Today the full Senate is to vote on the Defense Appropriation (close to 3/4 of a Trillion dollars) for the next fiscal year.
Attached to that bill is a provision repealing DADT. John McCain has sworn to vote against it. Lady Gaga is all for it (she wants a new bill, directed against homophobes in the military, called "If You Don't Like It, Go Home"). There's no telling, as yet, how Maine senator, Olympia Snowe, will vote.
But this is how I feel about the hows and whys and whine and horse-trade and politicking that have gone on for years.... DECADES... about me and about my rights (or lack thereof) simply because I am a gay American (and I got this from Bill Maher):
"I am TIRED of being the chick you're banging but are too ashamed to be seen with in public."
You (Mr. Ms. Madame Politician) will be forced to vote, up or down, on this. And all of us gay people will be watching.
Have a day, you slimy, rat-fink bastards.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Face of Evil
His name is Ken Mehlman. I got this Photoshopped Purple Heart(less) from Pam Spaulding's website. I hope she doesn't mind.
This is the face of evil. It is the face of unbridled privilege, self-serving in the extreme. It was born with a sense of entitlement that knew no bounds. It saw what it wanted, it took what it wanted and it gave no thought or feeling to the consequences to other peoples' feelings or lives.
It lived only to serve itself.
Take a good look at it. You are staring into the abyss.
After trashing the lives of millions, it now seeks acceptance and forgiveness from those same people. My people.
If you see it on the street, do not hesitate to cover your children's eyes and to cross to the other side.
Shun this creature. It deserves it.
This is the face of evil. It is the face of unbridled privilege, self-serving in the extreme. It was born with a sense of entitlement that knew no bounds. It saw what it wanted, it took what it wanted and it gave no thought or feeling to the consequences to other peoples' feelings or lives.
It lived only to serve itself.
Take a good look at it. You are staring into the abyss.
After trashing the lives of millions, it now seeks acceptance and forgiveness from those same people. My people.
If you see it on the street, do not hesitate to cover your children's eyes and to cross to the other side.
Shun this creature. It deserves it.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Odds and Ends
This is really important. Is it just me?......
Or is Terrence Stamp in "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" a dead-ringer for our very own Queen of the Desert, Arizona Governor, Jan Brewer?
I wonder how Terrence feels about illegal immigration?
Oh, and I pulled the trigger this week on a new toy. Four years ago I got my very first cellphone. Two years ago that contract expired. Verizon's been begging me to buy something else for some time now and so, at last, I did. Since it seems like Verizon will never get an iPhone, I ordered a Motorola Droid X, instead. I'll let you all know when it comes in, so you'll envy me for being the coolest kid on the block.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Blah-gging - Death on the Rails - The White House & Fox News
For the last couple of weeks it seems that all the gay bloggers have been off terrorizing Las Vegas at NetRoots or buying new refrigerators in Chicago or baking themselves silly at the southernmost point in New Jersey (that would be me).
Aside from the Bus & Truck production of "Hate on Parade" starring Mz. Brown and Mr. Gallagher of NOM, which is packing them in by the 5's, things are pretty slow around here in the cyber-sphere.
The big excitement in my life this week (and the lives of about 60,000 other commuters in NY/NJ) was the unfortunate suicide of a 30 year old woman this past Tuesday who opted for a permanent solution to her problems by throwing herself in front of a southbound AMTRAK Acela train, which was doing 135 miles per hour at the time. That night my 1 hour commute from New York City to Princeton Junction took nearly 5 hours. But even at that, I still had a better day than that unfortunate soul had.
But it wouldn't be a good week if I didn't stumble across something that really got my knickers in a twist. And this is my knicker-twister du jour:
As you may recall, the dean of the White House Press Corps, Helen Thomas, was recently forced to resign after an outburst of anti-semitism. The WHCA is now getting ready to give away Helen's former front row seat in the Briefing Room to one of the other senior newsgathering organizations.
And here are their current choices:
1. NPR
2. Bloomberg News
3. Fox News
Needless to say I sent them an e-mail.
"It is my understanding that with the recent departure of Helen Thomas from the press corps, the WHCA is considering assigning her vacant seat to one of three organizations, Bloomberg News, Fox News or NPR.
I would like to urge you to NOT consider Fox News for this prestigious seat. I have no problem with either NPR or Bloomberg, but it is my opinion that Fox is not a serious news gathering organization but, rather, serves but one purpose, that being to generate profits for it's parent, News Corp, by callously agitating the American political right.
Please do not open yourselves to ridicule and dishonor by giving this seat to Fox.
Thank you."
Google "White House Correspondent's Association" and send them an e-mail expressing your views.
Aside from the Bus & Truck production of "Hate on Parade" starring Mz. Brown and Mr. Gallagher of NOM, which is packing them in by the 5's, things are pretty slow around here in the cyber-sphere.
The big excitement in my life this week (and the lives of about 60,000 other commuters in NY/NJ) was the unfortunate suicide of a 30 year old woman this past Tuesday who opted for a permanent solution to her problems by throwing herself in front of a southbound AMTRAK Acela train, which was doing 135 miles per hour at the time. That night my 1 hour commute from New York City to Princeton Junction took nearly 5 hours. But even at that, I still had a better day than that unfortunate soul had.
But it wouldn't be a good week if I didn't stumble across something that really got my knickers in a twist. And this is my knicker-twister du jour:
As you may recall, the dean of the White House Press Corps, Helen Thomas, was recently forced to resign after an outburst of anti-semitism. The WHCA is now getting ready to give away Helen's former front row seat in the Briefing Room to one of the other senior newsgathering organizations.
And here are their current choices:
1. NPR
2. Bloomberg News
3. Fox News
Needless to say I sent them an e-mail.
