Hello Pot, I'm Kettle

from the New York Times:

"A long-running effort by the Bush administration to send home many of the terror suspects held at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, has been stymied in part because of concern among United States officials that the prisoners may not be treated humanely by their own governments, officials said."

Are you kidding me with this? Illegally detained with no legal representation, interrogated with questionable tactics, likely physically abused, reclassified from prisoner of war to enemy combatant to tiptoe around the Geneva Convention, and now once determined to have no more "intelligence value" you're concerned that their home country will treat them unfairly?

US Says it Fears Detainee Abuse in Repatriation (NYT)

Countdown to the Gay Games - Memories

Week 6

A friend of mine sent this to me. It is the contents of an email that I sent to him after running my first marathon describing my experience and ultimately what the marathon meant. I can't believe that he saved it all this time. Enjoy.

Not too long ago I ran a marathon. It was 26.2 miles. I spent the last half, thirteen miles, alone amidst a crowd of people. Only my thoughts were with me -thoughts of where I had come from, where I was going and what running 26.2 miles really meant in my life. Four months prior to that day, I embarked on a training program for the marathon. I had no real idea of what I was getting myself into with the exception that I tried the same program six months earlier and failed after a few short weeks. I didn't understand why I was doing it or what 26.2 miles could mean. Sure I told everybody that I was running because I wanted a physical challenge. I never saw myself as a very physical person though I spent alot of money on how my outer person looked. In the initial weeks, I went to the gym and ran on the treadmill. It was the only way that I could be sure that I was maintaining a constant pace and that I would run the number of miles I was supposed to run that day, no less and certainly no more. Running that distance was important to get past that day and had very little to do with the larger picture.

After a while, I could no longer run in the gym. The distances were too long and I could not tie up a treadmill for that period of time. I was forced to move it outside. With no plan, I began to run along the lakefront using a watch to time my runs. I figured I would be running the same pace as the treadmill. In those first weeks I was very suspicious. Was I running too far? or not far enough? Was I running too fast? or not fast enough? And then something happened. On what was at that time a long run of ten miles during a somewhat hot day, I was on the return leg and I stopped to drink some water. A breeze had come up and it blew over my shirtless body. An amazing feeling of euphoria washed over me as a wave of stimulated endorphins created a global tingling experience. I began running for that feeling and it occurred to me that there was nothing very special about 26.2 miles at all. I had discovered why runners run.

In the next few weeks people began inquiring about my training. I discovered that quite a few people that I knew and many people I didn't know had run marathons before. I didn't feel so singled out, so important. It was hard to set aside the time to run when the distances became longer and longer and I started noticing what I had to give up in order to do them. No alcohol the night before, no cigarrettes. Had to carry enough water, start out early enough before the sun got too hot. Or if I didn't motivate early enough it meant later in the evening when it was cool enough which meant not going out with my friends if they called. What was so special about 26.2 miles thatwould make me change my life around and stress fracture my foot, blister my toes, bleed from my kidneys and intestines? What happened to the breeze? What happened to the euphoria? I began to skip many days of running.

And then came the fear. In the last remaining weeks before the actual day I began to wonder whether I could even do it at all. I hadn't run 26 miles during the training. What if I wouldn't be able to make it. I would be so ashamed, people would see me as a failure.

Alone again, with my thoughts for thirteen miles, my mind began remembering all of those weeks as I have recounted them to you. I started with an idea to do something I had never done and didn't understand. It's importance was a mere curiosity. It moved to my struggle to understand it, to conquer it, to rise above it with precision accuracy - no more and no less. It progressed to the discovery that it wasn't about the speed or the miles, the equipment or the day. It was about a feeling. But feeling without intent led to complacency and if I were to reach the prize, there would have to be pain and sacrifice as well as euphoria. And at the brink of attainment, I was struck with fear of the unknown, of my own inadequacies, of failure. These thoughts mirrored my 26.2 miles that day as I began running without knowing what lay ahead, looking at my watch for the first 7 miles to make sure I was making good time, breaking free for the next seven as I felt unstoppable. As the pain and fatigue set in, I knew that things would get tough and just before the finish line I felt as though I would fail.

As I crossed the finish line, tears streaming down myface, I realized what 26.2 miles really meant in my life. It meant that what was worth having was worth working for. That was a concept I believed before but never truly understood. Despite the fact that myriads of other people ran marathons, mine was special because I worked hard, I sacrificed, I stuck to it, I committed to making it work.

Week 5

The DaVinci Code

I am a sucka for books that are being made into movies. If a movie is coming out that I am halfway interested in seeing and it is based on a book, you can bet I am reading it. This generally causes me to 1) hate the movie and 2) love the book even more. I have even put off seeing a movie, sometimes for years as is the case with Cider House Rules, because I have yet to read the book. There it is, sitting on my bookshelf along with the other John Irving books I've never read. Which is probably the way it will stay since I don't think I could stomach a movie in which a pre Monster Charlize Theron plays opposite a pre Spiderman Tobey what's his face (who is sort of indifferent regarding turning down that hobbit role). Especially now that I know she's banging a post Queen of the Damned Stuart Townsend.

