Thursday, November 10, 2016
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Domestic Bliss...
How did this happen? And how did it happen so quickly?
Simple.
I stopped saying "NO" to life and started saying "yes." Or at least, "maybe." And just like that, my life unfolded, quickly, in ways I never knew could be possible.
That little place you see up there is a beast. OUR beast. 3 bedrooms. 1 full and 2 half-baths. LR, DR, home office, kitchen, breakfast nook, media room, laundry room, garage and beautifully landscaped front and backyards. And it's ours. Well, ours and JPMorgan Chases. But mostly ours.
I have never been so consistently happy in my life. I can't believe my good luck.
And you know what? I deserve it. Yes, I do. And so does my partner.
And all I had to do was to quit whining, sober up, face facts and leave myself open to "the possible."
You should do the same.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Politics and Religion
Our political life has always had a cozy relationship with religion, based primarily upon appeasement. After all, we were founded by a bunch of religious fanatics [Puritans] who found life a little too fast and loose back home in jolly olde England. They wanted to live someplace where they could strictly control each other, using the KJV to bash each other into submission. So they came here. Followed, in short order, by other religious nuts and flim-flam artists, often both the same.
As the nation grew, and post-revolutionary America centered its political life in the Federal District, we found ourselves becoming a behemoth of wealth and power, still shackled to our religious, snake-oil salesman past. Our laws reflected that alliance with fanaticism, especially our laws pertaining to tax exemption for religious organizations and morality. We caved to the religious nuts and granted them total exemption from taxation in exchange for which they were "supposed" to keep their mouths shut about politics. As we all know, that never worked. We also legislated the hell out of "morality" as defined in that same "bible" upon which the Massachusetts Bay Colony was founded, again simply to appease the radical religious right.
That exemption from taxation was tantamount to a public subsidy of religion. And the morality laws were little more than enshrinement of old testament zealotry and evangelism in everyday American life.
Politicians, never eager to do the right thing but always eager to be re-elected, had no problem in pandering to the religiosos and happily jumped on the [Irish/Italian/black/Jew/gay] bashing bandwagon whenever it would suit their needs. When publicly called upon their bigotry they would act astonished, as though things that happen inside the beltway happen in some mysterious vacuum that doesn't have an effect on real life.
Politicians at the Federal level are the worst kinds of human beings. Ignorant, intolerant, self-centered and self-serving.
It's time to put an end to professional politics and subsidized bigotry. It's time to tax religious institutions without exemption; and it's time to enact strict term limits to every elected office in the land.
That's what I think.
As the nation grew, and post-revolutionary America centered its political life in the Federal District, we found ourselves becoming a behemoth of wealth and power, still shackled to our religious, snake-oil salesman past. Our laws reflected that alliance with fanaticism, especially our laws pertaining to tax exemption for religious organizations and morality. We caved to the religious nuts and granted them total exemption from taxation in exchange for which they were "supposed" to keep their mouths shut about politics. As we all know, that never worked. We also legislated the hell out of "morality" as defined in that same "bible" upon which the Massachusetts Bay Colony was founded, again simply to appease the radical religious right.
That exemption from taxation was tantamount to a public subsidy of religion. And the morality laws were little more than enshrinement of old testament zealotry and evangelism in everyday American life.
Politicians, never eager to do the right thing but always eager to be re-elected, had no problem in pandering to the religiosos and happily jumped on the [Irish/Italian/black/Jew/gay] bashing bandwagon whenever it would suit their needs. When publicly called upon their bigotry they would act astonished, as though things that happen inside the beltway happen in some mysterious vacuum that doesn't have an effect on real life.
Politicians at the Federal level are the worst kinds of human beings. Ignorant, intolerant, self-centered and self-serving.
It's time to put an end to professional politics and subsidized bigotry. It's time to tax religious institutions without exemption; and it's time to enact strict term limits to every elected office in the land.
That's what I think.
Monday, January 07, 2013
2012 in Review
I don't ordinarily do memes, but my friend Bev found a good one. Here's my take on it:
Note: for the sake of clarity when I refer to my "husband", below, it is in the romantic and not in the legal sense. Yet.
Note: for the sake of clarity when I refer to my "husband", below, it is in the romantic and not in the legal sense. Yet.
1. Was 2012 a good year for you?
Excellent!
2. What was your favorite moment(s) of the year?
a. spending
2 weeks in the UK with a bunch of friends, most of whom I hadn’t seen in 19
years.
b. every
moment I spent with my husband.
3. What was your least favorite moment(s) of the year?
I can’t
think of any.
4. What did you do in 2012 that you'd never done before?
Fell head over heels in love.
5. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make
more for next year?
Resolutions are like New Years’
Eve. Strictly for amateurs.
6. Where were you when 2012 began?
Home alone. In bed by 12:05 a.m.
7. Who were you with?
See: 6, above. Alone.
8. Where will you be when 2012 ends?
I *was* out to dinner with my
husband at the Lambertville Inn, overlooking the Delaware River, near
New Hope, PA. At midnight we were home
in our jammie-jams watching the ball drop in Times Square.
9. Who will you be with when 2012 ends?
See: 8, above. With my sweet Boo.
10. Did anyone close to you give birth?
My niece. To a sweet little grand-nephew.
He’s a doll.
11. Did you lose anybody close to you in 2012?
No. Unlike
the previous 3 years.
12. Who did you miss?
My dad. My friend Merrell. My friend Craig who took good care of me in
early sobriety. My English friends Tom
and Robin.