"It is my understanding that with the recent departure of Helen Thomas from the press corps, the WHCA is considering assigning her vacant seat to one of three organizations, Bloomberg News, Fox News or NPR.
I would like to urge you to NOT consider Fox News for this prestigious seat. I have no problem with either NPR or Bloomberg, but it is my opinion that Fox is not a serious news gathering organization but, rather, serves but one purpose, that being to generate profits for it's parent, News Corp, by callously agitating the American political right.
Please do not open yourselves to ridicule and dishonor by giving this seat to Fox.
Thank you."
Google "White House Correspondent's Association" and send them an e-mail expressing your views.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Mark Twain, the New York Times and American Imperialism
Mark Twain knew all about being a boy in the early 19th century, growing up along the banks of the mighty Mississippi River.
Apparently he also knew a thing or two about American imperialism.
He died 100 years ago this past April 22. Now comes word that a large part of his "private" autobiography, held in confidence for the hundred years following his death, will be published this fall. In it, so rumor goes, he "names names" and calls a spade a spade regarding our American propensity for foreign military adventurism. It’s said, shockingly, that he actually referred to our armed forces as "uniformed assassins." We'll all have to wait until November to get the all deets on that.
Meanwhile, though, we can content ourselves with reading recently published secret documents posted first on Wiki Leaks and then again yesterday, in great analytic detail, in the New York Times -- documents detailing the horrors and failures of our 9 year war in Afghanistan.
The United States of America has involved itself in military actions, foreign and domestic, too many times to enumerate here. But you can check it out for yourself at the web site of Zoltan Grossman, a professor at Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington by clicking on his web-page, Here.
It is naive of us to believe that our foreign excursions are excusable because they bring goodness and democracy to other nations. We're not terribly interested in that, when our strategic interests are really to annoy some foreign power and to steal whatever assets we can lay our hands on... assets which will further enrich the entrenched military-industrial complex here at home.
Winston Churchill once remarked that we Americans "can be counted upon to always do the right thing ... once we've exhausted every other possibility".
It's a lovely thought, but untrue.
In fact, we only do the "right thing" once we’ve been shamed into it (we were happy to sit by while England was visciously attacked by Germany and, in fact, didn't get off our asses to really help the English until the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor). Our natural inclination is to do the wrong thing, time and time again. And by wrong I mean "that thing which will embarrassingly enrich a handful of ruthless plutocrats who have zero interest in either democracy or their fellow men."
It is those same plutocrats who, by virtue of their self-centered ruthlessness, cause wars which must then be fought and won by the flower of our youth, millions of young men and women who have no vested financial interest in the outcome of the war but who are conned into believing that it is their patriotic duty to un-do the damage done by handfuls of hateful old men and women who then sit back at home and reap the profits generated by our sons’ and daughters’ deaths overseas.
And yes, I do love my country. But we have hocked our future to the military and industry to the tune of trillions of dollars. Dollars we should’ve spent making America a paradise on earth instead of a bankrupt nation of deluded fools who haven't got a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out.
Apparently he also knew a thing or two about American imperialism.
He died 100 years ago this past April 22. Now comes word that a large part of his "private" autobiography, held in confidence for the hundred years following his death, will be published this fall. In it, so rumor goes, he "names names" and calls a spade a spade regarding our American propensity for foreign military adventurism. It’s said, shockingly, that he actually referred to our armed forces as "uniformed assassins." We'll all have to wait until November to get the all deets on that.
Meanwhile, though, we can content ourselves with reading recently published secret documents posted first on Wiki Leaks and then again yesterday, in great analytic detail, in the New York Times -- documents detailing the horrors and failures of our 9 year war in Afghanistan.
The United States of America has involved itself in military actions, foreign and domestic, too many times to enumerate here. But you can check it out for yourself at the web site of Zoltan Grossman, a professor at Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington by clicking on his web-page, Here.
It is naive of us to believe that our foreign excursions are excusable because they bring goodness and democracy to other nations. We're not terribly interested in that, when our strategic interests are really to annoy some foreign power and to steal whatever assets we can lay our hands on... assets which will further enrich the entrenched military-industrial complex here at home.
Winston Churchill once remarked that we Americans "can be counted upon to always do the right thing ... once we've exhausted every other possibility".
It's a lovely thought, but untrue.
In fact, we only do the "right thing" once we’ve been shamed into it (we were happy to sit by while England was visciously attacked by Germany and, in fact, didn't get off our asses to really help the English until the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor). Our natural inclination is to do the wrong thing, time and time again. And by wrong I mean "that thing which will embarrassingly enrich a handful of ruthless plutocrats who have zero interest in either democracy or their fellow men."
It is those same plutocrats who, by virtue of their self-centered ruthlessness, cause wars which must then be fought and won by the flower of our youth, millions of young men and women who have no vested financial interest in the outcome of the war but who are conned into believing that it is their patriotic duty to un-do the damage done by handfuls of hateful old men and women who then sit back at home and reap the profits generated by our sons’ and daughters’ deaths overseas.
And yes, I do love my country. But we have hocked our future to the military and industry to the tune of trillions of dollars. Dollars we should’ve spent making America a paradise on earth instead of a bankrupt nation of deluded fools who haven't got a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out.
Friday, June 18, 2010
The Irresistible Allure of Homosexuality!
Let's face it. The "real" reason there's so much pushback against my (homosexual) rights is because of the deep-seated fear that once people try it (homosexuality), they'll REALLY like it (and who wouldn't) and never go back (I haven't).
Why is that, I wonder? Is it something as simple as "because a man knows what a man likes and a woman knows what a woman likes?"
Probably.
I've known straight men who, even after years of trying, still haven't got a clue how to satisfy a woman and vice versa.
But put a man into bed with another man, or a woman into bed with another woman and WHAM! Suddenly everybody knows exactly what needs to be done in order to make everybody else happy!
