Wii Get Beat When Wii are Bad!

I played Wii for the first time this week, when I managed to beat a 7 year old at Wii Tennis. And I had an epiphany...

How many children could be saved if Nintendo created Wii Child Abuse. In this game, you beat the crap out of your Mii off-spring. No bruises or permanent emotional scars. Better yet, no jail time!

Merry Christmas

When I was 6 years old, Bob Geldoff assembled his rock star friends to write and record this song. 20 years later, they re-recorded it because it parts of this world, conditions continue to worsen.

Let's remember when we are with our families this week that we are lucky to have what we have and to be who we are... and to hope and pray for something better for much of the world.

Peace.

Dear Elder Romney, smoke much pot do you?

"Let me, uh, let me offer just a thought. And that is, uh, one of the great things about this great land, is we have people of different faiths and different persuasions. And uh, I'm convinced that the nation, that the nation does need, the nation does need to have people of different faiths but we need to have a person of faith lead the country."

Mitt Romney is pissed at Mike Huckabee because Rev. Mike is attacking Romney's religion. Romney believes that as along as a candidate has a religion, that religion should not be considered critically prior to his successful journey to the presidency. The problem as that while Romney thinks it would be okay to attack the beliefs of a person not subscribing to traditional relgious dogma, he wants his religion to remain as unscuffed as his holy underwear. This is absurd.

I've been raised in and spent plenty of time by choice in the Catholic Church. These days I've started considering the absurdity of what is most of Christianity. Drinking my Peppermint Mocha at Starbucks right now, I should be preparing for the celebration of a virgin birth of a Jew to a 13 year old girl in a manger among talking animals. 30 years later, I'm to believe this man cheats death, walks the Earth for 40 more days, and somehow saved my life, eventhough I'll still die anyway. (If God wants us to live eternally in Heaven, why not here on Earth with all my friends and SCUBA equipment?)

And while this is all pretty lame, do you know what Mormon's believe?

• That God wasn't born God, but got that way through some hard work.
• That God is married.
• That if you are a good human, and work hard -- and certainly tithe -- then you can become a god in the afterlife.
• That you existed before your body as a spirit.
• When you are a god, you can make little body-less spirits, too.
• That Jesus volunteered for service back when he was a body-less spirit. Mostly because he was willing to follow God's plan, while Satan, Jesus' spirit brother had some ideas of his own. (ed: How very anti-entrepreneurial!)
• That the LDS church is the only "true church on Earth." (ed: Sorry, 1 billion Catholics.)
• That it took God about 1800 years after Christ to finally get around to telling someone in the world that all the other churches were wrong. (ed: He creates the world in 6 days, but takes 1800 years to tell the people they are on the wrong track.)
• That God and Jesus both visited Joseph Smith personally to tell him how screwed up we all are.
• That Adam, who may have been God at some time, once chose to live in Missouri. (ed: No doubt in a 3,000 square foot tract house nearby a Wal Mart.)
• That the Book of Mormon, "the most true book ever written," was given to Smith on tablets by an angel, written in a foreign, unrecognizable language, but Smith used special stones to translate it.

I could go on, but that Peppermint Mocha I just finished is dying to come out...

All this is to say that just because you call it a "religion" doesn't mean its any different from the mumbling ramblings of a crazy homeless man.

Sources:
http://dearelder.com/index/inc_name/Mormon/title2/What_Do_Mormons_Believe
http://www.allaboutcults.org/what-do-mormons-believe.htm
http://www.gotquestions.org/Mormons.html
http://www.lightplanet.com/mormons/faq/
http://www.shiblon.com/beliefs/what-do-mormons-believe.php

Would you cross a picket line?

Same answer to this question: Do you want me to kick your ass?



And because I love him so...



Update: See Damian, I fixed it.

And Mussolini had the trains running on time…

My friend Christopher, whose blog is one of my regulars and whose link I need to correct, has been writing recently about Peter Lababera’s recent criticism of the Folsom Street Fair and Nancy Pelosi’s refusal to condemn the event that Peter L. finds so offensive.

It’s been interesting to read Christopher’s insights. I should begin with saying that I definitely respect his right to feel this way and appreciate that he’s given serious thought to an issue affecting our community. Furthermore, I recognize that he’s bravely taking a principled position that might create scorn in others. Kudos to him. I also would like to begin with saying that I think he’s wrong.

He’s wrong because the Folsom Street Fair isn’t a gay sex perversion, it’s a festival that celebrates a small, unique community that is as diverse as the city in which it’s hosted. Folsom is for gay men, straight people, lesbians, transgender individuals, and anyone anywhere else in the spectrum of identities or choices that exist out there.

Folsom is also not an event on a public street. It’s a festival, in a controlled environment, in which admission is controlled. As a non-profit, Folsom doesn’t demand an entry fee, but there is no way that the casual passer-by stumbles on to Folsom. If you are at Folsom, you wanted to be at Folsom. This is unique from even a gay pride parade. While the ages may be unrestricted, everyone there is a consensual participant seeing what they want – and many pay – to see.

