It matters to me because I've never been anything other than homosexual. There were no "incidents" in my childhood. There was no pattern of anything. There was only, from very early age, a yearning, a drive, a need ... for the loving companionship of males, hopefully to culminate in a romantic and sexually fulfilling relationship with one.
I remember being asked, in college at an open-forum Psych class where I was one of the "star-performers" that night, when, exactly, I had "decided to be gay."
I was astonished that anyone would even think that there was some element of choice involved. There was never a moments doubt, from age six on.
Now, many decades later, I know why that question was asked. I also know, now, why it's so important for so many people to believe that I chose.
Because if I didn't, then their whole belief system comes crashing down around their ears. It means that God... their God... doesn't make mistakes, and doesn't make garbage, either.
Worse, if I didn't choose... and they did... then it means that there is a lot of suppressed anger in a lot of people, because they chose badly, and they know it.
Personally speaking, I believe that so many people are angry about this because a.) their God doesn't make mistakes and they know it and b.) they chose wrong, and they know it.
It's enough to piss off the Good Humor man. And Fred Phelps. And Maggie Gallagher.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Memorial Day
I called my dad on Sunday to see how he's doing (not well) and to thank him for his national service during World War II. He was grateful on both counts.
My dad never talks about it, but he was a tail gunner aboard an aviation fuel refueling ship in the South Pacific during the war. It was the kind of ship that Kamikaze's loved to dive-bomb. Dad got a lot of practice shooting Kamikaze's out of the sky.
His dad, my grandfather, was in the Navy in the 1920's. Pop-pop was stationed aboard a battlewagon, the USS Delaware. He was a Boilerman. But his real job was to be the coxswain for the Navy's championship rowing team. He led the Navy team to something like 4 victories. The Navy was heartbroken when Pop-pop bailed out at the end of his second enlistment in 1927.
I was born under a water sign, Cancer. I came from generations of Navy men. It was inevitable, I guess, that I would go to sea.
I never stroked a championship team, nor did I blast Jap Zeros out of the puffy-clouded South Pacific sky. But I did serve my country, honorably, from 1968 to 1972. I was an aviation electronics technician. I spent most of my enlistment ashore, in boot camp, electronics schools and, for a two year stretch, attached to the Flight Test Division of the Naval Air Test Center located in Lexington Park, Maryland.
I love working there. The best and the brightest of both officers and enlisted members of the services were sent to the NATC. Our test pilots all had "the right stuff." Our enlisted personnel were either on their way to becoming officers or else they had turned down commissions due to their feelings about the Viet Nam war.
Eventually, though, the time came for sea duty, and I was sent to Lakehurst, New Jersey, were I was assigned to HC-2, The Fleet Angels, a Sea-Air Rescue Helicopter Squadron. After six months of non-descript duty aboard the base I was re-assigned to a detachment leaving for six months of sea duty aboard the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt, CVA-42.
Rosie was a WWII relic. Rather like dad. She wasn't as fast as the newer nukes. She was smaller than most of the newer carriers. But she was feisty. And she was comfy. She had a "lived-in" look and feel that you couldn't find aboard newer ships. If you look real close at the arresting gear, my bunk was under the the #3 arresting wire. You have no idea how loud a 40,000 pound jet aircraft slamming into the deck at 150 miles per hour is, when it's just six inches above your face.
Rosie had character. I like ships with character.
I don't expect anyone to ever thank me for my duty. It was a great time in my life. I met some great guys, got drunk a lot, and learned how to play well with others.
And do you know that, to this day, I still fold my socks and underwear exactly the way I was taught to do it in bootcamp?
Catholic school was good training for the Navy. But the Navy had much cuter guys.
========================================================
UPDATE: California Supreme Court Upholds Proposition 8. Existing same-sex marriages to stand.
Tell me again why I should be grateful to this country for all it does for me?
My dad never talks about it, but he was a tail gunner aboard an aviation fuel refueling ship in the South Pacific during the war. It was the kind of ship that Kamikaze's loved to dive-bomb. Dad got a lot of practice shooting Kamikaze's out of the sky.
His dad, my grandfather, was in the Navy in the 1920's. Pop-pop was stationed aboard a battlewagon, the USS Delaware. He was a Boilerman. But his real job was to be the coxswain for the Navy's championship rowing team. He led the Navy team to something like 4 victories. The Navy was heartbroken when Pop-pop bailed out at the end of his second enlistment in 1927.
I was born under a water sign, Cancer. I came from generations of Navy men. It was inevitable, I guess, that I would go to sea.
I never stroked a championship team, nor did I blast Jap Zeros out of the puffy-clouded South Pacific sky. But I did serve my country, honorably, from 1968 to 1972. I was an aviation electronics technician. I spent most of my enlistment ashore, in boot camp, electronics schools and, for a two year stretch, attached to the Flight Test Division of the Naval Air Test Center located in Lexington Park, Maryland.
I love working there. The best and the brightest of both officers and enlisted members of the services were sent to the NATC. Our test pilots all had "the right stuff." Our enlisted personnel were either on their way to becoming officers or else they had turned down commissions due to their feelings about the Viet Nam war.
Eventually, though, the time came for sea duty, and I was sent to Lakehurst, New Jersey, were I was assigned to HC-2, The Fleet Angels, a Sea-Air Rescue Helicopter Squadron. After six months of non-descript duty aboard the base I was re-assigned to a detachment leaving for six months of sea duty aboard the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt, CVA-42.
Rosie was a WWII relic. Rather like dad. She wasn't as fast as the newer nukes. She was smaller than most of the newer carriers. But she was feisty. And she was comfy. She had a "lived-in" look and feel that you couldn't find aboard newer ships. If you look real close at the arresting gear, my bunk was under the the #3 arresting wire. You have no idea how loud a 40,000 pound jet aircraft slamming into the deck at 150 miles per hour is, when it's just six inches above your face.
Rosie had character. I like ships with character.
I don't expect anyone to ever thank me for my duty. It was a great time in my life. I met some great guys, got drunk a lot, and learned how to play well with others.
And do you know that, to this day, I still fold my socks and underwear exactly the way I was taught to do it in bootcamp?
Catholic school was good training for the Navy. But the Navy had much cuter guys.
========================================================
UPDATE: California Supreme Court Upholds Proposition 8. Existing same-sex marriages to stand.
Tell me again why I should be grateful to this country for all it does for me?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
DADT
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s about being forced to stay in the closet if you’d like to serve your country.
One dirty little (and undiscussed) secret underlying the policy is our national wish that all queers, lesbos and other disgusting misfits would also stay in the closet… out of sight and out of mind.
But in the military, it’s not merely about pandering to the homophobic panic of redneck teenagers who form the backbone of our fighting forces.
DADT is really about something that never gets discussed, even at the highest levels of power within the forces, because it’s too explosive a subject for even them to handle.
It’s about Sparta.
No, I’m not kidding.
The Spartans deliberately set out to create an army of lovers, the theory being that a soldier would be far more willing to die for his country if he was also to die defending the life of his soul-mate. It was terrific military policy, to create an army that was at the very least bisexual. You can see how well it worked by looking at the battle of Thermopylae – when a measly 300 Spartans (and a thousand or so other Greeks - who never get mentioned) held off the entire Persian Army of Xerxes for quite a long time, comparatively speaking. The Spartans went down… as it were… defending the lifeless body of their King, Leonidas, who, according to all reports, was quite a hunk of Greek manhood.
Can you imagine what it would be like if we had a national security policy enforced by a military composed of millions of happily queer couples?
Can you imagine what it would be like if we had a hunk of burning Greek love as a Commander in Chief?
I can.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Parental Love
I drove down to Dover, Delaware on Saturday to spend some "quality time" with my father and step-mom.
All families are complicated, each in their own unique and often horrifying way. Mine is no exception.
My birth mom and my dad were divorced while I was still gestating in the womb. Throughout my childhood my mother, a bitter young woman with a severe drinking problem, used me as a pawn in her relations with her ex husband, her mother and anyone else who got in her way. I know that, and I forgive her for that. It ruined me in many ways, but there's no going back and undoing it. I am nearly incapable of having trusting intimate relations with sexually desirable people as a direct result of that childhood. When push comes to shove, I can't let anyone in... and more importantly, I can't let myself out.
But still, I try.
Eventually I did meet my shadow family consisting of my dad, my stepmom whom I love dearly and my should-have-been siblings, my sister and our younger brother. Over the years we have gotten closer and more loving.
As my sobriety has ripened, I have learned more and more about the important things in life, such as family and friends.
Dad has started having more and more hospital episodes over the last couple of years. This year my siblings had to fly down to Ft. Myers in Florida to literally rescue the folks and drive them home because dad was physically incapable of doing it.
Mom is no help. She never bothered to get a driver's license and, recently, her memory has started to go. She really needs to be watched at all times now. This will only get worse. In fact, both of them are only going to get worse, and to be honest, it will be in very short order.
After they came home from Florida my sister suggested that each of us go to Dover to spend some quality time with them. I knew what that meant. It meant my sister suspects that the end is near for one or both of them and now would be a good time to show them that they are still loved and that they are still a relevant part of their children's lives. I know, from personal childhood experience, what it means to feel like a fifth wheel in life.
I prayed all week about it. I asked God to take charge of the visit on Saturday and to help me keep my mouth zippered shut, to smile, to be loving and considerate and compassionate, to not have any agendas, and to be of service however I could.
Well, God held up His end of the bargain. I sailed through the day, even though were trying times at the drug store and supermarket. I showered them with affection, verbally and physically, whenever the opportunity arose.
Maybe I am learning about letting people in a little bit. Or even better, maybe I'm learning how to let myself out.
I dunno.
But I do know that I'm going to cry like a baby if... when anything happens to either of them.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
W.W.J.D.
From the steamy streets of West Hollyweird comes our photo du jour:
What Would Jesus Drink (on a steamy LA day)? A vente iced latte, of course, before heading off to a hard day of saving souls.
And you can tell it's Hollywood because out there even the Starbuck's have kleig lights in the windows.
What Would Jesus Drink (on a steamy LA day)? A vente iced latte, of course, before heading off to a hard day of saving souls.
And you can tell it's Hollywood because out there even the Starbuck's have kleig lights in the windows.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Maine Governor Signs Gay Marriage Bill
New England is shaping up very nicely.
And as goes Maine ... so goes the nation.
And as goes Maine ... so goes the nation.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Asshole of the Week - Rudy Giuliani
Remember this:
Joe Jervis over at Joe.My.God does a much better job eviscerating Giuliani over his latest, shameful, conduct than I ever could.
Rudy Giuliani, "America's Mayor", is a totally disgusting, opportunistic, political pig.
Period.
Joe Jervis over at Joe.My.God does a much better job eviscerating Giuliani over his latest, shameful, conduct than I ever could.
Rudy Giuliani, "America's Mayor", is a totally disgusting, opportunistic, political pig.
Period.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
HR 1913 - The Matthew Shepard Hate Crimes Act
It passed. Thank God. But not before the wingnuts took to the floor of the House to try to kill it -- and like good Holocaust Deniers everywhere, they even attempted to deny that Matthew was a victim of a hate crime. The worst of the worst, though, was Representative Virginia Foxx (R-NC). Her speech in the well of the House was astonishing by the depth of it's political demagoguery and utter lack of truth. If this woman is a parent I pity her children. It's bad enough she gets to vote on legislation of national importance. She should, if she had a decent bone in her body, immediately resign her position in the House.
I'm grateful that Keith Olbermann is on the air -- and isn't afraid to take on wingnuts like her. Last night he took on three. For an appetizer he devoured Michelle Bachmann (R-MN), who is just plain batty. Then, for an entree, he chomped into Rupert Murdoch. Finally, for dessert, he lacerated Ms. Foxx (at 2:43).
Keep in mind, the legislation passed in the House. A Senate version has already been introduced by Sen. Ted Kennedy (D-MA). The speed at which things are changing in this country can be breathtaking at times -- which makes the wingnuts even wingnuttier than usual.
I thank my Higher Power, whom I call God, for having kept me alive long enough to see a day when things seem to be really changing for me and people like me.
Here's Keith's "Worst Person in the World" from last night (04/29/09).
I'm grateful that Keith Olbermann is on the air -- and isn't afraid to take on wingnuts like her. Last night he took on three. For an appetizer he devoured Michelle Bachmann (R-MN), who is just plain batty. Then, for an entree, he chomped into Rupert Murdoch. Finally, for dessert, he lacerated Ms. Foxx (at 2:43).