Look, I'm all for procreation. After all, not everybody is cut out for a life of spare cash, incessant sexual gratification, fine dining and tastefully appointed condos in New York and South Beach. Some people need the overall deshabille and slovenliness, not to mention excess tonnage brought on by years of junk-food-stuffing-in-lieu-of-sexual-satisfaction, which can only be achieved by a life dedicated to boring old man on woman lovemaking.
And it's not "all about politics" either. And, to prove my point, if you're a gay man which would you prefer:
This:
or this:
And, if you're a gay woman, this:
or this:
I rest my case.
Why is that, I wonder? Is it something as simple as "because a man knows what a man likes and a woman knows what a woman likes?"
Probably.
I've known straight men who, even after years of trying, still haven't got a clue how to satisfy a woman and vice versa.
But put a man into bed with another man, or a woman into bed with another woman and WHAM! Suddenly everybody knows exactly what needs to be done in order to make everybody else happy!
Look, I'm all for procreation. After all, not everybody is cut out for a life of spare cash, incessant sexual gratification, fine dining and tastefully appointed condos in New York and South Beach. Some people need the overall deshabille and slovenliness, not to mention excess tonnage brought on by years of junk-food-stuffing-in-lieu-of-sexual-satisfaction, which can only be achieved by a life dedicated to boring old man on woman lovemaking.
And it's not "all about politics" either. And, to prove my point, if you're a gay man which would you prefer:
This:
or this:
And, if you're a gay woman, this:
or this:
I rest my case.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Taps
We buried my father last Thursday in a Veteran's Cemetary in Delaware.
It's the hardest thing I've experienced while sober. My mother died while I was still drinking and I was pretty drunk through the whole thing.
This was different.
There was a brief service at the funeral home from 9:00 until 10:00 a.m. Dad's cremated remains were in a box on a table to the right and, on the left, was a table full of memorabilia about my dad -- much of it from his Navy days during WWII in the South Pacific where he was a gun captain aboard a refueling ship -- the kind of ship the Kamikaze's loved to aim for because they made such nice booms. Dad would only say of his wartime experience that he and his crew had "shot down a couple of Japs."
I was detached and calm through that whole part of the morning. At 10:00 we struck out for the cemetary and were there in about 20 minutes.
As we disembarked in front of the reception building a single bell started to toll. A Navy man, in dress whites, stood in front of the building holding a wooden case containing the folded up Old Glory. As we entered the building, across the quarterdeck, an honor guard, all in dress uniforms, stood on both sides and rendered us a salute.
We turned the corner into the chapel, the back wall of which was solid glass, two stories high. Outside we could see the rifle squad marching out to a mound, followed by the bugler.
My siblings and I, with my step-mother between my brother and sister, sat in the front pew... the rest of the family and friends filling in behind.
The minister made some remarks about dad being called "by the Supreme Commander in the sky" and I just dissolved. It started with a noise I had never heard myself make before -- followed by a flood of mucous and tears and sobbing and more weird noises. I reached around under the pew, looking for a box of tissues, but they only had this wimpy little kimwipe type things that wouldn't hold an ounce of water. I looked down the pew and my sister and brother had also both lost it. We were all bawling our eyes out.
Then came the kick in the gut. After the rifle squad had fired their salute and the bugler had played taps and the flag had been re-folded into the familiar triangular shape, the Navy Captain ( an O-6 ), took the flag as shown above and knelt on one knee in front of my stepmom.
"On behalf of the President of the United States, the Secretary of the Navy ... and a grateful nation..."
WHAM! It hit me. I was feeling feelings I didn't know I could feel. I knew that I loved my dad and had always loved my dad even when I resented him and that I would miss him.
And deep down inside I knew that I had made a good decision 42 years ago, when I decided to enlist in the Navy.
As had my father. As had his father.
I am my father's son.
And at heart, we are all deep-water sailors.
It's the hardest thing I've experienced while sober. My mother died while I was still drinking and I was pretty drunk through the whole thing.
This was different.
There was a brief service at the funeral home from 9:00 until 10:00 a.m. Dad's cremated remains were in a box on a table to the right and, on the left, was a table full of memorabilia about my dad -- much of it from his Navy days during WWII in the South Pacific where he was a gun captain aboard a refueling ship -- the kind of ship the Kamikaze's loved to aim for because they made such nice booms. Dad would only say of his wartime experience that he and his crew had "shot down a couple of Japs."
I was detached and calm through that whole part of the morning. At 10:00 we struck out for the cemetary and were there in about 20 minutes.
As we disembarked in front of the reception building a single bell started to toll. A Navy man, in dress whites, stood in front of the building holding a wooden case containing the folded up Old Glory. As we entered the building, across the quarterdeck, an honor guard, all in dress uniforms, stood on both sides and rendered us a salute.
We turned the corner into the chapel, the back wall of which was solid glass, two stories high. Outside we could see the rifle squad marching out to a mound, followed by the bugler.
My siblings and I, with my step-mother between my brother and sister, sat in the front pew... the rest of the family and friends filling in behind.
The minister made some remarks about dad being called "by the Supreme Commander in the sky" and I just dissolved. It started with a noise I had never heard myself make before -- followed by a flood of mucous and tears and sobbing and more weird noises. I reached around under the pew, looking for a box of tissues, but they only had this wimpy little kimwipe type things that wouldn't hold an ounce of water. I looked down the pew and my sister and brother had also both lost it. We were all bawling our eyes out.
Then came the kick in the gut. After the rifle squad had fired their salute and the bugler had played taps and the flag had been re-folded into the familiar triangular shape, the Navy Captain ( an O-6 ), took the flag as shown above and knelt on one knee in front of my stepmom.
"On behalf of the President of the United States, the Secretary of the Navy ... and a grateful nation..."