And while it may exist, the “blatant anti-Christian bigotry in the form of the ‘Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence’” is no more an affront to the good Catholic Church than the church itself. In fact, in their nearly 3 decades in existence there are probably hundreds if not thousands of people that are alive today because of the charity and AIDS prevention work the Sisters have done. They were the organization that coined the term, “safe sex,” using it for the first time in the first plain-language, sex-positive health brochure at the very dawn of the HIV pandemic. Many of the Sisters are Catholics and former Catholics themselves who are trying to make a positive change from their very negative experience in such a dangerous Church. Furthermore, most, if not all, are artists who use the politically charged imagery to make a profound statement. When Peter L. and his friends stop displaying so much anti-gay bigotry, than maybe of the people of San Francisco might be more willing to appreciate what he views as anti-Christian. Lastly, I would argue that what he perceives as anti-Christian, is really anti-Church. I’ve met few atheists, Jews, agnostics, Muslims, and people of other faiths and no-faiths that really find objection to “Christianity” but rather to their special expression of Christianity by the Church and its followers.

I think we can counter Peter L. with a much storied definition of obscenity credited to the Supreme Court. To declare something obscene, “it must be: 1) prurient in nature (which we can probably agree and concede Folsom is), 2) completely devoid of scientific, political, educational, or social value (which Peter L. should concede Folsom is not – especially since it’s ripe with political activism, artistry and health and safety education), and 3) it must violate the local community standards. If it meets all three of these things, it is obscenity.” On the last point is where Peter L.’s criticism lacks all validity and shows itself as nothing more than political grandstanding. Folsom is an old, popular (visited by more than 400,000 people) and some would argue cherished community event. What is right on Folsom Street may not work on Main Street, but the people of Main Street don’t have much say.

I would never engage in a sexual act in public. I would never take my children to a place where sex play is celebrated. But how many children are victimized by predators because parents aren’t comfortable speaking plainly and openly about human sexuality? How many girls will end up pregnant this year? How many children will kill themselves? These things are all just as profane. By celebrating Peter L., we say that his concern should be an area of national focus when we are plagued with so much worse. After all, despite all of his disgusting, murder filled conquests, even Mussolini got the trains to run on time.

In my life experience, including my work at the LA Gay & Lesbian Center, I met a lot of interesting people that came from very different experiences and had very different interests than me, many of them prurient! And none of these people I would consider bad people. In fact, I think many – especially those I have been closest with – are astonishing, proud, and strong symbols of our community. When our gay brothers were dying from a devastating disease, it was these – the most vocal, most outrageous, most radical – members of our community that raised the national consciousness. They sewed the quilt, they lobbied the lawmakers, they raised the money, and they changed the face of AIDS. A gay man like me just 5 years older probably lost scores of friends to AIDS. A gay man my age, I’ve never lost a single friend. It wasn’t the Roy Cohn’s or the gay families safely hidden behind their picket fences that made this change happen. It was the Sisters and drag queens and leather daddies and artists and radicals – all worth a lot no matter how different their interests. And Folsom was and is a home for them.

The video may be shocking but so is reality and there’s no point in ignoring it, trying to silence it, or working to squash it. It might not be our reality, but it belongs to someone.

Another victim in the war on Christmas...

Bill O'Reilly and I are getting along again and it's pissing me off. This holiday season, I hope people wish me glad tidings, and I'll typically graciously accept a Happy Holidays.

But when someone is buying a Christmas tree at sunset on the second night of Haunakah, it's probably a safe assumption that you can wish me a Merry Christmas without me getting offended.

I bought our Christmas tree tonight and was wish a Happy Holidays by the two employees I spoke with on my adventure. Really.

What's a gay man to do?

I am home sick today. I have an ugly head cold that might have something to do with me diving without a hood. My roommates -- and bosses -- suggested I stay home so as to not spread my germs.

I am trying to keep myself feeling like I have worth. I was doing Christmas cards a little. And of course I am watching television. I saw a documentary, "The Girl who Survived Rabies" and watched the Closer from last night. But now it's the 3 o'clock hour. And what is a gay to do?

I could watch Oprah, the uplifting diva who speaks for America. Her host in the inspirational author of "Eat, Love, & Pray." We can tell Oprah is fat again because she's concerned for our souls.

Or, I could watch that snarky bitch Kathy Griffin on her special, "Strong Black Woman."

Yep, I'm watching Kathy and switching to O during the commercials.

Strike Tutorial...

and if you don't think the writers are worth it... think about what Jon Stewart would be like without these guys that you never see and until now never hear from? This little made-for-you-tube is as funny as the real Daily Show. Seriously!

Don't Be A Scab: Turn off Ellen!

