Scratching the Surface

Notes on a Neighborhood

2007-01-15T14:51:00.000-08:00

The neighborhood that I live in is very eclectic. There are wealthy people who live across the street on the lake, college kids renting, octagenarians, activists, gardeners, busybodies, etc. We like that there is a great variety of souls on our short two block street. And we thought that we would be a different and welcome addition. And just like some pet owners and their pets begin to look alike, some homeowners begin to look like their neighborhood.

We were sort of laughing the other day at some of the neighbors and their choices in cars. Two doors down, the couple each have Saabs, across the street the husband and wife both have BMWs. We thought it a somewhat hilarious and off-putting commentary about coupledom when both of us remembered that we each have an Acura!

Kid Apathy

2007-01-12T11:26:00.000-08:00

When a friend of mine, a professional with liberal politics, decided to have a baby she confessed that she was a bit torn. While she wanted to have a child she was a bit concerned about raising a child in what is to her an uncertain future. You see, she saw An Inconvenient Truth, believes in global warming and the destruction of the environment, listens to the news of daily Iraqi skirmishes and terrorist threats, she worries about the economy, fears for minorities and the poor. She wondered whether it was irresponsible and selfish to bring a child into the world who would have to face such a mess. I countered that I thought it was exactly people like her who are concerned about these things who should be the ones to raise children. Certainly she would be able to impart upon her children the importance of contributing to the idea of making things better.

So I really shouldn't be surprised to come across a very interesting statistic that conservatives have more children than liberals. According to the 2004 General Social Survey, if you picked 100 unrelated politically liberal adults at random, you would find that they had, between them, 147 children. If you picked 100 conservatives, you would find 208 kids. Nature and nurture being what they are, it is reported that 80% of kids end up voting like their parents. And so it seems that as time goes by, in future generations there will be more conservative voters to offset the liberal ideals. Because liberals have less liberal babies, and because those liberal babies will be outvoted by conservative babies, in essence the act of NOT having babies is tantamount to giving conservatives further reign to ruin the country and the globe.

As a liberal and someone whose name will go down with the ship (I will neither have kids nor do I want them and anyway there weren't enough liberals to allow a vote for me to adopt kids), I have some initial feelings of guilt about this. Never one to shirk from a political fight, I fear that I am not doing my part. I wish someone would come out with a study that showed that the genetic makeup of a child can determine its voting record. If that were the case, I would be making regular donations to the almighty plastic cup in hopes that my liberal politics would make their way to small rural Texan towns.

But I guess there is another option for those of us with kid apathy. We can continue to intervene in the impressionable minds of children and adults everywhere. We can educate them to think for themselves instead for their parents. We can encourage them to embrace a new world from what their parents have created. In that case our ideas will live on even if our genes don't.

Friend of Dorothy?

2006-12-14T09:45:00.000-08:00

Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore?

The Decent Docent

2006-12-14T07:19:00.000-08:00

Congratulations to me! On tuesday, I finished a twelve week class preparing me to be a volunteer docent at the Madison Museum of Contemporary Art. For the last three months I have been gaining instruction on principles of art and design, philosophies behind contemporary art, and strategies for working with different groups of people including different age groups (kindergarten trough adult) and disabilities. I had to write a paper on a particular piece of art in the museum, Romare Bearden's collage Serenade, linking its elements of design to its interpretation. And for the last few weeks I have been creating my final exam - a practice tour linking works of art from all three exhibits around a central theme of symmetry. I have incorporated works by artists like Bearden, Paschke, Kahlo, Oldenbourg, sculpture by Sol LeWitt and Alyson Schotz, and photographs by Klein. I have to take the education department through the tour. If I pass, I will be ready to start giving my own tours to various school groups, adult groups, and special tours.

I'm actually pretty excited about it, to get people to talk about what they see in a piece of art and reorient them to the things that they might want to look at. Strangely enough, I'm looking forward to the school groups. I remember how interested in looking at art I was at that age. It would be really cool to spark an interest or make a connection with the kids, get them to come back, and remind them that even as a kid they can look at a piece of art and just voice their opinion about it. Art is so cool.

World AIDS Day 2006

2006-12-01T12:46:00.000-08:00

I applaud senators Obama and Brownback for bringing some attention to World AIDS day by individually taking an HIV test. The message that they wanted to send was that it is easy, painless, and bipartisan. Hey, if two senators can take the test, so can you.

But I think it falls a bit short because let's be serious. Did either of these men have to go to a free clinic, wait their turn with their cohorts, answer a battery of questions regarding sexual practices, numbers, and drug use? Do either one of these men actually think there is a chance that the test could come out positive?

Anyone who has ever taken an HIV test for something other than a photo op or support statement knows that taking an HIV test is more than just having the test. For many, it involves talking to one's doctor or locating an anonymous testing center. And the worst part of the test is getting over the fear, even if it is only a mild fear and only brief, that the test result could alter your life forever. I think it is that fear, more than disinterest, that keeps people from getting tested - the front of "it could never happen to me" that masks "what if it could?"

In celebration of World AIDS Day, let's try to remember that knowing is half the battle.

Brokeback Pope

2006-11-29T10:27:00.000-08:00

What could be gayer than this?

Project Literacy

2006-11-17T06:38:00.000-08:00

Ever since my move and my deluge of free time, I've managed to do more reading and more writing. I think I've read more books in the last few months than I had in a long time. Plus, I'm reading the New York Times. Ok, I'm only reading the sunday New York Times. PS, this past week I finished both the crossword and the acrostic. Ok, my boyfriend helped a little.

I've updated the sidebar on what I've been reading lately. I finished the book State of Fear by Michael Crichton a while ago. It's essentially a "thriller" that disproves the harmful effects of global warming. I didn't really have anything to say about it except that I was surprised that the right wing didn't greenlight a movie version of the book to pile against Gore's Truth. It's essentially formulaic Crichton that always leaves me wishing he still wrote like Jurassic Park. I started but quickly stopped reading Front Runner. I tend to dislike gay themed literature because it's usually stupid. But this was a classic and so I was surprised that I just couldn't get into it. It just wasn't the right time for me what with the amendment and all. I just kept rolling my eyes at the main character and thinking "Gracious, just come out already."

This time around, I'm doing the juggling act - three books at the same time. I'm halfway through We Were the Mulvaney's by Joyce Carol Oates but I hadn't finished it before I promised to give it to my mom to read. I like Joyce - shitty things happen to her dark characters. I started Barack Obama's latest book The Audacity of Hope. Now that Russ Feingold isn't running for president in 2008, I must get aquainted with this man. And lastly, I am neck deep in an odd and rambling story called The Children's Hospital by Chris Adrian - an apocalyptic drama set in its title place seen through the eyes of a disgruntled medical student. Having a medical background makes the story incredibly funny. A sort of been-there-done-that without the end of the world.

I am an impulse buyer and a book whore and so I discovered that my crack house is Barnes and Noble. Hard cover books everywhere with shiny pretty covers. I picked up The God Delusion and a CSI board game and Josh Groban's newest CD just the other day before regaining consciousness in the parking lot. Send help.

Midterm Voting

2006-11-08T12:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was election day. I always feel great about voting, so patriotic. I am always infused with vigor at the democratic process even though in alot of ways I think it's rigged. I am always registered in the district where I live and aside from a short period of time when I voted absentee (to prove a point), I love the actual process of going to my polling place and casting by ballot. I always thank the volunteers and make a big production of putting my ballot in the machine. I could vote straight down one party line but I like filling in the arrow for every single candidate. I exit the building with a sense of duty accomplished and I always participate in exit polls if there is one.

I'm pleased as punch that the Dems took the House. For one, history will recount the first female Speaker of the House. And for those of you who aren't in the know, if both president and VP are out of commission, she would become president. I'm actually a bit worried that the Dems might take the Senate as well. On the surface, it would seem like a good thing but I worry that the Republicans would then blame the Dems for everything over the next two years leaving the door open for a Republican presidential win in 08.

I'm bummed about Wisconsin's stupid marriage amendment passing. I thought the race would be closer. Wisconsin voters caved to right wing pressure. And while I will be the first to say that I think the institution as a whole is very flawed, I think that all people should be given that choice.

And even though I leave my polling place feeling excited and patriotic, I often feel guilty too. Guilty that I didn't do enough again this election cycle to help the candidates I supported or the amendment I didn't. I should have volunteered more time, made phone calls, donated more money. 2008 is only two years away.

Grey's Minorities

2006-11-02T09:27:00.000-08:00

I have to say that I love the show Grey's Anatomy. Sure, sure, it's a doctor show and I'm a doctor and so either I'm supposed to hate it for not being nearly as boring and realistic as being a real doctor or I'm supposed to love it for how much it reminds me of my days as a stupid intern. Well, first off I'm an ER doctor and so my job isn't really all THAT boring. And I'm willing to suspend my belief that a top cardiothoracic surgeon would do an appendectomy, and OB physician would do lung surgery, and the not so unrealistic impression that everybody is sleeping with everybody else. And it does sort of remind me of some of my intern foibles; the competition for good cases and patients, the making of mistakes that may or may not have killed a patient, the need to stick together to survive. I remember the exhaustion of working over 100 hour weeks, getting to the hospital before the sun came up and leaving the hospital after the sun went down, standing in front of hospital windows just to remember that there is indeed something called sun and that the rest of the world lives in it.

And I'll admit that I've always had a thing for Patrick Dempsey. Oh... like FOREVER.

But the reason that I love this show so much is the deliberate attention it pays to minorities. The Chief of Surgery is black, the premiere cardiothoracic surgeon is black, the best and most respected resident is black and a woman. The premiere OB physician is a woman, the smartest of the interns are women. The smartest and most competitive intern is a Korean Jewish woman (played by the more than brilliant Sandra Oh) who is incidentally sleeping with the black CT surgeon. Many of the patients' stories are represented by minority people and beliefs like the patient who needed a shaman. And while there is no gay physician (yet), gay people have been represented in many story lines. But again, the cool thing is their story isn't about them being gay but hints at a gay issue. For example, there was a pediatric patient who had two dads one of whom was very skittish and protective. When the kid took a turn for the worse and the doctors had to drill a hole in his head at the bedside (I know, I know), the skittish one was asked to leave (because he was skittish and overly protective not because he was gay) but he demanded to stay in the room to be near his son and the two dads held hands tightly as their son of course pulled through. Clearly, this was a way to show middle america two gay dads and to hint at the issue of hospital visitation in gay households. Without shoving it down our throats.

And while at the water cooler the next day the GA conversation will always be whether or not Meredith will end up with McDreamy, even subconsciously they can't help but absorb the more important issues in front of their eyes week after week.

Numb3rs

2006-10-31T10:18:00.000-08:00

For the last few months I have been experiencing the uncanny. At least once a day but often multiple times a day I will look at a clock or some other number device and see a pattern. It is not uncommon for me to happen to look at a clock at 11:11 or 12:34. My watch happens to be set on military time so 15:51 can be staring back at me when I look down. It has become so frequent that I'm starting to think it isn't random.

My sci fi theory on this is that I am actually in a coma but I'm not brain dead. My mind has come up with this life that I am currently leading. I mean, I've changed jobs, changed cities, changed gyms, phones, and hobbies so maybe none of it is actually real. Anyway, my family, friends, and doctors have been trying to get me out of my coma to no avail. Each time they try something my mind registers the message as an odd coincidence in my imagined life - the numbers. Continuing on in my theory, I have not been registering any improvement in my real life because I keep shrugging off noticing the numbers. But now, if my theory is correct, blogging about noticing the numbers may just be my comatose brain's way of letting my doctors know that I am getting their messages and to keep trying.

I want them to keep trying because I would like to think that if my brain wanted to stay comatose it would have created an alternate universe that did not involve impending snow and cold weather. Although it is sunny today. I would be on a cruise, I would be rich, I would be hot. I am certain that my comatose me could come up with something better than this. (Interesting, as I type this my computer screen keeps shutting off and on. Is the comatose me trying to impede me sending this blog?)

It is just possible that I have completely gone off the deep end.

The Math

2006-10-27T06:23:00.000-07:00

With just 11 days until mid term elections, things are getting a bit touchy. Of course, Republicans are using the New Jersey court "same sex marriage" decision to reignite time tested scapegoating techniques to try to win voters. Again, President Bush used the phrase "activist courts" in a stump speech to mobilize the radical right to remember that we can't allow any redefinition of marriage. Yet I find it incredibly perplexing that the administration doesn't even understand the ruling or what the President has previously said he supported. The ruling gives equal rights to same sex couples but specifically doesn't state that they can get married - the actual use of the word marriage being held sacrosanct by the "activist court" for the good people of New Jersey. In effect they have paved the way, like Vermont of old, to create a state of civil unions that hold similar but not all (separate but equal) benefits for same sex couples in a committed relationship. In the last days of President Bush's 2004 campaign, he specifically said that he supported the formation of civil unions as long as it wasn't marriage; a last minute attempt to gain the support of social conservatives who have become disallusioned with the Democratic Party. For the record, I'm one of them but still voting Democrat. In essence then, this "activist court" ruling is exactly the kind of the thing that Bush said he would support. And I'm sure he honestly could care less about two fags tying the knot. After all, his wife and Condoleezza Rice recently used the word mother-in-law to refer to a gay man's partner's mother during his swearing in ceremony at the freakin' White House.