WHAM! It hit me. I was feeling feelings I didn't know I could feel. I knew that I loved my dad and had always loved my dad even when I resented him and that I would miss him.
And deep down inside I knew that I had made a good decision 42 years ago, when I decided to enlist in the Navy.
As had my father. As had his father.
I am my father's son.
And at heart, we are all deep-water sailors.
Monday, June 07, 2010
Father's Day - In Memorium
I've written here, over the past couple of years, of my troubled relationship with my father. Neither of us went fishing for trouble -- times and circumstances being what they were, we both got dealt a pretty crappy hand at the old father/son poker table of life.
Well, the old man passed away last Thursday (June 3, 2010) at the age of 83. It was not unexpected on my part. He'd been going downhill for the past couple of years. Physically, that is. He still had all his marbles. My step-mom, on the other hand, was sliding off into dementia. I recognized the symptoms in her because my birth mom had slid down that same slope, starting in the 1980's until she finally died in 1995.
Life just wore dad down and, finally, he just gave out. I spoke to him in his hospital bed in Florida last week and he said, "I just want to die. Are you alright?" "Yes, Dad. I'm alright." I found out afterwards that he'd had pretty much the same conversation with everyone in the family. He was seeking permission to let go, once he'd assured himself that we were going to be "alright."
I used to kid myself that I wasn't really close to my father. I didn't know him until I was a grown-up and, besides, he was a macho man, and I was a gay geek.
I was wrong. I miss my father already. I miss the "potential" that we still had, as long as he was still alive. So even though we were strangers to each other in many ways, there still loomed the prospect that things would get magically better between us. But now, even that prospect is gone.
Wherever things stood between us last week is where things will remain until, in due course, I follow my dad "into that good night."
With any luck, when that time comes, we'll be able to pick up where we left off. At least, that's what I'd like to believe.
Goodbye for now, Dad. I love you.
Well, the old man passed away last Thursday (June 3, 2010) at the age of 83. It was not unexpected on my part. He'd been going downhill for the past couple of years. Physically, that is. He still had all his marbles. My step-mom, on the other hand, was sliding off into dementia. I recognized the symptoms in her because my birth mom had slid down that same slope, starting in the 1980's until she finally died in 1995.
Life just wore dad down and, finally, he just gave out. I spoke to him in his hospital bed in Florida last week and he said, "I just want to die. Are you alright?" "Yes, Dad. I'm alright." I found out afterwards that he'd had pretty much the same conversation with everyone in the family. He was seeking permission to let go, once he'd assured himself that we were going to be "alright."
I used to kid myself that I wasn't really close to my father. I didn't know him until I was a grown-up and, besides, he was a macho man, and I was a gay geek.
I was wrong. I miss my father already. I miss the "potential" that we still had, as long as he was still alive. So even though we were strangers to each other in many ways, there still loomed the prospect that things would get magically better between us. But now, even that prospect is gone.
Wherever things stood between us last week is where things will remain until, in due course, I follow my dad "into that good night."
With any luck, when that time comes, we'll be able to pick up where we left off. At least, that's what I'd like to believe.
Goodbye for now, Dad. I love you.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
DADT - Gates & The Pentagon Dictating Policy
From today's (May 20, 2010) Towleroad:
It's time for all LGBT's and their friends to let both parties know that there won't be another dime from us until and when Congress passes, and the President signs, the passage of ENDA and the repeal of DOMA and DADT.
It's very simple. Give us our full and equal rights under the Constitution. Give them to us now. You may NOT count on our continued support until you do.
With today's official confirmation that Democrat Ike Skelton refuses to include "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" repeal language in the House's Defense Authorization bill, and reports are coming that Democrat Sen. Ben Nelson too has joined Democrat Sen. Jim Webb, and Republican Scott Brown in ruling out repeal in 2010. Their reason? They are listening to Bush-appointee and Obama holdover, Democratic Administration Secretary of Defense Robert Gates' recommendation to not to attach repeal to the Senate version of the Defense Authorization Bill. To anyone playing close attention, repeal seems hopelessly handicapped in 2010.
And mostly, by the White House's complete and total lack of leadership. Because of Gates' unprecedented presumption to set the legislative calendar for Congress, and Obama's total silence and disengagement on the issue, it is undeniably the Democrats who are destroying hope for repeal of the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy for 2010.
They are telling our community as they always have: to wait.
It's time for all LGBT's and their friends to let both parties know that there won't be another dime from us until and when Congress passes, and the President signs, the passage of ENDA and the repeal of DOMA and DADT.
It's very simple. Give us our full and equal rights under the Constitution. Give them to us now. You may NOT count on our continued support until you do.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Editorial Changes
Everyone else is doing a fine job of trashing George Rekers (cousin of Home Rekers and rabidly anti-gay guy who recently hired a male prostitute to "carry his bags" in Europe --- like anyone over the age of 7 would believe that load of horseshit), so I'm not going to join in on the fun but I did want to point out one editorial change to my site.
Under the heading of "JoyZeeBoy Reads" I've changed the link from John Arsiotis' "America Blog" to his primarily LGBT blog "Gay America Blog." This also forced an alphabetization change which moved it down in the list.
I've also added a new site, Holy Bullies and Headless Monsters, produced by Alvin McEwan in which he analyzes and refutes claims, allegations and outright lies by the religious right. His motto is "Lies in the name of God are still lies." Amen, Brother.
These are slight changes, but they are designed to reflect my (slowly) growing militancy.
Under the heading of "JoyZeeBoy Reads" I've changed the link from John Arsiotis' "America Blog" to his primarily LGBT blog "Gay America Blog." This also forced an alphabetization change which moved it down in the list.