Keep in mind, the legislation passed in the House. A Senate version has already been introduced by Sen. Ted Kennedy (D-MA). The speed at which things are changing in this country can be breathtaking at times -- which makes the wingnuts even wingnuttier than usual.
I thank my Higher Power, whom I call God, for having kept me alive long enough to see a day when things seem to be really changing for me and people like me.
Here's Keith's "Worst Person in the World" from last night (04/29/09).
Monday, April 27, 2009
Weather We're Havin', Ain't It?
It was about a thousand degrees here in the east over the weekend. Or so it seemed after an endless freezing cold, wet spring.
In true Noo Yawk style, the inhabitants of the greatest city on the face of the earth (except, of course, for wherever you come from - or live in now - or lived in sometime and still have a soft spot for) stampede into the great park at the center of that city, designed by Frederick Law Olmstead and Calvert Vaux over 150 years ago - in order to divest themselves of as much clothing as is decently possible and to cool off, play, read, pitch some woo and relax amidst the greenery therein.
Here are some shots from the weekend - most taken in and around the Sheep Meadow of fabled Central Park (click on the photos to embiggen them):
And, of course, the twinks were out in force:
In true Noo Yawk style, the inhabitants of the greatest city on the face of the earth (except, of course, for wherever you come from - or live in now - or lived in sometime and still have a soft spot for) stampede into the great park at the center of that city, designed by Frederick Law Olmstead and Calvert Vaux over 150 years ago - in order to divest themselves of as much clothing as is decently possible and to cool off, play, read, pitch some woo and relax amidst the greenery therein.
Here are some shots from the weekend - most taken in and around the Sheep Meadow of fabled Central Park (click on the photos to embiggen them):
And, of course, the twinks were out in force:
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Fear and Torture
I just watched the YouTube clip of Shep Smith of Fox News going ape-shit over the subject of torture. "We do not f*cking torture" he screamed.
Shep's kind of cute and if I were still drinking I might hit on him. But I'm not. However, I do agree with him. The United States does not f*cking torture.
Look, I was born at night, but it wasn't last night. I know the world is a nasty piece of business and we need to be on our guard all the time and sometimes we might have to resort to some pretty nasty tactics in order to preserve, protect and defend our national interests.
But we do not f*cking torture.
I cannot wrap my brain around the idea of us having a high-handed attitude of righteousness as we lovingly shove human rights and democracy down other people's throats (whether or not they want it) on the one hand, as we "faux drown" terrorists in extraterritorial hellholes created specifically for the purpose of being beyond our laws and Constitution, on the other.
We do not f*cking torture. If we do f*cking torture we can give up all pretense of being what we claim to be. If we do f*cking torture then we are no better than the zealous religious idiots who flew their planes into the World Trade Center towers, the Pentagon and the fields of Pennsylvania.
We may have lost the most recent battles for our national soul, also known as "The Bush Years", but it is not too late to win the war for it.
We all know how far up the chain of command that nonsense went (all the way). We all know that Condi and Dick and Rummy and Georgie-Porgie signed off on it. We all know that for 8 years the White House suffered from a dual-diagnosis of stupidity and eagerness.
Prolonging our national nightmare by revisiting these matters in Congress, when there are far more important and loftier things we need to be doing, would be a further waste of our national wealth and psyche.
I think that it is time to move forward and upward, out of the muck and into the light.
Shep's kind of cute and if I were still drinking I might hit on him. But I'm not. However, I do agree with him. The United States does not f*cking torture.
Look, I was born at night, but it wasn't last night. I know the world is a nasty piece of business and we need to be on our guard all the time and sometimes we might have to resort to some pretty nasty tactics in order to preserve, protect and defend our national interests.
But we do not f*cking torture.
I cannot wrap my brain around the idea of us having a high-handed attitude of righteousness as we lovingly shove human rights and democracy down other people's throats (whether or not they want it) on the one hand, as we "faux drown" terrorists in extraterritorial hellholes created specifically for the purpose of being beyond our laws and Constitution, on the other.
We do not f*cking torture. If we do f*cking torture we can give up all pretense of being what we claim to be. If we do f*cking torture then we are no better than the zealous religious idiots who flew their planes into the World Trade Center towers, the Pentagon and the fields of Pennsylvania.
We may have lost the most recent battles for our national soul, also known as "The Bush Years", but it is not too late to win the war for it.
We all know how far up the chain of command that nonsense went (all the way). We all know that Condi and Dick and Rummy and Georgie-Porgie signed off on it. We all know that for 8 years the White House suffered from a dual-diagnosis of stupidity and eagerness.
Prolonging our national nightmare by revisiting these matters in Congress, when there are far more important and loftier things we need to be doing, would be a further waste of our national wealth and psyche.
I think that it is time to move forward and upward, out of the muck and into the light.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
She Lit Up My Life
Tharon Musser passed away last Sunday. She was born on January 8, 1925 in Roanoke, Virginia. Her dad was a clergyman.
Her name will, most likely, mean little to you unless you're a real afficianado of the Broadway stage. Tharon was a lighting designer, which is a little like saying that Picasso was a painter. Both are true but there's a lot more that could, and should, be said about the subjects.
Tharon lit the shows of my youth. Not incidentally, she also lit the shows of Stephen Sondheim. She lit "Follies." She also lit "A Chorus Line." And "Dreamgirls." She won Tonys for all of those. She also designed the lighting for "Applause", "A Little Night Music", "Pacific Overtures", "The Act", "Ballroom" and "42nd Street (original stage production - 1981)". I'm here to tell you, this woman could paint a stage in light. And she painted a lot of them.
She was an innovator. "A Chorus Line" was the first B'way show to use a computer to activate the cues. It was considered radical at the time. She used computerized lighting more and more as the years went by. Anyone who saw the original production of "Dreamgirls" will instantly recall the 4 giant, castered lighting towers that whirled and spun around the stage during the show -- uncredited chorus members who danced from beginning to end -- the entire show being (mostly) lit by them in computer-controlled, lightning-fast changes that dazzled the audiences of the time as much as Jennifer Holliday's rafter-rattling rendition of "And I am Telling You (I am not going)".
Tharon Musser did that. And today, 27 years later, the hairs on the back of my head still stand up as I recall that knock-dead evening of theater. Thank you, Tharon, for being a part of it.
Tharon is survived by her life partner, Marilyn Rennagel, who is also a lighting designer.
Her name will, most likely, mean little to you unless you're a real afficianado of the Broadway stage. Tharon was a lighting designer, which is a little like saying that Picasso was a painter. Both are true but there's a lot more that could, and should, be said about the subjects.
Tharon lit the shows of my youth. Not incidentally, she also lit the shows of Stephen Sondheim. She lit "Follies." She also lit "A Chorus Line." And "Dreamgirls." She won Tonys for all of those. She also designed the lighting for "Applause", "A Little Night Music", "Pacific Overtures", "The Act", "Ballroom" and "42nd Street (original stage production - 1981)". I'm here to tell you, this woman could paint a stage in light. And she painted a lot of them.
She was an innovator. "A Chorus Line" was the first B'way show to use a computer to activate the cues. It was considered radical at the time. She used computerized lighting more and more as the years went by. Anyone who saw the original production of "Dreamgirls" will instantly recall the 4 giant, castered lighting towers that whirled and spun around the stage during the show -- uncredited chorus members who danced from beginning to end -- the entire show being (mostly) lit by them in computer-controlled, lightning-fast changes that dazzled the audiences of the time as much as Jennifer Holliday's rafter-rattling rendition of "And I am Telling You (I am not going)".
Tharon Musser did that. And today, 27 years later, the hairs on the back of my head still stand up as I recall that knock-dead evening of theater. Thank you, Tharon, for being a part of it.
Tharon is survived by her life partner, Marilyn Rennagel, who is also a lighting designer.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Meme du Jour
Courtesy of my friend Bev over at Funny the World, comes this meme du jour:
1. What color is your toothbrush?
Blue and white (it's electrified!)
2. Name one person who made you smile today.
My 12-Step sponsor, Luke.
3. What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
This.
5. What is your favorite candy bar?
Payday. It's got nuts.
6. Have you ever been to a strip club?
Yes. And before you ask, it was a straight strip club -- I was still working on Wall Street at the time and it was considered part of my job to "entertain" clients. So shut up.
7. What is the last thing you said aloud
"What is the last thing you said aloud." My lips move when I read.
8. What is your favorite ice cream?
Hands down, Butter Pecan.
9. What was the last thing you had to drink?
Coffee. I'm having it now.
10, Do you like your wallet?
I do. It's a Coach. I've had it for about 4 years, but I've had the same model of Coach wallet for about 25 years. It's a tri-fold. It's perfect.
11, What was the last thing you ate?
A turkey and cheese on whole wheat.
12, Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
Probably. I'm on a shoe-buying binge. The old ones are getting disgusting.
13, The last sporting event you watched?
I watched the Yankees get their asses handed to them by Cleveland yesterday afternoon, but I turned it off after the third inning.
14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?
Just plain, preferably with butter. Just like my hero, Bev.
15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to?
I don't "do" text.
16. Ever go camping?
Yes. Every where from Baxter State Park in Maine (where the Appalachian Trail begins) to the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. I actually like camping.
17, Do you take vitamins daily?
Yes. Centrum Silver plus a Biotin pill and a B-12 sublingual.
18, Do you go to church every Sunday?
For what? Look, let's get this straight. I believe in God, I just don't believe in YOUR God. Okay?
19, Do you have a tan?
Nah.
20,Do you prefer Chinese food over pizza?
No. I'm an equal-opportunity vomiter.
21, Do you drink your soda with a straw?
Soda is out because of carbonation. I drink a lot of Crystal Lite.
22, What did your last text message say?
I don't "do" text.
23, What are you doing tomorrow?
Work.
25, Look to your left, what do you see?
The window looking south towards Peddie School. It's a nice view.
26, What color is your watch?
Black band, stainless case, black face with white numerals.
27, What do you think of when you hear Australia?
"Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" and Olivia Newton-John. I'm pretty gay.
29, Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?
I don't "do" fast food.
30. What is your favorite number?
Whichever number will cause me to win MegaMillions.
31. Who’s the last person you talked to on the phone?
My friend Richard T. He called last night around 7:30 p.m.
32. Any plans today?
Yup. A 12-Step meeting in Plainsboro, NJ, then maybe a quick trip to Sam's Club.
33. How many states have you lived in?
Seven. In chronological order: Delaware, California, Tennessee, Maryland, Washington (State), New York and New Jersey.
34. Biggest annoyance right now?
Summer traffic on Friday afternoons on the NJ Turnpike (does EVERYONE in New York City have a beach house down the Jersey shore????)
35, Last song listened to?
"I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz. It's ubiquitous these days. I like his voice so I hope he doesn't become a "one-hit wonder."
36. Can you say the alphabet backwards?
Bwahahahahahahahahahaha. No.
37. Do you have a maid service clean your house?
Only when we rent a beach house. I don't want foreigners to know how we Americans really live.
38. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
My Jack Purcell blue canvas sneakers. I would wear them to work if I could.
39. Are you jealous of anyone?
No. It's a pointless waste of energy based, primarily, on self-pity.
40. Is anyone jealous of you?
I would hope not. See 39, above.
41. Do you love anyone?
Yes. Dozens. Am I "in love" with anyone? No.
42. Do any of your friends have children?
Yup. My friends seem to fall into two categories, either "Scorched Earth" or "Be Fruitful and Multiply", but almost nothing in between.
43. What do you usually do during the day?
Oh, blog, read other blogs, blog some more, cop an attitude when asked to actually "work", blog some more, read some more blogs...
44, Do you hate anyone that you know right now?
No. Wow. That's a change. I don't hate my ex anymore. I wonder when that happened?
45. Do you use the word ‘hello’ daily?
Yes. Part of my duties include answering phones.
46. What color is your car?
"Arrest Me Red."
47. Do you like cats?
I'd better or my friend Jan would stop talking to me.
48. Are you thinking about someone right now
Yes. My friend Jan.
49, Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Are you kidding? I live about 20 miles from Six Flags Great Adventure -- I LOVE bodacious roller coasters and Six Flags has got 'em. But the crowds can be overwhelming.
50. How did you get your worst scar?
It's about 12" long and runs down the inside of my left forearm. It's where they harvested a vein (and they were clearly in a hurry when they did it) during my quadruple-bypass surgery five years ago last month. That scar is a constant reminder to me of how badly I used to treat myself and how lucky I am to be alive today.
