for other rooms that have carpeting. The hotel features a four-star restaurant, but also has a cafe and a couple of bars. This being York, the bars close very early. The guest rooms and beds are comfortable. Eating opportunities outside the hotel are kind of sparse within walking distance; however with a car, there are many places to dine.

So that's my report: I'm hoping for more dancing at the Yorktowne.

Beware of Food Columnists Bearing Recipes

Yesterday, I had a dinner party at my house. I invited all the boys, and proceeded to prepare some recipes that David Hagedorn had suggested last Wednesday in the Washington Post column, "Real Entertaining." This month's column was all about chicken, and I saw that roasted chicken on the front page of the food section, and I was hooked.

I had to have a dinner party. I had to cook a chicken. I had to read the recipes. They were seductively simple: full of promise. Chicken in a Pot, how homey! French Lentils, peppery, flavorful! Saffron Fennel, oh exotic! and Peach-Apricot Cobbler, simple, tasty, easy. I thought.

The challenge was not in the fine print. I suspect that Mr. Hagedorn presented his recipes with the very best intentions to his readers. I imagine his kitchen is more suited to food preparation than mine.

My biggest challenges were the bird and the cobbler. The chicken is first seared, then roasted for 50 minutes in a 250ºF oven. When I checked the chicken at 50 minutes, it was no where near the necessary internal temperature. I baked the chicken an additional 20 minutes, finally raising the oven temperature to 350ºF for the last 10 minutes or so. That did the trick, and the chicken had a wonderful flavor. You should check Chef Hagedorn's method for carving a chicken. It's easy!

On to the Peach-Apricot Cobbler. The recipe indicates that the cobbler should be baked in a medium cast-iron skillet. I didn't know how big medium is, and I guessed too small. The resulting cobbler didn't look very elegant, but none of my guests seemed to mind, and ate the whole thing. It's a very tasty comfort food recipe. I realized as soon as I added the batter to the (9") skillet that I was courting disaster. I stuck a baking sheet under the skillet, and it caught the overflow batter, which my guests also ate. Next time, I'll bake this cobbler in my largest (10-1/4") cast-iron skillet.

The party was a success. The food was fantastic. The guests were sent home fat and happy. I'll continue to read the Food Section. And I'll continue to have dinner parties.

Odd 'n' Ends in Wheaton

It's potluck for today's posting. I apologize to all of my (seven) fans out there, but life is just too busy to keep this up to date in any kind of dependable manner. You're just going to have to put up with it. It sounds like this blog may be in its death throes, but that's JUST NOT THE TRUTH!

Jerry peddled all the way to Wheaton on Wednesday from Arlington. He came here for lunch at Woodlands in Langley Park. It's an Indian vegetarian restaurant, and the food is just plain wonderful. Of course, it gives me heartburn for the next day or so, and I always eat way too much, but that's my problem. You should go there and eat!

Jerry is taking an Indian vegetarian cooking course in Arlington, so we stopped at the Indian market next to Woodlands so that he could buy some black and green cardamom pods. Jerry cooks authentically. In fact, Jerry is about the most authentic guy that I know. He's getting ready for a cross-country bicycle ride. You'll hear more about that in this blog.

In other excitement around here, Ron and I are planning a road trip for May. We're going to a naturist gathering for a week in Alabama (yeah, I rolled my eyes in disbelief, too), then on to Mississippi to visit his Mom for a few days. It's the second road trip for the Prius (the first one was a square dance weekend to Poughkeepsie, NY). This will be a couple of thousand miles, and I have all the guidebooks and maps. I'm psyched.

I'm also making a quick trip to Moscow, ID the last week in April. The Women's Center at the University of Idaho invited me back to participate in an event on the 30th. I'm very happy to be able to do this. I'm very fond of the University of Idaho.

Yesterday Tim and I made a pilgrimage to Suburban Hospital. Tim needed some repair work done. I got stuck in a social faux pas (and in the aftermath, learned about Buridian's Ass, and indeed how I appear, sometimes, to be (actually!) an ass. Tim's looking good, and we got his prescription filled for happy stuff so that he's in no pain. He should be able to start drinking shortly.

And that's the news from Bucknell Terrace. Oh, I should add that I went square dancing last night with Marshall's Deputies. We learned all about "weave" from quarter tag, waves, and t-boned positions. I still do the call wrong, but at least I know that it's wrong.

The Facebook Life

I have a Facebook page, along with 175 million other people with too much time on their hands. I suppose if Facebook weren't around, the national productivity would improve by approximately 350 million person-hours per day. This works out to about 84 billion work hours per year, which doesn't include any weekends or vacation. Of course, some people, myself included, would consider the time spent on Facebook as time well spent. Right, Joe K.? Joe's also on Facebook, and one of my many friends, although I don't have nearly as many friends as Joe, which is kind of weird, because I'm retired and have all this time on my hands, and Joe isn't because he's managing my assets. I'm dressing in black these days, because it's slimming, just like my assets.

Joe and I have a mutual friend, Michael, who has 670 "friends." (You'll need to sign in to Facebook to see this link.) I'm not being ironic or scornful, I just think that Michael, a college student at St. Olaf, probably has too much time on his hands, too. For some reason, he "friended" me and I was quite taken up by the mystery of it all. When I mentioned it to Joe, he knew exactly who I was talking about. I'm thinking, Michael is awful busy.

Facebook is addictive for a couple of reasons: 1) So many people are now on it, that you can make connections that would otherwise be impossible to make. Because you can see the friends of your friends on Facebook, you can begin building a friend network, trawling all of your friends. Also, you can suggest other friends for the friends you already have, and this helps your friends make connections, too. My high school class of 1969 is having its 40th year reunion (which is about when Joe K. was born). I've been trying to connect up with my classmates, and it's been a wonderful and sometimes heartbreaking experience. I think all of us have matured, unfortunately, not all of us have survived. 2) You can peer into your friends lives in a small way, by looking at their walls, and reading their statuses. In fact little bits of their lives appears on your home page. It's a painless way to keep in touch, and a little mysterious, too. So I'll continue to tinker on Facebook. You should, too. Right, Joe?

25 Random Things Since I last Blogged Here

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.