I've also added a new site, Holy Bullies and Headless Monsters, produced by Alvin McEwan in which he analyzes and refutes claims, allegations and outright lies by the religious right. His motto is "Lies in the name of God are still lies." Amen, Brother.
These are slight changes, but they are designed to reflect my (slowly) growing militancy.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Good Lines overheard at 12-Step Meetings
Just two this past week:
1. If everything you see needs changing then maybe you need to change how you see things.
2. Going to a meeting is like going to an orgy. I always feel better afterward, but I never know whom to thank.
1. If everything you see needs changing then maybe you need to change how you see things.
2. Going to a meeting is like going to an orgy. I always feel better afterward, but I never know whom to thank.
Monday, May 03, 2010
Little Gratitudes
I saw a musical tribute to Steven Sondheim entitled "Sondheim on Sondheim" at the old Studio 54 this past Saturday It was, of course, wonderful.
I used to see just about everything on Broadway, back when I was an active drunk and Type A personality because, if you are successfully busy maintaining a "front" of normalcy well, then by God, things ARE normal and there's nothing to see here -- no problems that need fixing because, you see, you are a "functional alcoholic", like me! And then I lost everything. And then I got sober.
And for that I am grateful.
And now I'm getting it back. Oh, not the tons of money I used to make, but enough to keep my life comfortable and cozy. With enough left over to take myself and a friend to a Broadway show now and then.
And for that I am grateful.
After the show we went to a French bistro in the theater district which we inhabited for years. To be honest, it was discovered by my ex, the lawyer, who took me there back in the very early 90's. Before things fell apart. It's a hole in the wall kind of place named "Chez Napoleon." It's on West 50th, between Eighth & Ninth Avenues (north side, closer to Ninth). You should check it out sometime. There is a link to its website. Click on it ... HERE. I started with a little endive vinaigrette and then had the veau forestière . It was wonderful.
And for that I am grateful.
After dinner I said au revoir to my companion of the day and struck out east to pick up an E train to Queens. As I crossed Broadway, all hell started to break loose. There were emergency vehicles coming out of everywhere, all heading to the heart of New York City, Times Square. I did not stick around to find out what was going on. I was trained by this city that when disaster even appears to have struck ... hit the road, Bub. And so I did. Eventually I got to my friends' place in Queens. We visited happily for awhile and then retired for the evening. They had been kind enough to offer me a place to stay for the evening.
And for that I am grateful.
Sunday morning I had an early appointment to speak at a 12-Step meeting on the lower east side of Manhattan. I made it with time to spare. I asked God to put the right words into my mouth, which He/She/It did.
And for that I am grateful.
The train ride home to New Jersey was noisy - there were tons of tourists aboard. But, by 2:00 p.m., I was home, ensconced in the big, comfy, chair, with a cool drink in one hand and the Sunday New York Times in the other.
And for that I am grateful.
I spoke with some friends, had a very light dinner (salad) and retired to my over-air-conditioned bedroom at exactly 9:00 p.m. By 9:30 it was lights out and I slept like a baby until the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.
And yes, for that I am grateful.
If I remember, as I step through life, to keep my mind focused on the good things in my life, rather than letting the bad things weigh on me and pile up like so much undisposed of trash, then my life is complete and I am happy.
And for that I am grateful.
I used to see just about everything on Broadway, back when I was an active drunk and Type A personality because, if you are successfully busy maintaining a "front" of normalcy well, then by God, things ARE normal and there's nothing to see here -- no problems that need fixing because, you see, you are a "functional alcoholic", like me! And then I lost everything. And then I got sober.
And for that I am grateful.
And now I'm getting it back. Oh, not the tons of money I used to make, but enough to keep my life comfortable and cozy. With enough left over to take myself and a friend to a Broadway show now and then.
And for that I am grateful.
After the show we went to a French bistro in the theater district which we inhabited for years. To be honest, it was discovered by my ex, the lawyer, who took me there back in the very early 90's. Before things fell apart. It's a hole in the wall kind of place named "Chez Napoleon." It's on West 50th, between Eighth & Ninth Avenues (north side, closer to Ninth). You should check it out sometime. There is a link to its website. Click on it ... HERE. I started with a little endive vinaigrette and then had the veau forestière . It was wonderful.
And for that I am grateful.
After dinner I said au revoir to my companion of the day and struck out east to pick up an E train to Queens. As I crossed Broadway, all hell started to break loose. There were emergency vehicles coming out of everywhere, all heading to the heart of New York City, Times Square. I did not stick around to find out what was going on. I was trained by this city that when disaster even appears to have struck ... hit the road, Bub. And so I did. Eventually I got to my friends' place in Queens. We visited happily for awhile and then retired for the evening. They had been kind enough to offer me a place to stay for the evening.
And for that I am grateful.
Sunday morning I had an early appointment to speak at a 12-Step meeting on the lower east side of Manhattan. I made it with time to spare. I asked God to put the right words into my mouth, which He/She/It did.
And for that I am grateful.
The train ride home to New Jersey was noisy - there were tons of tourists aboard. But, by 2:00 p.m., I was home, ensconced in the big, comfy, chair, with a cool drink in one hand and the Sunday New York Times in the other.
And for that I am grateful.
I spoke with some friends, had a very light dinner (salad) and retired to my over-air-conditioned bedroom at exactly 9:00 p.m. By 9:30 it was lights out and I slept like a baby until the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.
And yes, for that I am grateful.
If I remember, as I step through life, to keep my mind focused on the good things in my life, rather than letting the bad things weigh on me and pile up like so much undisposed of trash, then my life is complete and I am happy.
And for that I am grateful.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Arizona - Land of Lily-White Rich Republicans
I moved to Seattle from Delaware in the fall of 1976. It very quickly became apparent the various ways in which the West was and is different from the East.