1. What color is your toothbrush?
Blue and white (it's electrified!)
2. Name one person who made you smile today.
My 12-Step sponsor, Luke.
3. What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
This.
5. What is your favorite candy bar?
Payday. It's got nuts.
6. Have you ever been to a strip club?
Yes. And before you ask, it was a straight strip club -- I was still working on Wall Street at the time and it was considered part of my job to "entertain" clients. So shut up.
7. What is the last thing you said aloud
"What is the last thing you said aloud." My lips move when I read.
8. What is your favorite ice cream?
Hands down, Butter Pecan.
9. What was the last thing you had to drink?
Coffee. I'm having it now.
10, Do you like your wallet?
I do. It's a Coach. I've had it for about 4 years, but I've had the same model of Coach wallet for about 25 years. It's a tri-fold. It's perfect.
11, What was the last thing you ate?
A turkey and cheese on whole wheat.
12, Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
Probably. I'm on a shoe-buying binge. The old ones are getting disgusting.
13, The last sporting event you watched?
I watched the Yankees get their asses handed to them by Cleveland yesterday afternoon, but I turned it off after the third inning.
14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?
Just plain, preferably with butter. Just like my hero, Bev.
15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to?
I don't "do" text.
16. Ever go camping?
Yes. Every where from Baxter State Park in Maine (where the Appalachian Trail begins) to the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. I actually like camping.
17, Do you take vitamins daily?
Yes. Centrum Silver plus a Biotin pill and a B-12 sublingual.
18, Do you go to church every Sunday?
For what? Look, let's get this straight. I believe in God, I just don't believe in YOUR God. Okay?
19, Do you have a tan?
Nah.
20,Do you prefer Chinese food over pizza?
No. I'm an equal-opportunity vomiter.
21, Do you drink your soda with a straw?
Soda is out because of carbonation. I drink a lot of Crystal Lite.
22, What did your last text message say?
I don't "do" text.
23, What are you doing tomorrow?
Work.
25, Look to your left, what do you see?
The window looking south towards Peddie School. It's a nice view.
26, What color is your watch?
Black band, stainless case, black face with white numerals.
27, What do you think of when you hear Australia?
"Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" and Olivia Newton-John. I'm pretty gay.
29, Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?
I don't "do" fast food.
30. What is your favorite number?
Whichever number will cause me to win MegaMillions.
31. Who’s the last person you talked to on the phone?
My friend Richard T. He called last night around 7:30 p.m.
32. Any plans today?
Yup. A 12-Step meeting in Plainsboro, NJ, then maybe a quick trip to Sam's Club.
33. How many states have you lived in?
Seven. In chronological order: Delaware, California, Tennessee, Maryland, Washington (State), New York and New Jersey.
34. Biggest annoyance right now?
Summer traffic on Friday afternoons on the NJ Turnpike (does EVERYONE in New York City have a beach house down the Jersey shore????)
35, Last song listened to?
"I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz. It's ubiquitous these days. I like his voice so I hope he doesn't become a "one-hit wonder."
36. Can you say the alphabet backwards?
Bwahahahahahahahahahaha. No.
37. Do you have a maid service clean your house?
Only when we rent a beach house. I don't want foreigners to know how we Americans really live.
38. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
My Jack Purcell blue canvas sneakers. I would wear them to work if I could.
39. Are you jealous of anyone?
No. It's a pointless waste of energy based, primarily, on self-pity.
40. Is anyone jealous of you?
I would hope not. See 39, above.
41. Do you love anyone?
Yes. Dozens. Am I "in love" with anyone? No.
42. Do any of your friends have children?
Yup. My friends seem to fall into two categories, either "Scorched Earth" or "Be Fruitful and Multiply", but almost nothing in between.
43. What do you usually do during the day?
Oh, blog, read other blogs, blog some more, cop an attitude when asked to actually "work", blog some more, read some more blogs...
44, Do you hate anyone that you know right now?
No. Wow. That's a change. I don't hate my ex anymore. I wonder when that happened?
45. Do you use the word ‘hello’ daily?
Yes. Part of my duties include answering phones.
46. What color is your car?
"Arrest Me Red."
47. Do you like cats?
I'd better or my friend Jan would stop talking to me.
48. Are you thinking about someone right now
Yes. My friend Jan.
49, Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Are you kidding? I live about 20 miles from Six Flags Great Adventure -- I LOVE bodacious roller coasters and Six Flags has got 'em. But the crowds can be overwhelming.
50. How did you get your worst scar?
It's about 12" long and runs down the inside of my left forearm. It's where they harvested a vein (and they were clearly in a hurry when they did it) during my quadruple-bypass surgery five years ago last month. That scar is a constant reminder to me of how badly I used to treat myself and how lucky I am to be alive today.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Up the Lazy River
Today's title refers to the Amazon, of course, as in Amazon dot com. Specifically, it refers to the flapdoodle that arose this past weekend over the de-listing of LGBTQQ titles from their rankings.
Apparently this is important. I don't know why exactly, but it is. I know this because my friend Rob Byrnes (aka FARB)had totally lost his shit was somewhat discomfited over it. And any enemy discomfit of Rob Byrnes is an enemy discomfit of mine. He was particularly incensed discomfited by it since he just had a new book (fabulous... you should read it... called "Straight Lies") published and, let's face it, authors these days count on e-tailers like Amazon to really move the merch.
So after I read Rob'srant piece (love the [lack of] alliteration) I delisted my shopping cart and wish lists from Amazon and sent a sternly worded email to some faceless drone in Mumbai who poses as their Customer Service Help Desk.
A scant 24 hours later I got a reply.
Then I posted this on Joe.My.God's blog:
"You wanna know what I think? I think that, for economic reasons only, the cataloging was outsourced to a country where ... well, let's just say that there's a totally different cultural bias regarding subjects such as "gay" and "lesbian" and "bisexual" and "transgendered" and "queer" there. A place where, in fact, the entire population remains largely skittish on the subject of sex in general.
And nobody in corporate bothered to double-check the work.
That's what I think. (the Amazon form reply was signed by Gajalakshmi S.)"
I stand by that theory. I think it was nothing more than the finance department trumping the editorial staff.
It's worse than a global conspiracy.
It's capitalism run amok. As usual.
Apparently this is important. I don't know why exactly, but it is. I know this because my friend Rob Byrnes (aka FARB)
So after I read Rob's
A scant 24 hours later I got a reply.
Then I posted this on Joe.My.God's blog:
"You wanna know what I think? I think that, for economic reasons only, the cataloging was outsourced to a country where ... well, let's just say that there's a totally different cultural bias regarding subjects such as "gay" and "lesbian" and "bisexual" and "transgendered" and "queer" there. A place where, in fact, the entire population remains largely skittish on the subject of sex in general.
And nobody in corporate bothered to double-check the work.
That's what I think. (the Amazon form reply was signed by Gajalakshmi S.)"
I stand by that theory. I think it was nothing more than the finance department trumping the editorial staff.
It's worse than a global conspiracy.
It's capitalism run amok. As usual.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Post-Christian America
The cover story on this week's issue of Newsweek is about life in what it terms "post-Christian America", i.e., an America which has moved well beyond the old-time religion of our forefathers.
As we all know, of course, there never was such a place. Rhode Island, the article points out, was founded by dissidents from all the other major religions as a place of safety from the tyranny of Massachusetts (Protestantism) and Maryland (Catholicism). We were always a mixed bag of beliefs (and non-beliefs). There is nothing new about that.
What is new, though, is that Americans are moving away from organized religions towards individual theologies based on a belief "in a Higher Power" but without the need for any human authority to act as God's muscle here on earth. We are far less religious these days, but far more spiritual.
This sounds suspiciously like every 12-Step Program I've ever heard of. The grandaddy of 12-Step programs, Alcoholics Anonymous, began in 1935 in Akron Ohio. One of it's founding tenets is the need for it's members to develop a belief in a "Power Greater than Ourselves"... leaving it up to the individual member to decide for him or herself exactly what that Power is.
This is very bad news for the RRR (radical religious right) aka "fundies" (fundamentalists) who would like to impose a born-again, literal fundamentalist theocracy on the nation; to outlaw abortion on demand (and, eventually, all contraception); to drive all LGBTQ people back into self-loathing closets and to "restore" our nation to it's pristine, newly-founded, condition. Which, by the way, never really existed.
Despite the outcome of Prop 8 in California last November, last Friday's unanimous vote by the Iowa Supreme Court and the outcome of the votes of the Vermont legislature and senate yesterday have triggered a seismic shift in America's thinking on the subject of gay rights in particular and fair play and full equality in general.
I believe that the culture war is over (or nearly so). The Right has lost (decisively).
Next subject?
===================================================
UPDATE!! Anti-Gay National Organization for Marriage Launches New Campaign in wake of recent events.
--- more update: it turns out they're all actors. somebody turned up the audition tapes and posted them on Youtube, too. Gee, you can't even trust Christianist Fundamentalists anymore.
As we all know, of course, there never was such a place. Rhode Island, the article points out, was founded by dissidents from all the other major religions as a place of safety from the tyranny of Massachusetts (Protestantism) and Maryland (Catholicism). We were always a mixed bag of beliefs (and non-beliefs). There is nothing new about that.
What is new, though, is that Americans are moving away from organized religions towards individual theologies based on a belief "in a Higher Power" but without the need for any human authority to act as God's muscle here on earth. We are far less religious these days, but far more spiritual.
This sounds suspiciously like every 12-Step Program I've ever heard of. The grandaddy of 12-Step programs, Alcoholics Anonymous, began in 1935 in Akron Ohio. One of it's founding tenets is the need for it's members to develop a belief in a "Power Greater than Ourselves"... leaving it up to the individual member to decide for him or herself exactly what that Power is.
This is very bad news for the RRR (radical religious right) aka "fundies" (fundamentalists) who would like to impose a born-again, literal fundamentalist theocracy on the nation; to outlaw abortion on demand (and, eventually, all contraception); to drive all LGBTQ people back into self-loathing closets and to "restore" our nation to it's pristine, newly-founded, condition. Which, by the way, never really existed.
Despite the outcome of Prop 8 in California last November, last Friday's unanimous vote by the Iowa Supreme Court and the outcome of the votes of the Vermont legislature and senate yesterday have triggered a seismic shift in America's thinking on the subject of gay rights in particular and fair play and full equality in general.
I believe that the culture war is over (or nearly so). The Right has lost (decisively).
Next subject?
===================================================
UPDATE!! Anti-Gay National Organization for Marriage Launches New Campaign in wake of recent events.
--- more update: it turns out they're all actors. somebody turned up the audition tapes and posted them on Youtube, too. Gee, you can't even trust Christianist Fundamentalists anymore.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Monday, April 06, 2009
Painful Truth
I hate admitting when I'm full of shit. Doesn't everybody? But there's no escaping it. I am.
I went to FARB's book-signing last week (see: "Famous Author Rob Byrne's" blog in my preferred reading list, below to the right). It was in a gay bar inHell's Kitchen Clinton, here in New York City. Ordinarily I don't go into gay bars because I'm in recovery and, as I often tell myself, I have "no business being someplace full of people who drink." That's one thing I tell myself. Another thing I've been telling myself for the past 11 years is that I'm not dating because I'm "afraid of repeating past mistakes" in terms of picking the wrong people to get involved with.
Lies. All self-deluded lies.
I realized, almost as soon as I arrived at the bar, that I was exceedingly uncomfortable. Not because other people were drinking and I wasn't, but rather because I was in a roomful of gay men, without the benefit of a 12-Step structure (i.e. a "group" or a "meeting") and I had nothing... absolutely nothing... to buffer me from the prospect of having a regular conversation with regular guys.
An "on-line" acquaintance of mine, a gay woman whose name is irrelevant here, walked in and I practically threw myself into her arms, I was so relieved that at last there was someone I could talk to without the added pressure of that person being a male.
Unfortunately, that didn't work out so well because, it turned out, she was there on a mission -- to check me out as possible dating material for another gay male friend of hers. I wanted to scream when she told me that.
As I was trying to find Rob to say my "goodbyes" for the evening he tried to introduce me to a couple of other friends of his, male of course, and by then the pain was so great I practically sprouted wings and flew down the steps and out the door. Talk about being "light in the loafers!"
Humor aside, the next few days have been painful. I am not the person I thought I was (I always thought of myself as Mr. Gregarious). Yet without the benefit of loud music, a dance floor, cigarettes and gallons of booze, I simply don't know how to act around gay men.