13. Who was the best new person you met in 2012?
OMG, THAT'S
A NO-BRAINER... my husband.
14. What was your favorite month of 2012?
Two. May and June.
I’ll never forget either.
15. Did you travel outside of the US in 2012?
Yes. England and Wales.
16. How many different states did you travel to in 2012?
Four.
17. What would you like to have in 2013 that you lacked in
2012?
A house and
a dog.
18. What date from 2012 will remain etched upon your memory,
and why?
June 9th. My husband and I had our first date. Dinner at a diner and a movie (“Snow
White and the Huntsman”).
19. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Finishing
my 9th Step and landing a husband.
It was a banner year!
20. What was your biggest failure?
Didn’t have
any.
21. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Not in
2012. Knock wood.
22. What was the best thing you bought?
iPhone 5.
23. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Mine.
24. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
In the words of my old buddy Bev, Congress. Hands down.
25. Where did most of your money go?
I wish I knew, although my husband is
frugal and is proving to be a good influence on me.
26. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Christmas!
27. Did you drink a lot of alcohol in 2012?
Bwahahahahahahahahahahah. No.
28. Did you do a lot of drugs in 2012?
Bwahahahahahahahahahahah. No.
29. Did you treat somebody badly in 2012?
Probably
and for that I’m truly sorry.
30. Did somebody treat you badly in 2012?
Not that I recall.
32. What do you wish you'd done more of in 2012?
Not a
thing.
33. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Sitting around.
35. What was your favorite TV program(s)?
Shameless.
36. What song will always remind you of 2012?
We are
Young by FUN.
37. How many stage shows did you see in 2012?
1.
Avenue Q. Still funny has hell.
38. Did you have a favorite stage show in 2012?
No.
39. What was your greatest musical discovery?
See: 36,
above. FUN.
40. What was the best book you read?
Books. Plural.
I’ve started reading the Wheel of Time series of fantasy fiction
novels. I’ve finished 3. There are 13 (I think).
41. What was your favorite film of this year?
I’m not
allowed to pubicly espouse favorites.
The Screen Actors Guild frowns on it.
42. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Not
much. 64.
43. What did you want and get?
There’s an age beyond which people
should get over the fact that everyone forgets their birthdays. And that age is 7.
44. What did you want and not get?
See: 43,
above.
45. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably
more satisfying?
I can’t
think of a single thing. My life is
immeasurably satisfying just the way it is.
46. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in
2012?
Lands’ End
meets Brooks Bros. It used to be the
other way around.
47. What kept you sane?
Work, surprisingly enough.
48. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Oh, Lindsay Lohan, of course. She’s the most fascinating trainwreck of the
millenium. So far.
49. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2012.
“Life can change in a minute, when
you least expect it.” That’s not
mine. It’s Bev talking. And she nailed it right on the head. That’s exactly what happened to me on June 9,
2012.
50. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
No single lyric would cover it. My heart is full of song these days.
I am blessed.
Friday, July 20, 2012
I Didn't See This Coming!
We've been dating a month now. What started out as a "let's take this slowly" and see each other once a week sort of casual relationship has turned into a "I've cancelled all my appointments for the weekend. Let's see a movie Friday night, do laundry Saturday morning, hit the beach all day, play miniature golf, have dinner on the boardwalk, come home, make popcorn, watch a movie and play kissy-face every chance we get" sort of can't-get-enough-of-your-love-baby romance.
We're agreed that Hallmark is going to clean up off us come Valentine's Day next year.
I did not see this coming at all. Frankly, I didn't think it would last this long. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitchin'. He's adorable and I love being with him. We have fun together. We are both "man-boys" who compliment each other nicely in that department. One day it's riding roller coasters, the next day it's business trips to the South.
We're negotiating over vacation time. Both of us had summer commitments made long before we met each other. Sometimes we can adjust... sometimes we have to fulfill our commitments (such as mine to a 12-Step "roundup" in September) and sometimes we just have to suck it up and deal with it.
Negotiating is a part of how healthy relationships are. Another part, and maybe more importantly, is respecting each others limits, beliefs and boundaries.
I told him that I prayed. He thought that was fine but that, for him, he doesn't "grovel." I told him that I don't grovel either but I find that prayer helps me to be grateful, and that when I am grateful, I am happy and optimistic.
He's already told me that he likes me to be happy and optimistic. So prayer must be working for me.
So, we're slowly finding our way through the minefield called love.
It helps that both of us think that we're the lucky one! You can't do much better than that!
Wish us luck!
We're agreed that Hallmark is going to clean up off us come Valentine's Day next year.
I did not see this coming at all. Frankly, I didn't think it would last this long. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitchin'. He's adorable and I love being with him. We have fun together. We are both "man-boys" who compliment each other nicely in that department. One day it's riding roller coasters, the next day it's business trips to the South.
We're negotiating over vacation time. Both of us had summer commitments made long before we met each other. Sometimes we can adjust... sometimes we have to fulfill our commitments (such as mine to a 12-Step "roundup" in September) and sometimes we just have to suck it up and deal with it.
Negotiating is a part of how healthy relationships are. Another part, and maybe more importantly, is respecting each others limits, beliefs and boundaries.
I told him that I prayed. He thought that was fine but that, for him, he doesn't "grovel." I told him that I don't grovel either but I find that prayer helps me to be grateful, and that when I am grateful, I am happy and optimistic.