Anyway, it is a rare movie release that would make me RE-READ a book. But, alas, I have read The DaVinci Code for a second time. And just like the first time I read it a few years ago, I kept thinking "they should totally make a movie out of this." The only problem is this time I have a post everything Tom Hanks (with long hair, nonetheless) in my head as Robert Langdon.

Maybe that's why the movies end up being a disappointment to me after reading the book. Maybe I've gotten so used to my own subconscious cinematography that I sneer at someone else's version. Or maybe the movie stinks because the plot has been ruined. But I don't think so. I remember once seeing the movie Apollo 13 in the theatre (interestingly enough starring the ubiquitous Tom Hanks) and one of the teens in front of me wondered to her friend if they would get home alive. Having paid attention in history class, I knew the fate of our heroes and I was still entertained. Is there a difference between watching someone else's portrayal of fact versus fiction? Casting aside, it's not like I think I can do it better, I just miss seeing my own interpretation come to life in front of my eyes. And I don't dream of space much.

So I will sit through Mr Hanks solving riddles and racing cars, flirting with French women and fighting albino henchmen. Even though I always pictured someone smarter in the role. And hotter. Like Guy Pearce. Because that's who I'd want to see the second time around when Angels and Demons hits the box office. Maybe I'll still picture Guy when I read that book a second time.

Countdown to the Gay Games - Changes

Week 5

This week marks the longest run so far - 10 miles in one stretch. The weeks thus far have been tough. I can't stop comparing myself to my performance in the marathon a few years ago. It seems like now I am running slower than I did back then and I've already managed to develop hip bursitis and IT band syndrome. I don't remember having any of those problems until much later in the training. When I trained for the first marathon, I was in better shape, sported six pack abs, and drowned in a 28 inch waist. Absent from the gym in over a year, I've acquired the lower ab pudge and no longer need a belt to hold up the pants. Running doesn't seem as enjoyable as it did then and I've even been tempted to start running with my iPod to pass the time (gasps heard in the back as people consider Bob actually using his iPod). In short, I'm feeling older.

The same holds true for my gay life. Back when I ran my first marathon, we were just coming out of the Clinton administration. The disaster of 9/11 was only months old. Post residency, I was carving out my niche in the gay social scene. I had just started on my road to dual citizenship in Atlanta. Now, the political scene is ravaged with the battles between gay rights and religion. People emboldened by the new administration don't even try to hide their intolerant dissent anymore. I go to dinner parties instead of dance clubs and if I am standing next to the new generation of gays I feel, well, old.

It's hard to avoid comparing oneself now to a previous version. It's even harder not to feel bad when you do. I think we tend to do that, only concentrate on the negative aspects of change instead of concentrating on how positively necessary it is. We forget how skewed our memories can be of the past, filtering out the negative experiences to carry with us only the best parts. And we don't give ourselves enough credit for our current advances.

I really wonder if I felt that great in the first few weeks of marathon training those moons ago or if my global memory of my marathon experience has eclipsed the bad stuff. Maybe, I'm right on track. And if I consider that this week I am running ten miles in a day whereas five weeks ago I wasn't running at all, maybe there is room for cutting myself a bit of slack. And while my happy go lucky gay social scene back then marks a true turning point in my life, there were some tough times carving out the identity I have today. And I'm learning that the new version of the old me is still having just as much fun (even though I've traded the squarecut for the surfjam). The rest of the country will follow its own suit.

Yeah, I'm older. But I haven't changed that much. I've carried the best parts and the best people with me. Older, and better.

Countdown to the Gay Games - Commitment

Week 4

A while ago, two friends of mine had a commitment ceremony. They had been together for some time, shared property and power of attorney status, everybody saw them as a couple. So the question on my mind was, "why go through it?" Why rent the space and get the food, why stress over invitations and seating, why commit to something you are already in theory committed to?

I thought about this as I resumed my running schedule this week after taking a week off because of illness. These first weeks are tough. It's hard to get into the swing of running when you haven't done it in a while, changing up your schedule to make the time. These short runs in the first weeks are murder because your body is adjusting to muscles it doesn't regularly use. And just when you hit that 3 - 5 mile point in the run when your body is finally relaxing into it, it's time to stop. Sometimes just getting past that rocky point seems like a greater task than any marathon. It is very easy to silently let it go, accept defeat, pretend like now just isn't the right time to tackle this. Unless, of course, you've told someone about your plans to run, blogged about it, registered for the race and paid your fee. At this point, if you gave up, somebody might suggest that you are a quitter, that you should instead forge ahead, that it isn't as easy as just walking away. Sometimes those commitments are the only thing we have to keep us afloat when the water gets too choppy.