I've been sharing about this at all my 12-Step meetings since last Friday (including an LGBT meeting I attend in Pennsylvania on Saturday nights). I've been sharing about this with my sponsor, too. And with other members of my so-called "executive committee" of close recovery friends (all men, all straight, all married -- another friggin' clue that I might have "issues" with gay men).
Sigh. Yet more work to be done. I am a work in progress. And as we're fond of saying, it's Progress.... not Perfection.
I went to FARB's book-signing last week (see: "Famous Author Rob Byrne's" blog in my preferred reading list, below to the right). It was in a gay bar in
Lies. All self-deluded lies.
I realized, almost as soon as I arrived at the bar, that I was exceedingly uncomfortable. Not because other people were drinking and I wasn't, but rather because I was in a roomful of gay men, without the benefit of a 12-Step structure (i.e. a "group" or a "meeting") and I had nothing... absolutely nothing... to buffer me from the prospect of having a regular conversation with regular guys.
An "on-line" acquaintance of mine, a gay woman whose name is irrelevant here, walked in and I practically threw myself into her arms, I was so relieved that at last there was someone I could talk to without the added pressure of that person being a male.
Unfortunately, that didn't work out so well because, it turned out, she was there on a mission -- to check me out as possible dating material for another gay male friend of hers. I wanted to scream when she told me that.
As I was trying to find Rob to say my "goodbyes" for the evening he tried to introduce me to a couple of other friends of his, male of course, and by then the pain was so great I practically sprouted wings and flew down the steps and out the door. Talk about being "light in the loafers!"
Humor aside, the next few days have been painful. I am not the person I thought I was (I always thought of myself as Mr. Gregarious). Yet without the benefit of loud music, a dance floor, cigarettes and gallons of booze, I simply don't know how to act around gay men.
I've been sharing about this at all my 12-Step meetings since last Friday (including an LGBT meeting I attend in Pennsylvania on Saturday nights). I've been sharing about this with my sponsor, too. And with other members of my so-called "executive committee" of close recovery friends (all men, all straight, all married -- another friggin' clue that I might have "issues" with gay men).
Sigh. Yet more work to be done. I am a work in progress. And as we're fond of saying, it's Progress.... not Perfection.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Straight Lies
I don't know too many famous gay authors (I do know a couple of ostensibly straight ones), but I do know Rob Byrnes.
Well, he has a new book which was published this week. Here it is:
Tonight, April 2, is the launch party for his latest opus. It's being held at the Ritz Bar and Lounge, 369 West 46th Street, from 6:00 PM and 9:00 PM!
I intend to be there. If you're in the NYC metro area, you should be there, too.
Hell, you'll get to meet lots o' writers & bloggers and gawd only knows what else.
See ya there!
Well, he has a new book which was published this week. Here it is:
Tonight, April 2, is the launch party for his latest opus. It's being held at the Ritz Bar and Lounge, 369 West 46th Street, from 6:00 PM and 9:00 PM!
I intend to be there. If you're in the NYC metro area, you should be there, too.
Hell, you'll get to meet lots o' writers & bloggers and gawd only knows what else.
See ya there!
Monday, March 30, 2009
West Side Story - A Review
Background. I'm a show freak and mighty damned proud to admit it. I've seen everything, over the years. Twice (if not more). With one notable exception, that is. West Side Story. Music by Leonard Bernstein, lyrics by Steve Sondheim, book by Arthur Laurents. Choreographed and directed by Jerome Robbins (with the able assistance of Peter Gennaro).
It opened on Broadway in 1957 and was movied in 1960. Like many, I grew up knowing the show only on the basis of the movie. And although it was shot on the mean streets of upper Hell's Kitchen, on the very site where today's Lincoln Center stands, it was, well, it was a movie. I love movies. You can do things in movies which you can't do on stage (CGI). But the theater is my first love. It's real. Once that orchestra starts playing, come hell or high water, the SHOW MUST GO ON. And you've only got one chance to do it right ... for the audience that night. You can't beat the immediacy of it.
And so it was on Friday night. When they posted the opening notice last November I was all over the box-office website like a bird on a June bug, and booked two seats for the front mezzanine for last Friday. Not bad for a week after the opening.
How was it?
Indescribably wonderful. Artie Laurents (at 94, God bless him) did a great job of re-creating the show from memory.
The leads were adorable, able and sweetly (nearly) adolescent. Maria is beautifully played by Josefina Scaglione who is a 21 year old from Argentina where, apparently, she's enormously popular and operatically trained (it shows!). In addition to being quite beautiful, she was fragile, vulnerable and highly expressive. Matt Cavenaugh (Tony), is a ruggedly handsome young man who has got a phenomenal vocal range (it's a very tough role to sing -- Bernstein liked to murder his male ingenues voices), and he acquitted himself beautifully with a pure, sweet upper range, when required.
The other roles were handled with the sort of professionalism you'd expect from a Broadway show.
But the real hero of the evening, as far as I was concerned, was Joey McKneely, whom you've probably never heard of. Well, it was his job to do the nearly impossible, i.e. to recreate, as exactly as possible, Jerome Robbins' complicated choreography. And recreate it he does. Before this he did "The Boy from Oz", the story of Peter Allen which starred Hugh Jackman, a few years back. Somewhere along the way he had become friends with the late Jerome Robbins who, apparently, taught him all the dances.
Because everyone has heard about it, I want to talk a little about the infusion of Spanish into the show. Rest assured that it's not a distraction, it's an enhancement. We all know the songs inside and out, so that when Maria bursts into song with "Siento Hermosa!", we all know that her new-found love is making her feel as beautiful as our first made all of us feel. There is some Spanish in the dialog scenes, but you never have the sense of missing out on something. You always know what's going on.
I knew I was liking the show because my "butt alarm" didn't go off once during the nearly 3 hour long performance. I was transfixed, held, illuminated and entertained from beginning to end.
There was only a single sour note in the whole evening, and that didn't even occur on stage.
After the show, my friend and I waited outside the stage door to say "hi" to a friend of mine in the orchestra. As we waited patiently by the curb, the Co-chairman of Fox Films, Tom Rothman and his obnoxious clan, pushed me and my friend off the sidewalk into the busy street so that they could crowd around their lousy brat who, apparently, was one of the Jets.
Fans. Sheesh.
If you're planning on coming to NY, try (desperately) to get tickets to see "West Side Story". You won't regret it as long as you avoid the stage door after the show.
It opened on Broadway in 1957 and was movied in 1960. Like many, I grew up knowing the show only on the basis of the movie. And although it was shot on the mean streets of upper Hell's Kitchen, on the very site where today's Lincoln Center stands, it was, well, it was a movie. I love movies. You can do things in movies which you can't do on stage (CGI). But the theater is my first love. It's real. Once that orchestra starts playing, come hell or high water, the SHOW MUST GO ON. And you've only got one chance to do it right ... for the audience that night. You can't beat the immediacy of it.
And so it was on Friday night. When they posted the opening notice last November I was all over the box-office website like a bird on a June bug, and booked two seats for the front mezzanine for last Friday. Not bad for a week after the opening.
How was it?
Indescribably wonderful. Artie Laurents (at 94, God bless him) did a great job of re-creating the show from memory.
The leads were adorable, able and sweetly (nearly) adolescent. Maria is beautifully played by Josefina Scaglione who is a 21 year old from Argentina where, apparently, she's enormously popular and operatically trained (it shows!). In addition to being quite beautiful, she was fragile, vulnerable and highly expressive. Matt Cavenaugh (Tony), is a ruggedly handsome young man who has got a phenomenal vocal range (it's a very tough role to sing -- Bernstein liked to murder his male ingenues voices), and he acquitted himself beautifully with a pure, sweet upper range, when required.
The other roles were handled with the sort of professionalism you'd expect from a Broadway show.
But the real hero of the evening, as far as I was concerned, was Joey McKneely, whom you've probably never heard of. Well, it was his job to do the nearly impossible, i.e. to recreate, as exactly as possible, Jerome Robbins' complicated choreography. And recreate it he does. Before this he did "The Boy from Oz", the story of Peter Allen which starred Hugh Jackman, a few years back. Somewhere along the way he had become friends with the late Jerome Robbins who, apparently, taught him all the dances.
Because everyone has heard about it, I want to talk a little about the infusion of Spanish into the show. Rest assured that it's not a distraction, it's an enhancement. We all know the songs inside and out, so that when Maria bursts into song with "Siento Hermosa!", we all know that her new-found love is making her feel as beautiful as our first made all of us feel. There is some Spanish in the dialog scenes, but you never have the sense of missing out on something. You always know what's going on.
I knew I was liking the show because my "butt alarm" didn't go off once during the nearly 3 hour long performance. I was transfixed, held, illuminated and entertained from beginning to end.
There was only a single sour note in the whole evening, and that didn't even occur on stage.
After the show, my friend and I waited outside the stage door to say "hi" to a friend of mine in the orchestra. As we waited patiently by the curb, the Co-chairman of Fox Films, Tom Rothman and his obnoxious clan, pushed me and my friend off the sidewalk into the busy street so that they could crowd around their lousy brat who, apparently, was one of the Jets.
Fans. Sheesh.
If you're planning on coming to NY, try (desperately) to get tickets to see "West Side Story". You won't regret it as long as you avoid the stage door after the show.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Tonight, tonight....
won't be just any night, tonight I'm seeing "West Side Story" at the Palace theater on Broadway. (Friday, March 27, 2009)
Many years ago I heard the late, great, Jerry Orbach say, "the two most beautiful words in the English language are MUSICAL COMEDY". And the show he was in when he said it was, "42nd Street." Beside the point. He was absolutely right.
It is certainly the most vibrant art-form of the 20th century. Keep your painters and sculptors. Keep your depressing playwrights. Give me a composer, a score, a chorus, dancers and tons of giant production numbers, and I'll be happy.
I'll try to find time to do a full review over the weekend.
Friday, March 20, 2009
I'M CURED!!!!!
It's official, I'm cured! I took this on-line test, which proved it!
I would've taken the dating quiz but our office IT department is administered by the Department of Truth / Division of Big Brother and our blocking software tossed me out with the admonition that I was visiting A DATING SITE which, apparently, IT is against (as well they should be -- those nerds haven't had dates in years).
It's the first day of Spring, it's snowing in New York and it's Friday.
The weather can do whatever the f*ck it likes. Mother Nature cannot stop the calendar.
July will happen.
| Disorder | Rating |
| Paranoid Disorder: | Low |
| Schizoid Disorder: | Low |
| Schizotypal Disorder: | Low |
| Antisocial Disorder: | Low |
| Borderline Disorder: | Low |
| Histrionic Disorder: | Low |
| Narcissistic Disorder: | Low |
| Avoidant Disorder: | Low |
| Dependent Disorder: | Low |
| Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: | Low |
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! -- -- Personality Disorders -- | |
I would've taken the dating quiz but our office IT department is administered by the Department of Truth / Division of Big Brother and our blocking software tossed me out with the admonition that I was visiting A DATING SITE which, apparently, IT is against (as well they should be -- those nerds haven't had dates in years).
It's the first day of Spring, it's snowing in New York and it's Friday.
The weather can do whatever the f*ck it likes. Mother Nature cannot stop the calendar.
July will happen.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Greed is Good! Pot is Bad!!
Why are we beating up on this guy for smoking some weed:
When we SHOULD be taking this guy out into the middle of Fifth Avenue at 57th Street and beating the fucking shit out him for giving away $165 million taxpayer bucks to a BUNCH OF FUCKING LOSERS who ran AIG into near bankruptcy last year and who are now being rewarded with OUR money for it:
How infinite is the American capacity for forgiveness of bald-faced greed and for lack of forgiveness of so-called moral failings which 90% of us have made?
We're beyond hypocrisy -- we live in the fucking Twilight Zone.
When we SHOULD be taking this guy out into the middle of Fifth Avenue at 57th Street and beating the fucking shit out him for giving away $165 million taxpayer bucks to a BUNCH OF FUCKING LOSERS who ran AIG into near bankruptcy last year and who are now being rewarded with OUR money for it:
How infinite is the American capacity for forgiveness of bald-faced greed and for lack of forgiveness of so-called moral failings which 90% of us have made?
We're beyond hypocrisy -- we live in the fucking Twilight Zone.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Open Mike Wednesday
Well, not really. More like a hodge-podge Wednesday... only without mentions of Christianist shootouts or family killings, because they're actually pretty sad stories, when you think about it.