He's already told me that he likes me to be happy and optimistic. So prayer must be working for me.
So, we're slowly finding our way through the minefield called love.
It helps that both of us think that we're the lucky one! You can't do much better than that!
Wish us luck!
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
It's Rainin' Men (Hallelujah!)
One week before I was to leave for England, in the wee small hours of May 2nd, 2012, I was minding my own business on the northbound train platform of Princeton Junction, NJ, awaiting my usual morning express to New York City, where I work.
My phone went "BOING!" a curious sound I'd not heard before. I looked and the amber light at the top was flashing. I activated the screen and saw a tiny bear on the tool bar at the top. I pulled the bar down and found that somone had sent me a message on a bear dating site called "Growlr" which I'd joined just the day before. My icon photo was of me in a tux, taken last February.
My gentleman caller was a beautiful redhead from far across the seas. "You're hot" he said. Or words to that effect. I messaged him back that I thought he was, too. Seconds later he responded. I was amazed at the speed with which our messages were flying back and forth across the Atlantic.
Finally, he asked, "What do you like?" I typed, "I like saucy, ginger-haired lads" and hit send.
"WELL, I'M A SAUCY, GINGER-HAIRED LAD" he wrote back.
He lives outside London. I was going to London the following week. One thing led to another and suddenly we were meeting "for coffee" on the Southbank of the Thames the Friday after I arrived.
He is, indeed, ginger. And he certainly is saucy. And we couldn't take our eyes off each other.
I like relationships were both parties think that THEY are the lucky one!
He'd neglected to mention a few things. Like his boyfriend. I was crestfallen. Never mind that there was no way this would work, aside from that. Several hours later, as we were about to part, he dragged me into a deserted side-street and laid the most passionate lip-lock on me that I've had in over 30 years.
It would be romantic and easy to say that "at that moment...." but that would be a lie.
The fact is, when he sent me that message on the train platform at a God-awful hour of the morning, the first week of May, 2012... something re-awoke in me. Something long dead. Something I didn't want. Something I was better off without. Something that had caused me pain in the past.
That something was desire. A desire to be desired and to desire someone else. A desire to be loved and to love someone else. A desire to live.
Our ardor has, of necessity cooled. I'm not a homewrecker. But another gentleman cropped up on the same website expressing interest in me.
He even lives near me.
We've had two dates so far and so far, so good.
He's not ginger-haired. But he is very sweet. And interesting. And he likes me. Oh, and together we're 12 and 1/2 feet tall and weigh about 500 pounds. He's my size. At long last, an answer to one of my lifelong prayers -- someone I can look right in the eyes before we kiss.
And he loves to kiss.
Thank you, God.
My phone went "BOING!" a curious sound I'd not heard before. I looked and the amber light at the top was flashing. I activated the screen and saw a tiny bear on the tool bar at the top. I pulled the bar down and found that somone had sent me a message on a bear dating site called "Growlr" which I'd joined just the day before. My icon photo was of me in a tux, taken last February.
My gentleman caller was a beautiful redhead from far across the seas. "You're hot" he said. Or words to that effect. I messaged him back that I thought he was, too. Seconds later he responded. I was amazed at the speed with which our messages were flying back and forth across the Atlantic.
Finally, he asked, "What do you like?" I typed, "I like saucy, ginger-haired lads" and hit send.
"WELL, I'M A SAUCY, GINGER-HAIRED LAD" he wrote back.
He lives outside London. I was going to London the following week. One thing led to another and suddenly we were meeting "for coffee" on the Southbank of the Thames the Friday after I arrived.
He is, indeed, ginger. And he certainly is saucy. And we couldn't take our eyes off each other.
I like relationships were both parties think that THEY are the lucky one!
He'd neglected to mention a few things. Like his boyfriend. I was crestfallen. Never mind that there was no way this would work, aside from that. Several hours later, as we were about to part, he dragged me into a deserted side-street and laid the most passionate lip-lock on me that I've had in over 30 years.
It would be romantic and easy to say that "at that moment...." but that would be a lie.
The fact is, when he sent me that message on the train platform at a God-awful hour of the morning, the first week of May, 2012... something re-awoke in me. Something long dead. Something I didn't want. Something I was better off without. Something that had caused me pain in the past.
That something was desire. A desire to be desired and to desire someone else. A desire to be loved and to love someone else. A desire to live.
Our ardor has, of necessity cooled. I'm not a homewrecker. But another gentleman cropped up on the same website expressing interest in me.
He even lives near me.
We've had two dates so far and so far, so good.
He's not ginger-haired. But he is very sweet. And interesting. And he likes me. Oh, and together we're 12 and 1/2 feet tall and weigh about 500 pounds. He's my size. At long last, an answer to one of my lifelong prayers -- someone I can look right in the eyes before we kiss.
And he loves to kiss.
Thank you, God.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Rule, Brittania!
Late last year I received an email from some English friends announcing that it had been "too long" since I'd been over there (18 years) and that it was time for me to come back for a visit. I mulled it over for a few weeks and decided to go. Long story short, I'm leaving on May 9th for a two week visit.
The last time I was there was October of 1993 and I was a wreck. I was drinking heavily and I hated every minute of every day of my miserable life. I'd started that trip in Paris, then on to Barcelona and, finally, to London where I stayed with my friend Tom who'd been my host and guide on my 3 previous trips to the UK.