But it's hard for me to not feel defeatist. I mean, I want to sweat bullets on this fortnight before Nov 7th wondering if the Democrats are going to take the house, postulating about which states will be the swingers (Tennessee, Virginia, New Jersey), fretting about my own state's same sex marriage amendment bill. But I worry that, just like the 2004 presidential election, once again the Republicans have the whole thing planned out. They know who they can buy, who they can win, which polls they can rig, which polling places they need to fix down to the county. I know this because when confronted by early polling numbers showing that Democrats had the strength to take the Senate, Karl Rove responded:

"You have your math, I have THE math."

The Ruins

2006-10-10T06:23:00.000-07:00

The book was billed as the "page turner of the summer" so far be it from me to decline. I bought The Ruins because it was compared to some of Stephen King's best fiction and I used to like to read his books. All suspense and tasteful gore.

The story follows a group of six young post grads vacationing in Mexico who unfortunately get lured into a side trip to a Mayan village. The powers of happenstance trap them there and, well, killer plants are heavily involved. I hesitate to say that last bit because it makes the story sound cheesy and I suppose it could have been but author Scott Smith never strays into "Little Shop of Horrors" territory.

It's a long book and the best part of it is that by page 83 everything is out on the table and you realize that the characters are all fucked! I mean, that's awesome knowing that you have like 300 more pages to wallow in their misery and fucked-ness. You just don't want to put the book down because you want to see what disgusting minefield they will walk in next. And there are no chapters, just one long tome. I often found myself turning pages until 3am after a long shift at the hospital. It's classic man vs. nature and the unknown and you can't help placing yourself in their situation wondering whether you would be the leader, the doer, the whiner, the one to just give up, or whether you would want to be the first or the last to die. My only disappointment is that for whatever reason, I was hoping for a twist at the end that never came. It's mindless, fast reading for someone who likes a bit of horror fiction this Halloween season.

Oh to Be 16 and Hot.

2006-10-03T06:10:00.000-07:00

We all know one. The parent of one of our high school friends who always seemed so cool. The one who would let us drive the car before we had our licence, the one who would let us have a beer while we were at their cottage, the one who actually enjoyed the concert they chaperoned - maybe better than we did. We wished our parents could be cool like that, take an interest in our lives like that, be more of a friend than a parent. It wouldn't be until much later that we would realize how much parents should be parents and kids should be kids.

In all of the recent news articles regarding Representative Mark Foley, the one that caught my attention the most was the NYT article that interviewed former pages, male and female, who went on and on about how awesome Foley was. He was the only one who knew their names by heart, the only one who took time to discuss legislation, the only one who seemed to care that they were even there. They describe the tear filled speech he gave on the House floor commending them for a job well done and encouraging his colleagues to take interest in the future lawmakers of America. And for some, he would take a special interest.

So, are these the machinations of a sexual predator? Someone using his position, his power, his vantage point to seduce an unwitting but somewhat willing young child into a sexual relationship or online jerkfest? Or was Foley just one of those "cool parents" who should know better, so inappropriately needing to stay connected to a younger generation that it becomes creepy.

The rest has played out like a well rehearsed scandal on the Hill. Foley is now in "rehab", his predilection for emailing young boys will again bring his sexuality into question. The Republicans will equate the homosexual agenda with pedophilia (although I have to say they've done a pretty good job of avoiding this so far). OK, right winger fundamentalists will do that. If Foley does come out as gay (or a Gay American), he will likely blame the closet for his reprehensible behavior taking a cue from the McGreevy files or the Jim West pages. Democrats will beat like a dead horse the idea that the Republicans knew about Foley's misdeeds for a long time demanding all sorts of resignations (or at least the ones in precarious states that could help them win Congress.)

And ultimately the ones who will be harmed the most are the pages. When they needed a mentor, they got a wolf in sheep's clothing - the only one who would pay attention to them wanted something in return. There has been a call on the House floor to abolish the page program. Because adults, and ironically the director of the Caucus for Missing and Exploited Children, cannot be expected to be reasonable adults the whole program should go. How sad is that. In that NYT article I read, Patrick McGloughlin, a former page who has set up page reunions and alumni communiques, mentioned that his time in DC was so incredibly formative. These are the young people who themselves wish to be lawmakers some day, wish to change our country's history, wish to model themselves after today's legislators.

On second thought, maybe keeping them out of Washington and out of harm's way isn't such a bad idea.

9/11/2001

2006-09-11T07:36:00.000-07:00

I was in Atlanta. Only a few weeks earlier I had made some aquaintances there and had returned for a weekend of fun. I was scheduled to fly home on 9/12. We had been out late the night before 9/11 and so I was asleep when the attacks occurred and did not engage in the news until after both towers had collapsed. My assistant, who thought I was in New York, called relentlessly until she was able to get through. "The United States in under attack!", she kept repeating, wanting to know if I was OK.

It was hard to know what to do next except stay glued to the TV, try to reach friends in New York, wait for another attack of another building. As an emergency medical provider, my natural thought was to figure out if I was needed in any capacity but being so far away from the tragedy and so far from home, all I could feel was helpless. At some point, we decided to head out to get some lunch. Because Atlanta has some potentially important offices like the CDC and because of the bombing at Olympic village, security was extremely tight and many highways were closed to traffic. At lunch, everyone in the diner was silent talking quietly to each other about what just happened, wondering what all of it meant for the future.

Back at my hotel later that evening, I started to make preparations for my own travel home. All flights had been grounded but there was news that air travel was going to resume. How strange would it be to get on a plane after all of this? In communications with my travel agent, I discovered that no flights from Hartsfield airport would be leaving any time soon. My travel agent was able to arrange a rental car for me but when I tried to go to the agency, I was turned away by US marshalls with automatic weapons. At another agency, I waited in line for hours with no guarantee of getting a car. I felt a bit selfish but really I just wanted to get home where things were familiar and presumably safe.

Fortunately, I secured a rental and began my 14 hour trek back to the Midwest, back to home. Maintaining cell phone contact with my friend Jen, she said "just get home, drive safely." From highway to highway through the south, the bluegrass states, and central US, radio stations played patriotic songs. Lee Greenwood's "Proud to Be an American" was in heavy rotation. At each gas station, I talked to people. Everyone had their own theories, their own stories, their own prediction of what the future would hold for our country. Every piece of gas station type Americana like flags, shot glasses, window decals were flying off the shelves. When I reached the tollbooths of Chicago and I realized that I was in the homestretch, my anxiety began to subside. At home, there was nothing to do but watch the news and wait, unable to deny how vulnerable we all felt.

Two months later, I would visit New York for a friend's birthday. I was able to walk down to a position near the cleanup effort at Ground Zero. At some point, no cars were allowed on the streets. Never have I walked down a street in Manhattan during the middle of the day when I wasn't surrounded by the hustle and bustle of traffic and everyday life. But as I approached closer to Ground Zero, the streets still dirty with dust, people just milled around in disbelief, sorrow, complete silence, and quiet respect. Days later, I would be sitting at LaGuardia waiting for my flight home when a jumbo jet would crash in New Jersey. While eventually deemed not to be a terrorist plot, at the time I again felt helpless trapped in the airport unable to leave since all the highways and tunnels and subways back to the city were shut down. Again there were marshalls with automatic weapons. Again everyone looked ahead toward an unknown future.

Five years later, our sense of safety and security is still always tied to that sense of the unknown. We try to forge ahead. But our men and women fight an elusive enemy overseas, buses explode in London, hurricanes ravage entire cities, and the human condition continues to test our own sense of human decency. Just as the New Yorkers still look at a familiar skyline with the knowledge that something is missing, we all look at our lives and our futures differently since 9/11, a day that nobody could forget.

Another Definition of Terrorism

2006-09-07T06:23:00.000-07:00

Politics suck! Call me paranoid, call me naive, call me conspiratorial, but it seems like nothing is done or announced or instituted or passed unless it is timed perfectly for an election. Is it any wonder why the people's vote on the marriage amendment in Wisconsin was postponed until this November? Why? To try to get conservative voters to come out to the polls to vote on that issue and meanwhile oust Governor Doyle. They had the opportunity to push it sooner but specifically placed it on the November ballot.

The most recent example in my mind comes just a few days ago as President Bush announced that 14 high ranking terrorist plotters that in some cases have been held for years have divulged their last ounce of intelligence and are ready for trial. And when I say divulged, I mean legally or illegally coerced into divulging. And the administration is going to offer them to the American people on a plate just nine weeks before the mid term elections when maintaining a Republican foothold is essential. Years of interrogation and they fall right before mid term elections. Now that's timing. And to ice the cake, we'll invite family members of those who lost their lives on 9/11 to the East Room of the White House and make the announcement in front of them.

Here's the kicker. It's not enough to ride on a wave of public applause for capturing and bringing terrorists to justice. The administration wants it all. They have outlined for Congress how the terrorists should be tried and outlines how future suspects should be held and interrogated again holding unilateral control in the hands of the executive branch. Of course Congress has the final say but c'mon. Just nine weeks before mid term elections, can any politician be seen as "soft on terrorism"? The New York Times put it best. "In calling for public war-crime trials at Guantánamo Bay, President Bush is calculating that with a critical election just nine weeks away, neither angry Democrats nor nervous Republicans will dare deny him the power to detain, interrogate and try suspects his way."

The administration further pushes buttons by saying that we have the terrorists and the only thing that is holding up their trials is Congress's decision on how they will be tried, proverbially shifting the ball to their court. But they've had them secretly in undisclosed CIA prisons for years. Now, nine weeks before an election, when many members of Congress want to devote time to campaigning, they are pushed to make a decision.

I wonder whether there is a fine line in this case between saavy politicking and a new form of coercion. Is the administration relying on Congress to make the right decision or is the administration just holding them hostage in a disclosed prison called Washington DC. Has the administration made it difficult for Congress to live, breathe, act, think in an American way? Is this just a different kind of terrorism?

Hurt in a Skirt

2006-08-28T06:45:00.000-07:00

You should be incredibly jealous of me. This past friday, I went to Rollerderby. You got it - roller skating girl on girl action. Friday was an all star team match up pitting the Dairyland Dolls against the Minnesota Roller Girls. The Dairyland Dolls were comprised of players in Madison's league - teams like the Unholy Rollers and Reservoir Dolls. Some of my favorite players were Mouse and Britnee Smears, two jammers that really know how to get the job done.

It was cheesy, there were hi-jinks, I drank Bud-Lite from a 24 oz can, but I couldn't help getting wrapped up in all of the excitement. The girls were dressed in fishnet stockings and glittery outfits that offset the mouthgards and helmets. And they were all business rocketing each other forward in order to score points, knocking each other off the track, ganging up on each other to block. And the crowd would go wild every time their respective team's jammer would get in front of the pack to score.

I seemed to be the only one in my group to draw a parallel between this and the spirit of women's baseball leagues that popped up in the 1940's during war time. Back then, women risked their feminine reputations just to play some ball championing the notion of women as athletes. And even with names like The Bone Setter, these rollergirls with their fishnets, push up bras, and short skirts maintained that edge between bad girl and feminine mystique as boys and men showed up in droves for photo-ops, autographs, and even a raffle in which the grand prize was the opportunity to sky dive in tandem with your favorite doll.

And if that weren't enough, all of the proceeds from the events go to charitable organizations that promote the health and well-being of women. On friday night, the profits went to the rape crisis center. Even the mayor showed up to recognize their philanthropy over the past two years naming August 25th official Mad Rollin Dolls Day. What could be better.

The new season doesn't start until January. I for one plan on being a season ticket holder. If you have a roller derby league in your town, you should check it out. If not, you should be incredibly jealous of me.

The Line of Beauty

2006-08-25T13:11:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to think that any book that takes place in the 80's has to involve conservative politics and cocaine. I'm also wondering if it is possible for anyone to write a piece of gay fiction without mentioning AIDS or someone dying from it. If your book is gay fiction taking place in the 80's, you get all three. Introducing The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst, lauded as a "gay" book to win the Man Booker Prize for fiction.

The story surrounds Nicholas Guest, kid from the wrong side of the London Bridge who is charming enough to freeload his way into the home of one of his college buddies who incidentally is the son of a conservative politician. Nick is also gay. Over the course of a decade, Nick gets laid, Nick gets high, Nick meets the the woman Thatcher herself, and Nick dodges the gloom and doom of "the disease".