First up, we have this cute photo:
Just because I have a soft spot in my heart for heartless fat-cats everywhere. It started on Wall Street, back in the 80's (of course), but then my friend Jan started collecting real fat cats (of the variety in the picture above) and I started falling in love with them, and vice versa, as the years rolled by.
But my favorite story du jour concerns Senator David Vitter (remember the diaper-loving client of a DC Madam? Yup, the same). Apparently he went ape-shit at Dulles last week when a plane had the nerve to leave without him.
First off, I copied the story from Wonkette, with a pointer, at the end, to the original source of the story:
First up, we have this cute photo:
Just because I have a soft spot in my heart for heartless fat-cats everywhere. It started on Wall Street, back in the 80's (of course), but then my friend Jan started collecting real fat cats (of the variety in the picture above) and I started falling in love with them, and vice versa, as the years rolled by.
But my favorite story du jour concerns Senator David Vitter (remember the diaper-loving client of a DC Madam? Yup, the same). Apparently he went ape-shit at Dulles last week when a plane had the nerve to leave without him.
First off, I copied the story from Wonkette, with a pointer, at the end, to the original source of the story:
Hooker-using diaper fetishist Senator David Vitter freaked out at Dulles airport after he missed his flight back to New Orleans. He arrived at his gate to discover that doors had closed and he could not board his flight. A normal person would say, “Oh well, can you try to get me on the next flight then?” but Senator Vitter yelled about how he was a senator and therefore endowed with special powers of douchebaggery. Then he opened the security door, which set off an alarm, and the airline employee he’d been chewing out was all Hey man that is really not cool, and David Vitter ran off like a pussy while the employee looked for a security guard. What an awful human. [Raw Story]
Monday, March 09, 2009
Eleven Years
Yesterday was my 11th sobriety anniversary. In fact, it was exactly Sunday, March 8, 1998 that (so far) I had my last drink of alcohol.
In fact, that last drink was AFTER I'd gotten out of jail that morning. Yes. Jail. On a drunk-driving charge from Saturday night. I awoke that Sunday morning in a cell, my clothes piled neatly on the floor ourside of my cell... safely out of reach (lest I do something stupid, like fashion a noose from my trousers). It took most of the last $220 I had in my wallet to get out of jail that morning. I still had part of a 1.75 liter bottle of rotgut vodka back in my small room at my brother's house, where I'd spent the previous 3 months sleeping on a paper-thin mattress on the attic floor. I polished it off before I passed out for the last time. I hated myself and wished I were dead.
Two days later I attended my first 12-Step meeting, at 7:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning, March 10, 1998.
After that there were court dates, a loss of license for 6 months, fines, insurance surcharges, court-mandated attendance at something called IDRC (Intoxicated Driver Resource Center) and, finally, court-ordered attendance at 12-Step meetings for the next year.
By the time the court got around to that, though, I'd already been attending meetings for 3 months. In fact, I'd gotten my 90-Day pin the day before my first court appearance.
11 years later... during which there've been no police, no courts, no insurance surcharges and, most importantly of all, no court-mandated attendance at 12-Step meetings (I run to them of my own volition these days).
I've come to realize a lot of things in those 11 years. I've come to realize that there is a God and that I'm not him (or her). I've also come to believe that there is a plan, which is not my plan and that God, frankly, doesn't give a rat's ass about my opinions regarding that plan, but that my job is to show up for that plan and to do my best to implement that plan. It makes life so much easier when we stop trying to be God... and get rid of that massive chip on our shoulders because we are not God.
I have loving friends and family. For a long time I didn't. I like being around people today. For a long time I didn't.
I go to a Step meeting on Sunday mornings in the sleepy little town of Plainsboro, NJ (home of the non-existent Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital where House practices being a medical jerk). My sponsor goes to the meeting with me. It allows us to have some valuable "face-time" every week. He gave me my 11 year piece at the meeting yesterday.
I love my sponsor. He's my best friend. He puts up with a lot of crap and neediness from me. He thinks I'm a good friend, too. He's told me so. We're good for each other. He and his wife have taken good care of me over the years. They've been there for me with all my medical crap over the years. I would take bullets for them.
So today I start my 12th year of sobriety. I started it the same way I started my sobriety on a dismal, friendless and hopeless Sunday morning in 1998.
One Day at a Time.
In fact, that last drink was AFTER I'd gotten out of jail that morning. Yes. Jail. On a drunk-driving charge from Saturday night. I awoke that Sunday morning in a cell, my clothes piled neatly on the floor ourside of my cell... safely out of reach (lest I do something stupid, like fashion a noose from my trousers). It took most of the last $220 I had in my wallet to get out of jail that morning. I still had part of a 1.75 liter bottle of rotgut vodka back in my small room at my brother's house, where I'd spent the previous 3 months sleeping on a paper-thin mattress on the attic floor. I polished it off before I passed out for the last time. I hated myself and wished I were dead.
Two days later I attended my first 12-Step meeting, at 7:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning, March 10, 1998.
After that there were court dates, a loss of license for 6 months, fines, insurance surcharges, court-mandated attendance at something called IDRC (Intoxicated Driver Resource Center) and, finally, court-ordered attendance at 12-Step meetings for the next year.
By the time the court got around to that, though, I'd already been attending meetings for 3 months. In fact, I'd gotten my 90-Day pin the day before my first court appearance.
11 years later... during which there've been no police, no courts, no insurance surcharges and, most importantly of all, no court-mandated attendance at 12-Step meetings (I run to them of my own volition these days).
I've come to realize a lot of things in those 11 years. I've come to realize that there is a God and that I'm not him (or her). I've also come to believe that there is a plan, which is not my plan and that God, frankly, doesn't give a rat's ass about my opinions regarding that plan, but that my job is to show up for that plan and to do my best to implement that plan. It makes life so much easier when we stop trying to be God... and get rid of that massive chip on our shoulders because we are not God.
I have loving friends and family. For a long time I didn't. I like being around people today. For a long time I didn't.
I go to a Step meeting on Sunday mornings in the sleepy little town of Plainsboro, NJ (home of the non-existent Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital where House practices being a medical jerk). My sponsor goes to the meeting with me. It allows us to have some valuable "face-time" every week. He gave me my 11 year piece at the meeting yesterday.
I love my sponsor. He's my best friend. He puts up with a lot of crap and neediness from me. He thinks I'm a good friend, too. He's told me so. We're good for each other. He and his wife have taken good care of me over the years. They've been there for me with all my medical crap over the years. I would take bullets for them.
So today I start my 12th year of sobriety. I started it the same way I started my sobriety on a dismal, friendless and hopeless Sunday morning in 1998.
One Day at a Time.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Gay Marriage, Prop 8 and Voter Initiatives
The whole business with Proposition 8 in California, the original ruling, the 18,000 or so marriages, the voter initiative last November, the fallout from that, the whole debacle over Mormon involvement and, finally, yesterday's hearing in the California State Supreme Court led my friend Bev, over at FunnyTheWorld, to post about it today (SPOILER ALERT: She's frustrated), which prompted me to post a reply.
I hate to brag (shut up, Bev) but I will. It was so good (and to be honest Bev encouraged me to send it to the Court) that I decided to post it here.
What follows is a direct copy of my post:
"Well, here's my deal on all that Prop 8 stuff.
When I moved to Seattle, back in '76 and fresh out of college back here in the east, I was shocked (and that's not hyperbole, that's what I was) to find out that you good folks out west (Washington, Oregon, California and, probably, some other states as well) had this loose cannon thingie called "Voter Initiatives" which, basically, overrode the Federal Founders express desire to provide built-in protections for all minorities against the TYRANNY of the majority.
I figured it out in about five minutes.
[Furthermore,] over the ensuing 33 years I have yet to see any evidence that the voter initiative process is anything more (or less) than a loaded gun in the hands of overly-emotional 3 year olds. There are reasons it takes a 2/3 votes of both houses of Congress AND of all the states in order to modify our national constitution.
The Founders were not idiots. Lynch mobs, though, usually are."
---- nb: I later posted an addendum to that noting that I was wrong, that it takes 3/4's of the state legislatures to ratify a constitutional amendment.
I hate to brag (shut up, Bev) but I will. It was so good (and to be honest Bev encouraged me to send it to the Court) that I decided to post it here.
What follows is a direct copy of my post:
"Well, here's my deal on all that Prop 8 stuff.
When I moved to Seattle, back in '76 and fresh out of college back here in the east, I was shocked (and that's not hyperbole, that's what I was) to find out that you good folks out west (Washington, Oregon, California and, probably, some other states as well) had this loose cannon thingie called "Voter Initiatives" which, basically, overrode the Federal Founders express desire to provide built-in protections for all minorities against the TYRANNY of the majority.
I figured it out in about five minutes.
[Furthermore,] over the ensuing 33 years I have yet to see any evidence that the voter initiative process is anything more (or less) than a loaded gun in the hands of overly-emotional 3 year olds. There are reasons it takes a 2/3 votes of both houses of Congress AND of all the states in order to modify our national constitution.
The Founders were not idiots. Lynch mobs, though, usually are."
---- nb: I later posted an addendum to that noting that I was wrong, that it takes 3/4's of the state legislatures to ratify a constitutional amendment.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Rudderless
Addiction and lack of direction go hand in hand. It’s difficult to pinpoint just which one comes first. I generally opt for starting out life with a lack of direction, booze and drugs to follow (shortly).
I grew up surrounded by a bunch of aimless, drunken, souls whose main ambitions every week were to survive and then to get blasted on Saturday night.
Nobody ever sat me down and said, “What would you like to do?” Nobody ever showed that much interest in me. The general attitudes around my childhood home were a) that I was a burden for them to endure and b) that I was a handy weapon my mother could use against my father and c) that children should be seen and not heard. Nor did anyone try to give me a leg up on life by teaching me anything (worthwhile, or not). Frankly, they didn’t have very much to offer. I was a bright kid, who could’ve done a lot if I’d been given half a chance (or even some outside tutoring). Regrettably, I had to figure everything out for myself (becoming an autodidact) and it came as a rude shock when, in the middle of the 9th grade, I realized that I couldn’t teach myself algebra. I threw in the towel on education when I hit that brick wall. I barely managed to finish high school, despite the kindness and interest of a handful of teachers. I was too ashamed to ask any of them for help.
My primary responsibilities as a kid were a) to keep up appearances in Catholic (and later, public) school so that no attention would ever be drawn to what was actually happening in my house and b) to clean up after the alcohol-fueled messes.
Consequently, I’ve never aspired to be successful. I’ve never aspired to “having a career” or even having a job that I would be remotely interested in. If I mastered something, I got bored with it. If it was too hard (i.e., it took more than a week to learn) I quickly lost interest and tossed it aside.
The same went for people. Either I mastered them overnight, or they fell by the wayside.
And there were careers and relationships. To all outward appearances, both were lovely. But they weren't. They were empty shams.
Nothing fulfilled me. Nothing gave me a sense of being. I spent most of my life being a big, empty, nothing.
Only recently have I begun to realize that all those things I failed to get in childhood (including having decent role models for healthy relationships) I was now in an ideal position to give as a sober adult.
The rooms of 12-Step programs are full of needy people, who, like me, grew up empty, desperate for loving direction, kindly help and moral support. I had the opportunity to “be” the very thing I so desperately craved. I could be the loving father and mother to others that I never had for myself.
I had a chance, at long last, to be fulfilled.
======================================
p.s. I'm watching the live stream of the California Supreme Court hearing on the constitutionality of Prop 8. So far I'm having a hard time pinning down the court's attitude.
I grew up surrounded by a bunch of aimless, drunken, souls whose main ambitions every week were to survive and then to get blasted on Saturday night.
Nobody ever sat me down and said, “What would you like to do?” Nobody ever showed that much interest in me. The general attitudes around my childhood home were a) that I was a burden for them to endure and b) that I was a handy weapon my mother could use against my father and c) that children should be seen and not heard. Nor did anyone try to give me a leg up on life by teaching me anything (worthwhile, or not). Frankly, they didn’t have very much to offer. I was a bright kid, who could’ve done a lot if I’d been given half a chance (or even some outside tutoring). Regrettably, I had to figure everything out for myself (becoming an autodidact) and it came as a rude shock when, in the middle of the 9th grade, I realized that I couldn’t teach myself algebra. I threw in the towel on education when I hit that brick wall. I barely managed to finish high school, despite the kindness and interest of a handful of teachers. I was too ashamed to ask any of them for help.