Tommy was a widower. His partner, Beauchamp (pronounced "Beech-um") had died of cancer in the very early 80's. Tommy grieved Beachies passing for several years. But he never let it get him down... at least, not when I was there.
That last trip, though, was rough .... hell, tell the truth, *I* was rough on Tom. I spent the whole trip drinking and bitching about my partner back in New York. I actually thought that he (the partner) was responsible for my crappy life. *I* certainly had nothing to do with it! HAH. I was a deluded, drunken, fool.
Back to Tom. What I didn't know, and wasn't capable of knowing then, was that as time went by I had developed feelings for Tom. Beyond friendship. I was incapable of feeling anything because I was so anesthetized and wouldn't have known a genuine feeling if it had come and bitten me on the ass. Eventually that trip ended, I came back to New York, things got worse, I finally left my partner and spent the next 4 years racing towards my bottom, lost everything and moved to NJ.
Then in 1998, five years after that fateful trip to London, I got sober. In the early 00's, I got back in touch with Tom. We talked every now and then and then, about 7 or 8 years ago, he invited me to come back.
I told myself that I didn't feel secure enough in my sobriety to go. But if I'd been really honest, I was afraid to admit to Tom (and myself) that I'd been attracted to him for many years. Somehow I felt that it was a disservice to the memory of Beauchamp. Never mind that on all those other trips, Tommy was always parading out some dishy young man, or another, and announcing that he was "the flavour of the month." Tommy, you see, was a bit of a whore. Not terribly, mind you. But just a tad.
I blew off that invitation with my latest affliction... recovery. "Tommy", I said. "I'm sober!" "OH!" he drawled. "We're TEDDIBLY sober people...."
"Not that kind of sober" I said. I think I sent him a Christmas pudding from Fortnum & Mason's that year to ease the sting of my idiotic refusal.
Two years ago, right after Christmas, Tommy died. His death kicked off a year-long binge of deaths among my friends and family. Each death just compounded the loss of the one before it.
When Tom's friends emailed me with another invitation I had no choice but to accept. Not because I'm just dying to do some more sightseeing in England but because I love and miss my friend Tom.
I have every intention of crying a lot when I'm there. It's the least I can do for one of the loveliest people I've ever known in my life.
The last time I was there was October of 1993 and I was a wreck. I was drinking heavily and I hated every minute of every day of my miserable life. I'd started that trip in Paris, then on to Barcelona and, finally, to London where I stayed with my friend Tom who'd been my host and guide on my 3 previous trips to the UK.
Tommy was a widower. His partner, Beauchamp (pronounced "Beech-um") had died of cancer in the very early 80's. Tommy grieved Beachies passing for several years. But he never let it get him down... at least, not when I was there.
That last trip, though, was rough .... hell, tell the truth, *I* was rough on Tom. I spent the whole trip drinking and bitching about my partner back in New York. I actually thought that he (the partner) was responsible for my crappy life. *I* certainly had nothing to do with it! HAH. I was a deluded, drunken, fool.
Back to Tom. What I didn't know, and wasn't capable of knowing then, was that as time went by I had developed feelings for Tom. Beyond friendship. I was incapable of feeling anything because I was so anesthetized and wouldn't have known a genuine feeling if it had come and bitten me on the ass. Eventually that trip ended, I came back to New York, things got worse, I finally left my partner and spent the next 4 years racing towards my bottom, lost everything and moved to NJ.
Then in 1998, five years after that fateful trip to London, I got sober. In the early 00's, I got back in touch with Tom. We talked every now and then and then, about 7 or 8 years ago, he invited me to come back.
I told myself that I didn't feel secure enough in my sobriety to go. But if I'd been really honest, I was afraid to admit to Tom (and myself) that I'd been attracted to him for many years. Somehow I felt that it was a disservice to the memory of Beauchamp. Never mind that on all those other trips, Tommy was always parading out some dishy young man, or another, and announcing that he was "the flavour of the month." Tommy, you see, was a bit of a whore. Not terribly, mind you. But just a tad.
I blew off that invitation with my latest affliction... recovery. "Tommy", I said. "I'm sober!" "OH!" he drawled. "We're TEDDIBLY sober people...."
"Not that kind of sober" I said. I think I sent him a Christmas pudding from Fortnum & Mason's that year to ease the sting of my idiotic refusal.
Two years ago, right after Christmas, Tommy died. His death kicked off a year-long binge of deaths among my friends and family. Each death just compounded the loss of the one before it.
When Tom's friends emailed me with another invitation I had no choice but to accept. Not because I'm just dying to do some more sightseeing in England but because I love and miss my friend Tom.
I have every intention of crying a lot when I'm there. It's the least I can do for one of the loveliest people I've ever known in my life.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Ugly American
There's nothing pretty about being an American these days. Just look at our politicians. Holier-than-fucking-thous on the right, politically-correcter-than-yous on the left.
Most of us somewhere in the middle and fed up with both extremes.
I heard someone comment on tv the other day that disgruntledness is in our genes. Every one of our ancestors came here because they were pissed off at the way things were wherever they came from. And that streak of cussedness now runs in our blood.
For sure we're never happy. Puritanism is the nagging fear that someone, somewhere, is having a better time than we are. Capitalism is the nagging fear that lazy, good-for-nothing-welfare-queens are bleeding us dry.
Sprinkle liberally, you should pardon the expression, with some American Exceptionalism, our Dominionist Mandate from Heaven to spread the Pax Americana everywhere.
