Weather We're Havin', Ain't It?

It was about a thousand degrees here in the east over the weekend. Or so it seemed after an endless freezing cold, wet spring.

In true Noo Yawk style, the inhabitants of the greatest city on the face of the earth (except, of course, for wherever you come from - or live in now - or lived in sometime and still have a soft spot for) stampede into the great park at the center of that city, designed by Frederick Law Olmstead and Calvert Vaux over 150 years ago - in order to divest themselves of as much clothing as is decently possible and to cool off, play, read, pitch some woo and relax amidst the greenery therein.

Here are some shots from the weekend - most taken in and around the Sheep Meadow of fabled Central Park (click on the photos to embiggen them):





And, of course, the twinks were out in force:

Fear and Torture

I just watched the YouTube clip of Shep Smith of Fox News going ape-shit over the subject of torture. "We do not f*cking torture" he screamed.

Shep's kind of cute and if I were still drinking I might hit on him. But I'm not. However, I do agree with him. The United States does not f*cking torture.

Look, I was born at night, but it wasn't last night. I know the world is a nasty piece of business and we need to be on our guard all the time and sometimes we might have to resort to some pretty nasty tactics in order to preserve, protect and defend our national interests.

But we do not f*cking torture.

I cannot wrap my brain around the idea of us having a high-handed attitude of righteousness as we lovingly shove human rights and democracy down other people's throats (whether or not they want it) on the one hand, as we "faux drown" terrorists in extraterritorial hellholes created specifically for the purpose of being beyond our laws and Constitution, on the other.

We do not f*cking torture. If we do f*cking torture we can give up all pretense of being what we claim to be. If we do f*cking torture then we are no better than the zealous religious idiots who flew their planes into the World Trade Center towers, the Pentagon and the fields of Pennsylvania.

We may have lost the most recent battles for our national soul, also known as "The Bush Years", but it is not too late to win the war for it.

We all know how far up the chain of command that nonsense went (all the way). We all know that Condi and Dick and Rummy and Georgie-Porgie signed off on it. We all know that for 8 years the White House suffered from a dual-diagnosis of stupidity and eagerness.

Prolonging our national nightmare by revisiting these matters in Congress, when there are far more important and loftier things we need to be doing, would be a further waste of our national wealth and psyche.

I think that it is time to move forward and upward, out of the muck and into the light.

She Lit Up My Life

Tharon Musser passed away last Sunday. She was born on January 8, 1925 in Roanoke, Virginia. Her dad was a clergyman.

Her name will, most likely, mean little to you unless you're a real afficianado of the Broadway stage. Tharon was a lighting designer, which is a little like saying that Picasso was a painter. Both are true but there's a lot more that could, and should, be said about the subjects.

Tharon lit the shows of my youth. Not incidentally, she also lit the shows of Stephen Sondheim. She lit "Follies." She also lit "A Chorus Line." And "Dreamgirls." She won Tonys for all of those. She also designed the lighting for "Applause", "A Little Night Music", "Pacific Overtures", "The Act", "Ballroom" and "42nd Street (original stage production - 1981)". I'm here to tell you, this woman could paint a stage in light. And she painted a lot of them.

She was an innovator. "A Chorus Line" was the first B'way show to use a computer to activate the cues. It was considered radical at the time. She used computerized lighting more and more as the years went by. Anyone who saw the original production of "Dreamgirls" will instantly recall the 4 giant, castered lighting towers that whirled and spun around the stage during the show -- uncredited chorus members who danced from beginning to end -- the entire show being (mostly) lit by them in computer-controlled, lightning-fast changes that dazzled the audiences of the time as much as Jennifer Holliday's rafter-rattling rendition of "And I am Telling You (I am not going)".

Tharon Musser did that. And today, 27 years later, the hairs on the back of my head still stand up as I recall that knock-dead evening of theater. Thank you, Tharon, for being a part of it.