My primary responsibilities as a kid were a) to keep up appearances in Catholic (and later, public) school so that no attention would ever be drawn to what was actually happening in my house and b) to clean up after the alcohol-fueled messes.
Consequently, I’ve never aspired to be successful. I’ve never aspired to “having a career” or even having a job that I would be remotely interested in. If I mastered something, I got bored with it. If it was too hard (i.e., it took more than a week to learn) I quickly lost interest and tossed it aside.
The same went for people. Either I mastered them overnight, or they fell by the wayside.
And there were careers and relationships. To all outward appearances, both were lovely. But they weren't. They were empty shams.
Nothing fulfilled me. Nothing gave me a sense of being. I spent most of my life being a big, empty, nothing.
Only recently have I begun to realize that all those things I failed to get in childhood (including having decent role models for healthy relationships) I was now in an ideal position to give as a sober adult.
The rooms of 12-Step programs are full of needy people, who, like me, grew up empty, desperate for loving direction, kindly help and moral support. I had the opportunity to “be” the very thing I so desperately craved. I could be the loving father and mother to others that I never had for myself.
I had a chance, at long last, to be fulfilled.
======================================
p.s. I'm watching the live stream of the California Supreme Court hearing on the constitutionality of Prop 8. So far I'm having a hard time pinning down the court's attitude.
Monday, March 02, 2009
But it's March fer cryin' out loud...
9:00 a.m., Monday, March 2, 2009. From my living room window. Click on the photo to "embiggen" it (which my friend Joe J. over at Joe.My.God likes to say.)
I woke up at 5:00 a.m., looked outside and said to myself, "ain't no way I'm truckin' into NYC today." Then I turned on the local news. The NYC schools are closed, and they never close the schools in New York. So it was bad. I went back to bed for another hour, got up and checked the weather again. Still snowing. I called the office and left a voicemail saying that I wouldn't be in today.
Then, of course, being the good little alkie that I am, I showered, shaved, dressed, went out and dug the car out and drove off to a 12-Step meeting that meets at 7:00 a.m., six days a week in the local Presbyterian Church. The diehards were all there. The amateurs always stay home.
They say we're going on daylight savings time this coming weekend and that Spring is merely 3 weeks off.
Somebody should tell Mother Nature that winter is over. Like She cares.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Reaganomics 101
In case you slept through last couple of semesters (29 years), let’s recap:
Reaganomics, also once known as “voodoo economics” (coined by Bush, Sr.) had its origins in two basic premises; lower taxes and a smaller government. We got one of those.
It was to be implemented by the then Director of the Office of Management and Budget, David Stockman (remember him?), who had to defend the concept to the Congress. Amongst other things he attended divinity school.
Notwithstanding all the fancy-schmancy, high-falootin’ terminology and pedigree of Reaganomics, it really boiled down to this:
With the Democrats you get “tax and spend” economics (not for the last 29 years).
With Reaganomics you get “borrow and spend” economics (the last 29 years).
So here’s a hot flash for all of you “Greed is Good” Reaganistas out there:
The fiscal chickens have come home to roost. By the thousands, by the millions, by the billions and by the trillions.
Citibank has been all but nationalized. Bank of America is about to have its underwear crawled through by the Feds and NY State in search of corporate mis and malfeasance. A handful, comparatively speaking, of ultra-rich motherfuckers, mostly Republican, have gotten even more ultra-rich (and became even bigger motherfuckers) at the expense of the vast majority of hard-working schlubby Americans, amongst whom I count myself.
We are in a period of profound economic depression, likely to last for a decade or so and, finally, there’s this:
We are trillions of dollars in debt to the Chinese, and not the “good” Chinese, either, but rather the bad Chinese. They all but own us and could send a bunch of lawyers over here to foreclose, if they had lawyers and laws.
This, then, is the legacy that we are leaving to our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. This, then, is the legacy of Ronald Reagan and Reaganomics.
Never vote for an actor for President. It’s bad enough voting for one as Governor of California.
Things are pretty bleak out there.
Reaganomics, also once known as “voodoo economics” (coined by Bush, Sr.) had its origins in two basic premises; lower taxes and a smaller government. We got one of those.
It was to be implemented by the then Director of the Office of Management and Budget, David Stockman (remember him?), who had to defend the concept to the Congress. Amongst other things he attended divinity school.
Notwithstanding all the fancy-schmancy, high-falootin’ terminology and pedigree of Reaganomics, it really boiled down to this:
With the Democrats you get “tax and spend” economics (not for the last 29 years).
With Reaganomics you get “borrow and spend” economics (the last 29 years).
So here’s a hot flash for all of you “Greed is Good” Reaganistas out there:
The fiscal chickens have come home to roost. By the thousands, by the millions, by the billions and by the trillions.
Citibank has been all but nationalized. Bank of America is about to have its underwear crawled through by the Feds and NY State in search of corporate mis and malfeasance. A handful, comparatively speaking, of ultra-rich motherfuckers, mostly Republican, have gotten even more ultra-rich (and became even bigger motherfuckers) at the expense of the vast majority of hard-working schlubby Americans, amongst whom I count myself.
We are in a period of profound economic depression, likely to last for a decade or so and, finally, there’s this:
We are trillions of dollars in debt to the Chinese, and not the “good” Chinese, either, but rather the bad Chinese. They all but own us and could send a bunch of lawyers over here to foreclose, if they had lawyers and laws.
This, then, is the legacy that we are leaving to our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. This, then, is the legacy of Ronald Reagan and Reaganomics.
Never vote for an actor for President. It’s bad enough voting for one as Governor of California.
Things are pretty bleak out there.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
And the Oscar Goes to...
I think it's fair to say that this was the year when the Oscar finally went to the Industry. The category? Queer History, of course, but also in the category of "Fuck the Base."
Lance Black's speech managed to sneak out onto the airwaves before the homophobic christianist parents of Amerika had time to switch their sets off and before their precious, innocent, 30 year old offspring heard the good news that it's "okay to be gay in God's eyes." That infuriated the Freepers. Heh.
Then came Sean's lovely speech. Which wasn't bad for a straight guy with a bad-boy reputation.
The internets are atwitter (and afacebooked) with apoplectic Westboro Baptist Wannabe's all bemoaning the end of civilization now that the Queers have hijacked Hollywood! (Who'll show up next? Teh Jews?)
Before the awards, I jabbed my friend Steve Schalchlin in the internetual ribs by stating that the Oscars were "not the gayest award night of the year", that, in fact, the annual Tony Award broadcast was far gayer.
Well, I stand corrected. This year's Oscar broadcast was screamingly, deliciously, fabulously Queer!
And now, the endless thanks.
Thanks to the gayest straight man in show biz.... Hugh Jackman!!!!
Thanks also to the music producer of the show. I was entranced by the lush, symphonic background music lifted straight out of the great movie scores of decades past, including pieces from "Lawrence of Arabia" and "The Magnificent Seven." Enthralling.
And finally, Oscar producers take note: next year's co-hosts should DEFINITELY be Steve Martin and Tina Fey and you're total idiots if you don't start planning for that right now.
The Tony's are gonna seem pretty tame this year... if, indeed, they even bother to have 'em.
Lance Black's speech managed to sneak out onto the airwaves before the homophobic christianist parents of Amerika had time to switch their sets off and before their precious, innocent, 30 year old offspring heard the good news that it's "okay to be gay in God's eyes." That infuriated the Freepers. Heh.
Then came Sean's lovely speech. Which wasn't bad for a straight guy with a bad-boy reputation.
The internets are atwitter (and afacebooked) with apoplectic Westboro Baptist Wannabe's all bemoaning the end of civilization now that the Queers have hijacked Hollywood! (Who'll show up next? Teh Jews?)
Before the awards, I jabbed my friend Steve Schalchlin in the internetual ribs by stating that the Oscars were "not the gayest award night of the year", that, in fact, the annual Tony Award broadcast was far gayer.
Well, I stand corrected. This year's Oscar broadcast was screamingly, deliciously, fabulously Queer!
And now, the endless thanks.
Thanks to the gayest straight man in show biz.... Hugh Jackman!!!!
Thanks also to the music producer of the show. I was entranced by the lush, symphonic background music lifted straight out of the great movie scores of decades past, including pieces from "Lawrence of Arabia" and "The Magnificent Seven." Enthralling.
And finally, Oscar producers take note: next year's co-hosts should DEFINITELY be Steve Martin and Tina Fey and you're total idiots if you don't start planning for that right now.
The Tony's are gonna seem pretty tame this year... if, indeed, they even bother to have 'em.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Gay News Thursday
But first, a quick follow-up to yesterday's post. My 12-Step recovery home group gave me what I'd been looking for my entire life. To wit, a group of loving adults who may not have always had the right answer, but their hearts were always in the right place, who cared for and fretted over me when I was barely capable of taking care of myself. From them I learned how to be a grown-up, how to face my fears, how to accept the unchangeable past and how to move past it. From them I learned to be responsible for my own failures (and successes), and to stop trying to fix blame (and credit) somewhere else.
In short, they are the loving parents I always knew I was missing as a child. And it is that abundance of unconditional love I received from them which it's my duty to pass along to the "youngsters" I come across in recovery.
And that is how it works.
Moving right along....
My buddy Jake over at NoFo wrote a letter responding to a sort of op-ed essay that appeared in the February 9th Newsweek by an evangelical Christian named Robert Mouw who defended his vote in favor of Prop 8 in California last November. The piece, as you might expect, is full of self-pity and outright lies. Jake takes Mouw apart in his response. Needless to say, Newsweek (wimps that they are), didn't run it, but Jake has posted most of it (along with parts of Mouw's original essay) HERE.
In other gay news, in case you didn't know it (or else forgot), it's Oscar weekend. The weekend begins with the Independent Spirit Awards live from a circus tent on the beach in Santa Monica or Venice or someplace -- with lots of drunk movie stars, wannabes, moochers and hangers-on. the Indies'll be broadcast Saturday on IFC (live) at 5:00 p.m. ET / 2:00 p.m. PT and again that night on AMC (edited) starting at 10:00 p.m. ET & PT.
Sunday, of course, is the most sacred night of the year for Hollywood. It's Oscar night. And this years guest host is (be still my beating, girlish, heart) HUGH JACKMAN (SCREECHING)!!!!!!
I'd pay good money just to watch the man disrobe. And have. I saw "The Boy From Oz" on B'way a couple of years back. Hugh's not only hunky, but the boy can sing and dance, too. A fact which the viewing public will find out for themselves on Sunday night, when they get a load of the big opening number starring Hugh and being staged by his fellow Aussie, the new King of Movie Musicals, Baz Luhrmann.
I suspect that most of the fanboys of Wolverine and X-Men out there will be losing their shit when they see all 6 feet 4 inches of HJ strutting his shit all over the stage of the Kodak Theater in a great, big musical tribute to Gawd-Only-Knows-What.
So, if you're in the mood to recharge your gay batteries, go read Jake's piece to get your self-righteous self all fired up (and then DO something about it, fer Chrissakes), then be sure to tune in this weekend for hour upon hour of pure Gollywood Fun & Glam!
p.s. I'm posting this a little early to give you time to run out and see both "Slumdog Millionaire" and "The Reader" tomorrow because, if you don't, you're gonna feel like a fool come Sunday evening.
In short, they are the loving parents I always knew I was missing as a child. And it is that abundance of unconditional love I received from them which it's my duty to pass along to the "youngsters" I come across in recovery.
And that is how it works.
Moving right along....
My buddy Jake over at NoFo wrote a letter responding to a sort of op-ed essay that appeared in the February 9th Newsweek by an evangelical Christian named Robert Mouw who defended his vote in favor of Prop 8 in California last November. The piece, as you might expect, is full of self-pity and outright lies. Jake takes Mouw apart in his response. Needless to say, Newsweek (wimps that they are), didn't run it, but Jake has posted most of it (along with parts of Mouw's original essay) HERE.
In other gay news, in case you didn't know it (or else forgot), it's Oscar weekend. The weekend begins with the Independent Spirit Awards live from a circus tent on the beach in Santa Monica or Venice or someplace -- with lots of drunk movie stars, wannabes, moochers and hangers-on. the Indies'll be broadcast Saturday on IFC (live) at 5:00 p.m. ET / 2:00 p.m. PT and again that night on AMC (edited) starting at 10:00 p.m. ET & PT.