Finally, throw some good old fashioned "I'm the Man and what I say Goes" evangelicalism on top of it, with it's sense of entitlement to dictate fiscal and sexual policy (I own the money. I own the slaves. I own your womb. I *AM* GOD!) and what have you got?
Us.
Ugh.
Ugly.
Most of us somewhere in the middle and fed up with both extremes.
I heard someone comment on tv the other day that disgruntledness is in our genes. Every one of our ancestors came here because they were pissed off at the way things were wherever they came from. And that streak of cussedness now runs in our blood.
For sure we're never happy. Puritanism is the nagging fear that someone, somewhere, is having a better time than we are. Capitalism is the nagging fear that lazy, good-for-nothing-welfare-queens are bleeding us dry.
Sprinkle liberally, you should pardon the expression, with some American Exceptionalism, our Dominionist Mandate from Heaven to spread the Pax Americana everywhere.
Finally, throw some good old fashioned "I'm the Man and what I say Goes" evangelicalism on top of it, with it's sense of entitlement to dictate fiscal and sexual policy (I own the money. I own the slaves. I own your womb. I *AM* GOD!) and what have you got?
Us.
Ugh.
Ugly.
Monday, November 21, 2011
The Washington Clown Show
Oh, hai. I've been busy. I had foot surgery (on both feet, cause I'm a f*ckin' wimp and if I did one and it hurt too much I wouldn't have done the other -- so shut the eff up about it) and was home recuperating from it for a month and a half and couldn't be bothered.
But I'm back and some things have happened in the meantime that have really gotten my attention and knickers in a twist.
The first was Occupy Wall Street. These are a bunch of frustrated folks without a clear message. Personally, I think they should rally behind this message:
Yes, the rich are richer and poor poorer. We all know that. But the problem isn't unequal distribution of wealth. The *real* problem is unequal distribution of tax effects. The rich pay nearly next to nothing in taxes in terms of the IMPACT that tax burden has on them, as a class. Unlike the poor, who take a real body-slam, taxation-wise, compared to the rich.
We need to even out the effect of taxes on the classes so that if a poor person has to sacrifice the equivalent value of a loaf of bread to the tax man, then a rich SOB should suffer an equivalent burden, i.e., they should sacrifice the equivalent value of owning a 4-star restaurant. In Manhattan. Or Beverly Hills.
The second thing has been watching the spectacle of the Republican Circus-Clown Volkswagen as it disgorged it's content on national tv, seemingly every 3 days for the past 2 months.
If I hear the message clearly (and I think I do), it is this:
The Republican Party policy is: that we should live in an abortion and gay-free America, where everyone who earns less than $1,000,000 per year must marry and endlessly procreate for the purpose of providing illiterate, underpaid workers and cannon fodder who will die, in the harness or in the trenches, before the age of 50, thus saving the rich from having to keep them in their old age.
Have I misread that?
But I'm back and some things have happened in the meantime that have really gotten my attention and knickers in a twist.
The first was Occupy Wall Street. These are a bunch of frustrated folks without a clear message. Personally, I think they should rally behind this message:
Yes, the rich are richer and poor poorer. We all know that. But the problem isn't unequal distribution of wealth. The *real* problem is unequal distribution of tax effects. The rich pay nearly next to nothing in taxes in terms of the IMPACT that tax burden has on them, as a class. Unlike the poor, who take a real body-slam, taxation-wise, compared to the rich.
We need to even out the effect of taxes on the classes so that if a poor person has to sacrifice the equivalent value of a loaf of bread to the tax man, then a rich SOB should suffer an equivalent burden, i.e., they should sacrifice the equivalent value of owning a 4-star restaurant. In Manhattan. Or Beverly Hills.
The second thing has been watching the spectacle of the Republican Circus-Clown Volkswagen as it disgorged it's content on national tv, seemingly every 3 days for the past 2 months.
If I hear the message clearly (and I think I do), it is this:
The Republican Party policy is: that we should live in an abortion and gay-free America, where everyone who earns less than $1,000,000 per year must marry and endlessly procreate for the purpose of providing illiterate, underpaid workers and cannon fodder who will die, in the harness or in the trenches, before the age of 50, thus saving the rich from having to keep them in their old age.
Have I misread that?
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
The "Real" America
I grew up in the 50's, believing in the American Dream of working hard and getting some stuff to show for it and eventually retiring on a pension and social security.
Well, so much for that.
Now I believe:
That both political wings of the same old party that we vote for have edged further and further to the right since I was a child.
That the Republican Party is against education, unless it's to educate their own offspring to handle the wealth that they will inherit. That the Republican Party is, in fact, against educating the middle and lower classes, in order that they will have legions of underpaid, mindless drones to work in their factories and on their farms.
That this is the Republican Dream: to have all the money and to share it with no one. To keep what's theirs and what's yours too.
This is not the American Dream. Republicans do not believe in the same America that I believe in. Republicans do not believe in the America that my dad and his brother and countless other dads and brothers fought for in countless wars.
The current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are not being fought to fight the forces of evil afoot in the world. They are being fought to further enrich the already Republican rich.
This is America now. America is a place where a handful of people have it all. And that same handful people has every intention to keep it all. And they will do whatever needs to be done in order for that to happen.
I can't believe that it's taken me 63 years to wake up and to see America for what it really is, a semi-noble experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong.
I am no longer buying the bullshit. Are you still buying the bullshit?
Well, so much for that.
Now I believe:
That both political wings of the same old party that we vote for have edged further and further to the right since I was a child.