And like another 80's phenomena, the magical recipe of all those John Hughes Pretty in Pink type movies, Nick realizes that the only thing worse than not being an insider is thinking all along that you were. Or at least could be. Mr. Hollinghurst paints an interesting picture of inadvertant social climbing against a backdrop of Thatcher era politics and gives it a gay human interest slant. This human didn't think it got all that interesting until after page 300. Before that it was a big "so what". I guess one could derive a sort of parallel between the classes including their successes and their demise. But really, I just didn't feel the need to think that hard in order to be entertained.

I'll stick to Bret Easton Ellis. Now there is a man who captured the social climbing, cocaine laden, gay sexy, yet conservative 80's with gusto. Check out American Psycho (not the movie, PLEASE) if that's your speed.

Playground Revisited

2006-08-22T07:03:00.000-07:00

In grade school, gym class wasn't really a class as much as it was mandated and scheduled exercise time. Invariably, in order to keep all the kids interested and at bay, we would learn team sports such as dodgeball, baseball, or basketball. In my class there were two kids who were the epitome of the athletic overachievers that matured way faster than the other kids. One was Mike L. and the other was Robby S. Because having both of them on the same dodgeball team would amount to gym class homicide for the opposite team, the gym teacher would split them up, call them team captains, and then let them pick the remainder of their teams in alternating fashion. He could have just done 1's and 2's but that would have taken away the humiliation for the kids like myself who day after day, year after year, got picked last. And I was pretty good at dodgeball. Sometimes, bartering would occur with Mike L. stating that he would give Robby S. both me and Craig C. in exchange for Danny B. Em, guys, I'm in the room. I would really like to think that I've gotten over this but truly, I haven't. There has always been a small Sybil persona that represents the playground reject. And he manifests himself in many different ways in my adult life.

Fast forward 25 years. I joined a new gym called the Monkeybar Gym, a "natural gym" that uses no weight machines. Instead, one relies on their own weight and resistance to build muscle and tone. The founder's philosophy is such that kids on the playground are able to maintain health and fitness purely by running around and playing on monkeybars, so why can't adults. The gym provides daily classes that incorporate playground type activities in a much more controlled and disciplined way and a number of my friends have seen significant results. So we do intricate hour long jump rope sessions, climb ropes, do sit ups and chin ups, thirty minute shuttle runs and crab walks. I don't remember being this sore or tired on the playground.

Here's the kicker. At my first class, I was also introduced to one of the gym's other philosophies - the buddy sytem. At every class, one must pair up with another member of the class who they will work with that day to spot and help each other. When the instructor announced that it was time to pair up, I froze. For a moment I became again the scrawny kid leaning against the fence waiting to see who would be stuck with me on their team. That person would be resentful and feel as though the class would be a wash. But the days of Mike L. and Robby S. are long gone. I'm not 70 pounds wet anymore. I don't have to wait to get picked, I can pick for myself. And that's exactly what I did. I asked the first guy that I saw to be my partner and we ended up having a great workout. There was a healthy competitive spirit between us and nobody was the underdog. I'm taking back my earlier playground memories and replacing them with new ones.

Shirts, Sherpas, and Sardines

2006-08-10T06:39:00.000-07:00

One of the best parts of moving to a new city is that everything is, well, new. Discovering new restaurants, new clubs, new streets, and maybe modifying your old routine into something a bit fresher can be, well, refreshing.

I moved to Madison, Wisconsin three weeks ago from Milwaukee. I've always defended my choice of living in the Midwest and the thumb state has always been my home - born and bred, never left. My dear friends who reside in more urban areas of the country probably won't get it when I say that there is a considerable difference between the two cities. But other locals will understand that Milwaukee is a veritable concrete playground when compared to Madison. So I have my work cut out for me.

The last few weeks have been devoted to the stress of unpacking - unliving the way you did before and starting over. Melding your stuff with your BF's can be akin to the petulant eight year old who doesn't want any of his food to touch anything else on the plate. But after 14 days of playing multiple rounds of "His, Mine, and Ours" (I'm Lucy, natch), it was time to venture out.

Rule 1: Go with what you know. First order of business was to catch the last day of the Friends and Family sale at the Gap. Gap is universal. No matter where you are in whatever language you're attempting to speak, denim is denim. So falling into Madison was as easy as falling into the Gap. Usually I just sit in the changing room while my friend Tony, a manager at the Milwaukee store, brings me things to try on until I am saturated. I was on my own now, and I knew it was time to check out when the nostalgia just got to be too much.

Rule 2: Try something new. After shopping, lunch. In an attempt to break me of my Qdoba addiction, the BF took me to one of his favorite lunch spots - Himal Chuli. Literally meaning Himalayan Hearth, this office sized street spot serves authentic foods all cooked by the owner, a woman who looks like she came down from the mountain itself. I had takaari, roti, and daal while a mix of people chowed down with their fingers (the Tibetan way). So typical Madison, unpretentious. And even though everyone knows about the place, it still feels like your little secret. The food was amazing.

Rule 3: Stake your claim. I'll admit I fantasize that I'm somewhat of a VIP whore. If there were any celebrities around here, I'd be a total star fucker. If it's opening, I want to be there. If there's a list, I want to be on it. In New York, this is hard to do. Madison surely can't be that tough. So after joining the LGBT center, the Madison Museum of Contemporary Art (no laughing TB), and the Democratic Party (they're huge around here), I got a reservation for one of the newest restaurants in town, Sardine. Madison's daily page says, "A bistro style restaurant, Sardine serves an American twist on classic French combinations in hip Machinery Row. An odd mix of caution and confidence" I have no idea what that means but it sounds Perfect! We sauntered in at an early 7:45. I was wearing my over tailored Hugo Boss summer weight blue plaid shirt and my If.You.Like.Versace.You'll.Love.These.Five.Dollar.Knock.Off sunglasses. It could have been South Beach. If we were in South Beach. But it was all in East Madison.

Which is enough for me.

Clearing a Full Plate

2006-08-04T07:51:00.000-07:00

I'll admit it. I probably bit off more than I could chew. I have a tendency to do things like that - be agreeable to multiple commitments only to find myself on thin ice when the deadlines start rolling in. June and July were lessons in humility. Kids, don't try this at home.

First, I quit my job. The decision wasn't hard to make but leaving was hard to do. Think of every stereotype of an abusive relationship and you'll get it. Maybe, more on that another time. Next, I moved. The BF and I made a decision to move in together which meant moving to a city about an hour and a half away. This involved looking for houses, buying a house, selling my house, and packing up my life in boxes and leaving the city I have known for 18 years. I think the two of us learned alot about each other during the last eight weeks - patience, compromise, style choices (ugh). Lastly, I had to find another job. In a limited market, my choice required some soul searching. My start date preceded my moving date so for a month I commuted 90 miles.

There just wasn't time. It was too hot to train, I was too scattered to eat right, my free days were numbered. Something had to give and I had to let it go. I followed the news of the Gay Games from a distance unable and maybe a bit unwilling to participate. But the training wasn't for nought.

I know a bunch of people who have packed it in for different climates in the recent years. BB, Nurse Nancy, him, and him. And I will take note of their success. I'm excited for the next chapter of my life.

Independence Day

2006-07-03T11:31:00.000-07:00

In celebration of Independence Day, I had a chance to re-review the Bill of Rights, the first ten amendments to our Constitution. And when I say the Bill of Rights, I mean my Bill of Rights and your Bill of Rights because it is so clear that the original authors, responding to the tyranny of the crown, wanted to protect individual people, each of us a puzzle piece to the greater picture at large. It is my own interpretation that the framers had immense faith that individuals could be trusted to do the right thing even to the point of electing or appointing the people who would keep them on track. It is a reminder that this country is mine and yours and collectively "ours" to seize, build, reform, baske in, and cherish.

For your perusal, a summary of your Bill of Rights.

1. The First Amendment protects your freedom to practice religion, freedom from being forced to practice any particular religion, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom to associate and assemble, and the freedom to criticize the government and ask it to make changes.

2. The Second Amendment allows people the right to protect themselves by bearing arms. The Constitution essentially secures that the responsibility of personal protection lies with the individual, not the government.

3. This amendment prohibits the government from forcing you to house soldiers during times of peace and war. This amendment has been more broadly interpreted to include the government's use of private land to "house" other things like endangered species.

4. The Fourth Amendment deals with privacy, unlawful search and seizure, and probable cause.

5. The Fifth Amendment makes sure that you are not tried for the same crime twice, that if convicted you are only punished once, that you don't have to testify against yourself, and that your personal property cannot be turned into public property without just compensation.

6. Every person accused of a crime has the right to know what the charge is, the right to be confronted by their accusers and witnesses, the right to require witnesses to testify in their defense, the right to a trial within a short period of time from being accused, and the right to legal assistance (which at the time only meant that the government couldn't take your lawyer away. It wasn't until later that this amendment was interpreted to allow people the right to have a lawyer even if it meant that one had to be provided.)

7. The Seventh Amendment ensures that everyone has the right to a jury trial for every accusation.

8. Essentially, this amendment ensures that the punishment shall fit the crime.

9. The Ninth Amendment essentially says that just because the Constitution gives the people some rights, it shouldn't be implied that it denies other rights to people. We don't need the Constitution to tell us everything - just because the Constitution doesn't say I have a right doesn't mean that I don't have it.

10. State governments can provide rights or limit rights not otherwise listed or described in the Constitution.

Countdown to the Gay Games - Pride

2006-07-01T10:12:00.000-07:00

Week 15

This week marks a milestone - 20 miles. In the 18 week program it is the longest stretch that one will run before raceday. The upside is the overwhelming accomplishment. I mean, c'mon. I average somewhere between a nine and a ten minute mile. That means running consistently for anywhere from 3 - 3 1/2 hours. If you work a 9-5 job, that is the time between the start of your day and lunch break. It's crazy when you think of it. The downside is that it still isn't a full marathon and there is always the looming question of whether you truly will be able to complete the race. When it all comes down to it, will you fall short of the finish.

I have to say that these last few weeks have been tough. I've had a lot on my mind, a lot of tasks and travelling, little motivation to run. The summer weather has been unforgiving with temps in the 80's by 0900. For long runs like last week, getting up at 5am has been a necessity to avoid the heat and humidity of Midwest June. And I have to say, this week I told myself that whatever happens, I'll be happy with how far I've come over the last four months.

But then, I stopped myself.

June is Pride month for most people and places. It represents a celebration of who we are and what we have accomplished. But it is also a reminder of what we still have ahead. Last weekend, I had the pleasure of spending Pride in Minneapolis with my dear friends Nancy and JP. We danced at Twilight, listened to freestyle vocals at Jet Set, watched the parade, visited the park, and met gobs of cool people. I drank too much, flirted with a hottie hipster, kissed a lesbian, and laughed at the general straight reaction to so many gay people in one place. I also got the funny idea that at some point, gay people should rebel against marriage equality. I mean, why should we want to be equals, we should want more. We should want better ceremonies, stronger ties, longer lasting "I do's", cooler "forevers", swankier divorces. Why should we settle for what they have. And maybe Pride should last all year long. OK, seriously.

My point is that it is easy to enjoy the momentum that we have created - to sit back and say "whatever happens, I'll be happy with how far I've come." But sometimes, you have to push through. You have to remember that there are six more miles left in the race. And it's OK to be proud of running 20 miles. But isn't it better to be proud of finishing? It's OK to be proud of who you are. But isn't it better to be proud of who you could be?

Week 14

Son of a Witch

2006-06-18T11:37:00.000-07:00

Sequels, sophomore albums, getting back together - is anything better the second time around? OK, OK, I can think of a few things (day old pizza). Since I liked the book Wicked so much, picking up and reading Gregory McGuire's sequel, Son of a Witch, seemed like a no brainer. The book tells the tale of Liir, Elphaba's maybe son, as he flashes back the years since the famed meltdown. If there was some allegorical lesson to be learned (as with Wicked), I missed it. And unlike the majority of his other books, Mr. McGuire had no cheeky fairy tale to twist to keep things interesting for a reader who would think "hmmph, is that the real story?"

Frankly, I should have taken a cue from the fact that I never really enjoyed any of the other books that Mr. McGuire wrote except for Wicked. So I'm not really surprised that I plowed through this one just to get it done with. I guess I just thought the same thing that we all think when dealing with the second time around - this time, things will be different.

Countdown to the Gay Games - the Closet

2006-06-15T12:32:00.000-07:00

Week 10 - 13

I don't exactly know which is worse: falling off of my running schedule or not blogging about falling off my running schedule. It has been a few weeks since I posted about my progress. In my defense, I had to travel to the west coast for work and then to Florida for fun. I've been winding down my old job, trying to start my new job, looking for a house, selling a house, and gearing up to move in with the BF. Life is stressful.

Which brings me to the mea culpa point of this post. I am not a runner. Sure, I have been putting my best foot forward and training for this 26.2 mile hike. But I had a moment when packing my bags for my respective trips when I could have put my tennis shoes in the carry on. Knowing that I was supposed to run 16 miles on that Saturday, I could have planned ahead. And I didn't. A runner, a tried and true, straight to the heart, nothing else matters runner would have taken out the extra pair of skinny jeans and flip flops. I didn't pass the test. I feel like "runner" is something in my proverbial closet - a person that I would like to be but that at present doesn't jive with the rest of my life, someone that I am not completely ready to commit to. Yet this marathon is something that I have to do, something that I want to do even though I am fairly sure that I will give it up after raceday.