When I asked my friends if they felt any different after the ceremony, they admitted that they really didn't. Still desperately in love, still sweetly enamored, still handsomely linked, still looking forward to forever. "But we said it," they sighed, "in front of everyone." In the event that there was any lingering doubt among us, it disappeared. And should the road get rough, we will be there to help remind them of that day, that we watched them swear to something that seems larger than the sum of themselves, suggest that walking away be the last option.

Beyond legal rights and monetary benefits, beyond pieces of paper and gift registries, marriage is about the ability to commit to something that in theory you are already committed to. To lay your cards down and say it for everyone to hear. To say "I'm not walking away from this." And that's worth fighting for.

Week 3
Week 2
Week 1

Gay Anchors Away

I've been on a gay cruise. It was a blast - 1000's of gorgeous gay men, awesome music and entertainment, food and drinks all day long with a swipe of my card that fit easily in my speedo, and the sun shining down all week when I knew damn well it was below zero back home. It was a great way to spend a memorable week with friends including this one and this one. And did I mention the hot guys? P.S. That is not a picture of my cruise.

Of course, one of the advantages (or at least conveniences) of a gay cruise is the hook up potential. Gone is the complication of having to keep your intended flavor of the evening interested in you until such a time that your posse is leaving, his posse is leaving, and you can leave together. Gone is the awkward discussion of where you are going to go because secretly you really don't want him to see where you live and you really don't want him to stay too long if he ends up being real annoying but you also don't want to be stuck at his house because he could be the kind of guy that chops up sweet innocent gay boys like yourself, not to mention the power differential, and the fact that you hate doing the walk of shame. And I'm realizing that the longer I post this, the more it will become completely clear to my readers why my psycho babble inevitably talks myself out of hooking up. But back to the boat. What was cool was that the hook up was incredibly easy and the menu was large (numerically speaking, of course). And there weren't any kids. Unless you count the few token trophy 18 year olds. How do you say chicken with strawberries in french?

HBO just begain airing a documentary of the maiden voyage of Rosie O'Donnell's gay cruises for families. The R Family cruises work similarly to many gay cruise packages in that the company charters a boat for a specific group of people, in this case gay friendly families. There were gay parents with gay kids, gay parents with straight kids, straight parents with gay kids, straight friends of gay parents, gay men who wanted kids, gay women who wanted kids, commitment ceremonies, adoption seminars, and obligatory shuffleboard. Featured, were a gay couple who adopted two kids and then found out those kids had siblings in foster care so adopted three more. How sweet and selfless. Teen kids gushed about their adoptive two dads or moms or watching a parent engage in the coming out process. Gay dads basked in their roles mixing formula and changing diapers. Lesbians beamed about being mothers. All were stiff lipped and appropriate when confronting the haters in the Bahamas. Who could find fault with this bunch?

So the Washington Post in the Style section of all places had to wonder - where was all the cruising on this cruise? Certainly, if you put a bunch of gay people on a boat and make it convenient for them to hook up, a bunch of kids and some commitment vows aren't going to stop them. The Washington Post decided that the documentary was too clean, too "scrubbed up", the kid and family act was too rated G to be taken seriously as a gay cruise. Gay people can't possibly take a family vacation without a little sun, surf, and sex on the side. Even Rosie's cruise must have had a scandal floor. The American people demand it.

Who knows if Rachel's two daddies had a little extracurricular activity during the cruise. Though given the immense amount of planning it seems to co-parent, I can't imagine that it happened unless that too was co-planned. And I think there were probably a few who thought to themselves that one of these days they would have to come back without the kids for a real gay cruise. Mostly, I think they just enjoyed parenting in an atmosphere that didn't require a ton of questions, a ton of staring, or a ton of scrutinization. Instead they got a ton of validation, a ton of advice, and a free trip to Key West.

I think the Washington Post article is way off base unless its goal was to reflect the sentiments of an American culture that needs to live vicariously through its gay best friends - loving us for how fun and free we are at the same time hating us for showing them up. If we settle on family vacations, we'll be just as boring as they are. The Washington Post can take a cue from the documentary. Everyone gets to choose how they cruise.

Countdown to the Gay Games - Benched

week 3

Unfortunately, I have come down with walking pneumonia - cough, fever, the works. This makes it very difficult to maintain a running schedule as the mere action of walking across a room leads to shortness of breath and fatigue. I hate being sick. Because even though it seems like a great way to just take a day off to rest, even a night on the couch watching LOST and Top Chef is an uncomfortable ordeal.

But I shouldn't complain. There are people who are sick every day. I am reminded of friends with HIV who battle not only the periodic bouts of infections but also the daily side effects of their medicines. Any change in their routine or diet can lead to intense fatigue or nausea. And while I can look forward to a full recovery, they look forward to making it a part of their life.

And so in this week of recuperation, I will think about those who cannot even begin to tackle a marathon. And when I cross the finish line in July, I hope to carry with me my gay brethren with HIV who make the act of living a marathon of sorts.