That the Republican Party is against education, unless it's to educate their own offspring to handle the wealth that they will inherit. That the Republican Party is, in fact, against educating the middle and lower classes, in order that they will have legions of underpaid, mindless drones to work in their factories and on their farms.
That this is the Republican Dream: to have all the money and to share it with no one. To keep what's theirs and what's yours too.
This is not the American Dream. Republicans do not believe in the same America that I believe in. Republicans do not believe in the America that my dad and his brother and countless other dads and brothers fought for in countless wars.
The current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are not being fought to fight the forces of evil afoot in the world. They are being fought to further enrich the already Republican rich.
This is America now. America is a place where a handful of people have it all. And that same handful people has every intention to keep it all. And they will do whatever needs to be done in order for that to happen.
I can't believe that it's taken me 63 years to wake up and to see America for what it really is, a semi-noble experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong.
I am no longer buying the bullshit. Are you still buying the bullshit?
Monday, August 01, 2011
My Despair
I pissed away a small fortune back in the 90's. That's on me for being a drunk and believing a writer. But one thing I've done for my entire life, notwithstanding a few sabbaticals along the way, was to work. Since the week I graduated from high school, I've worked. Hard.
I grew up believing, because this what I was told, that in America, if you're a team player, and you work, you will get a protective covering when you retire, in the form of Social Security and Medicare.
I turned 62 last year and started "doing the math". The Social Security Administration started sending me yearly statements showing me "how much" I'd get if I retired at 62, 66 1/2 and 70 1/2. Needless to say, the big payday for me would come when I was 70. So I started mentally adjusting myself to the probability that I'd work until then.
But now, who knows what Congress has just given away to the far right meatheads who still fantasize that rich people create jobs. And what will be my new "plan B" according to them? Work until I'm 75? 80? Dead?
I'm not feeling the love from D.C. these days.
Maybe my recurring nightmare of living in a beat-up, 1966, all aluminum Airstream trailer, somewhere in the high desert 80 miles east of L.A., where atomically mutated ants come visiting at night, and you have to shake the scorpions out of your boots every morning, will come true.
It may not be much, but at least it'll be mine!
Thank you, Ronald Reagan.
And thanks, Mom, for naming me after that bastard.
I grew up believing, because this what I was told, that in America, if you're a team player, and you work, you will get a protective covering when you retire, in the form of Social Security and Medicare.
I turned 62 last year and started "doing the math". The Social Security Administration started sending me yearly statements showing me "how much" I'd get if I retired at 62, 66 1/2 and 70 1/2. Needless to say, the big payday for me would come when I was 70. So I started mentally adjusting myself to the probability that I'd work until then.
But now, who knows what Congress has just given away to the far right meatheads who still fantasize that rich people create jobs. And what will be my new "plan B" according to them? Work until I'm 75? 80? Dead?
I'm not feeling the love from D.C. these days.
Maybe my recurring nightmare of living in a beat-up, 1966, all aluminum Airstream trailer, somewhere in the high desert 80 miles east of L.A., where atomically mutated ants come visiting at night, and you have to shake the scorpions out of your boots every morning, will come true.
It may not be much, but at least it'll be mine!
Thank you, Ronald Reagan.
And thanks, Mom, for naming me after that bastard.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Clueless
How can you tell if someone is expressing interest in you? No, seriously, I mean it. How can you tell?
Being gay and of a "certain age" means having grown up without the benefit of acquiring the usual social skills that heteronormative kids get when they start dating in high school. While they were busy doing that, I was busy hiding in my bedroom waiting to be rescued.
Now, years later and without the benefit of drugs or alcohol, I find myself trying to decipher the words and body language of somebody I like. A lot. Who is cute. And smart. And an ex-actor like me. Yesterday, for example, he asked me what I was "doing for Easter." I looked at him blankly and said, "nothing." He then proceeded to tell me that he was going to a gay-friendly church downtown and how inclusive the place was and how comfortable he felt there, etc. I nodded and thought, "well, how nice for you -- Catholicism caused me nothing but self-hatred and guilt. But by all means go and enjoy! Who am I to criticize."
I thought, later, "You big dope. He was practically THROWING an invitation your way." I think. I'm not sure. Boy, wrap up some obliqueness with some low self-esteem, and you'll wind up like me -- clueless.
If any of the regulars are out there, I'd appreciate some advice.
STAT!
Being gay and of a "certain age" means having grown up without the benefit of acquiring the usual social skills that heteronormative kids get when they start dating in high school. While they were busy doing that, I was busy hiding in my bedroom waiting to be rescued.
Now, years later and without the benefit of drugs or alcohol, I find myself trying to decipher the words and body language of somebody I like. A lot. Who is cute. And smart. And an ex-actor like me. Yesterday, for example, he asked me what I was "doing for Easter." I looked at him blankly and said, "nothing." He then proceeded to tell me that he was going to a gay-friendly church downtown and how inclusive the place was and how comfortable he felt there, etc. I nodded and thought, "well, how nice for you -- Catholicism caused me nothing but self-hatred and guilt. But by all means go and enjoy! Who am I to criticize."
I thought, later, "You big dope. He was practically THROWING an invitation your way." I think. I'm not sure. Boy, wrap up some obliqueness with some low self-esteem, and you'll wind up like me -- clueless.
If any of the regulars are out there, I'd appreciate some advice.
STAT!