Tharon is survived by her life partner, Marilyn Rennagel, who is also a lighting designer.

Meme du Jour

Courtesy of my friend Bev over at Funny the World, comes this meme du jour:

1. What color is your toothbrush?
Blue and white (it's electrified!)

2. Name one person who made you smile today.
My 12-Step sponsor, Luke.

3. What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
This.

5. What is your favorite candy bar?
Payday. It's got nuts.

6. Have you ever been to a strip club?
Yes. And before you ask, it was a straight strip club -- I was still working on Wall Street at the time and it was considered part of my job to "entertain" clients. So shut up.

7. What is the last thing you said aloud
"What is the last thing you said aloud." My lips move when I read.

8. What is your favorite ice cream?
Hands down, Butter Pecan.

9. What was the last thing you had to drink?
Coffee. I'm having it now.

10, Do you like your wallet?
I do. It's a Coach. I've had it for about 4 years, but I've had the same model of Coach wallet for about 25 years. It's a tri-fold. It's perfect.

11, What was the last thing you ate?
A turkey and cheese on whole wheat.

12, Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
Probably. I'm on a shoe-buying binge. The old ones are getting disgusting.

13, The last sporting event you watched?
I watched the Yankees get their asses handed to them by Cleveland yesterday afternoon, but I turned it off after the third inning.

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?
Just plain, preferably with butter. Just like my hero, Bev.

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to?
I don't "do" text.

16. Ever go camping?
Yes. Every where from Baxter State Park in Maine (where the Appalachian Trail begins) to the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. I actually like camping.

17, Do you take vitamins daily?
Yes. Centrum Silver plus a Biotin pill and a B-12 sublingual.

18, Do you go to church every Sunday?
For what? Look, let's get this straight. I believe in God, I just don't believe in YOUR God. Okay?

19, Do you have a tan?
Nah.

20,Do you prefer Chinese food over pizza?
No. I'm an equal-opportunity vomiter.

21, Do you drink your soda with a straw?
Soda is out because of carbonation. I drink a lot of Crystal Lite.

22, What did your last text message say?
I don't "do" text.

23, What are you doing tomorrow?
Work.

25, Look to your left, what do you see?
The window looking south towards Peddie School. It's a nice view.

26, What color is your watch?
Black band, stainless case, black face with white numerals.

27, What do you think of when you hear Australia?
"Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" and Olivia Newton-John. I'm pretty gay.

29, Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?
I don't "do" fast food.

30. What is your favorite number?
Whichever number will cause me to win MegaMillions.

31. Who’s the last person you talked to on the phone?
My friend Richard T. He called last night around 7:30 p.m.

32. Any plans today?
Yup. A 12-Step meeting in Plainsboro, NJ, then maybe a quick trip to Sam's Club.

33. How many states have you lived in?
Seven. In chronological order: Delaware, California, Tennessee, Maryland, Washington (State), New York and New Jersey.

34. Biggest annoyance right now?
Summer traffic on Friday afternoons on the NJ Turnpike (does EVERYONE in New York City have a beach house down the Jersey shore????)

35, Last song listened to?
"I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz. It's ubiquitous these days. I like his voice so I hope he doesn't become a "one-hit wonder."

36. Can you say the alphabet backwards?
Bwahahahahahahahahahaha. No.

37. Do you have a maid service clean your house?
Only when we rent a beach house. I don't want foreigners to know how we Americans really live.

38. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
My Jack Purcell blue canvas sneakers. I would wear them to work if I could.

39. Are you jealous of anyone?
No. It's a pointless waste of energy based, primarily, on self-pity.

40. Is anyone jealous of you?
I would hope not. See 39, above.

41. Do you love anyone?
Yes. Dozens. Am I "in love" with anyone? No.

42. Do any of your friends have children?
Yup. My friends seem to fall into two categories, either "Scorched Earth" or "Be Fruitful and Multiply", but almost nothing in between.