I've often wondered about the lives of gay republicans and gay people who serve in the military. I think it is easy for people to question how a gay person could put one part of their life aside in order to pursue another side. In many circles we villify gay republicans as traitors or "sleeping with the enemy". We wonder how gay men and women can serve our country in a military that doesn't really want them to be honest about who they are. We condemn them for having their own closet.

The closet does not discriminate. Certainly, we have co-opted the phrase to deal with sexuality but certainly the reference could refer to anything we are not necessarily willing to indulge, support, discover, or own. I surmise that on a daily basis we all put something of ourselves in the closet or the back burner. So who is to say that there are openly gay people who closet their Republican conservative side, secretly agreeing with prolife, school prayer, and tax cuts for the rich but never saying so aloud for fear of being red-bashed. And if the call of duty to serve our country is so great, then who am I to ask a gay person to put that dedication in the closet in order to come out of another one. Which is not to say that I think one should not advocate for change in either situation.

Our gay personas can often overwhelm the rest of our lives. Like the runner in me who tries to gain a foothold in the busy, stressed out, would rather drive a car, life that I lead, we try to balance who we need to be, who we want to be. And we all need to be cut a little bit of slack with respect to who we should be.

And that includes running schedules and poor blogging.

Countdown to the Gay Games - Music for a 25K

2006-05-14T09:24:00.000-07:00

Week 9

It has literally been raining all week making running a difficult prospect. But I am happy to say that this week, mid training, I am up to running 25K. In celebration of this and my new found love of the iPod, I created a playlist for my run. If you have any great recommendations for new songs, let me know.

The Letting Go - Melissa Etheridge
Yeah, it's about breaking up but it's a great stretching song. And y'all know how I like that misery shit.

Halfway Home - Bill Bonk
Almost Ran - Josh Canova
These two songs are total chill, pass the time, remind your legs that it's going to be a long run kind of songs. I also think it is ironic that one of the first songs is entitled halfway home when essentially i just left the house.

She's No You - Jesse McCartney
At this point in my run, I'm at the Northpoint watertower and getting my first look at the lake. I like the hook to this song and I sort of fashion that this cute boy is singing to me.

Let Go - Frou Frou
"Cuz there's beauty in a breakdown"

Soar - Christina Aguilera
This really should have been a gay anthem but I think it got eclipsed by the other songs on the Dirrty album. I'm at about 2.5 miles now and my legs are burning so when Xtina sings "spread your wings and soar", I say "how far".

They (Eye in the Sky Mix) - Jem
Domino - Thunderball
Ready, Steady, Go - Paul Oakenfold
It's time to start putting it into gear as I reach the boathouses. Depending on the time of day, the marina is hopping with people and I'm beginning to really find my groove and pace. Jem is awesome and I thank Tray for introducing me to her music. Domino has a groovy lounge feel, sort of like the music they play before all the clubbers get really going. Ready, Steady, Go ramps me up for what's to come.

Come On - Andy Hunter
From the Alias soundtrack. It is one of the songs they play when Sydney Bristow is kicking ass. I'm at about 4.5 miles now and it is an easy place to start slowing down but this song puts me over the edge. Running past Bradford Beach, it's boy watching time and I sort of fashion myself kicking a little ass too.

What About - Janet Jackson
This was the song that made me want a career as a backup dancer for Janet. Alas, I went to medical school. But the angry lyrics and pounding beat are strategically placed on this run to get me up the Lake Park hill. People passing by see me focused and mouthing all the words "you didn't fuck up she only gave you head".

Since You've Been Gone (DeFranco Remix) - Kelly Clarkson
Baby Boy (Junior Vasquez mix) - Beyonce
Apart - Dangerous Muse
Hex Club Mix - Britney Spears
Sorry (Paul Oakenfold Mix) - Madonna
Harder - Manny Lehman
Chris Cox Megamix - Britney Spears
Past 5 miles and 45 minutes, the running gets easy. The legs go into automatic and it's just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other. This section gets substituted often (thanks J&R for loading me up from the get go) but it essentially is filled with mindless dance mix and electronic stuff to keep me going at a good pace. For the next three miles, my thoughts wander. Notables though would be Dangersous Muse's retro 80's sexually ambiguous sound. Also Madonna's song Sorry just makes me crazy. It reminds me of dancing at ARQ in Sydney. Harder reminds me of my early days on the dance floor - Manny never lets me down, even today. As the runs get longer, this section will expand. Suggestions?

Canned Heat - Jamiroquai
Transitioning to the final third of the run, it's somewhat important to slow it down a bit or I won't be able to walk tomorrow. I'm a total freak because I first heard this song on the Center Stage soundtrack and I've always loved it.

You're A God - Vertical Horizon
Don't Look Down - BBMak
On A High - Duncan Shiek
Breathe - Michelle Branch
Why Can't I - Liz Phair
The wind down starts at mile 9. These songs have slower verses but tend to crank just a little bit during their choruses. I'm passing Alterra coffeeshop staring down all of the intellectuals. The Lafayette hill poses a challenge but it's probably a good time to walk a bit anyway.

I'll Take it From Here - Jonatha Brooke
On Saturday Afternoons in 1963 - Ricki Lee Jones
This Woman's Work - Kate Bush
The Water is Wide - Karla Bonoff
These are the slow songs. Jonatha Brooke is such a great lyricist, I wish I could write like she does. I tend to slow way down during these songs until I am home stretching out my aching muscles.

Noche de Toxinas - Kinky
Occasionally, the run hasn't been going well and I'm hurting on the home stretch. Newberry Street can seem like it goes on forever at this point. So I built in a kicker in case I need a bit of a lift to make it home.

Countdown to the Gay Games - Unity

2006-05-05T12:38:00.000-07:00

Week 7 and 8

So things are starting to smooth out a bit in the training. The running is getting a bit easier though I wish that the weather would even out. Between the rain and the colder days and my schedule, finding a good time to run is somewhat difficult. I made a decision to change up my route this week and run up in the northeast suburbs. Unfortunately this bypasses the lakefront (and the cute boys) but, cute boys aside, the scenery is much more interesting to pay attention to. I also made the decision to run with the iPod. Holy shit - I love it. I actually created playlists and everything for running the different distances and some of the songs are strategically placed at distances where I know I have a tendency to slow down. Listening to the music also gets me out of my head and keeps me from overthinking things. I don't have an overthinking problem do I?

There are pros and cons to doing things differently or thinking about things differently. Though listening to music keeps me on track and brings me into the 21st century, I don't want to listen to music on race day. I want to pay attention to the course, the other runners, the spectators, and my thoughts as I run. Will I be able to run the race without music if I didn't train without it? Though the new course seems to be motivating, I really like running the lakefront because I get to see other runners like me instead of suburbanites pulling over their SUV's to take a cell call. Which is the better strategy? Can I achieve what I set out to do with one strategy if it differs from what I am supposed to do? Will a strategy that gets me through today, hurt me in my final goal?

I think sometimes strategy can get in the way of things or can make us lose sight of what we are really working toward. Recently when discussing the efforts of the Wisconsin fight against the proposed amendment against same sex marriage, an exhausted person said to me "this would be alot easier for straight people to swallow if it weren't for all of the gay men who are only about parties, drugs, and sex." To which I sort of had to laugh (after being mildly offended). It makes me think about what is going on in the Castro in SF. Now that many gay couples are beginning to sprout families, they want their old digs, the Castro, to be a "cleaner", more family friendly place. As if your ability to be visible as a gay parent would be even possible without the early visibility of places like the Castro. When strategizing our lives, I fear that we are our worse enemies. Those against us are unified in their strategy while we still need to be reminded of the definition of unity. My response to that tired person (and oh so tired comment) was "you sound just like they do. You sound just like the people you are trying to convert. You want them to see gay people as equal yet you don't believe it yourself."

To me, this marriage fight isn't about the right to marry. Hell, I fight for it and I'm not exactly sure that I would enter into marriage with my BF unless it meant better health care benefits. It's about equality - having the same rights as everyone else whether you want them or not. Because that's what rights are for. They should be there whether we need them or not. The monogamous gay couples should fight for free anonymous AIDS tests and needle exchange programs because someday they might need it. Circuit boys should fight for marriage equality because that Winterparty trick just might stick around someday. Gay men should fundraise for breast cancer research just like Lesbians raise money for AIDS research. The Castro daddies should fight for keeping the Castro the way it is because their kids should have a place to explore and discover themselves the way they did. We will never achieve equality if we don't first start seeing each other as equals. And we need to be united on that front.

Week 6

Where in the World Is...

2006-05-02T18:40:00.000-07:00

A recent survey done for National Geographic found that 6 out of every 10 Americans aged 18 - 24 couldn't find Iraq on a map. I think it is incredibly interesting that we are sending these same Americans to a country and they don't exactly know where they are. One third in this age group couldn't accurately point out Louisiana.

Are we missing major steps as we inundate our youth with news and reports and current events without giving them the basic information about the world we live in? Have we become so isolated and undereducated? Fewer than 3 in 10 thought that it was even important to know the locations of countries in the news and only 14% thought it was important to learn another language.

I agree with President Bush that no child should be left behind because he might not be able to find his way home.

Will America fall at the hands of its own sheer stupidity and indifference?

Hello Pot, I'm Kettle

2006-04-30T10:03:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-28T14:27:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-25T13:04:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-20T15:22:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-13T07:48:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-10T10:00:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-05T16:08:00.000-07:00

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.

Countdown to the Gay Games - Competition

2006-03-29T16:27:00.000-08:00

Week 2

Growing up, I was always the shortest one in my class, the scrawniest one of the bunch. I was the one who was always picked last for teams at recess, the one who was relegated from the bench to left field for one inning to prove that "everybody plays." I endured countless taunts of "faggot" because of my cohort's perception of my masculinity. I never played sports. I did enjoy swimming and worked as a lifeguard to save money for college, but my high school didn't have a swim team. I was a great tumbler and even spent a year as a collegiate chearleader flipping off the top of pyramids during time outs. But even then, I never considered myself an athlete. I was, however, a competitor.

I have always been a competitive person. On every other playing field than the sports field, I was the consumate overachiever. I was the straight A student, finishing high school by age 17, interviewing and getting accepted to medical school at 19, chief resident, and youngest person in my department to get promoted to associate professor ( after six years instead of the usual ten). Fueled by my childhood playground humiliations, my early gay adulthood became somewhat of a competition to look the best, wear the best clothes, get invited to the best parties, be the one everyone wanted to date, be the best friend. As I get older, the competition becomes finding the best job that will make you happy, being the best boyfriend, doing your best to pay attention to the world around us and how one person can do his part.

When I ran the marathon a few years ago, I never considered myself to be an athlete. Definitely, it was the opportunity to prove to myself that I could succeed at a physical challenge. What I discovered was my inner competitor sticking to the distance, trying to beat my goal of under 4 hours, watching my athlete's body change in the intervening weeks. And I never paid much attention to the other runners. I never wondered what inner challenge brought them to the playing field that day, what record they set out to prove. Quick to recall the many verbal assaults on my sexuality because of my lack of interest or aptitude in sports, I look forward to this upcoming marathon. I will take some time to look around at the other runners and celebrate them for the athletes and the competitors that they are.

Countdown - Week 1

Countdown to the Gay Games - Running a Marathon

2006-03-22T06:47:00.000-08:00

This is the first week of my 18 week training for the Gay Games marathon on July 22nd in Chicago. I hope to have similar posts every week to outline my progress and thoughts about gay issues as I go along. Feel free to follow along and offer your support.

WEEK 1

I ran a marathon a couple of years ago. It was the Chicago Marathon's 25th anniversary. I had never run a marathon before and was looking for a physical challenge. I learned alot about myself during those 18 weeks of training. I always ran alone and never listened to music so I was always alone with my thoughts. I was able to think about the things going on in my life and in my world. I've tried twice to run a marathon since the original and each time, I fell short. The training didn't stick, I wasn't that motivated to repeat the performance. So why now? Well, now it's a matter of Pride.

Coming out to myself, my friends, and ultimately my family was a powerful experience in my life. Discovering and being honest with who I really am allowed me to take my place in the larger family of the gay community and to develop lasting friendships and a long term relationship. And coming out to the world put another face to the gay community, another beacon by which others would follow.

There seems to be so much turmoil today surrounding people's feelings about everything from gay marriage to hate crimes, from gays in the military to gays in the church, from crystal meth use to AIDS and breast cancer, from teaching about homosexuality in schools to bipartisan politics. And it would seem that many people wish it would all go away - that we would just all go away. To be honest, it was difficult to choose this marathon given my own country's discriminatory policies against gay people and people with HIV. And so I am going to run a marathon - 26.2 miles, about 4 hours, along with other gay men and women in order to be counted. I run to show that we exist, that I exist in this world and in this country. One foot in front of the other.