Monday, March 28, 2011
Shame
That word, that FEELING, is probably the cause of more addictive behavior than just about any other word or feeling there is.
I remember my childhood filled with shame. I was ashamed about the drunkeness in my family. I was ashamed that I often had to stand in front of my drunken grandmother on the sidewalk to shield her from public view while she relieved herself... her urine stream running out to the curb between my little legs.
I was ashamed the first time I saw my 1st grade school bus driver. His name was Frank and I knew, the moment I laid eyes on him, that wanted to be alone with him. And I felt shame about that and KNEW I could never share that shameful thing with anyone else. Ever. I remember the feeling of shame that arose from desiring boys, instead of girls.
I remember the shame I felt at being a late bloomer, puberty-wise. I remember the feelings of inadequacy that I’m quite sure, now, that every boy must feel in the showers after gym class.
I remember the shame of not being able to perfectly, and intuitively, understand Algebra. Because of that, I felt inadequte, inferior, “less than.” I cut school for nearly a month because of that shame. Until I got caught. And I felt shame over that, too.
I remember the feelings of guilt and shame that I was going to be consigned to the eternal fires of hell.
Shame.
I drank over all that shame. I drank over my shameful feelings.
And yet, I had absolutely *nothing* to be ashamed of. I was absolutely perfect, just the way I was.
Religion, however, had another idea.
Which is why, today, I believe in God, but I don’t believe in religion. Not any of them. And I’m not ashamed of that.
I remember my childhood filled with shame. I was ashamed about the drunkeness in my family. I was ashamed that I often had to stand in front of my drunken grandmother on the sidewalk to shield her from public view while she relieved herself... her urine stream running out to the curb between my little legs.
I was ashamed the first time I saw my 1st grade school bus driver. His name was Frank and I knew, the moment I laid eyes on him, that wanted to be alone with him. And I felt shame about that and KNEW I could never share that shameful thing with anyone else. Ever. I remember the feeling of shame that arose from desiring boys, instead of girls.
I remember the shame I felt at being a late bloomer, puberty-wise. I remember the feelings of inadequacy that I’m quite sure, now, that every boy must feel in the showers after gym class.
I remember the shame of not being able to perfectly, and intuitively, understand Algebra. Because of that, I felt inadequte, inferior, “less than.” I cut school for nearly a month because of that shame. Until I got caught. And I felt shame over that, too.
I remember the feelings of guilt and shame that I was going to be consigned to the eternal fires of hell.
Shame.
I drank over all that shame. I drank over my shameful feelings.
And yet, I had absolutely *nothing* to be ashamed of. I was absolutely perfect, just the way I was.
Religion, however, had another idea.
Which is why, today, I believe in God, but I don’t believe in religion. Not any of them. And I’m not ashamed of that.
Friday, January 07, 2011
I Dated
I need to put it out there that I went out on a date last week. It was the first "real" date I think I've ever been on.
Growing up in the 50's and 60's didn't provide a lot of relationship-testing dating opportunities for a gay kid from the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware. I couldn't exactly ask the captain of the football team to go to the prom with me. So I didn't go to my prom.
"Jack" is a guy I met a year or so ago at a 12-Step meeting I sometimes attend on Saturday nights over near the Willow Grove naval air station in Pennsylvania. He's fun and kooky -- and fairly new in recovery (more than a year, but less than 2). I hadn't seen him in many months when he resurfaced at the meeting about 2 months ago. He asked me if I'd be willing to help him with one of the Steps, to which I happily agreed. We never quite got it together to do the step work but he called me the week before Christmas and wondered if I'd go out to dinner and a movie with him. I didn't think anything about it, other than as an "activity" a couple of guys in recovery could do together.
But I talked about it, with my sponsor and with some friends and the feedback was all the same... that this was a "date."
As dates go, it was catastrophic. The service was terrible at the restaurant. The food practically inedible (Thai/Malay). The movie he picked, one of the "Fokker" flicks, was gawd-awful and his movie etiquette was abysmal (he yapped and commented throughout, much to the chagrin of me and everyone around us.).
But it *was* fun. And I did have a good time. And I do like him. Even if he wants to live in half a dozen cities and is converting to Judaism (whatever for? didn't he get enough guilt in his Catholic childhood?).
I went out on a date. With a guy. What next? A goodnight kiss? Cue Katy Perry!
Whodda thunk it?
Growing up in the 50's and 60's didn't provide a lot of relationship-testing dating opportunities for a gay kid from the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware. I couldn't exactly ask the captain of the football team to go to the prom with me. So I didn't go to my prom.
"Jack" is a guy I met a year or so ago at a 12-Step meeting I sometimes attend on Saturday nights over near the Willow Grove naval air station in Pennsylvania. He's fun and kooky -- and fairly new in recovery (more than a year, but less than 2). I hadn't seen him in many months when he resurfaced at the meeting about 2 months ago. He asked me if I'd be willing to help him with one of the Steps, to which I happily agreed. We never quite got it together to do the step work but he called me the week before Christmas and wondered if I'd go out to dinner and a movie with him. I didn't think anything about it, other than as an "activity" a couple of guys in recovery could do together.
But I talked about it, with my sponsor and with some friends and the feedback was all the same... that this was a "date."
As dates go, it was catastrophic. The service was terrible at the restaurant. The food practically inedible (Thai/Malay). The movie he picked, one of the "Fokker" flicks, was gawd-awful and his movie etiquette was abysmal (he yapped and commented throughout, much to the chagrin of me and everyone around us.).