43. What do you usually do during the day?
Oh, blog, read other blogs, blog some more, cop an attitude when asked to actually "work", blog some more, read some more blogs...

44, Do you hate anyone that you know right now?
No. Wow. That's a change. I don't hate my ex anymore. I wonder when that happened?

45. Do you use the word ‘hello’ daily?
Yes. Part of my duties include answering phones.

46. What color is your car?
"Arrest Me Red."

47. Do you like cats?
I'd better or my friend Jan would stop talking to me.

48. Are you thinking about someone right now
Yes. My friend Jan.

49, Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Are you kidding? I live about 20 miles from Six Flags Great Adventure -- I LOVE bodacious roller coasters and Six Flags has got 'em. But the crowds can be overwhelming.

50. How did you get your worst scar?
It's about 12" long and runs down the inside of my left forearm. It's where they harvested a vein (and they were clearly in a hurry when they did it) during my quadruple-bypass surgery five years ago last month. That scar is a constant reminder to me of how badly I used to treat myself and how lucky I am to be alive today.

Up the Lazy River

Today's title refers to the Amazon, of course, as in Amazon dot com. Specifically, it refers to the flapdoodle that arose this past weekend over the de-listing of LGBTQQ titles from their rankings.

Apparently this is important. I don't know why exactly, but it is. I know this because my friend Rob Byrnes (aka FARB) had totally lost his shit was somewhat discomfited over it. And any enemy discomfit of Rob Byrnes is an enemy discomfit of mine. He was particularly incensed discomfited by it since he just had a new book (fabulous... you should read it... called "Straight Lies") published and, let's face it, authors these days count on e-tailers like Amazon to really move the merch.

So after I read Rob's rant piece (love the [lack of] alliteration) I delisted my shopping cart and wish lists from Amazon and sent a sternly worded email to some faceless drone in Mumbai who poses as their Customer Service Help Desk.

A scant 24 hours later I got a reply.

Then I posted this on Joe.My.God's blog:

"You wanna know what I think? I think that, for economic reasons only, the cataloging was outsourced to a country where ... well, let's just say that there's a totally different cultural bias regarding subjects such as "gay" and "lesbian" and "bisexual" and "transgendered" and "queer" there. A place where, in fact, the entire population remains largely skittish on the subject of sex in general.

And nobody in corporate bothered to double-check the work.

That's what I think. (the Amazon form reply was signed by Gajalakshmi S.)"

I stand by that theory. I think it was nothing more than the finance department trumping the editorial staff.

It's worse than a global conspiracy.

It's capitalism run amok. As usual.

Post-Christian America

The cover story on this week's issue of Newsweek is about life in what it terms "post-Christian America", i.e., an America which has moved well beyond the old-time religion of our forefathers.

As we all know, of course, there never was such a place. Rhode Island, the article points out, was founded by dissidents from all the other major religions as a place of safety from the tyranny of Massachusetts (Protestantism) and Maryland (Catholicism). We were always a mixed bag of beliefs (and non-beliefs). There is nothing new about that.

What is new, though, is that Americans are moving away from organized religions towards individual theologies based on a belief "in a Higher Power" but without the need for any human authority to act as God's muscle here on earth. We are far less religious these days, but far more spiritual.

This sounds suspiciously like every 12-Step Program I've ever heard of. The grandaddy of 12-Step programs, Alcoholics Anonymous, began in 1935 in Akron Ohio. One of it's founding tenets is the need for it's members to develop a belief in a "Power Greater than Ourselves"... leaving it up to the individual member to decide for him or herself exactly what that Power is.

This is very bad news for the RRR (radical religious right) aka "fundies" (fundamentalists) who would like to impose a born-again, literal fundamentalist theocracy on the nation; to outlaw abortion on demand (and, eventually, all contraception); to drive all LGBTQ people back into self-loathing closets and to "restore" our nation to it's pristine, newly-founded, condition. Which, by the way, never really existed.