The Year of Magical Thinking

2006-03-19T07:16:00.000-08:00

It's hard to believe that a book entitled The Year of Magical Thinking would be a reference to a year of grief. But that is what Joan Didion's best selling book is, a reminiscence of the year after her husband died from a massive heart attack in their New York home. "Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it", she writes.

So what does a seasoned author, political analyst, and Ivy League intelligencia do when confronted with the unknown? She seeks to understand it. The book is a touching tribute to her husband and family but it is also the ruminations of a woman trying to make sense of death, of grief, of solitude, of the next phase of her life alone. I appreciated her novel which reads like a journey, rational thought mixed with irrational emotion, equal parts self help and cautionary tale. I also liked how she describes the process of moving on. Of course it is deliberate, it is analyzed. The finality coming while crossing Lexington Avenue and realizing one year and one day later that she no longer has a reference of what she and her husband were doing the year before. For the first time in her head, she is without him.

I have sort of a strange fear of death; not my own, per se, but of those people around me. Truthfully, my fear is more likely a fear of regret - that I did not celebrate what I could when I could, that I always thought there would be more time. I remember a great line from Marsha Norman's play 'Night Mother. The protaganist has planned a last quiet evening with her mother before killing herself. The mother, stricken with grief and anger at the impending event, suggests that every night could be like this one if she were to stay alive. The daughter refutes "but it's the next part that makes this last part so good." In her discussion of many emotions and personal thoughts, Ms. Didion never mentions regret when remembering her husband, never dwells on the things they never had the chance to do or the things they would never do again. No regrets.

The message then is to truly live each day as if it were your last.

Go Easy Into That Dark Night

2006-03-15T10:23:00.001-08:00

The New York Times has reported some concerning news stories, like this one, about the drug Ambien. It seems that there have been increased reports of people who have used Ambien getting into more traffic accidents. And the most recent report claims that people who use Ambien are sleep-eating. People are actually unaware that they are getting out of bed to snack while under the influence of their sedative. I can understand the no driving under Ambien problem. But guerilla snacking?

I have to say that I rely on Ambien occasionally to reboot so to speak when my sleep cycles get out of whack. That little white pill gets me to sleep fast (within 15 minutes) and generally keeps me there for at least six hours. Sometimes I use it on a long flight, when I have a string of overnight shifts at the hospital, or when the music in the club was just too good to go home before, say 7am. And I'm not the only one. Recently, on a transoceanic flight from Australia, I watched a young thirtysomething man pull out a 10 mg tab, split it in two, and give one half to his girlfriend. They placed it on their tongues at the same time, toasted each other by clinking their plastic water glasses, and then sent it down the hatch. Asleep in each other's arms, my friend Billy thought they looked cute. Personally, I thought the whole event looked like a suicide pact.

I can't say that I have ever heard of anyone who used Ambien to have a problem with somnambulaic eating binges. And I wonder if the process of putting oneself into deep REM sleep doesn't actually awaken their own personal issue. That it's not really the Ambien at all that makes the person eat, but rather the Ambien that allows a person to tap into a subconscious desire for food.

Something else doesn't make sense to me - the fact that these people on Ambien are leaving their beds, walking around the house, finding and preparing snacks, and then getting back in their beds now strewn with candy bar wrappers and Frito bags. C'mon. On occasion, I have awakened from my Ambien haze a bit early, usually with the need to pee. I have to tell you, that it is somewhat difficult to navigate to the bathroom much less the kitchen without holding on to walls. And I am very cognizant the next day as to what I did and where I did it. I can't imagine how these people are managing their way to the food aisle and back unharmed. But maybe that's the point of the articles - to show the inherent risks that Ambien can pose when all you really banked on is a good night's sleep.

I imagine that the bad press will undoubtedly harm the makers of Ambien. I, for one, will stick by the little white pill's side. Though I might have to buy stock in Lunesta.

Departure

2006-03-09T13:28:00.000-08:00

This is dedicated to my dearest friends. Thanks for such a great weekend. Where would I be without you.

DEPARTURE

I’ve packed this bag,
Separated my share of dancehall tricks from yours.
And yet the room doesn’t look emptier
Though I feel quietly full.

I can still hear the music pumping my blood
More in my heart now then in my ears
Taking a last look backward
Before yellow cabbing away.

You remain, flying where you fly
To heights I cannot follow today.
A thousand hands, minus two,
To hold you up in this air.

And, oh, to breathe you in – your smile, your joy,
The small of your back, the way you
Predictably move among this deafening crowd.
I can pick you out of a hundred.

But there are miles to bridge and time to lapse,
Lives to lead where this stratosphere is unreachable.
Wheels that come up should touch down
Until another flight brings us back to this sky.

Sitting alone now in this empty seat
Reserved to go home, like me.
I remember that I somehow forget my fear of flying
When you are with me. You’re magic that way.

I’ve always been amazed that planes can fly.
Heavy steel like heavy hearts defying forward motion.
Only faith, promise of safety, the perpetual energy of our countless hands
Will keep it above these clouds.

You could almost hear the bitchslap

2006-02-22T16:40:00.000-08:00

I went to buy jeans and was looking for the right pair when the salesperson came over to "help me" find my size. I said, "Yeah, I'm a 28"

"Sure you are honey, we can try those first if you want."

I honestly didn't know what to say.

Love, Sydney

2006-02-20T21:00:00.000-08:00

I just got back from a cool ten days in Sydney, Australia. It is somewhat of a long story regarding how I got there, but suffice it to say that the whole thing was an awesome vacation. I knew going into the trip that Sydney is well known for being a gay mecca and that Aussies in general are pretty acceptable of gay people. But it ended up being more than that.

Now, I've done some travelling throughout the United States and abroad. At every destination, I've been fairly cognizant of my sexuality and the considerations that must be taken when being an openly gay person. I think all of us, even if only subconsciously, make some changes when outside of home base. I feel differently when getting a look from a hotel clerk when I correct them that my travelling companion and I will only need one bed. I am more cautious when walking through an unfamiliar neighborhood to a restaurant. I feel, in short, like an edited version of myself. Which is maybe why many gay people choose specific venues like gay cruises, circuit parties, places like ptown, or simply gay bars to spend their time. Yet even then, I am reminded that I am only unedited within this pink bubble of space and time.

When we arrived in Sydney, we headed directly to world renowned Bondi Beach, home of lifeguards, speedos, and international hotties on holiday. Not disappointed. But, it was odd. It was extremely difficult to tell the gays from the, well, not so gays. There was intergender lotion rubbing on the backs of both boys and girls. And choice of swimsuit style, a dead giveaway in the states, was no smoking gun either. And since every one was so nice, sure that some boy was following you into the bathroom for a quickie ended up as truly only an offer to use his shower gel. Even the hot gay dance club ARQ was filled with muscle bound boys shaking their booty in the tight designer jeans, shirtless, on the box, kissing their girlfriends. Either they were straight or gay on one hell of a roll. You just couldn't tell. The city itself put a few million dollars into renovating Oxford Street, the gayest of gay boulevards, in time for Mardi Gras. And everybody was there.

But it didn't hit me until later in the week when we were sitting on a different beach, one with more of a family feel. And by family, I mean the hetero couple and their two kids that sat directly behind us on their large beach quilt and buried each other in the sand - and not in a frightening mafia way. There I am in my orange Aussie Bum speedo, listening to the iPod, when it was time for lotion to be reapplied to my back by my good gay friend Billy. In the states, the family would have up and left - kids shouldn't see such sights until they are drunk and in college. But this crew didn't bat an eyelash.

And honestly, neither did I. Because at that point, I was unedited because there was nothing to edit. I didn't feel different because nobody on that beach was different. We weren't tolerated or accepted, we just existed in that space and time with no bubble required to remind us of who we were or where we were allowed to feel comfortable. And so there was nothing left to do but enjoy the sun, everyone's sun, shining down on all of us the same.

A letter to Mr. Robida

2006-02-08T13:53:00.000-08:00

Dear Mr. Robida,

Maybe you turned to the news about how some theatres were refusing to show gay cowboy movies. Maybe you heard your legislators equate homosexuality with bestiality. Maybe you watched as state after state enacted changes in their consititutions to protect marriage. Maybe you followed an AFA boycott and listened to how gay-straight alliances are damaging our children. Maybe you read a protest sign from Rev. Fred Phelps that said that God hates fags.

And somewhere in that small head of yours, they got through. In that like mind it all started to make sense. In your heart of hearts, you believed it your mission to fix the world as they have described it to you - to be their warrior in their fight to be rid of all of us. And so with your arms you swung your hatchet and shot your gun.

You know they will deny you as a psychopath. In the end, they will cut you loose. They will never take responsibility for the message they sent you and you will eventually be forgotten just like those whose lives you undid.

But your hatred will grow because someone else will hear about you and will carry your torch, their torch, and burn humankind to ash until someone says "enough"

Lodge is a Force of Nature

2006-01-31T06:16:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, I drove up north to spend a weekend at Spider Lake Lodge. My awesome friends Nancy and JP reserved the entire lodge for the weekend and then invited a bunch of their friends to take the various rooms. The awesome weekend was full of lounging and relaxing, plenty of drinking, walking and snowshoeing in the woods. Saturday night, we all dressed in 70's attire and acted out one of those murder mystery dinners.

I've never been one to volunteer for "roughing it." I'm what you call an indoor sort of guy. Give me a W hotel and my AmEx card and I'm pretty much happy. And as many of you know, I am not a fan of the cold weather. So travelling up north in winter to spend a few days in the wooded wild in a place with animal heads on the wall is a bit of a stretch for me. But I'm stepping outside of my box these days, and any weekend with friends is a weekend to be cherished and remembered. The above group photo was taken during one of our treks over the iced lake.

And in the spirit of the great outdoors and taking my cue from a few recent gay characters who knew how to rough it, I had to pay my homage to Brokeback Mountain by wearing my cowboy hat.

I wish I knew how to quit myself.

A Gathering Storm

2006-01-24T07:38:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite authors is Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor who has gone on to write many books about the human condition. He has been awarded the Nobel prize for Peace for his work in uniting humankind and speaking out against the cruelties that humans suffer at the hands of each other. His book, Night, changed the way I thought about everything. I had the distinct pleasure of listening to him speak a number of years ago about the massacres in Rwanda and how, for him, our world now is full of parallels to his world before his encampment. He mentioned how he cringes when people say that the Holocaust could never happen again because he sees the same skies collecting that he once saw as a boy.

School never taught me about the Holocaust - not truly. Of course, my education hit on the high points. I was left with the idea that the German army, in one fell swoop, moved Jews to the concentration camps where they were systematically destroyed. One day they were free, the next they were imprisoned. And it was only Jews. It wasn't until I visited the Holocaust museum in Washington DC that I learned about the nonJews that were included and I understood about the time leading up to the move to the camps. The degradation started small. Jews were not able to purchase certain nonessential items like flowers or wine. They were not able to enjoy concerts or restaurants. Later, there were curfews. Jewish children were unable to go to school. Jews had to register and carry papers, wear gold stars in plain sight, ration their food. By the time they were asked to move from their homes into the Warsaw ghetto, the decree was just one in a long line of ways to make an entire people invisible. And nobody could imagine that there existed enough cruelty and evil in the world to euthanize an entire race. And so they got on the train.

I was reminded of this when I read this article from a Montana newspaper (thanks Towleroad). The article describes how the Montana Family Association is opposed to new measures by the Montana Board of Education to limit bullying in schools. They feel that the measures that would limit the bullying of LGBT students dangerously promote a homosexual lifestyle and those measures should be excluded. Essentially, bullying of LGBT kids is OK and there should be no measures to prevent or penalize such bullying behavior. It is easy to dismiss this as ultraconservative or wingnut behavior but the measure is up for a vote. And take a look around. Gay men have been unable to donate blood or plasma for a long time but it was just this year that this might extend to sperm donation. We still have no overall employment protection and can still be fired just for being gay. This year alone, we have read stories about gay people denied access to country clubs, private properties, and even this country. There is sweeping legislation, constitutional changes, on the table to significantly limit our ability to maintain family and relationships. And people are still murdered for no other reason than being gay. The skies are cloudy indeed.

Many civil rights and minority groups are torn on where to stand. Will standing up for us weaken their own position on the political power scale. So many people say that there is no comparison. Homosexuality is a choice, your race is not. People cannot hide the color of their skin, gay people can live in the closet. And certainly through the ages, many have hidden in order to survive. Those who can "pass" might have a chance in this world. But should we have to make that decision? Should having to choose the shame of denying our own life, beliefs, culture, race, ever be a choice? And are the seemingly little degradations that we endure, the denials, the slow and quiet dissolution of our civil liberty, the fuel for the greater fire on our own road to invisibility? When the time comes, will we not even be able to see ourselves anymore?