For those of you not in LA, you might not be aware of the writer's strike. The Writer's Guild, the WGA, is out on strike because producers and studios won't increase the residuals made from digital media to be similar to what writers make in residuals from broadcast. In an age with so much "Tune in Online" or "All of Season 5 on DVD" writers only want their share. In fact, the rise of DVD sales is hurting off-network syndication of shows and so the writers lose money while the producers make more...

Ellen Degeneres, who apparently doesn't know how to read contracts, now thinks she understands contracts. She also pretends to care about the writers, while continuing to do her television show because she is ignorant to how organized labor relies on a strike. And just like with the dog "crisis", she's trying to play the victim, now cancelling a trip to New York to produce shows.

I tried to be sympathetic since we are family and all, but when I was watching Bill O'Reilly earlier in the week I decided that Ellen is a scab. Bill has famous Republican and WGA member Ben Stein on the show along with a UCLA Labor expert. While the premise of the segment was for O'Reilly -- a union member (AFTRA) -- and Stein -- a member of both SAG and WGA-- to defend Ellen, they both added a little snippet to the conversation that most of us probably would have missed. Both Stein and O'Reilly confessed that they would not break the strike and cross the picket line if they were in Ellen's sensible, lesbian-chic shoes. And yet Ellen, a so-called progressive still "spits in the faces of working men and women" by continuing to cross a picket line that two Repubican trolls like O'Reilly and Ben Stein say they'd have honored.

Principles mean nothing if you don't honor them when the decision is tough. I've known non-union employees who have quit jobs rather than cross a picket line. I've never considered it myself and fear the day when I have to make that tough decision to give up something I love -- a great job -- because I know that the dignity of workers is always more important than my immediate needs.

What is wrong with this video?

Obviously, black folk don't eat mayonnaise!

Oh yeah, the comic who does this is a big, fat "ignorant" white guy who's made a nice little online reputation for his off-color high-color comedy. He treads out tired old stereotypes for the cheap laugh. He's a one act monkey... just like a certain Democratic candidate for President.

Barack Obama will be touring the through the South, targeting the black evangelical community, with Donnie McClurkin. Mr. Turduken is a Gospel singer and anti-homosexual crusader who believes gays can be cured! Donnie Brasco is an outspoken bigot, a man who has declared "war on homosexuality." And he'll be sharing the stage with Senator Obama. The Senator is giving a microphone to a fat, ingorant reject so that he can tread out tired old stereotypes for a quick dollar and some Christian notoriety.

Shame on Shirley Q. Liquor and Senator Obama.

Racist?

I was hanging out with Suzanne today. I love having her back in town. We decided to have lunch and grab a movie and so we went to Santa Monica and enjoyed fond memories of high school trips that made us feel so cool. (In fairness, I think we only went to 3rd Street once in high school, but a number of times the first year or two of college.)

See, there used to me this narrow hallway in one of the buildings with a number of small, ethnic restaurants. On one said trip to the tourist trap of bad restaurants and run down movie theaters, we were in the mini-food court looking for something to eat. Always the helpful friend, I was reading the names of the offerings, "Mexican, Peruvian, Greek, Ethiopian, European... Shit, where's Europia? What kind of food is that?"

Shamefully, that's not the only time I've made this mistake. "What do they call people from Belgium? There's the French, and the Dutch? Do they call them Belch?" Oops. Oh yeah, Belgian, like the waffles.

Neglect

I have neglected this blog like I have neglected a number of things in my life. I have become consumed, lost in just being. I work too much, don't return calls, forget to pay bills, allow birthdays and special moments to pass, and skip out on my soul.

Things spiraled in the last few weeks, several weeks. I've allowed myself to do too much, and let little things pass me by. And I thought I was fine with it. The last 2 or 4 weeks, probably beginning around my birthday, became uncontrollable. And then I had an awesome weekend.

When things at work became too much I won the lottery. With one of the craziest weekends of the year this past, I got to lead a small group of experienced divers -- most of whom I know well and really like -- on a trip to San Diego. I got to skip out on the chaos of the weekend and still be back at home by 5. Back in time to actually make good on a promise to join my friend at Mass, and so I did.

I didn't find the liturgy or the homily particularly inspiring, but something, I think, happened that day. Why do believe in God? I don't really know if I do. I just know that things seem to have presented themselves to me at weird times, at right times. Maybe it's coincidence, or The Secret, or the power of the human mind that I'd only understand if I read Dianetics and made Tom Cruise my personal life coach, but things reveal themselves to me. Like what started on Sunday with Amy.

On Monday, I was extremely behind on some of my paperwork from old classes and committed to catching up. I need to put in the applications for students that I certified but this means that I need photos, and a few students ignored a number of my emails. So I called them. Reached the last call, a sixteen year old that I taught in an Advanced class. Got an answering machine and I started my message which would be abruptly interupted:

"This is Brian from the shop. I'd like to process Greg's* certification but I need a photo. If you could email me a photo with no sunglasses I could..."