Despite the outcome of Prop 8 in California last November, last Friday's unanimous vote by the Iowa Supreme Court and the outcome of the votes of the Vermont legislature and senate yesterday have triggered a seismic shift in America's thinking on the subject of gay rights in particular and fair play and full equality in general.

I believe that the culture war is over (or nearly so). The Right has lost (decisively).

Next subject?

===================================================
UPDATE!! Anti-Gay National Organization for Marriage Launches New Campaign in wake of recent events.






--- more update: it turns out they're all actors. somebody turned up the audition tapes and posted them on Youtube, too. Gee, you can't even trust Christianist Fundamentalists anymore.

Catholicism 101

Get your own Poll!

Painful Truth

I hate admitting when I'm full of shit. Doesn't everybody? But there's no escaping it. I am.

I went to FARB's book-signing last week (see: "Famous Author Rob Byrne's" blog in my preferred reading list, below to the right). It was in a gay bar in Hell's Kitchen Clinton, here in New York City. Ordinarily I don't go into gay bars because I'm in recovery and, as I often tell myself, I have "no business being someplace full of people who drink." That's one thing I tell myself. Another thing I've been telling myself for the past 11 years is that I'm not dating because I'm "afraid of repeating past mistakes" in terms of picking the wrong people to get involved with.

Lies. All self-deluded lies.

I realized, almost as soon as I arrived at the bar, that I was exceedingly uncomfortable. Not because other people were drinking and I wasn't, but rather because I was in a roomful of gay men, without the benefit of a 12-Step structure (i.e. a "group" or a "meeting") and I had nothing... absolutely nothing... to buffer me from the prospect of having a regular conversation with regular guys.

An "on-line" acquaintance of mine, a gay woman whose name is irrelevant here, walked in and I practically threw myself into her arms, I was so relieved that at last there was someone I could talk to without the added pressure of that person being a male.

Unfortunately, that didn't work out so well because, it turned out, she was there on a mission -- to check me out as possible dating material for another gay male friend of hers. I wanted to scream when she told me that.

As I was trying to find Rob to say my "goodbyes" for the evening he tried to introduce me to a couple of other friends of his, male of course, and by then the pain was so great I practically sprouted wings and flew down the steps and out the door. Talk about being "light in the loafers!"

Humor aside, the next few days have been painful. I am not the person I thought I was (I always thought of myself as Mr. Gregarious). Yet without the benefit of loud music, a dance floor, cigarettes and gallons of booze, I simply don't know how to act around gay men.

I've been sharing about this at all my 12-Step meetings since last Friday (including an LGBT meeting I attend in Pennsylvania on Saturday nights). I've been sharing about this with my sponsor, too. And with other members of my so-called "executive committee" of close recovery friends (all men, all straight, all married -- another friggin' clue that I might have "issues" with gay men).

Sigh. Yet more work to be done. I am a work in progress. And as we're fond of saying, it's Progress.... not Perfection.

Straight Lies

I don't know too many famous gay authors (I do know a couple of ostensibly straight ones), but I do know Rob Byrnes.

Well, he has a new book which was published this week. Here it is:



Tonight, April 2, is the launch party for his latest opus. It's being held at the Ritz Bar and Lounge, 369 West 46th Street, from 6:00 PM and 9:00 PM!

I intend to be there. If you're in the NYC metro area, you should be there, too.

Hell, you'll get to meet lots o' writers & bloggers and gawd only knows what else.

See ya there!

West Side Story - A Review

Background. I'm a show freak and mighty damned proud to admit it. I've seen everything, over the years. Twice (if not more). With one notable exception, that is. West Side Story. Music by Leonard Bernstein, lyrics by Steve Sondheim, book by Arthur Laurents. Choreographed and directed by Jerome Robbins (with the able assistance of Peter Gennaro).