But it *was* fun. And I did have a good time. And I do like him. Even if he wants to live in half a dozen cities and is converting to Judaism (whatever for? didn't he get enough guilt in his Catholic childhood?).
I went out on a date. With a guy. What next? A goodnight kiss? Cue Katy Perry!
Whodda thunk it?
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
And goodbye, American Exceptionalism. Hello, American decline.
And if there is blame to dole out for this, let it be spread, equally, among the left and right. But it should all be concentrated on one institution, the Congress, which perpetually runs for re-election rather than running the country.
Trillions of dollars which *should* have been spent on bettering ourselves, were spent trying to shove our brand of world-view down the throats of other nations. Other trillions were spent enriching people who needed no further enriching, i.e., the already obscenely rich.
We're sliding. Fast. China and India are rising. Equally fast.
What I find really sad is that the British Empire lasted twice as long as ours will have lasted.
And if there is blame to dole out for this, let it be spread, equally, among the left and right. But it should all be concentrated on one institution, the Congress, which perpetually runs for re-election rather than running the country.
Trillions of dollars which *should* have been spent on bettering ourselves, were spent trying to shove our brand of world-view down the throats of other nations. Other trillions were spent enriching people who needed no further enriching, i.e., the already obscenely rich.
We're sliding. Fast. China and India are rising. Equally fast.
What I find really sad is that the British Empire lasted twice as long as ours will have lasted.
Friday, December 03, 2010
Fasci-nistas
Ollie and Johnnie would've been right at home in ancient Rome or in Albert Speer's world capital, "Germania", where preservation of the Party and the State superceded any "collateral damage", which includes people, that might be incurred along the way.
They both envision a perpetually armed and alert America, prepared at a moments notice to spend every dollar and expend every life to impose our will on an unwilling world. They, like the Pentagon, argue that we must always be ready to fight the last war, even as we fail, miserably, to find solutions to our current ones.
They would call this "patriotism." I, of course, would call it Fascism. Unlike them, I picture an America at peace, not perpetually at war.
They picture an America steeped in ignorance, intolerance and war-mongering. I picture an America steeped in love, compassion and forgiveness.
Okay... which of those is the “Christian” view?
Monday, November 08, 2010
Hot Marines!
“Combat,” Amos said, “is an ‘intimate’ experience without parallel in civilian life. We're talking about our young men — laying out, sleeping alongside of one another and sharing death, fear and loss of brothers," he said.
What he didn’t say, but was implied in his description of the living circumstances, was this: it is better to have no unwanted psycho-sexual nonsense “cluttering up” the battlefield between a bunch of over-sexed hotheads who should be focused solely on killing gooks and eating dead, burnt, babies, in Jesus’s name. Or something.
Amos, 63, said he was reviewing the results of a poll of military members and their families about the potential effects of lifting the "don't ask, don't tell" policy. He declined to characterize the findings. Amos said that, unlike other services, the Marine Corps requires many of its members to share rooms while in garrison. That complicates the issue, he said.
Yeah. No point in cluttering up the business of glorious, heroic, death with something disgusting and nasty such as life and love.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Unrequited (and self-centered) Love....
I met "X" in the Navy. I was 21 or 22 at the time. He was 19 or so. He was big (a bodybuilder) and typical of the sort of corn-fed, All-American, boys from the mid-West we had running around in the services in those days. It was 1969 or 1970.
I had never in my life, up until then, felt those sorts of feelings about another human being. In fact, I was pretty sure by that age that I was incapable of feeling feelings like those. I was convinced that, due to growing up in the emotionally traumatic situation I'd grown up in, I was too shut down to feel anything for anybody -- including myself.
For nearly a year I wanted to be near "X" all the time. But I knew I had to be careful. I couldn't let the Navy find out about it. I couldn't even tell "X" how I felt about him.
Of course, I was deluded. He did know how I felt about him. So did the rest of the little tribe of intellectuals we hung out with. I remember one Friday night, all of us getting bombed in my barracks room, and them staging a "fake wedding" for "X" and I.
So, yeah, he (and they) knew. One other thing was playing under the surface of all this, though. "X" hated the military and was willing to do, and say, anything to get out of it so he could go back home to west Central Illinois, to his mom and girlfriend, and have nothing more to do with the Navy. I had another goal. And that was to stick it out long enough to get honorably discharged so I could collect the GI bill and go to college.
When I saw his obituary on my computer screen last week, I realized that I still had feelings for him. Strong ones. But there was another feeling there, too. A feeling of betrayal because it dawned on me that "X" had studied me closely during our time in the service together. He made my feelings for him the grist for his eventual, dishonorable, discharge from the Navy. For the whole time I knew him, he was seeing a shrink in Washington, D.C. who was building a case for "X" to be discharged as a homosexual.
For 40 years I was emotionally invested in something that could, and would, never be. Worse, I was emotionally invested in someone who, like the people who raised me, betrayed my love by being incapable of returning it.
He didn't do this to me. I did this to me. I know that now. I have re-enacted my childhood pain by carrying torches for the most unavailable people (men) I could find. If someone actually wanted me... I'd leave skid marks trying to escape. If someone was aloof and remote... they were perfect. I could pine away on the inside... alone in my solitary splendor, rather than building a life with some nice guy who really cared about me.
How stupid am I?
Oh, and RIP "X". My heart still flutters a little when I think of you. A very little.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Defense Appropriation and DADT - 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Face of Evil
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.
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