His mom, quite shaken, picked up. Greg had passed away. He was in my class about a month and a half ago, as things spiraled their worst. He was 16 years old. And now he's dead.

This story probably could use some background information. Greg was 16 but he's probably lived more than me. He and his mom came to the shop in early August. He was quiet. She was very passionate. Greg had just learned to dive. Apparently, he learned to dive on a boat trip to Catalina. It was a boat trip for troubled youth -- a boot camp at sea. To mix up the story even more, he was actually trained by Scabies, my ex, whose job I took after getting it for him in the first place. And now that Greg was back at home, I was picked by the stars to finish what Scabies started. The stars, Greg's mom, and my own persuasive power which suggested to his mom that his advanced class would be a good start.

The Advanced class would happen over a weekend. Greg would be in a class with one other kid -- a 13 year-old wonder kid from a wealthy, privileged family with none of the cares of Greg -- and seven adults. We do a day in Avalon on Catalina Island, and hoping to make him more comfortable I suggested that his mom might want to come along and enjoy the island. On my recommendation in with some more advice from me, she chose to come with his little brother and they would snorkel and enjoy the town while we were diving and then would join the group for a fun lunch trip back.

Our diving was awesome. I took Greg on five dives and he got everything out of each one that he could. He chased animals and explored aggressively. He was quiet but I could see he was having fun. Everyone in the class got along well and we played around, teasing and having fun. After lunch, Greg showed us he was a little Cassanova, approaching a group of three girls and making his move. The group cheered him on and teased him a little when he came back to the group. On the boat trip back to the mainland, Greg slipped away and back to the girls he met on the island. This kid had a lot of life.

It was cut short and it hit me hard.

I love diving and my favorite part of teaching is seeing the moment when a new diver gets hooked. It doesn't happen to everyone but when it happens, it's like a drug. Greg had the hooked look in his eyes when he was underwater.

I was being haunted by this. I only had a few seconds talking to his mom. I don't know what happened or when it happened. I only had what I thought. I thought maybe I had made a difference and that he might have had a few memories. If there is an afterlife, something more, then maybe something I did, some impact I had, will live much longer than I could.

Yesterday, the next day, Greg's mom called the shop. She wanted to talk to me. Another short conversation in which, if you can believe this, I had little to say.

"Brian, I want you to know that Greg told me that that day at Catalina was one of the best days he could remember. He had more fun that day than any other. And I will always have that memory of that amazing day with my two boys. Thank you for that."

Despite the neglect, besides ignoring things that shouldn't be ignored and the Catholic guilt heaped upon me because of my neglect, it was okay. Things were still good and I was still good. Because while I may neglect things, somehow I managed to give focus to important things, too. I wasn't a bad person per se, and good things happened even when I thought I was, was racked with being, a shitty person.

*Not his real name because he was 16, troubled, and frankly deserves a little peace, like the peace we all seek.

McLovin?

Tomorrow morning I have an appointment at the DMV. Boo! California requires you to get a new photo for your driver's license every 10 years. For 10 years I've been using this awesome photo I took when I was 18 years old. I was HOT! It's the best photo I've ever taken. And now it's going to the trash because I'm fucking old! I hate California.

Password Troubles

I guess it's a sign that you've not blogged often enough when Blogger and Firefox don't remember you and you can't remember the log-in information yourself... Oops.

No Photos in Pinkberry

Last Thursday, I was hanging out with my mother at the Grove, Los Angeles' favorite fake main street. The Grove can be an overcrowded, obnoxious scene of hipsters, fakesters, and poseurs galore. But it also has a decent movie theatre for matinees and a new sushi restaurant that has all-you-can-eat sushi for a good price. (Thanks Erin for the tip.) Next to the Grove is the Farmer's Market. Besides being a relic of a bygone tourist trap, the Grove is the home to a new Pinkberry, a very strange Pinkberry that never seems to be crowded.

I thought the lines were shipped in from Pinkberry HQ somewhere in Asia. Apparently, the trend ain't so hot with the Midwest tourist set. So, I had to take an advantage of the un-scene Pinkberry and grab one with my mom. It was at this lonely Pinkberry moment that I learned, "Tsk. Tsk. No pictures in Pinkberry. Corporate policy."

The unsuspecting, Ugg-wearing poseurs were quick to slip their cameras back in to their oversized purses and giggle their way out of the store. But I was bothered by this. Does a store that only serves frozen yogurt -- not cutting edge since the Penguin's invasion of the 1980s -- and fruit or trendy cereal, really have a corporate secret to protect? What could a photo reveal that my memory couldn't carry with it to the outside of the store? Sheesh.