It opened on Broadway in 1957 and was movied in 1960. Like many, I grew up knowing the show only on the basis of the movie. And although it was shot on the mean streets of upper Hell's Kitchen, on the very site where today's Lincoln Center stands, it was, well, it was a movie. I love movies. You can do things in movies which you can't do on stage (CGI). But the theater is my first love. It's real. Once that orchestra starts playing, come hell or high water, the SHOW MUST GO ON. And you've only got one chance to do it right ... for the audience that night. You can't beat the immediacy of it.

And so it was on Friday night. When they posted the opening notice last November I was all over the box-office website like a bird on a June bug, and booked two seats for the front mezzanine for last Friday. Not bad for a week after the opening.

How was it?

Indescribably wonderful. Artie Laurents (at 94, God bless him) did a great job of re-creating the show from memory.

The leads were adorable, able and sweetly (nearly) adolescent. Maria is beautifully played by Josefina Scaglione who is a 21 year old from Argentina where, apparently, she's enormously popular and operatically trained (it shows!). In addition to being quite beautiful, she was fragile, vulnerable and highly expressive. Matt Cavenaugh (Tony), is a ruggedly handsome young man who has got a phenomenal vocal range (it's a very tough role to sing -- Bernstein liked to murder his male ingenues voices), and he acquitted himself beautifully with a pure, sweet upper range, when required.

The other roles were handled with the sort of professionalism you'd expect from a Broadway show.

But the real hero of the evening, as far as I was concerned, was Joey McKneely, whom you've probably never heard of. Well, it was his job to do the nearly impossible, i.e. to recreate, as exactly as possible, Jerome Robbins' complicated choreography. And recreate it he does. Before this he did "The Boy from Oz", the story of Peter Allen which starred Hugh Jackman, a few years back. Somewhere along the way he had become friends with the late Jerome Robbins who, apparently, taught him all the dances.

Because everyone has heard about it, I want to talk a little about the infusion of Spanish into the show. Rest assured that it's not a distraction, it's an enhancement. We all know the songs inside and out, so that when Maria bursts into song with "Siento Hermosa!", we all know that her new-found love is making her feel as beautiful as our first made all of us feel. There is some Spanish in the dialog scenes, but you never have the sense of missing out on something. You always know what's going on.

I knew I was liking the show because my "butt alarm" didn't go off once during the nearly 3 hour long performance. I was transfixed, held, illuminated and entertained from beginning to end.

There was only a single sour note in the whole evening, and that didn't even occur on stage.

After the show, my friend and I waited outside the stage door to say "hi" to a friend of mine in the orchestra. As we waited patiently by the curb, the Co-chairman of Fox Films, Tom Rothman and his obnoxious clan, pushed me and my friend off the sidewalk into the busy street so that they could crowd around their lousy brat who, apparently, was one of the Jets.

Fans. Sheesh.

If you're planning on coming to NY, try (desperately) to get tickets to see "West Side Story". You won't regret it as long as you avoid the stage door after the show.

Tonight, tonight....

won't be just any night, tonight I'm seeing "West Side Story" at the Palace theater on Broadway. (Friday, March 27, 2009)

Many years ago I heard the late, great, Jerry Orbach say, "the two most beautiful words in the English language are MUSICAL COMEDY". And the show he was in when he said it was, "42nd Street." Beside the point. He was absolutely right.

It is certainly the most vibrant art-form of the 20th century. Keep your painters and sculptors. Keep your depressing playwrights. Give me a composer, a score, a chorus, dancers and tons of giant production numbers, and I'll be happy.

I'll try to find time to do a full review over the weekend.

I'M CURED!!!!!

It's official, I'm cured! I took this on-line test, which proved it!