The West is the land of the rugged individualist (read: misfit loaner who's a danger to himself and others). The West is the land of live and let live (as long as you live the way everybody else does OR keep your big trap shut about how you actually do live). The West is the land of tolerance (bullshit).
I went to work for a couple of rugged individualists in Seattle. Father and son were sole proprietors of a thriving electronics supply company which ran a string of marine electronics repair shops all around the Gulf of Alaska, from Juneau to Adak, in the Aleutian chain.
On the surface they were nice guys. But underneath... the son was the chairman of the Reagan for President committee in Washington State (did I mention, this was 1976-77?). He believed in the western ideal of rugged individualism --- he also believed that as long as you worked for him, he pretty much owned you. One day he dictated that NO EMPLOYEE could smoke... on company property or off it and anyone caught smoking would be frozen in salary and position until they quit (smoking or their job).
He also made it abundantly clear that he wanted all employees to join a gym. The one he belonged to.
It was about this time that I started noticing the abundance of bumper stickers around town, celebrating something called The John Birch Society. Something about him being the first casualty of the next World War -- or some bullshit like that.
I didn't last long in the rugged Pacific Northwest. I hated working for Fascists, so I decided to move to the most liberal city I knew, New York City.
But I never forgot that stint in Seattle. I never forgot how they mouthed a bunch of platitudes about the freedom of the individual, even as they dictated the terms of conformity. As far as I was concerned they were a bunch of hypocrites.
Now, of course, we have Arizona or, as I like to call it, Deutschland. It is my understanding that the State Police (der Staatspolizei) are being signed up for Rosetta Stone beginner's courses in German so that they can rattle off "Dürfen wir ihre papiere, bitte?" ("May we see your papers, please?") like a native. This will come in handy in the days and weeks ahead, as they round up brown people, queers, Jews, and anybody who doesn't look like either their governor (Terence Stamp in "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert") or John "I'm No Maverick" McCain.
I encourage all patriots, by which I mean anybody not from Arizona, to boycott Arizona businesses until this Fascist charade is overturned.
The West is the land of the rugged individualist (read: misfit loaner who's a danger to himself and others). The West is the land of live and let live (as long as you live the way everybody else does OR keep your big trap shut about how you actually do live). The West is the land of tolerance (bullshit).
I went to work for a couple of rugged individualists in Seattle. Father and son were sole proprietors of a thriving electronics supply company which ran a string of marine electronics repair shops all around the Gulf of Alaska, from Juneau to Adak, in the Aleutian chain.
On the surface they were nice guys. But underneath... the son was the chairman of the Reagan for President committee in Washington State (did I mention, this was 1976-77?). He believed in the western ideal of rugged individualism --- he also believed that as long as you worked for him, he pretty much owned you. One day he dictated that NO EMPLOYEE could smoke... on company property or off it and anyone caught smoking would be frozen in salary and position until they quit (smoking or their job).
He also made it abundantly clear that he wanted all employees to join a gym. The one he belonged to.
It was about this time that I started noticing the abundance of bumper stickers around town, celebrating something called The John Birch Society. Something about him being the first casualty of the next World War -- or some bullshit like that.
I didn't last long in the rugged Pacific Northwest. I hated working for Fascists, so I decided to move to the most liberal city I knew, New York City.
But I never forgot that stint in Seattle. I never forgot how they mouthed a bunch of platitudes about the freedom of the individual, even as they dictated the terms of conformity. As far as I was concerned they were a bunch of hypocrites.
Now, of course, we have Arizona or, as I like to call it, Deutschland. It is my understanding that the State Police (der Staatspolizei) are being signed up for Rosetta Stone beginner's courses in German so that they can rattle off "Dürfen wir ihre papiere, bitte?" ("May we see your papers, please?") like a native. This will come in handy in the days and weeks ahead, as they round up brown people, queers, Jews, and anybody who doesn't look like either their governor (Terence Stamp in "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert") or John "I'm No Maverick" McCain.
I encourage all patriots, by which I mean anybody not from Arizona, to boycott Arizona businesses until this Fascist charade is overturned.
Friday, April 09, 2010
Faith Trumps Reason (Ask Me How!)

I ran into a piece over on Joe.My.God about a couple of Xtian wingnut groups coming up with a counter to GLSEN's "Day of Silence," scheduled for next Friday in many of our nation's schools. They're asking Christian parents to keep their kids home that day to protest the protest.
According to Joe, the Illinois Family Institute and Mission America have distributed a message to parents, to wit:
Explain to your children why you’re taking a stand:
a. Homosexual behavior is not an innate identity.
b. No matter what factors may influence homosexual feelings, freely chosen homosexual behavior is immoral and should be resisted.
c. Homosexuality is not equivalent to race.
d. Disapproval of homosexuality is not equivalent to racism; nor is it hatred; nor is it bullying; nor does it constitute an incitement to violence. It is permissible and ethical to express disapproval of homosexuality. Just because someone may feel bad when hearing that someone disapproves of homosexuality does not mean that disapproval is cruel or wrong.
e. No school should support a view of homosexuality that is unproven and controversial, and that is physically, emotionally, and spiritually destructive to individuals and society.
f. No school should allow instructional time to be politicized.
However, by doing a simple "search and replace" on it, I came up with the following:
Explain to your children why you’re taking a stand:
a. Religious behavior is not an innate identity.
b. No matter what factors may influence religious feelings, freely chosen religious behavior is immoral and should be resisted.
c. Religiosity is not equivalent to race.
d. Disapproval of religiosity is not equivalent to racism; nor is it hatred; nor is it bullying; nor does it constitute an incitement to violence. It is permissible and ethical to express disapproval of religiosity. Just because someone may feel bad when hearing that someone disapproves of religiosity does not mean that disapproval is cruel or wrong.
e. No school should support a view of religiosity that is unproven and controversial, and that is physically, emotionally, and spiritually destructive to individuals and society.
f. No school should allow instructional time to be politicized.