After listening to Mr. Wiesel talk that evening, I had the chance to stand in front of him - to meet this amazing man who had changed my way of thinking about things. This man who has stood in the presence of and voiced his opinions to politicians, kings, spiritual leaders, law makers, and great free thinkers now stood in front of me. He looked at me as I imagine he looked at all of those greater men when I asked him what the solution was, how we can change this world that we live in before it is too late. His words were probably the same. With a gentle voice, he only said this to me,

"Remember one thing at all times. Be good to each other."

Surprise, Surprise

2006-01-23T15:18:00.000-08:00

http://uk.gay.com/headlines/9511

Apparently, I'm not the only one selfish out there.

Boycott

2006-01-19T08:53:00.000-08:00

http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/common/story_page/0,5744,17866401%255E2702,00.html

I guess the American Family Association will now have to boycott going to all movies. Stop the insanity!

Selfish

2006-01-06T16:05:00.000-08:00

One of the great things about being out at work is that your co-workers get very comfortable talking about gay topics and you really get a nice view into the thought process of conservative heteros. Case in point. Last week, a co-worker asked me if my BF and I were ever planning on having children. Now, aside from the fact that I find most children annoying, I have no desire to parent in this day and age. Neither does he. And personally, I don't want to spend my energy constantly wondering whether I was fucking it up. In this case, I thought a simple "no" would suffice.

"Oh, so you're one of those selfish gay couples who wants to spend all of their money on themselves". Wham, I did not see that one coming. I mean, this was even worse than the "you shouldn't get married because gay men are not capable of maintaining a monogamous relationship" rant I have heard multiple times before. I am so tired of these ludicrous arguments - these "good gay/bad gay" delineations.

If by selfish you mean that I prefer to use my hard earned salary toward paying back my loans from years of postgraduate education (while my friends were going on spring break). Or toward helping my brother adopt a child of his own. Or putting it toward my godson's college education. Maybe you mean the money I donate to GLSEN, the organization that promotes the healthy education of LGBT youth. But even if you mean the money I selfishly wasted on my Prada loafers, the John Varvatos sweater (which I got at rack price), the seemingly silly 36 hour trips to Atlanta just to see friends at their pool party, the trip to Hawaii and the upgraded mustang convertible rental, too bad. TOO. BAD.

Because mostly, I think that you are just jealous. I don't think that you can stand the fact that, as a gay man, I am not constrained by many of the social pressures that plague you. I don't have to get married just because we've been dating a certain amount of time and all of her friends are married. (Or god forbid, people think I'm gay.) I am not forced to choose one person to be intimate with for what is assumed to be the rest of my life. I don't have to feel cornered into having children because of a proverbial inner clock or because I should want them. Some might, but I don't. If that makes me selfish, so be it. I choose to travel and see the world. I choose to look fabulous with my even more fabulous friends, drinking gin under a hot sun, eating at a swanky restaurant, or dancing the night away. I choose to openly negotiate my sex life, with respect, like an adult. I choose to come home from work, have a beer and pizza, pop in a DVD, and relax without any interruption. And I'm lucky enough to have found another person who doesn't mind figuring out what being selfish together means, hell maybe for the rest of our lives. And by the tone in your voice, something tells me that you wish you could be selfish too.

The whole thing just got me thinking, and it all makes sense now. You don't believe that we should be able to have or adopt children, but you do think that we should want them. You don't believe that we should be allowed to get married, but you do think that we should all want to maintain sexually monogamous relationships. You think that we should all want to be like you but you don't believe that we ever could. Maybe it's because if you allowed yourself to see us in a positive light as equals, you would realize that it's not so much how we wish we were like you, but rather how much you wish you were like us. And that, frankly, scares you.

Love is a Force of Nature

2005-12-29T16:04:00.000-08:00

Last night I saw the Milwaukee premiere of Brokeback Mountain. In fact, I saw it as part of a fundraiser for Center Advocates to pull in some money to defeat the marriage amendment in Wisconsin and so 10K and 3 hours (there was a party, natch) later, I was feeling pretty good. Of course, it's Milwaukee and so we're just getting the film now so I have to say that I was somewhat ruined by all the hype. But after 24 hours, things are layering out.

I have always been struck by the ways people love - how we fall into it, and how we stay the course. What is great about this story for me is how these two men build a life together even though they love from two different vantage points. Ennis, the strong silent type, starts out as a reluctant participant allowing himself to explore a connection, a feeling. Over the course of his life that is rockier than the mountains he flees to, he realizes that he is happiest with Jack. Unwilling to take a risk and conditioned into fear, his love and his commitment grow despite ever present regret. He is consumed emotionally.

Jack, I think, is different. To me, he seemed the instigator - the one who knows what he wants and goes for it, the one who isn't happy unless he rides for the whole 8 seconds. I felt like he was so happy to have someone in his life with whom he could be completely honest about himself. That power fueled his love. To me it seemed that he was more in love with the idea of Ennis than Ennis himself - that he wanted so much to have the life that he truly desired that it didn't matter who it was with. What crushes him in the end is the knowledge that his love would be unrequited, at least to the extent and the freedom that he wants. Ultimately, he is consumed physically.

Personally, I don't know why the anti-gay agenda is so against everyone going to see this film. Unless, of course, they themselves haven't bothered to watch it. Marriages break up, lives are destroyed, everybody winds up miserable because of this love affair. Seems like the perfect roll of yellow CAUTION tape surrounding everything gay. Unless they saw what we saw last night which is that you just can't fight or change who or how you love.

What made this movie sad for me was how hard these starcrossed two tried. Though they were fated to fail, these two found a connection if only on the mountain. And even then they found themselves working off different pages. You just want them to be together. You want to reach into the screen from your 21st century seat and pull them out of their machismo laden unforgiving era. You want to pat them on the back as if to say "just go for it, it'll be OK", reassuring them that as the decades move forward, things will get better.

And as the fundraiser reminded me, we still continue to have the same hope that things will.

The Princes of Egypt

2005-12-22T09:53:00.000-08:00

The New York Times ran an article this week revisiting the ancient tomb of two men who held the role of royal manicurists. The last time we met these Egyptian spa gods, the hubbub surrounding the discovery of their tomb was that they were possibly a gay couple - the first gay couple in fact to have such prime real estate literally and historically. This thoery would answer questions left unexplained by the prevailing idea that they were just twins (very close twins). The gay world breathed a sigh of victory and snickered at the stereotypical fact that they did indeed do fierce nails.

The new theory brings back the twin thing but suggests that they were conjoined twins which would explain some of the closeness in the pictographs. And while it all makes sense to me, I have to say that I was a bit disappointed by the ease at which archeologists were willing to dismiss the gay thing. In fact, the article quotes the scientists as considering homosexual royal manicurists as the least plausible possibility. I mean, couldn't they just leave well enough alone? But one of the scientists said something about how the ancient Egyptians viewed the differences in people. It inspired me and I think it is somewhat timely in our fundamentalist era. "Such attributes were often seen as fabulous rather than monstrous, and positive rather than negative," Dr. O'Connor said. "They attested the creator god's ability, if he wished, to bring wondrous changes upon the norms he himself had established." It is the scientist's take on the age old phrase 'God don't make no junk.' Take that, Religious Right.

Essentially, I agree that in the interest of science and history and anthropology, one needs to consider all scenarios in order to get it right. I guess I just want to believe that through the ages there was boy on boy love and it was a good thing, maybe even celebrated. That somewhere in the desert Whitney and Mariah are really singing "there can be miracles, if you believe" in an ancient Disney soundtrack (how gay would that be). That Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum locked in a lover's embrace, were buried, only to be found centuries later in order to give us inspiration to keep on fighting for our lives, for our relationships, and for our cuticles.

Raisins Suck

2005-12-10T15:39:00.000-08:00

Today at Beans and Barley, I threw a hissy. All I wanted was a bag of oriental snack food (you know, with wasabi peas, rice crackers, peanuts) and every single bag of snacks had raisins in it. EVERY. SINGLE. BAG. Even the non-oriental mix snack bags. Ughrhgh. Raisins are in everything and they totally ruin it. Oatmeal cookies? Ruined. Granola? Ruined. Oriental fucking snack mix? Ruined! And half the time you don't even know they're there until it's too late, mimicking chocolate chips or mixing in with the other fruit. And p.s. there is nothing oriental about raisins so what the f are they doing in a bag of "oriental" snack mix?

I have absolutely no idea why I hate raisins. It is completely irrational. I really like grapes so it's not where the raisin came from, and i have no problem eating prunes (unless they're canned)so it's not like I have issues with dried fruit. Except now that I think about it, I can't stand sundried tomatoes either. But whatever it is, I wish raisins would go away or at least stop sabotaging my food. I was forced to buy separate bags of the ingredients in the oriental snack mix and make my own mix. Now I have waaaaaay too much snack and it is in all the wrong proportions and they didn't have rice crackers so I had to use pumpkin seeds which is so not the same thing.

My friends are having a very cool party tonight and I have to work so I can't go. Work is like raisins sabotaging the oriental snack mix of life.

the number we end up with

2005-12-06T06:51:00.000-08:00

"You can safely become the person you always wanted to be, or the person you were always scared you would become." So says main character Anjou Lovett in Beth Goldner's tale of grief. She is referring to meeting strangers on the train but the same could be said for being a crazy person.

Synopsis (and I'm not giving anything away): Woman meets man on train, woman begins romantic relationship with man, woman finds out man is married, man leaves wife for woman, man starts cheating on woman (surprise surprise), man leaves woman1 for woman2, man gets run over by a car, and then bringing it all full circle, woman1 becomes train wreck. Get it, they met on a train and then she becomes a train wreck?

OK, that's just the back story. Seriously, this was supposed to be a touching story about how one woman deals with her issues of abandonment and grief by working for the Census Bureau. And if the book jacket described it like that, I never would have bought the thing. But of course, I fell for the morose and disturbing storyline and the promise of a character finding redemption in a journey. What I got was a woman so annoying that if I was her friend when she went off the deep end, I would have let her drown.

I'm sure that I wouldn't be so critical if I had read at least one good book since this summer but I am starting to feel like I am losing my touch in choosing new material. Therefore, I am moving on to the sure thing. Joan Didion will not let me down. Welcome to the Year of Magical Thinking.

World AIDS Day

2005-12-01T05:25:00.000-08:00

Today is World AIDS Day. I've had a day to think about my life in the era of the AIDS epidemic and how it has affected me, my relationships, and the relationship I have with my community. I've had a day to remember how AIDS has come into my life.

In my lifetime, it seems that we have come a long way though maybe not fast enough. In my college bioethics class I wrote a controversial thesis on the practice of fasttracking experimental HIV medications. The year was 1989 and at the time, AZT was the only real name on the block. Protease Inhibitors and drug cocktails were laboratory concoctions and scientific studies waiting for the light of day. All around us we were being asked to ACT UP and that silence equaled death. People were passionate about doing big things in big ways.

As I entered into the 90's on the cusp of a new millenium, the face of AIDS changed. The drugs became available and the gaunt faces were replaced with a new face, one that could climb mountains both literal and proverbial during this fight. AIDS became something surmountable. I became a doctor during this time. I watched the complacency begin at the same time I still saw the struggle. And then I saw a poster, an ad really. It read "When they discover a cure for AIDS, will you be able to say that you did your part?" I remember the first time I walked into the AIDS Resource Center of Wisconsin to be trained on the AIDS information helpline. I met so many neat people dedicated to doing big things in many small ways, just like myself. I would go on to other various duties like packaging and delivering food, working in the library, and attending the numerous fundraisers the Center would have throughout the year. But seemingly, the numbers continue to climb and the faces still look forward to a cure that still seems out of reach.

During this time, I also became a proud member of the gay community and AIDS could no longer be someone else's disease. Like I imagine every gay man does, I have friends with the disease. I sat before them as they tearfully disclosed their seroconversion with a mix of disbelief, fear, and defiance . And I tearfully looked back at them with a mix of heartbreak and anger - heartbreak for a life now altered forever, anger that it never should have happened in the first place. I fear that as gay men, we are made to feel as though control has been taken away from us. The question of contracting AIDS being not if, but when. Not won't, but could. Will it never be enough to know?

If it seems as though I am losing hope, I am. Numbers continue to climb, prevention education pushes seem to have been abandoned, money is running out, gay men are deluded by their own sense of sexual health and fortitude, our government has adopted a "cut them loose" conservatism, the whole thing seems generationally cliche. But if it seems as though I am giving up, I am not. When I think of how far we've come in my life, and where we could be before my life is over, I am encouraged. And so I will walk, donate, educate, be a role model, and do my part so that one day World AIDS Day will be a day to remember not only how AIDS came into our lives, but also how it left.

Punch Card for Porn

2005-11-16T18:20:00.000-08:00

A friend and I were recently talking about pornography. "I'm not really a fan", he said. "A fan?" I responded. "It's not like baseball or Tom Cruise films." Immediately the idea of pitching for Tom Cruise made this a bad analogy. "But you do watch porn." We both agreed that, with rare exception, all gay men watch or have watched pornography. And we both agreed that any gay man who says that he doesn't is probably lying.