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid Disorder:	Low
Schizoid Disorder:	Low
Schizotypal Disorder:	Low
Antisocial Disorder:	Low
Borderline Disorder:	Low
Histrionic Disorder:	Low
Narcissistic Disorder:	Low
Avoidant Disorder:	Low
Dependent Disorder:	Low
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:	Low
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! -- -- Personality Disorders --

I would've taken the dating quiz but our office IT department is administered by the Department of Truth / Division of Big Brother and our blocking software tossed me out with the admonition that I was visiting A DATING SITE which, apparently, IT is against (as well they should be -- those nerds haven't had dates in years).

It's the first day of Spring, it's snowing in New York and it's Friday.

The weather can do whatever the f*ck it likes. Mother Nature cannot stop the calendar.

July will happen.

You have GOT to get THIS!

Sony Releases New Stupid Piece Of Shit That Doesn't Fucking Work

Greed is Good! Pot is Bad!!

Why are we beating up on this guy for smoking some weed:



When we SHOULD be taking this guy out into the middle of Fifth Avenue at 57th Street and beating the fucking shit out him for giving away $165 million taxpayer bucks to a BUNCH OF FUCKING LOSERS who ran AIG into near bankruptcy last year and who are now being rewarded with OUR money for it:



How infinite is the American capacity for forgiveness of bald-faced greed and for lack of forgiveness of so-called moral failings which 90% of us have made?

We're beyond hypocrisy -- we live in the fucking Twilight Zone.

Open Mike Wednesday

Well, not really. More like a hodge-podge Wednesday... only without mentions of Christianist shootouts or family killings, because they're actually pretty sad stories, when you think about it.

First up, we have this cute photo:



Just because I have a soft spot in my heart for heartless fat-cats everywhere. It started on Wall Street, back in the 80's (of course), but then my friend Jan started collecting real fat cats (of the variety in the picture above) and I started falling in love with them, and vice versa, as the years rolled by.

But my favorite story du jour concerns Senator David Vitter (remember the diaper-loving client of a DC Madam? Yup, the same). Apparently he went ape-shit at Dulles last week when a plane had the nerve to leave without him.

First off, I copied the story from Wonkette, with a pointer, at the end, to the original source of the story:

Hooker-using diaper fetishist Senator David Vitter freaked out at Dulles airport after he missed his flight back to New Orleans. He arrived at his gate to discover that doors had closed and he could not board his flight. A normal person would say, “Oh well, can you try to get me on the next flight then?” but Senator Vitter yelled about how he was a senator and therefore endowed with special powers of douchebaggery. Then he opened the security door, which set off an alarm, and the airline employee he’d been chewing out was all Hey man that is really not cool, and David Vitter ran off like a pussy while the employee looked for a security guard. What an awful human. [Raw Story]

Eleven Years

Yesterday was my 11th sobriety anniversary. In fact, it was exactly Sunday, March 8, 1998 that (so far) I had my last drink of alcohol.

In fact, that last drink was AFTER I'd gotten out of jail that morning. Yes. Jail. On a drunk-driving charge from Saturday night. I awoke that Sunday morning in a cell, my clothes piled neatly on the floor ourside of my cell... safely out of reach (lest I do something stupid, like fashion a noose from my trousers). It took most of the last $220 I had in my wallet to get out of jail that morning. I still had part of a 1.75 liter bottle of rotgut vodka back in my small room at my brother's house, where I'd spent the previous 3 months sleeping on a paper-thin mattress on the attic floor. I polished it off before I passed out for the last time. I hated myself and wished I were dead.

Two days later I attended my first 12-Step meeting, at 7:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning, March 10, 1998.

After that there were court dates, a loss of license for 6 months, fines, insurance surcharges, court-mandated attendance at something called IDRC (Intoxicated Driver Resource Center) and, finally, court-ordered attendance at 12-Step meetings for the next year.

By the time the court got around to that, though, I'd already been attending meetings for 3 months. In fact, I'd gotten my 90-Day pin the day before my first court appearance.

11 years later... during which there've been no police, no courts, no insurance surcharges and, most importantly of all, no court-mandated attendance at 12-Step meetings (I run to them of my own volition these days).