Sunday, of course, is the most sacred night of the year for Hollywood. It's Oscar night. And this years guest host is (be still my beating, girlish, heart) HUGH JACKMAN (SCREECHING)!!!!!!
I'd pay good money just to watch the man disrobe. And have. I saw "The Boy From Oz" on B'way a couple of years back. Hugh's not only hunky, but the boy can sing and dance, too. A fact which the viewing public will find out for themselves on Sunday night, when they get a load of the big opening number starring Hugh and being staged by his fellow Aussie, the new King of Movie Musicals, Baz Luhrmann.
I suspect that most of the fanboys of Wolverine and X-Men out there will be losing their shit when they see all 6 feet 4 inches of HJ strutting his shit all over the stage of the Kodak Theater in a great, big musical tribute to Gawd-Only-Knows-What.
So, if you're in the mood to recharge your gay batteries, go read Jake's piece to get your self-righteous self all fired up (and then DO something about it, fer Chrissakes), then be sure to tune in this weekend for hour upon hour of pure Gollywood Fun & Glam!
p.s. I'm posting this a little early to give you time to run out and see both "Slumdog Millionaire" and "The Reader" tomorrow because, if you don't, you're gonna feel like a fool come Sunday evening.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
My Sober Job.
The title is an inside-joke for those in recovery. It refers to the certain knowledge amongst recovering drunks and druggies that "God is our employer" and that He has only one job for us which is "to stay sober and to help another alcoholic to achieve sobriety."
Accepting that as a given, our real job then becomes that of trying to find the best way to fulfill God's intention for us, given our own individual talents... and limitations.
I'll tell you why this has been on my mind. This past weekend I was at a LGBT 12-Step Roundup in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. Roundups are weekend long (generally) events wherein hundreds of recovering lesbian, gay, bi and transgendered folks get together for workshops and for a lot of sober socializing and fun. This year a friend from my Friday night 12-Step group decided to tag along. He has about 4 years of sobriety. As the weekend progressed it became increasingly clear that he had a very hard time socializing with other people there. Every time I'd turn around, there he'd be, either directly at my back or elbow, just this short of being stuck up my ass like a clingy, needy, bashful, socially-inept 4 year old... or else he'd be way off in a corner, all by himself, looking lost and forlorn.
It started to really annoy me that he wouldn't "play well with others." I kept saying things to him like, "Would you like Daddy to arrange a play-date for you?"
Eventually it became clear that that's exactly what he was hoping daddy would do.
My whole childhood was one spent hoping and praying that one day my own (real) daddy would finally come along and rescue me from the clutches of the Evil Queen (my alcoholic mother). He never did show up and by the time I got to know him, as an adult, I realized that even if he had shown up, he wouldn't have been much of a prize for, it turned out, that my Prince Charming had issues of his own.
So, in light of my experience with my friend over the weekend, and based on my own past experience, it slowly started to dawn on me this week that maybe my role in sobriety is supposed to be that of a sober father-figure. That lacking any childhood father-figure of my own, I was perfectly free to create myself as the sort of father I'd always wished I'd had when I was a kid. And that I could share that "uber-papa personna" I'd create with other men in recovery who were desperately seeking a daddy, too.
As much as it annoys me (and let's face it, God's will is almost always annoying), maybe it's time for me to start paying attention to what my real job is in life.
Sigh.
p.s. I'm aware of the high degree of codependency this could lead one into. Still, it does make a weird sort of sense to me.
Accepting that as a given, our real job then becomes that of trying to find the best way to fulfill God's intention for us, given our own individual talents... and limitations.
I'll tell you why this has been on my mind. This past weekend I was at a LGBT 12-Step Roundup in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. Roundups are weekend long (generally) events wherein hundreds of recovering lesbian, gay, bi and transgendered folks get together for workshops and for a lot of sober socializing and fun. This year a friend from my Friday night 12-Step group decided to tag along. He has about 4 years of sobriety. As the weekend progressed it became increasingly clear that he had a very hard time socializing with other people there. Every time I'd turn around, there he'd be, either directly at my back or elbow, just this short of being stuck up my ass like a clingy, needy, bashful, socially-inept 4 year old... or else he'd be way off in a corner, all by himself, looking lost and forlorn.
It started to really annoy me that he wouldn't "play well with others." I kept saying things to him like, "Would you like Daddy to arrange a play-date for you?"
Eventually it became clear that that's exactly what he was hoping daddy would do.
My whole childhood was one spent hoping and praying that one day my own (real) daddy would finally come along and rescue me from the clutches of the Evil Queen (my alcoholic mother). He never did show up and by the time I got to know him, as an adult, I realized that even if he had shown up, he wouldn't have been much of a prize for, it turned out, that my Prince Charming had issues of his own.
So, in light of my experience with my friend over the weekend, and based on my own past experience, it slowly started to dawn on me this week that maybe my role in sobriety is supposed to be that of a sober father-figure. That lacking any childhood father-figure of my own, I was perfectly free to create myself as the sort of father I'd always wished I'd had when I was a kid. And that I could share that "uber-papa personna" I'd create with other men in recovery who were desperately seeking a daddy, too.
As much as it annoys me (and let's face it, God's will is almost always annoying), maybe it's time for me to start paying attention to what my real job is in life.
Sigh.
p.s. I'm aware of the high degree of codependency this could lead one into. Still, it does make a weird sort of sense to me.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
The Third Story
Charles Busch's new play, "The Third Story", opened last night. Here is the poster for the show:
That's Charles over there on the right, brandishing the gun. Yes, he's in drag. Great drag. Drag that would make Barbara Stanwyck proud. Drag that would make Bette Davis eat her frickin' heart out.
My college roomie and I saw the play on Saturday. I thought it was wonderful. Ben Brantley, in today's NYTimes, didn't quite agree with me. He thought Mr. Busch's co-star, Kathleen Turner:
didn't have enough to do. "Hey", I said to myself when I read that, "She's an old broad. What the frig did he expect her to do? Cartwheels, ferchrissakes?" He also bitched that it was overwritten and could use some judicious weed-whacking.
Okay, so it's a couple of movies within a play. It's complicated. It's fun. If you can't keep up, stay the frig outta the theater. TV is for the brain-dead. Theater is for those of us with a few brain cells left.
The cast is terrific. The audience obviously adored Kathleen and Charles (myself included). And unlike at those overpriced Disney-fied productions you see uptown, the audience did NOT instantly leap to it's feet upon the final curtain to lavish unwarranted praise upon a bunch of class-B performers in a class-C production. The audience I saw it with applauded (and "bravaed") lustily, but respectfully kept it's seats until the cast had left the stage.
It's playing at the Lucille Lortel Theater, down on Christopher Street (deep in the heart of Greenwich Village). If you're in town and looking for a fun way to spend a couple of hours for about sixty bucks, go see it.
And if, like me, you're of a "certain age" it will undoubtedly stir up memories of your childhood, which you spent hiding out on Saturdays in movie palaces of yore, while golden goddesses of the silver screen stirred your fevered imaginations and who, decades later, still make us feel all warm and cozy inside. Even while brandishing a gun.
That's Charles over there on the right, brandishing the gun. Yes, he's in drag. Great drag. Drag that would make Barbara Stanwyck proud. Drag that would make Bette Davis eat her frickin' heart out.
My college roomie and I saw the play on Saturday. I thought it was wonderful. Ben Brantley, in today's NYTimes, didn't quite agree with me. He thought Mr. Busch's co-star, Kathleen Turner:
didn't have enough to do. "Hey", I said to myself when I read that, "She's an old broad. What the frig did he expect her to do? Cartwheels, ferchrissakes?" He also bitched that it was overwritten and could use some judicious weed-whacking.
Okay, so it's a couple of movies within a play. It's complicated. It's fun. If you can't keep up, stay the frig outta the theater. TV is for the brain-dead. Theater is for those of us with a few brain cells left.
The cast is terrific. The audience obviously adored Kathleen and Charles (myself included). And unlike at those overpriced Disney-fied productions you see uptown, the audience did NOT instantly leap to it's feet upon the final curtain to lavish unwarranted praise upon a bunch of class-B performers in a class-C production. The audience I saw it with applauded (and "bravaed") lustily, but respectfully kept it's seats until the cast had left the stage.
It's playing at the Lucille Lortel Theater, down on Christopher Street (deep in the heart of Greenwich Village). If you're in town and looking for a fun way to spend a couple of hours for about sixty bucks, go see it.
And if, like me, you're of a "certain age" it will undoubtedly stir up memories of your childhood, which you spent hiding out on Saturdays in movie palaces of yore, while golden goddesses of the silver screen stirred your fevered imaginations and who, decades later, still make us feel all warm and cozy inside. Even while brandishing a gun.
Friday, January 30, 2009
TiVo
The guys from Verizon showed up on Wednesday morning to install the Super-Secret Decoder Cards in my new TiVo.
Thank God one of them had actually "seen" a TiVo before Wednesday. Between the 2 of them it took less than 2 hours to do what a qualified technician should've been able to do in 1 hour. This is known as "job security." In all fairness to them, they are "phone company" employees which, in the past, meant hours of boredom hanging off of telephone poles, or down in freezing cold manholes, splicing miles of copper cable together in order to form "The Bell System." These days, though, it's just as likely to mean "the cable company" or "the computer guys." They don't know what the hell their job descriptions are any more. I feel for them.
This is what my TiVo looks like from the front:
This is what it does: It's a digital video recorder. It has an onscreen program guide that puts Verizon's to shame. All you have to do is "point and click" to record any show on the schedule. You can even tell it to record an entire season for you with just a few clicks. It holds up to 180 hours of regular programming (or 20 hours of HD programming). I can stick another (external) hard drive on the thing to up the recordable ante to nearly 200 hours of HD programming and nearly 1,000 hours of regular.
It does all kinds of other "tricks" with time and space (it's nearly as good as an episode of "Lost"). My favorite trick so far is, if I'm watching a show in "real time" and the phone rings all I have to do is hit the "Pause" button on the remote. The picture will instantly freeze. I take the call and after I hang up, 20 minutes later, hit the "Play" button and it will continue playing, as though I had been playing back a tape or a DVD.
It also learns and makes suggestions about things I might enjoy based on my past viewing patterns. This is both good news and bad news.
I am very excited about my TiVo. I'll be even more excited when the TiVo company issues me a refund for the defective unit they originally sold me.
Meanwhile, though, I'm a happy camper.
p.s.
Tomorrow I'm seeing the new Charles Busch play "The Third Story" also starring Kathleen Turner ("Body Heat", "War of the Roses", voice of Jessica Rabbit in "Who Killed Roger Rabbit?")
Full review to follow.
Thank God one of them had actually "seen" a TiVo before Wednesday. Between the 2 of them it took less than 2 hours to do what a qualified technician should've been able to do in 1 hour. This is known as "job security." In all fairness to them, they are "phone company" employees which, in the past, meant hours of boredom hanging off of telephone poles, or down in freezing cold manholes, splicing miles of copper cable together in order to form "The Bell System." These days, though, it's just as likely to mean "the cable company" or "the computer guys." They don't know what the hell their job descriptions are any more. I feel for them.
This is what my TiVo looks like from the front:
This is what it does: It's a digital video recorder. It has an onscreen program guide that puts Verizon's to shame. All you have to do is "point and click" to record any show on the schedule. You can even tell it to record an entire season for you with just a few clicks. It holds up to 180 hours of regular programming (or 20 hours of HD programming). I can stick another (external) hard drive on the thing to up the recordable ante to nearly 200 hours of HD programming and nearly 1,000 hours of regular.
It does all kinds of other "tricks" with time and space (it's nearly as good as an episode of "Lost"). My favorite trick so far is, if I'm watching a show in "real time" and the phone rings all I have to do is hit the "Pause" button on the remote. The picture will instantly freeze. I take the call and after I hang up, 20 minutes later, hit the "Play" button and it will continue playing, as though I had been playing back a tape or a DVD.
It also learns and makes suggestions about things I might enjoy based on my past viewing patterns. This is both good news and bad news.
I am very excited about my TiVo. I'll be even more excited when the TiVo company issues me a refund for the defective unit they originally sold me.
Meanwhile, though, I'm a happy camper.
p.s.
Tomorrow I'm seeing the new Charles Busch play "The Third Story" also starring Kathleen Turner ("Body Heat", "War of the Roses", voice of Jessica Rabbit in "Who Killed Roger Rabbit?")