I Love My Soap

I really love my soap. Back before I figured out the scabies fiasco, when I just thought I had dry itchy skin, my new friend Rafi suggested I try the soap he uses: Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Soap. He thought it might help because it's all natural and earthy and stuff. Unfortunately, it didn't help with the problem, being that my problem was an infestation of bugs given to me by my skeezy skank of an ex. I did however fall in love with this soap.


It's crazy soap. I mean just read the label and you can tell it's crazy, but it's wonderful none the less. I mean really crazy. Check it out. All-one.

This is the first post in a while. The job change, which I told you about, means I am not sitting at a desk all day. In fact, I rarely sit nowadays at work, unless it's on the floor. The job change was the best move I ever made, but its bound to upset a few blog readers, like Scott who kicked me off his blogroll. Maybe I can re-earn his trust and get added back-on.

For those of you sticking with me, I'm gonna make it a more positive experience. I want to love things. So I'm gonna balance my posting with Love Posts... Take some time to smell the flowers and all that shit. Well, I don't want to smell shit, I think I already know what it smells like. But I do want to smell things, including flowers.

Ryan White CARE Act

The federal government funds HIV/AIDS treatment programs through Ryan White funds. The program is the third largest federal program, behind Medicare and Medicaid, and more than 500,000 Americans rely on Ryan White funds for their health care.

Why, then, is the program named for a straight, white boy? Yes, straight, white males can catch HIV and some do have AIDS, but this is a disease that has had far greater impact on gay men and people of color.

Why don't people care unless it's a straight, white male?

(I know this is random, but, well, it's Stonewall week, so I'm gonna post some militant homosexual rantings.)

Today, I quit my job.

In minutes, maybe as soon as finishing this post, I am quitting my job. Two weeks from today, I'll work full time in the recreational scuba industry. And I will be free of a desk.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Blood Letting

Today I did one of those things that seem like nothing to a young, gay Angeleno, but would seem freakishly foreign to say, Amy's 60ish dad in Tipton, Iowa. I had an HIV test.

This particular HIV test has me thinking of a few things.

1) The alternate universe of being young and gay and living in a city. When I worked at the LA Gay & Lesbian Center -- an awesome place that offers free rapid HIV testing, I'm just saying -- I would stand in the elevator with a 2 drag queens, a homeless teenager, a gray 60s radical, and a lesbian couple making out and think to myself, "Wow! Is this what mom and dad had in mind for me back in 1978 when I was born?" But it wasn't just the elevator rides. Being young and gay is unique.

My folks will probably go their whole lives without ever having an HIV test. I'm willing to bet neither of my brother's have had one. Millions of Americans probably don't see a need for it. Me, I do it every 6 months. And I don't engage in risky behavior. It's just a reality I grew up with.

2) I got this test because, before quitting my job and having to deal with a change in health insurance, I wanted to make sure I wasn't saddling myself and my new employers with a long term illness. How pathetic that we live in a country where people need to make employment decisions based on their health? How much productivity is lost because disinterested people remain in unsatisfying jobs solely to maintain their health coverage?

Thanks to a great public benefit at the LA Gay & Lesbian Center -- an asset Los Angeles should be proud of -- I am now comfortable making the switch. The test came back, as expected, negative.

What happens to the Blog after the split?

I'm thinking of making a big career change. And by thinking, I mean, I'm like 98% ready and already composing my letter of resignation. No more sitting at a desk for 8 hours in a row. No more 45 minute to hour long commutes. My life will change. So will yours.

I won't have as much time to Blog...

What should I do?

To my friends from High School

Okay. Seriously. If you went to high school with me and were in Ms. Russel's European History class you are going to love me. Look what I found on queerty.com, a gay pop blog:



If you didn't go to high school with me you probably will think I'm a freak. You are probably right.

On a Tuesday?

I'm drunk. On a Tuesday night. Why?

Because Scabies is gone on a 1 month leave of absence from the shop. We need to make sure his faggot ass doesn't come back.

Democracy Fails Again: An Excercise in Douchebaggery

I extolled my interest in Senator Hillary Clinton's Campaign Theme Song contest. She had some really interesting choices, and I thought she was approaching the exercise with a lighthearted vigor that she seems to lack. And then the "Internet voter" came and took a massive dump on the whole thing.

She's still having fun with it, even making a funny Sopranos-inspired viral video to announce the winner. The campaign clearly had fun with this project, and was willing to spend a decent amount of money on it... and brought in the Big Dog. (Except, they didn't seem to post the video anywhere that I can pull down the code to embed it. Oops.)

And the winner is...

Click Here

But close your ears first. And make sure you have an empty stomach. Somehow, somehow Celine Dion wins. She's friggin' French Canadian... and it's a love song. Ugh.

I hate democracy.

Check out my previous reporting on this project here and here.

We want what?

I was trolling around on the Positive Thinking magazine web site today. Turns out, that's the magazine my super awesome friend JenMac works for. After reviewing the site, she might be a little less awesome. Just a little.