Why do they always pretend that they are right?
Thursday, April 01, 2010
The Throne of Peter

The Vatican has survived 2,000 years of turmoil and attacks through one tried and true method. Stonewalling and battering the victims. The Vatican is *very* good at both.
"If only those crazy-assed Jews had converted, the Holy Inquistion wouldn't have burned them at the stake."
or
"If only all those queers in cassocks had dropped dead, then those little male Lolitas would've been safe!"
or
"If only Galileo had admitted that the Earth IS the center of the universe, we wouldn't have had to ruin his life."
Notice anything about all this? Listen to the "defense" a guy who batters women offers. That he wouldn't have had to smack the bitch around if "she'd ONLY DONE WHAT SHE WAS TOLD." People stay in abusive relationships, with men, with women, with religions, with booze or drugs or any other crutch, because they're afraid. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid that the perp might be right, despite all logic and evidence to the contrary.
I do not believe in the divinity of Jesus. I do not believe that Mary was a virgin. I do not believe that Joseph was that stupid. I do not believe that the Pope is a God-chosen successor to the throne of Peter. I do not believe that he speaks infallably in matters of faith.
But I do believe that he's a lying sack of shit.
Happy Easter!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Health Care Reform and The AntiChrist

The Teabaggers (and Fox) are losing their shit over the passage of healthcare reform. These are people who are afraid of their own shadows and who think, if they try hard enough to forestall change, any change, that life will be just like they remember it being... in 1787.
You'd think, from the reactions, that we'd just nationalized healthcare and jacked up income taxes to 70% of gross across the board to finance it -- like we were Sweden or something.
But what really re-fries my beans about the reaction from the right is this:
For decades they accused the Democrats of being the party of Tax and Spend.
And their solution, under Ronald Reagan (does anybody remember "Voodoo Economics"?), was to Borrow and Spend instead.
So that rather than taking money out of your pockets today to finance all their shit, they decided to take the money out of our grandchildren's pockets instead.
THEY are the reason the national debt now runs into the many trillions. Not the Democrats.
Am I the only person who remembers this?
Apparently I am.
I am *for* healthcare reform in this country. We've just spent bajillions of dollars on two largely unfruitful and incredibly wasteful wars (we disbanded the Iraqi Army, only to turn around and spend 29 billion dollars training their police force ... composed primarily of former Iraqi Army men) and whine about extending healthcare to more of our neediest citizens.
And to the Right I would ask: WWJD?
I'd guess that he wouldn't lose his shit. That's for damned sure.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Hell in a Handbasket
BAM! The world has started falling apart.
1. Last August - diagnosed with prostate cancer.
Why didn't I cry with self-pity when told?
Started protracted on-line search for best surgical solution
Settled on Dr. David Samadi - Robotic Institute - Mt. Sinai Hospital New York
2. Robotic Prostectomy - October 14, 2009.
Two follow-up visits to date. Both blood tests indicate PSA < 0.01%
Why didn't I cry with joy at the result?
3. January 25, 2010 - My dearest English friend dies peacefully in his sleep. Age 80.
Why didn't I cry at the loss?
4. March 2, 2010 - Surgery to repair hernia. Out-patient (yaaayyyy!). Home that evening.
5. March 3, 2010 - Phone call from a friend in California. Another friend died of pulmonary
embolism as a direct result of having had Lap-Band surgery the previous week.
WHY DIDN'T I CRY!??
6. Excruciating pain from surgery. Gingerly take a prescribed painkiller. Immediately blocks me up. More pain until Thursday when I'm finally able to "move."
WHY DIDN'T I CRY?
7. A phone call on Friday, March 5th from yet another friend in NYC. After nearly 30 years of devoted service at a broadcast network, he was informed that, as of May 5, his services will no longer be required. He's contemplating moving back home to the midwest. He and I were college roommates, fer Chrissakes! I've never contemplated life without him in it, and him in New York.
AND WHY AM I NOT CRYING??!!!
8. Monday, March 8th - my 12th sobriety anniversary. I should be all cured by now.
AND STILL, I CAN'T CRY.
9. I called my old co-dependency therapist and made an appointment to see her this coming Sunday morning (there's something very calming about having a therapy session on Sunday morning).
I want to know why, after all these years of "recovery", I'm not able to cry over anything.
My 12-Step sponsor says that I'm a sexual anorexic. I say that I'm an emotional anorexic, still incapable of forming any meaningful attachments, even with myself.
We'll see what the therapist has to say.
Watch. I'll be in there for five minutes when I start blubbering like a baby.
I hope.
1. Last August - diagnosed with prostate cancer.
Why didn't I cry with self-pity when told?
Started protracted on-line search for best surgical solution
Settled on Dr. David Samadi - Robotic Institute - Mt. Sinai Hospital New York
2. Robotic Prostectomy - October 14, 2009.
Two follow-up visits to date. Both blood tests indicate PSA < 0.01%
Why didn't I cry with joy at the result?
3. January 25, 2010 - My dearest English friend dies peacefully in his sleep. Age 80.
Why didn't I cry at the loss?
4. March 2, 2010 - Surgery to repair hernia. Out-patient (yaaayyyy!). Home that evening.
5. March 3, 2010 - Phone call from a friend in California. Another friend died of pulmonary
embolism as a direct result of having had Lap-Band surgery the previous week.
WHY DIDN'T I CRY!??
6. Excruciating pain from surgery. Gingerly take a prescribed painkiller. Immediately blocks me up. More pain until Thursday when I'm finally able to "move."
WHY DIDN'T I CRY?