I rent porn. I admit it. Every now and again I walk down to the local video store and pick up a movie. I gravitate to a few regular studios and have my favorite "talent" which, according to my friends and despite my demure, tips me from the amateur to the afficionado. And I suppose the employees would probably be able to identify me as a customer in a lineup. But I would hardly call myself a regular. I don't have a library at home, I own very little. In fact, many years ago when my mother was helping me clean my apartment, she completely bypassed my meager stash to instead ask me if I still wanted the bottle of pina colada "suntan lotion" at the bedside. Bless her heart.

I don't see anything wrong with occasional pornography. While I have no Constitutional right to watch porn, I don't believe that I am harming anyone by supporting the industry. I don't use porn as a substitute for intimacy and I don't need to watch porn to get the juices flowing - if you know what I mean. My straight brother once told me that he believes that watching pornography creates false expectations for sexual relationships. C'mon, I live in the real world. I am fairly sure that if two hot Mormons knocked on my door, asking them to get on their knees in prayer would not advance my standing with them. And if I started rubbing my crotch in front of my plumber, the only thing I would get up my ass is a monkey wrench - and not in the good way. Maybe in San Francisco (where of course all good porn happens), but not in Wisconsin.

I've gotten over a few "humps" on my road to being an admitted porn watcher. In the beginning, I would walk into the video store and look at all of the mainstream selections first before sheepishly ascending the stairs to the second floor. As if to say "hey, there wasn't anything good down there, I am forced to rent porn." I'm beyond projecting my own judgement of myself upon the staff wondering if they think that I rent too often. If it's been quite a while, I no longer have the urge to blurt out "I've been having real sex with another real person, that's why you haven't seen me." I got over my hesitation renting videos with explicit titles like Taking It From Behind 4. I mean, I didn't want the employee to get the wrong idea of me and I surely wouldn't want him to think that I had seen volumes 1 through 3. I mastered the awkward moment when someone I knew would walk in. "I've always wondered what it looked like up here."

But despite my comfort, I had to draw the line somewhere. At my last rental, I was asked if I wanted a punch card. Rent 10, get the next one free. Now, I have a punch card for the local coffee shop, and if someone ever saw the card or if I redeemed the thing, it isn't a leap to say that I like coffee. "Damn, you drink alot of that stuff" one might say. To which I might reply, "Guilty!" But to walk into the video store with my punch card for porn and say "I have rented so much porn that you now have to give me a freebie", is a badge I just don't want to sew. The card stamps me a valued porn customer, a porn frequent shopper. Truth be told, I am likely already in the club. I just don't want to be a punch card carrying member.

Rembrandt, My Mom, and Me

2005-11-09T09:23:00.000-08:00

I had been meaning to see the exhibit of Rembrandt's early drawings at the Milwaukee Art Museum ever since it opened. But lately it seems that my days off have been spent catching up with work and so I hadn't mosied to the Brise Soleil to catch my own glimpse. When my parents offered to visit, I suggested the museum among some other choices and to my surprise and delight they opted in. I love killing two birds with one proverbial stone.

I like art museums and I pondered this for the first time during my stroll through the special gallery. As I have mentioned in this blog before, my parents generally supported the arts, but not in terms of specific art. I grew up very simply in a household that budgeted its resources more importantly for food then for fresco. In fact, I realized that the first time I had ever been to an art museum that I can recall was the Museum of Modern Art in NYC during medical school. There, I was giddy and incredulous, standing mere inches from an exhibit of Picasso's Dora Mar paintings. I had studied Picasso's work in high school Spanish class, could name each work and tell you what period it was from. But I had only seen it in 2D on a slide projector screen. This was the real thing, man.

Art galleries became a social preoccupation. Moving to the boho East Side of Milwaukee and befriending "actual artists", I went to openings and gallery nights. I drank cheap wine and cheesy hors d'oeuvres reveling in an evening that took me far away from my world as a scientist. When I would purchase a piece of art from a local artist I would imagine that someday I would claim to have one of their first. Naturally, I would be the only friend who had kept the work in the dusty attic.

An art musuem was the scene of the blind date I scheduled with the stranger who would turn out to be my BF. Much later he would tell me that he wanted to see that Brooks Stevens exhibit anyway and figured if the date turned out to be a bust, at least it wouldn't have been a complete waste of time. It seems that a proclivity for killing two birds with one stone is something we both have in common.

I've been to national standards - MOMA, the Met, The Frick (love the Frick). I've done San Fran, LA, Chicago - all alone. And through them I adopted the quiet etiquette, the slow saunter with hands clasped behind my back, the polite nose wrinkle at something that doesn't turn me. And so, meandering through the 1600's with Rembrandt and my mother was a bit of a change for me. She was incredibly excited. The last time she was in an art museum was when I took her and my sisters to see the Quilts of Gee's Bend for my birthday over four years ago. She commented on little things, asking questions like "why do you think someone would draw a person getting flogged?" to which I had no true response. She would talk to stiff lipped strangers, interrupting their audio tour by lifting up their headphones to tell them that she thinks Rembrandt's Joseph has a quizzical look on his face, as if to ask 'who's child is this?' And as many times as I would admonish her simple country girl ways, she couldn't stop touching all the paintings protected by glass for just such an onlooker. I couldn't be embarrassed by her. I was too busy remembering how, while intensely peering at Picasso at the Museum of Modern Art, I was gently reminded by a security guard to keep my nose at a safe distance.

Democrats with balls

2005-11-02T18:56:00.000-08:00

OK, this stuff never happens to me but I happened to be touring the senate floor when Senator Reid called for the closed session. As a dutiful American, I left as instructed, but then realized I forgot my chapstick and so I quickly ran back inside. Devil, they closed and locked the doors and so I was stuck in that room for the whole 3 1/2 hours listening to what those lawmakers had to say. I am reporting it to you, my blog readers (all 4 of you) this secret conversation for the first time here.

Democrats: Fuck you!
Republicans: Fuck you!

At the end, Senator Frist agreed to create a bipartisan committee or task force or some other useless piece of government hoohah to figure out how they were going to all fuck each other. In the mean time, Karl Rove has figured out a way to rotate the following topics in the news in such a way to deflect negative press from any one of them for very long:

War in Iraq (to be kept to a minimum)
Any natural disaster
Indictment of Libby (more Libby, less Rove)
Bird flu (when in doubt, go with bird flu)

Ugh, this is so exhausting. But at least the democrats are doing something.

The Road Less Travelled

2005-11-02T17:23:00.000-08:00

I love Margaret Cho. No comedian can practically make me pee my pants easier than she can. I can quote more lines from her tours than lines from the movie Legally Blonde. Such wit, such a voice, such an awesome ass-kicker when it comes to things that aren't right in this world. Her blog is no different and I enjoy reading it from time to time to hear what she has to say about this world I have a love/hate relationship with. This statement will stick with me:

If only it were possible to mapquest equality. “When you get to democracy, turn LEFT.”

The Jane Austen Book Club

2005-10-28T07:50:00.000-07:00

It's rare that I like books that someone else recommends or really likes. The Time Traveler's Wife was a rare exception. I have strange taste in fiction and generally like my books sad and morose with uber flawed characters that can't see their way out of their troubles. So I'm actually surprised myself that I read The Jane Austen Book Club only because it was listed as one of the best books of 2004 by the New York Times. I don't even have any special interest in the topic of Jane Austen except the fact that Clueless is a modern Emma. Man, I loved that movie. "What are you wearing?" "A dress." "Says who?" "Calvin Klein". Jane couldn't have said it better herself if she was Alicia Silverstone.

The book chronicles a set of women and one man as they periodically meet at each other's homes to discuss the novels of Jane Austen. Each chapter is dedicated to a book and a member of the club drawing similarities between the two through present day trials and flashback tribulations. So we learn about each of the characters via the book they are reading. Works in theory. And while it was all very interesting (again, in theory), I didn't see the connection between the characters at any time beyond relational. I essentially got to meet a few people but I never really cared about any of them. And then, the worse thing happened - it all ended happily. For everyone nonetheless! Happy endings bore me. It seems to me that one never earns their happy ending, it just befalls you.

Kay Fowler's writing style didn't really mesh with my reading style and so most of the time I found myself playing with the irony of northshore women cheekily reading this book for their own book club. Or, drifting off trying to imagine who would play whom in the movie version. And for that matter, why no female actress powerhouse (say, Susan Sarandon or Reese Witherspoon) has optioned the movie because "there just aren't a lot of good roles for women in Hollywood." And what a tour de femme it would be - like Steel Magnolias set in a book store.

The Best Days of His Life

2005-10-22T07:30:00.000-07:00

Good news this week. Matthew Limon, the 18 year old who was jailed in Kansas for performing consensual oral sex on a 15 year old boy, does not have to serve his 17 year sentence and was finally set free. The bad news is that it took over five years and multiple refused appeals for this to happen. Believe it, this kid has been in jail for five years not because he blew a minor (that only results in 18 months if you are a heterosexual) but because he blew a minor boy.

The craziness of this case for me is why? Don't get me wrong, rules are rules and we have to protect our youth from dodgy folks who would want nothing more than to lie cheat and steal their way into a tender boy's pants. Especially when the little thing isn't armed with the necessary information to protect himself (the benefits of a good broad based sex education in the moral halls of the Kansas school system is a topic for a different post.) I am also not naive to think that the courts in these cases are considering Mr. Limon specifically when determining their verdict but rather what the larger precedent will be should they agree or dissent. Although, in truth, Lawrence v. Kansas earlier this decade did nothing to help poor Matthew.

But it was the reasoning behind the larger sentence that has me miffed. The lawyers would have you believe that the homosexual act must be considered in a graver light because of the higher risk of transmitting AIDS and other STD's. The homosexual act, it seems, carries with it a higher emotional brand that leaves a deeper emotional scar than heterosexual statuatory rape. As assumed card carrying members of pestilence and destruction, an act of barely-legal boy on boy oral sex can be equivalent to armed robbery or aggravated assault. Are we never going to get out from under this rock?

The case also reminded me of how much we are feared. Despite second class citizenship, we continue to wield some power over the social structure of relationships. Because if we don't allow the courts to dole harsher punishment for gay sex crimes, what's next? We'll want to get married. In a brief filed in the case, Phill Kline, the Kansas attorney general, said a ruling in Mr. Limon's favor would "begin a toppling of dominoes which is likely to end in the Kansas marriage law on the scrap heap." That's right, you could say Mr. Limon could blow the whole thing.

In the end, the most ironic thing for me in this case is how in an effort to protect one boy's youth, the courts have taken away another's. Mr. Limon has not spent his early 20's in a dorm room or college campus. He has not spent a Spring Break in the Keys or backpacked in Europe. He has not worked for peanuts to support a boho art thing or found young love. He was in jail. And even if Matthew Limon was ultimately vindicated, wasn't that the overriding point that the Kansas lawyers taught and hit home to a watching world? Being gay can cost you your youth.

The Learning Curve

2005-10-15T08:21:00.000-07:00

I recently attended a fundraiser for the Alliance School, a publicly funded charter school where I live for kids who have been bullied in their own school. At the fundraiser, I introduced myself to the principal and offered to volunteer for after school programs or mentoring. They actually asked me to consider teaching health class. I mentioned this to some co-workers and was surprised to hear some general revile at having to pay taxes to support such a school. I actually heard some people say that bullying is part of growing up and pulling kids out of school because of bullying is not doing them any favors in the long term - it toughens them up for the real world.

GLSEN (Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network) recently published a survey of students that showed that 9 out of 10 - that's 90% - of LGBT students are harassed on a regular basis at school. In fact all students stated that being gay or being perceived as gay is the second most common reason for harassment. The top reason was for personal appearance. Got that folks? You don't even need to be gay in order to be bullied, just thought to be gay. Studies have linked school bullying with absenteeism, depression and suicidality, and fall in academic performance. These are not lessons that should be learned in class and without a good education, these students can never succeed in the real world. In the GenQ page of the most recent issue of the Advocate magazine, 21 year old Brian Samuels briefly discusses his own experiences with bullying and ends his article by saying "we should be thankful for the hurt and pain that we've endured." Should we? OK, maybe if we've already got it. But should we be thankful for having the opportunity to endure such hurt? I'm less convinced.

High school was no picnic for me. Being the shortest, the skinniest, the least athletic, I was picked on alot. At my private Catholic school I was verbally harassed and physically singled out for abuse. I was called every gay name in the book and told by more than one teacher that I needed to toughen up. I never told my parents what went on. Naturally I gravitated toward my talents - drama, forensics (where I met some pretty awesome people), college courses in math and english, and a small group of friends that accepted me for who I was. Did I add to my character because of the bad experiences? You bet I did. I added alot of mistrust 101, callousness 302, and a master's class in bitter independence. Those are part of who I am now, mixed in with all of the good things I've learned along the way. Now every year, when my high school sends me alumni letters asking for money, I write a check to the Alliance school. Endure that!