On the site, I caught this photos. After saving my cornea from the burning and stinging caused by all the lace and wood, I got to thinking. Do gay folks really want in on this wedding action? I mean, look at that dress. Fear not, turns out that it's a photo of a daughter trying on Mom's dress. Nothing in the story says that the daughter will actually wear the monstrosity at a ceremony of her nuptials.

Please Explain it to Me

Gay men and large black women have some sort of special bond. I swear. If you don't believe me ask any gay man. If you put 100 diverse people -- all of different identities in a room -- I promise you that the gay man and the large black woman will have found each other before you have the door closed.

That might explain why I loved this video so much:



I love large black women!

Goodbye Mr. Wizard

Don Herbert, who has made a significant contribution to my geekitude, died this week. He was 89. Mr. Wizards World was one of my favorite Nickelodeon shows as a child. His voice still brings me back to elementary school. I think I might buy the DVDs of his show.

Did you know he was on the first episode of David Letterman's first late night show?

John Edwards.

"Today, we know two unequivocal truths about the results of Bush's approach -- there are more terrorists and we have fewer allies."

-- John Edwards, in a speech this week on national security policy.
(from Taegan Goddard's Political Wire)

I am frequently shocked out how squeemish supposedly progressive people can be about homosexuality. Straight celebrities constantly feel the need to affirm their heterosexuality, and the media -- on television and in advertising for example -- still get giggly about gays and lesbians.

I won't even get started on our politicians, our Democratic politicians, who will take gay money by the truckload but continually sell us out for the politically easy poll points. (cough*cough Brack Obama cough*cough)

We have even become used to our own families keeping a little bit of space, not talking to us about the same things they would our straight brothers and sisters.

And you know what? That's fine. If you aren't quite comfortable with the gays, that's fine. Hell, there are plenty of 20-something closeted homosexuals living in urban communities that don't have the pink cojones to be comfortable with themselves -- or the self-respect -- so we don't expect a ton from you.

But when you do show that you are willing to embrace us, treat us with dignity, and not hide from us, you deserve the credit.

Enrique Iglesias deserves the credit.

Enrique Iglesias Thrills Gay Fan
Uploaded by funscenes3

The Back Story: Apparently, when Enrique performs his beautiful ballad Hero live, he brings a woman on stage and serenades her. Cheesy, but fun. Recently, we was playing a set at the VERY popular English gay club called, get this, G-A-Y. No doubt who his audience was. And guess what? He played up to them. He brought a boy on stage. Sang his song to a man. Danced with the man. Held the man's hand. Even embraced and hugged the man while he sang. As if it was completely normal.

Because it is completely normal.

Thank you Enrique!

MySpace Tips

Don't put photos of you in your undies in the same album as photos of your grandparents, nieces and nephews, or mom and dad. That's just creepy!

Seperated at Birth?

There is no doubt that I am tragically unhip. I listen to lame mixes on my iPod and NPR most times. I've only begun listening to Top 40 / Pop / Contemporary radio at work in the past 2 weeks. But I do know who Amy Winehouse. (Mostly because she apparently once shared a stage with Jay Brannan, which I uncovered when trying to learn more about Jay.) I've heard her song Rehab a lot, and I even like her.

But I'd never seen her until this past Sunday's MTV Movie Awards. I wouldn't typically watch something like the MTV Movie Awards, being tragically unhip and all, but Sarah Silverman was hosting and until there is a Sarah Silverman channel on cable -- or network TV -- I will continue to seek Sarah out where ever I can find her.

So, Amy Winehouse takes to the stage to perform her Rehab song... and I think it's a joke. I mean, obviously they dressed Sarah up, gave her a bad wig and bad eye make-up and are having her lip synch to the soulfoul singings of Amy, who is probably hiding back stage and will come from behind the curtain near the end to save her song. Except, it is, in fact, Amy Winehouse. Are these two women separated at birth? Do all Jewish women look the same? Am I so gay that I can't even tell the difference between two very different women?

The whole thing reminded me of the Garth Brooks / Chris Gaines fiasco mess of 1999. Remember that?

I'm being stalked by a book I'm reading. On my commute, I finally started reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, which came highly recommended.

The story teller repeatedly refers to his math skills and interest in math as "maths." Maybe it's an English term I don't recognize. A friend posted a survey on MySpace today and he answered a question:

28. What's something you wish you could understand better? maths

Crazy, right? The word is introduced to me this morning and I see it used twice in two different contexts within hours.

There's also a character in the book named "Siobhan." Today, at work, I got an email -- not spam, but real business related email -- from a "Siobhan Waldron." That's the first email I've ever gotten from Siobhan.

I'm being stalked by my book.

Who's a good liberal?

Between my white guilt and my aversion to paying high fuel prices, I decided to take some action. Today, I got my ass up a little early and drove (I know, very LA!) to the Green Line train station and commuted to work on mass transit... with the masses.