7. A phone call on Friday, March 5th from yet another friend in NYC. After nearly 30 years of devoted service at a broadcast network, he was informed that, as of May 5, his services will no longer be required. He's contemplating moving back home to the midwest. He and I were college roommates, fer Chrissakes! I've never contemplated life without him in it, and him in New York.
AND WHY AM I NOT CRYING??!!!
8. Monday, March 8th - my 12th sobriety anniversary. I should be all cured by now.
AND STILL, I CAN'T CRY.
9. I called my old co-dependency therapist and made an appointment to see her this coming Sunday morning (there's something very calming about having a therapy session on Sunday morning).
I want to know why, after all these years of "recovery", I'm not able to cry over anything.
My 12-Step sponsor says that I'm a sexual anorexic. I say that I'm an emotional anorexic, still incapable of forming any meaningful attachments, even with myself.
We'll see what the therapist has to say.
Watch. I'll be in there for five minutes when I start blubbering like a baby.
I hope.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Army Chief Is Lap Dog of Religious Nutcases
The latest front-man for all the right-wing, queer-hating, religious nuts opposed to the repeal of DADT (and pro keeping the fags in their place) is the Army Chief of Staff, General George W. Casey, Jr. (who gets paid $19,326.60 a month to defend the Constitution).
He testified before the Senate that he "has serious concerns" about repeal and that he supports a year-long "study" before the ban is repealed. What he really wants, of course, is to drag his feet long enough for the forces against repeal to find enough "problems" with it to forestall repeal indefinitely. He ain't kidding anybody. Well, he ain't kidding me. None of them are kidding me anymore.
Every day that this onerous law remains on the books is yet another day when an innocuous minority (mine) is deprived of the fruits of full citizenship, SOLELY FOR THE PURPOSE OF PANDERING TO THE RELIGIOUS BIGOTRY OF A HANDFUL OF ZEALOTS.
Repeal DADT. Do it now.
He testified before the Senate that he "has serious concerns" about repeal and that he supports a year-long "study" before the ban is repealed. What he really wants, of course, is to drag his feet long enough for the forces against repeal to find enough "problems" with it to forestall repeal indefinitely. He ain't kidding anybody. Well, he ain't kidding me. None of them are kidding me anymore.
Every day that this onerous law remains on the books is yet another day when an innocuous minority (mine) is deprived of the fruits of full citizenship, SOLELY FOR THE PURPOSE OF PANDERING TO THE RELIGIOUS BIGOTRY OF A HANDFUL OF ZEALOTS.
Repeal DADT. Do it now.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Sexual Anorexia
There is such a thing. And I have it. Wiki defines it as avoidance of intimacy because of emotional brittleness. Okay. I'm risk averse. I know where that comes from. I had an alcoholic mom and an alcoholic grandmom whose major intramural sport was getting drunk, fighting with each other and waking me up in the middle of the night to answer the question "which one of us do you love more?"
I was 6 years old.
So I shut down and swore that no one would ever hurt me again. Not like that. I knew that I could be physically hurt -- there was nothing I could do about that (and I lived in fear of that, too) -- but I'd be damned if anyone was ever going to get close enough to me to emotionally scar me like that again.
And no one ever did. Not even when people moved away. Not even when they died.
The last time I actually cried over the death of someone I was 19. It was the same grandmother I mentioned above.
I drank because I was a drunk. Deep down, though, I also drank because it made it easy to have sex with people -- and why was that, you ask? Because when you're drunk you are not intimate. Not really. Physical, yes. Intimate, no.
Get it? I do. Now.
In a couple of weeks I'll have been sober for 12 years. And only now is this becoming clear to me.
Next up? How do I fix it?
Stay posted. More will probably be revealed and, as usual, it won't be good.
Growing up is hard work.
I was 6 years old.
So I shut down and swore that no one would ever hurt me again. Not like that. I knew that I could be physically hurt -- there was nothing I could do about that (and I lived in fear of that, too) -- but I'd be damned if anyone was ever going to get close enough to me to emotionally scar me like that again.
And no one ever did. Not even when people moved away. Not even when they died.
The last time I actually cried over the death of someone I was 19. It was the same grandmother I mentioned above.
I drank because I was a drunk. Deep down, though, I also drank because it made it easy to have sex with people -- and why was that, you ask? Because when you're drunk you are not intimate. Not really. Physical, yes. Intimate, no.
Get it? I do. Now.
In a couple of weeks I'll have been sober for 12 years. And only now is this becoming clear to me.
Next up? How do I fix it?
Stay posted. More will probably be revealed and, as usual, it won't be good.
Growing up is hard work.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Navy Men

I was a Navy man. My dad was a Navy man. My granddad was a Navy man. And Admiral Mike Mullen, 17th Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the Armed Forces of the United States of America, is a Navy man.
To the best of my knowledge (and it's only anecdotal, based on personal experience), I'm the only one of them who is gay, therefore I was the only one who had to "hide it" during my time in the Navy.
Yesterday something happened that I never in a million years thought would happen. Admiral Mullen sat at a table before the Armed Services Committee of the Senate and told that august panel of Senators that it is now time to put an end to the onerous law known to the masses as "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." Many were delighted. Some were chagrined. Most notably Senator John McCain, another ex-Navy man. Of course the good Senator has his own problems at home right now regarding this whole mess ... his wife, Cindy McCain (God love her!), has come out clearly on our side -- so you KNOW Johnny Boy ain't gettin' any these days! No wonder he's so cranky.
You would think (maybe) that some people would see the handwriting on the wall -- that the good old days of making political hay (and fundraising cash) out of fag-bashing are rapidly coming to an end. It would only make sense, I think, to bow to the inevitable and to sign up on the right side of history.
Like Admiral Mullen. Whom I would gay marry in a heartbeat. If he'd have me.
Thank you, Admiral Mullen. Thank you for being a real American.
I would be proud to serve under you, Sir. All kidding aside.
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