It's Not About the Bike

2005-10-11T16:20:00.000-07:00

I was going through some old photos and I found this one. And I want to be clear. I was doing the mulitple colored wrist band thing long before Lance Armstrong made it cool. I think this one was taken a few years back after my seventh, er fundraiser of the weekend.

Winter Chill

2005-10-07T07:10:00.000-07:00

Two days ago, it was 81 degrees in my little urban borough. Today it is 47. From summer to winter without passing go. I simply refuse to turn on my heat before the middle of october but damn it is cold in my house. Aside from civil defiance, I am also worried about what will likely be huge energy bills this year with the fallout from two hurricanes. I'm not worried about me, I'm more worried about the people who will be unable to pay. The city just announced that it will be able to provide energy assistance for people who bring in less than 29K for a family of four! Hey, that was last year's poverty level. One cannot just easily absorb a doubling of a heating bill when one is trying to feed two or three kids. Did you know that at most homeless shelters, the homeless are not allowed to stay in the shelter during the day - only at night? Where are the fundraisers now? When is the star studded Pay Your Heating Bill telethon? Dig deep folks. Paying your taxes isn't enough. Financially support your local social service programs. Donate those old sweaters or coats. If you feel uncomfortable giving money to homeless folks, consider leaving your recyclable cans out for them to pick up so they get the money. Or recycle them yourselves and donate that money. Conserve energy to avoid further hikes. As prices soar, pressure your county officials to move funds in the right direction. It's going to be a cold one.

The Genius Factory

2005-10-04T14:00:00.000-07:00

I am a big fan of nonfiction. I love biographies and, when written well, good commentary on odd subjects. Case in point, Mary Roach's book Stiff about the various ways that human cadavers have been used in science and in life. I became a huge fan of the human composting idea after reading that. So I picked up this nonfiction book hoping to have a similar experience (reading, not human composting).

The Genius Factory is a book by journalist David Plotz that chronicles his investigation into the infamous Nobel Prize Sperm Bank. Mr. Plotz looks into the man behind the sperm bank, the "laureates" who donated, the women who used the sperm free of charge, and the children who followed. He also documents what he believes to be the first time in the US that an anonymous donor met his offspring. The idea behind the sperm bank was optometrist Robert Graham's ideal to combat what was felt to be a decline in the quality of America by collecting the sperm of Nobel Prize winners (of which there was only one ultimately) and using it to improve the genetic pool. Only in this way could we preserve all that was good and smart (oh, don't forget white). In truth, the oft overlooked idea of eugenics skimmed a fine line with naziism and the creation of the perfect race. Dr. Graham specifically admits that he felt that the wrong kind of people were having too many children and since it wouldn't be popular to sterilize them, the only other solution would be to promote the good kind of people to have more babies. I would have enjoyed a deeper dive into the controversy of creating such a genetic pool but the book really doesn't go into it all that much.

The book also held the promise of discussing a topic near and dear to my heart - that of nature vs. nurture. The sperm bank felt that by making "genius sperm" available to women, it could breed genius babies. And in truth, I suspect most people would think that to be plausible when in point of fact, environment plays such a critical role as well. The women who received the sperm were not terribly screened with the exception that they all had to be heterosexual and married. The book does a better job of discussing this topic and it does draw some examples of exactly how different kids produced from the same sperm turned out to be. Toward the end it makes a statement about the importance of not letting predetermined ideas of one's potential guide one's life.

But overall, I found the book less than interesting. The author never committed to any real ideas (maybe a good sign of a journalist). The book discussed more of the human stories rather than the science or the controversy. It was more Oprah Winfrey than 60 Minutes. And I wasn't in the mood for Oprah. For me, the book confirmed my beliefs that any one particular thing, whether it be intelligence, good looks or personality, doesn't make us perfect or any better than anyone else. It is the variability in all of us, both individually and collectively, that makes the human race great.

Lead, Follow, or Get out of the Way

2005-09-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

This is exactly what I was talking about in my post "I need a Hero". (thanks towleroad) This is why the republicans win. Because even if you don't like what they are saying, they commit. Even if you don't like the plan (or worse, are the victims of the plan), at least there is a plan and people respect that, people need that. But recent events have shaken that confidence and now everyone is looking for a leader - someone to say "I have a new plan to get behind". Who is it going to be? I am reminded of the adage:

If you don't fight for something, you will fall for anything.

I need a Hero (ss)

Book 'em

2005-09-20T15:28:00.000-07:00

In medical school, my roomate was a brilliant yet surprisingly normal guy. One day he came home from studying and found me in our living room reading a copy of the book Bram Stoker's Dracula. I had never read the classic and thought that I would before the Coppola disaster hit the big screen later that year. My roomate was dumbfounded that I would read a book that was "that thick" when I could spend a measly two hours at the theatre. I was shocked that he would suggest such a travesty. I came to find out that his last venture into nontextbook reading was the third grade thriller Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh. He Cliff's noted his way through any subsequent piece of literature.

I have always been surprised to hear that some people don't read - books that is. Certainly, I'm not losing sleep over Posh Spice's recent revelation that she has never read a single book, citing her lack of time to pursue any literary endeavors (i don't envy her hectic schedule, let me tell you). And for most of us, the time crunch is the major reason that leisurely reading gets put on the bedside table. But my inner geek gets to remembering all of the page turners, the classics, the tear-jerkers, the wonderful writing that has given me new perspective on the world around me. And I wish that same feeling for everyone.

I've decided to keep a running tab of what I'm reading on the side bar of my blog in case anyone needs some ideas or wants to read along with me. I'll post my thoughts on the book when I'm finished. In the mean time, below is a list of some of my favorites in no particular order.

Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
Night by Elie Wiesel
Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice
The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

The Weekend by Peter Cameron
A Home at the End of the World by Michael Cunningham
Wicked by Gregory Maguire
Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank

Stiff: The Interesting Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
You are Not a Stranger Here (stories) by Adam Haslett
The Cemetery Where Al Jolson is Buried (short story) by Amy Hempel

Not Everyone Needs a Hurricane

2005-09-10T18:18:00.000-07:00

I work in an Emergency Department of an urban city. A large percentage of my patients are uninsured or have little to no access to any kind of quality health care. For some people there is no medication, there is no job, their is no child care. To take and keep a job would mean losing state funded assistance, a move that would end up becoming more costly. Often there isn't much to think about except family, the house, a few guilty splurges, or mind numbing drugs. Though it can be frustrating, this disparity is one of the reasons that I work there and I am constantly reminded of how many people consistently live on the edge, paycheck to paycheck, hook or crook.

Hurricane Katrina has brought a devastation far beyond its reach. Over this past week, the conversation has turned to how this natural disaster became a man made disaster and the finger has been pointing to our current administration's lack of initiative. Anyone who knows me or has engaged me in conversation on this subject knows that I am not going to defend the office of the presidency on this but I want to ask a bigger question. In considering the aftermath of this disaster, haven't we all been a little late?

We Americans are great in a crisis. Barely a day went by before companies were matching personal donations to the Red Cross. We televised star studded telethons, Celine Dion is donating a million on Larry King. We have seen this time and again. But the fact remains that the hurricane only blew the fog away from a bigger picture - the ongoing and constant hurricane of poverty and the plight of minorities. How many of us were regular financial donors to the Red Cross before the storm? How many of us regularly donate food or clothes to shelters? We gather to raise money for our favorite political candidates at election time, but how many of us follow the decisions they make once in office? How many of us regularly send messages to our legislators regarding issues that affect the poor in our own communities or the decisions that lead to an administration's incompetence. How many of us are sure that there aren't people in our own neighborhoods who aren't financially or emotionally falling by the wayside. Do we routinely stand up against inappropriate racial or ethnic slurs in our circle of friends or work?

I think we enjoy a little crisis. It allows us to "come together" and since 9/11, our response to crises has redefined the word patriotic. But at the end of the day when the flood waters recede, are we back to business as usual, every man for himself? Will we be able to rebuild New Orleans and strengthen our own communities on a better foundation than before?

I Need a Hero

2005-09-07T07:14:00.000-07:00

It seems to me that in the wake of the hurricane and the flooding, with the war in Iraq becoming less and less defined, with W's cronyism blatantly revealing itself and his poll scores dropping, the 2008 popularity contest, I mean, election should be a slam dunk for the democrats.

Why am I not convinced of that fact?

Can someone enlighten me on this democratic strategy to hide in the corner instead of moving up to the forefront. Because when they announce their plans to run for president and start bitching about these days during their speeches, I am going to ask "where were you?"

At What Cost

2005-08-25T17:58:00.000-07:00

When I was 14, I went to the public library and checked out a replica of a Jackson Pollack painting and hung it on my bedroom wall. Yes, at the time when most teenage boys are hanging posters of sports heroes, rock musicians, or scantily clad women; I was hanging abstract art. To be sure, this should have been a warning sign for my parents that fifteen years later, I would tell them that I was gay.

Focus on the Family just published on their website some warning signs that your son might be gay. The reason for this, naturally, is to encourage parents to recognize the warning signs so that the child can be changed before it's too late. In looking for these red flags, the site cautions "A number of them had traits that could be considered gifts: bright, precocious, social and relational, and artistically talented." Now while the website sponsors don't delve completely into the argument of nature vs. nurture, they do decide that children are not born gay. They suggest that the child's rearing (the age old absent father, smothering mother model) is to account for the homosexual leanings and therefore un-rearing or re-rearing can reverse the trend. After all, children are not straight by accident. And someone always has to blame. But here's the confusing part for me. If raising a bright, social, artistically talented kid is a sign that you may be raising a gay kid, and if raising a gay kid means that you are failing as a parent; how does one commute those two? How can raising a bright, social, artistically talented kid ever mean that you are failing as a parent? And if you believe this propaganda, how does a parent go about removing the homosexuality without endangering the good stuff. Whether nature or nurture, if traits are intrinsically linked, can they be separated without endangering the whole?

Growing up, my parents encouraged our artistic side. We sang, drew pictures, auditioned for plays, learned musical instruments and foreign languages. We also played baseball or ran cross country if we wanted to. I didn't. As an adult, I am a physician who teaches at the post graduate level. I also sing, write, play guitar, and just like at age 14 admire and collect art. I am the sum total of all of my parts including my sexuality. I honestly believe that I would be a different physician, a different teacher, a different writer, a different person if I wasn't a gay one. Of course, I can't be sure. Though they did not have internet access back then, my parents definitely had access to Focus on the Family. They took alot of cues from that group. They were certainly influenced as young parents to raise their kids right. I have never asked my parents if they suspected that I was different from other boys early on and if they made attempts to change things given my red flags. Something tells me they were too busy attending all of our recitals and sporting events to give it much thought. They were too busy being good parents.

What's in a blog?

2005-08-13T16:23:00.000-07:00

So, a while ago I started reading blogs. I had heard of them for sure but never got on the blog reading bandwagon. But once I started, I couldn't stop. As one blog's referencing to another blog led to further blogs, I spiraled into an addiction that consumed quite a bit of my time every day. I discovered blogs that kept me abreast of the latest news of interest, blogs commenting on the writer's own observations of human nature, gossip blogs, and the diaries of some of my friends. I have since pared down the number of blogs that I read and obviously noticed that the reason I am left with those particular blogs is because they give me what I want to read. I have discovered though, that if I am not careful, my relevant world becomes the one I see through the looking glass of my blogs. And it is definitely not unbiased.

Last week, Peter Jennings died. As the discussion ensued as to who would replace him (business is business after all), a haystack of statistics was thrown out regarding the demographic that watches his news program. How will they keep that demographic, who could attract a further demographic? It made me wonder - "In the age of blogging, who really watches the news?" I would like to think that one would still watch the evening news to get unbiased reporting of the world around us. But in this political climate both news stations and reporters have been accused of leaning one way or the other. And so as we Americans spend more and more time in front of our computers siphoning away only those sites we have the time or the desire to read, we run the risk of becoming a modified adage:

You are what you blog.

It Begins

2005-08-13T16:20:00.000-07:00

I keep a private journal - have been for the last six or seven years. I love it. I frequently look back on what I wrote and remember or laugh at the way I thought about things . The best part about my journal is that my writing is private.

I imagine that I have the same worries that most beginning bloggers have. Why would anyone have any interest in reading what I have to say? It's the blogger as egomaniac defense mechanism that keeps most of us a quiet observer in the blogosphere. What if my blog sucks? The world as critic is a very daunting thought. What if nobody reads my blog? Well, nobody else reads my journal and so far I have been pretty happy with that. So, why start a blog?

I have alot of opinions about the world around me. I want this blog to be my way of scratching the surface of interesting topics that are on my mind, maybe working a few things out in my head, and someday remembering or laughing at the way I thought about these things. Unlike my journal, I invite the world to read. Like my journal, it's ultimately for me.