The above photo is one I found on the Internets of my train station in El Segundo. It's about 5 miles from my house, but it's 5 completely traffic free miles down the coast and then through the quaint industrial city of El Segundo.

I started my journey on the Green Line which runs down the middle of a freeway. (Again, so very LA!) From there, I waited a few minutes for my connection to the Blue Line, "the busiest light rail line in the country." That's not rhetoric. It is really crowded, but I snaked a seat and was able to read in comfort. Of course, some guy made some bitchy comment because I moved quickly in to my seat and didn't offer it up to a woman on board. Deal with it lady. You might have big boobs and a nice ass, but I have little interest in either. I do, however, have a HUGE interest in my book and I would like to read it sitting down.

Finally, once downtown I connected to a bus for a 5 minute ride to the office. There's another way I can go, too, I might try that tomorrow.

The ride itself took about 20 to 30 minutes longer than if I drove myself. But I was able to read, and I haven't been reading much recently. I'm way behind and I need to start plowing through some books. It was remarkably unstressful, which I think is good for me right now. Oh, and did I mention I helped save the world while I was at it? And saved a few bucks.

See, tonight I need to meet my parents in Universal City, right near the Red Line (LA's subway) station. So I'm gonna take the Red Line, and then commute back to my car after dinner. All that extra driving would mean I'd clock in about 50 miles, about $8.50 in commuting costs and a lot of stressful traffic. LA has pretty cheap mass transit and my whole day on the bus and train will cost $3.00. Momma loves a bargain!

And I saved the world. How about you?

JenMac is following orders, how about you?

I've written a number of times about the supercool project JenMac is doing this year. You can submit ideas to her; she's doing something new every day of the year.

Last week, I gave her an idea and she did it! She went to one of those cheezy morning news show's Friday Concerts.

In the meantime, I'm recovering from strep throat that I self-medicated with drugs I bought in Thailand. You'll be happy to know they worked and this course of treatment cost me about $7, instead of the $50 or so plus about 3 hours a trip to the doctor here would've cost me.

Brian for Hillary?

Last week, I think, I let you know that Hillary is running an online contest to pick her campaign song. I really think it's a neat idea.

Today, she posted an update video.



If she keeps this up, I might just switch to her team. I like when our politicos show us they have a soul.

Liberal Guilt

A few weeks back, my roommates and I decided to hire a housekeeper. We really needed one. We often work seven days a week, and 12 or 14 hour days aren't unusual. So we hired Angela.

She comes on Mondays but I've never met her because I am always at work. Today, Memorial Day, I have the day off. We had a number of house guests and I think we shocked her this morning when there were about 8 people in the house.

After running errands, I came home and am relaxing in the house. Angela is working. And I feel really badly, like I should be helping her.

We are paying her -- well. Why do I feel bad to have a Latina working while I sit on my ass watching TV?

Damn, liberal guilt.

No comment. Just watch.

Then call your Congressmember. Tell Democrats to stop their leadership's stupid compromise!

The Triple Crown: Three sheets to the wind?

Coming from the Old Line State* (that's Maryland for those of you that don't know), I occasionally pay attention to horse racing and, specifically, the Triple Crown. Maryland hosts the middle race -- the Preakness -- that follows the Kentucky Derby and precedes the Belmont Stakes.

The Kentucky Derby is a classy gathering at Churchill Downs. This year, it even attracted the Queen of England (and apparently, Angie Harmon?). The Queen, mint juleps and big hats: it reeks of class.



The Free State* (still talking about Maryland here) is not to be outdone. From this year's Preakness:



The drunks, cans of Coors Light, and portable shitters: it reeks of, well, spilled beer and urine. Eat that Kentucky!

* The great state of Maryland has two nicknames, the Old Line State and the Free State, both of which seems to come from the Civil War Period. For example, the Maryland border formed much of the Mason-Dixon Line, marking off the Confederacy from the Union. It was Maryland's northern border unfortunately. And, based on that line placement, you can probably guess that Maryland wasn't a "free" state back then. Nope.

Old Line State was a name given to it by George Washington during the Revolution. A war, just the wrong war. The Free State was a name given to it during prohibition because it refused to pass enforcement laws which would have led the arrest of sellers and drinkers of booze. Thus, the Preakness video above.

Huh? What? "I was wrong"???

Today, I am supporting John Edwards for President in 2008. Now, it's May 2007, so I am entitled to change my mind. But, today, I'm an Edwards man.

I like John Edwards for a lot of reasons. I understand and appreciate his story of two Americas. I am inspired by his personality. I love that he seems to care about poverty and understand how it is the root to many of our other problems: poor education, crime, family dysfunction, violence, drugs, etc.

Even more than anything though, I like that he will take bold positions and acknowledge when he's wrong, something politicians like Bush and Clinton would never do. Having a leader who understand accountability and leadership is invaluable.