I've come to realize a lot of things in those 11 years. I've come to realize that there is a God and that I'm not him (or her). I've also come to believe that there is a plan, which is not my plan and that God, frankly, doesn't give a rat's ass about my opinions regarding that plan, but that my job is to show up for that plan and to do my best to implement that plan. It makes life so much easier when we stop trying to be God... and get rid of that massive chip on our shoulders because we are not God.

I have loving friends and family. For a long time I didn't. I like being around people today. For a long time I didn't.

I go to a Step meeting on Sunday mornings in the sleepy little town of Plainsboro, NJ (home of the non-existent Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital where House practices being a medical jerk). My sponsor goes to the meeting with me. It allows us to have some valuable "face-time" every week. He gave me my 11 year piece at the meeting yesterday.

I love my sponsor. He's my best friend. He puts up with a lot of crap and neediness from me. He thinks I'm a good friend, too. He's told me so. We're good for each other. He and his wife have taken good care of me over the years. They've been there for me with all my medical crap over the years. I would take bullets for them.

So today I start my 12th year of sobriety. I started it the same way I started my sobriety on a dismal, friendless and hopeless Sunday morning in 1998.

One Day at a Time.

Gay Marriage, Prop 8 and Voter Initiatives

The whole business with Proposition 8 in California, the original ruling, the 18,000 or so marriages, the voter initiative last November, the fallout from that, the whole debacle over Mormon involvement and, finally, yesterday's hearing in the California State Supreme Court led my friend Bev, over at FunnyTheWorld, to post about it today (SPOILER ALERT: She's frustrated), which prompted me to post a reply.

I hate to brag (shut up, Bev) but I will. It was so good (and to be honest Bev encouraged me to send it to the Court) that I decided to post it here.

What follows is a direct copy of my post:

"Well, here's my deal on all that Prop 8 stuff.

When I moved to Seattle, back in '76 and fresh out of college back here in the east, I was shocked (and that's not hyperbole, that's what I was) to find out that you good folks out west (Washington, Oregon, California and, probably, some other states as well) had this loose cannon thingie called "Voter Initiatives" which, basically, overrode the Federal Founders express desire to provide built-in protections for all minorities against the TYRANNY of the majority.

I figured it out in about five minutes.

[Furthermore,] over the ensuing 33 years I have yet to see any evidence that the voter initiative process is anything more (or less) than a loaded gun in the hands of overly-emotional 3 year olds. There are reasons it takes a 2/3 votes of both houses of Congress AND of all the states in order to modify our national constitution.

The Founders were not idiots. Lynch mobs, though, usually are."

---- nb: I later posted an addendum to that noting that I was wrong, that it takes 3/4's of the state legislatures to ratify a constitutional amendment.

Rudderless

Addiction and lack of direction go hand in hand. It’s difficult to pinpoint just which one comes first. I generally opt for starting out life with a lack of direction, booze and drugs to follow (shortly).

I grew up surrounded by a bunch of aimless, drunken, souls whose main ambitions every week were to survive and then to get blasted on Saturday night.

Nobody ever sat me down and said, “What would you like to do?” Nobody ever showed that much interest in me. The general attitudes around my childhood home were a) that I was a burden for them to endure and b) that I was a handy weapon my mother could use against my father and c) that children should be seen and not heard. Nor did anyone try to give me a leg up on life by teaching me anything (worthwhile, or not). Frankly, they didn’t have very much to offer. I was a bright kid, who could’ve done a lot if I’d been given half a chance (or even some outside tutoring). Regrettably, I had to figure everything out for myself (becoming an autodidact) and it came as a rude shock when, in the middle of the 9th grade, I realized that I couldn’t teach myself algebra. I threw in the towel on education when I hit that brick wall. I barely managed to finish high school, despite the kindness and interest of a handful of teachers. I was too ashamed to ask any of them for help.