Full review to follow.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Ted Haggard on Oprah and HBO!
Here's a nice photo of Oprah and her boyfriend, Stedman Graham (wink, wink).
And speaking of closet cases and their beards, guess who's gonna be on Oprah tomorrow???!!!!
OMFG, YOU'RE LIKE TOTALLY RIGHT!!!!
[REUTERS/Phil McCarten (UNITED STATES)]
Ted Haggard and his long-suffering and even longer-lied-to wife!!!!! That's who!!!! Can you believe it??!! And can you stand the absolute symmetry of it?
I know I can't. And what pure dumb luck on my part. I've already put in for the day off (to spend the day waiting to get the frickin' TiVo set up by Verizon), so I'll be, like, totally able to watch thelyin' sack of shit show!
I'm so excited, I THINK I JUST WET MYSELF!!!
Needless to say, I can hardly wait to see this AND the new Alexandra Pelosi biotrashing of Ted, "The Trials of Ted Haggard", coming up on HBO starting this Thursday, January 29, 2009 at 8:00 p.m. (EST).
There's nothing I enjoy more than watching some fag-bashing, self-loathing, closet-case, piece of crap get what's coming to him on national tv. And this week, I hit the jackpot!
And speaking of closet cases and their beards, guess who's gonna be on Oprah tomorrow???!!!!
OMFG, YOU'RE LIKE TOTALLY RIGHT!!!!
[REUTERS/Phil McCarten (UNITED STATES)]
Ted Haggard and his long-suffering and even longer-lied-to wife!!!!! That's who!!!! Can you believe it??!! And can you stand the absolute symmetry of it?
I know I can't. And what pure dumb luck on my part. I've already put in for the day off (to spend the day waiting to get the frickin' TiVo set up by Verizon), so I'll be, like, totally able to watch the
I'm so excited, I THINK I JUST WET MYSELF!!!
Needless to say, I can hardly wait to see this AND the new Alexandra Pelosi biotrashing of Ted, "The Trials of Ted Haggard", coming up on HBO starting this Thursday, January 29, 2009 at 8:00 p.m. (EST).
There's nothing I enjoy more than watching some fag-bashing, self-loathing, closet-case, piece of crap get what's coming to him on national tv. And this week, I hit the jackpot!
Monday, January 26, 2009
Gay Kultcha
I spotted this over at JoeMyGod's website today and decided to poach post it here.
This guy is terrific. His name is Matt Alber. He used to sing with "Chanticleer." Apparently this video has been playing on Logo for a couple of weeks now. It's entitled "End of the World" and by the end of the song I think you'll be in love with Matt, too. Or, at least, the song.
Enjoy.
This guy is terrific. His name is Matt Alber. He used to sing with "Chanticleer." Apparently this video has been playing on Logo for a couple of weeks now. It's entitled "End of the World" and by the end of the song I think you'll be in love with Matt, too. Or, at least, the song.
Enjoy.
Friday, January 23, 2009
St. Francis Bites the Dust
Nothing sucks the fun out of life faster, or more efficiently, than a well-placed article in l'Osservatore Romano, the official newspaper of the Vatican. Today is no exception.
It turns out that the St. Francis Prayer:
Lord, make me a channel of thy peace;
that where there is hatred, I may bring love;
that where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;
that where there is discord, I may bring harmony;
that where there is error, I may bring truth;
that where there is doubt, I may bring faith;
that where there is despair, I may bring hope;
that where there are shadows, I may bring light;
that where there is sadness, I may bring joy.
Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted;
to understand, than to be understood;
to love, than to be loved.
For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.
It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.
It is by dying that one awakens to eternal life.
Amen.
is a fraud. Remember when they announced that St. Christopher was a fraud, too? You gotta love Catholicism whose motto seems to be "Believe what we tell you or you will spend eternity in hell!!!!! Until we tell you otherwise, after which all bets are off." Oh, and by the way Galileo, we were wrong. SOOORRRYYYYY!!!.
With such a laissez-faire attitude, it's a wonder anyone bothers to believe anything the Church tells us when it'll all be repealed in a couple of hundred years with a shrug of the shoulders and a big, "Oh well, shit happens!" from whoever happens to be in charge then.
This is one case, however, where I don't really care that the prayer ascribed to Francis of Assisi wasn't actually written by him.
And the reason for that is that it's a wonderful prayer. No matter who uttered it first.
In my particular 12-Step Program, an essay on our 11th Step quotes the entire prayer. The 11th Step, for the uninitiated, states that we will "Try through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understand Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out." It's a pretty tall order. And it's just about the only way we recovering drunks can stay sober.
This prayer has helped millions of recovering drunks to stay focused on the most important things in our lives, i.e. our need to be spiritually dependent upon a power greater than ourselves and the importance of reaching out to help other recovering alcholics as a way of avoiding self-centeredness. For it is by "self-forgetting" that one finds.
Hey! It's working for me. Unlike religion.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The Homosexual Agenda
Is now published on the White House website! You can read it here:
And even after the fuckups regarding Rick Warren and Gene Robinson, I have to hope that there are, at least, some good intentions towards the LGBT community by the new administration. Provided, of course, that they don't pull a Clinton on us and throw us under the first bus that comes along.
Only time will tell --- and I am willing to give the new President time. After all, we gave Dubya eight years to royally fuck things up, didn't we?
Peace.
Monday, January 19, 2009
My Long National Nightmare is Finally Over
When I started this blog my little "Backward Bush" clock at the bottom indicated that we still had over 700 (more) days of Bush as President.
Now that clock has run out and I have removed the computer code that kept it in place for well over two years. Tomorrow (as of this writing), in accordance with the dictates of our Constitution, President Obama will take the oath of office at exactly noon as our 44th President of these United States. And whatshisname will fade, quickly I hope, into well-deserved oblivion.
I feel like I can finally breath for the first time in many years. And for that, I am truly grateful and thank God!
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
HELP!!!!
Should I buy the above-referenced gizmo? They want nearly $650.00 (including tax) for it. That's with a "lifetime subscription" to the updating service which, apparently, is indispensible if you're going to get the gadget to begin with.
Oh, it's a High-Definition TiVo (20 hrs. of hd or 180 hrs of regular tv).
All this just so I can watch the upcoming season of "Lost" within 48 hours of the broadcast. That's not completely true, there might be one or two other shows I'd "time shift" with it.
I'm only thinking about this because a) my 20 year old Panasonic S-VHS recorder (which cost a grand when IT was new) finally died a horrible death and b) I'm pretty certain there's no point in investing any more money in VHS technology.
So, what do you folks think? Blow the big $$$$'s and finally get with the 21st Century program here... or continue to be my old, Luddite self, trudging along the canal paths of 17th century technology?
I await YOUR decision.
Thank yew.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Memory Lane (ROM, RAM & HD)
Something popped into my head today. A fond memory of my first personal computer, purchased at the expense of a big-assed Wall Street brokerage house, for a whopping $6,000.00. I was told by the head of the equities trading department, whose approval was needed for the purchase, to hide the PC "under" my desk. Reason? So that visiting clients wouldn't think that we were "using video games to make investment decisions." I kid you not. That's what he told me.
Anyway, it was an IBM PC-XT. It came with 256kbytes of RAM and a 5Mbyte hard drive. Yeah, I know. Laughable. Mine had a color monitor, unlike the one shown below:
I wasn't the only PC "guru" on the trading floor, however. I had a counterpart who worked on the Risk Arbitrage Desk, a PhD from Cambridge University in England who happened to have a pirated version of a game called:
I loved Digger. I would spend hours ostensibly working but actually playing Digger. If anyone asked what I was doing my stock response was "Solving a programming problem" and that would shut them up.
In time the hardware outstripped the ability of Digger to keep up with it. By the time we graduated from a PC-AT (8Mhz) to a Compaq 386/16 (16Mhz), the game became impossible to play due to the zippier performance speed of the CPU (is this byte-head enough for you?).
I never got into any other "arcade" pc games the way I had with Digger. Some of the happiest moments of my life were spent zoning out (checking out) with Digger.
It didn't help matters that the musical background that accompanied the game was a famous song from the early 80's, "Popcorn." Click on it, below.
Anyway, it was an IBM PC-XT. It came with 256kbytes of RAM and a 5Mbyte hard drive. Yeah, I know. Laughable. Mine had a color monitor, unlike the one shown below:
I wasn't the only PC "guru" on the trading floor, however. I had a counterpart who worked on the Risk Arbitrage Desk, a PhD from Cambridge University in England who happened to have a pirated version of a game called:
I loved Digger. I would spend hours ostensibly working but actually playing Digger. If anyone asked what I was doing my stock response was "Solving a programming problem" and that would shut them up.
In time the hardware outstripped the ability of Digger to keep up with it. By the time we graduated from a PC-AT (8Mhz) to a Compaq 386/16 (16Mhz), the game became impossible to play due to the zippier performance speed of the CPU (is this byte-head enough for you?).
I never got into any other "arcade" pc games the way I had with Digger. Some of the happiest moments of my life were spent zoning out (checking out) with Digger.
It didn't help matters that the musical background that accompanied the game was a famous song from the early 80's, "Popcorn." Click on it, below.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Christianist Hypocrite Asks for Tolerance
Some guy named Jordan Lorance, senior legal counsel for the Alliance Defense Fund, a nonprofit organization of Christian attorneys, has an editorial over on CNN arguing in favor of "tolerance" towards Rick Warren and his appearance on the podium during President-elect Obama's inauguration. Read it by clicking HERE.
He is, of course, incensed, that "we" aren't practicing the same sort of tolerance we are demanding (meaning, of course, that we aren't entitled to tolerance unless we're willing to give it and, therefore, they are justified in denying us tolerance because we're so intolerant --- capeesh?)
He waves the usual flags of America, marriage, motherhood, tradition, bullshit, etc.
And, as usual, I have one question for Mr. Lorance. Where are the n-word-hating cross-burners on the podium? (his answer: "it's not the same." my answer: "yes, it is.")
We will never have peace in the Middle East because both sides intractably hate each other -- for reasons that have nothing to do with anything other than religious beliefs because they are, undeniably, first cousins in all other respects. And they know this but neither side wants to be the first to "drop the rocks" of hatred towards each other because in their society that would be seen as a sign of weakness.
I think it's pretty clear that religious testosterone is behind our problems here, too.
He is, of course, incensed, that "we" aren't practicing the same sort of tolerance we are demanding (meaning, of course, that we aren't entitled to tolerance unless we're willing to give it and, therefore, they are justified in denying us tolerance because we're so intolerant --- capeesh?)
He waves the usual flags of America, marriage, motherhood, tradition, bullshit, etc.
And, as usual, I have one question for Mr. Lorance. Where are the n-word-hating cross-burners on the podium? (his answer: "it's not the same." my answer: "yes, it is.")
We will never have peace in the Middle East because both sides intractably hate each other -- for reasons that have nothing to do with anything other than religious beliefs because they are, undeniably, first cousins in all other respects. And they know this but neither side wants to be the first to "drop the rocks" of hatred towards each other because in their society that would be seen as a sign of weakness.
I think it's pretty clear that religious testosterone is behind our problems here, too.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Goodbye 2008
I started out 2008 looking somewhat like this:
and finished up 2008 looking a lot like this:
It hasn't been easy. Along the way there were numerous doctors appointments, dangerous surgery, support groups (other than 12-Step) and a lot of trial and error experiments with food, many of which ended in vomiting.
But I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Look, I've had a lot of medical challenges in recovery. Every thing from quadruple bypass surgery to this, gastric bypass surgery.
And this is the only one which, I feel, was truly life-altering.
I won't miss 2008. I'm hoping to use my vacation time in 2009 for actual vacations, rather than recuperating from surgery.
Here's to 2009. May it be a blessed, peaceful, calm, healthy and serene year for us all.
Peace.
-JoyZeeBoy
and finished up 2008 looking a lot like this:
It hasn't been easy. Along the way there were numerous doctors appointments, dangerous surgery, support groups (other than 12-Step) and a lot of trial and error experiments with food, many of which ended in vomiting.
But I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Look, I've had a lot of medical challenges in recovery. Every thing from quadruple bypass surgery to this, gastric bypass surgery.
And this is the only one which, I feel, was truly life-altering.
I won't miss 2008. I'm hoping to use my vacation time in 2009 for actual vacations, rather than recuperating from surgery.
Here's to 2009. May it be a blessed, peaceful, calm, healthy and serene year for us all.
Peace.
-JoyZeeBoy
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