My primary responsibilities as a kid were a) to keep up appearances in Catholic (and later, public) school so that no attention would ever be drawn to what was actually happening in my house and b) to clean up after the alcohol-fueled messes.

Consequently, I’ve never aspired to be successful. I’ve never aspired to “having a career” or even having a job that I would be remotely interested in. If I mastered something, I got bored with it. If it was too hard (i.e., it took more than a week to learn) I quickly lost interest and tossed it aside.

The same went for people. Either I mastered them overnight, or they fell by the wayside.

And there were careers and relationships. To all outward appearances, both were lovely. But they weren't. They were empty shams.

Nothing fulfilled me. Nothing gave me a sense of being. I spent most of my life being a big, empty, nothing.

Only recently have I begun to realize that all those things I failed to get in childhood (including having decent role models for healthy relationships) I was now in an ideal position to give as a sober adult.

The rooms of 12-Step programs are full of needy people, who, like me, grew up empty, desperate for loving direction, kindly help and moral support. I had the opportunity to “be” the very thing I so desperately craved. I could be the loving father and mother to others that I never had for myself.

I had a chance, at long last, to be fulfilled.

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p.s. I'm watching the live stream of the California Supreme Court hearing on the constitutionality of Prop 8. So far I'm having a hard time pinning down the court's attitude.

But it's March fer cryin' out loud...

9:00 a.m., Monday, March 2, 2009. From my living room window. Click on the photo to "embiggen" it (which my friend Joe J. over at Joe.My.God likes to say.)

I woke up at 5:00 a.m., looked outside and said to myself, "ain't no way I'm truckin' into NYC today." Then I turned on the local news. The NYC schools are closed, and they never close the schools in New York. So it was bad. I went back to bed for another hour, got up and checked the weather again. Still snowing. I called the office and left a voicemail saying that I wouldn't be in today.

Then, of course, being the good little alkie that I am, I showered, shaved, dressed, went out and dug the car out and drove off to a 12-Step meeting that meets at 7:00 a.m., six days a week in the local Presbyterian Church. The diehards were all there. The amateurs always stay home.

They say we're going on daylight savings time this coming weekend and that Spring is merely 3 weeks off.

Somebody should tell Mother Nature that winter is over. Like She cares.

Reaganomics 101

In case you slept through last couple of semesters (29 years), let’s recap:

Reaganomics, also once known as “voodoo economics” (coined by Bush, Sr.) had its origins in two basic premises; lower taxes and a smaller government. We got one of those.

It was to be implemented by the then Director of the Office of Management and Budget, David Stockman (remember him?), who had to defend the concept to the Congress. Amongst other things he attended divinity school.

Notwithstanding all the fancy-schmancy, high-falootin’ terminology and pedigree of Reaganomics, it really boiled down to this:

With the Democrats you get “tax and spend” economics (not for the last 29 years).

With Reaganomics you get “borrow and spend” economics (the last 29 years).

So here’s a hot flash for all of you “Greed is Good” Reaganistas out there:

The fiscal chickens have come home to roost. By the thousands, by the millions, by the billions and by the trillions.

Citibank has been all but nationalized. Bank of America is about to have its underwear crawled through by the Feds and NY State in search of corporate mis and malfeasance. A handful, comparatively speaking, of ultra-rich motherfuckers, mostly Republican, have gotten even more ultra-rich (and became even bigger motherfuckers) at the expense of the vast majority of hard-working schlubby Americans, amongst whom I count myself.

We are in a period of profound economic depression, likely to last for a decade or so and, finally, there’s this:

We are trillions of dollars in debt to the Chinese, and not the “good” Chinese, either, but rather the bad Chinese. They all but own us and could send a bunch of lawyers over here to foreclose, if they had lawyers and laws.

This, then, is the legacy that we are leaving to our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. This, then, is the legacy of Ronald Reagan and Reaganomics.

Never vote for an actor for President. It’s bad enough voting for one as Governor of California.

Things are pretty bleak out there.