He voted for the war, and he understands that vote was wrong. From that point forward, he's ready to fix his mistake, unlike our current commander-in-chief.

He will say, "I was wrong."

Maybe one day, I'll do the same.

Schadenfreude Wednesdays

I had a conversation on the way to work this morning with a friend of mine. It was funny, because he's a lot like me. We are fun people to be around, and I'd definitely say we can be nice. I mean, I'm fiercely loyal to my friends, and will do almost anything a friend asks. I take pride in that. However, I'm not the most sympathetic soul. When facing a tragedy, I might not be the first person to call. I tend to skate around that stuff. Please make note of that and don't expect much more from me.

For example, I have no sympathy for Jerry Falwell or Paul Wolfowitz. So let's celebrate Schadenfreude Wednesdays with these two poor souls!

"Falwell in Hell" Now, that's an idea I can get behind. When Jerry Falwell was committed to worm food, apparently some day this week, but I never saw it on the news, Fred Phelps' gang from the Westboro Baptist "Church" showed up to demonstrate. Apparently, Falwell was in cohoots with the gays! Besides "fucking us over" every chance he got, I wouldn't throw Falwell in with the gays. But "Kudos" to anyone who wants to make a joke out of Falwell's pitiful life.

Jerry the Fatass isn't the only Republican scold who is a little lonelier these days. It would seem that it's a good rule not to make your girlfriend look like the winner in this Miss American Nepotist contest. After losing his job at the World Bank because he helped get a sweet-cherry-pie promotion and raise for his girlfriend, Paul Wolfowitz has now lost his girlfriend, too!

It these stories got us up to the hump, coming down on this week is gonna have to be an awesome ride!

Ouch!

I just bought gas on my lunch break and paid $3.79 for low-octane gas! $3.79! My daily commute costs me about $4.50 in fuel costs alone. Add in $7 a day in insurance. (I am it figuring the same regardless of mileage so it's not all that accurate.) Plus maintenance which I am figuring at $1.13 a day, means my commute, right now, is running about $12.63. It takes me an average of 45 minutes each way to get home, totaling 90 minutes. If I am value my labor at $25.00/hour, there's another $37.50. Wow! My commute is costing me $50.

Last week was Bike to Work week. I mused about getting a bike and commuting on it 2 days a week. It would take me longer -- probably as much as 90 minutes each way. Hmmm. No fuel costs. No insurance costs. Minimal maintenance costs. Say I find a great deal on a good bike and between my bike and accessories I spend about $450. And I bike 2 days of the 50 weeks I work. And it takes me 3 hours a day to ride. It will cost me about $75 a day.

But I'd get a great ass.

I'll write more later, I'm gonna go look for a bike on Craigslist.

HillaryClinton.com: Tackling the BIG issues!

Hillary Clinton, who you all know has already won the Democratic nomination for President, is putting the big issues right in front of her supporters: help her pick a campaign song. The campaign song worked so well for her husband that no body listens to "Don't Stop (Thinking About Tomorrow)" anymore without thinking about cigars and interns.

Hoping to avoid the "Beautiful Day" disaster of John Kerry's 2004 campaign -- never has a more cliche song been trusted to a presidential campaign -- Hillary is asking you to vote, and she has some pretty interesting choices. And "Beautiful Day," shit, are these people retarded?

My vote is for "Suddenly I See" by KT Tunstall. I think it has a cool, indie sound, and is remarkably positive. Many of the songs seem to capitalize on Hillary's vagina, something she probably has never done in her own life.

Rock the vote, people!

It's been days...

I am having a hard time returning to the blog from my Thai-atus. Rest assured, I am trying. I just having made it happen yet. I am still thinking though. For example:

1) I had a cupcake today. It was from Auntie Em's and it was good. It was also "Carrot Cake" and thus why it wasn't excellent. I rollerbladed -- so 1995 that Blogger doesn't even recognize the word in spell check -- through Skid Row to get this cup cake.

2) Los Angeles is still like the wild west sometimes. The lawlessness can be pretty bad. I saw an illegal street food vendor -- with no county permits, no sanitation, no hat or hair net -- getting a parking ticket. The meter maid ticketed her for parking her jerry-rigged restaurant in a red zone. Then the meter maid left. No call to the police or the county. You can illegally sell potentially tainted food, just don't park in a red zone.

All this lawlessness can really challenge one's liberal sensibilities. They say, "If you aren't a liberal in your 20s you have no heart, if you aren't a conservative in your 40s you have no brain." They also say, "A conservative is merely a liberal who's been robbed." If I want law and order, if I don't want people selling food from dirty pickle buckets on the side of the dirty street, does that make me unliberal? If I think graffitti is repulsive and not art, does that make me unliberal?

3) I made my first suggestion to JenMac's awesome blog. I hope she does it. I recommended she attend one of those fantastically horrible morning news show concerts that feature Rascal Flats, Jennifer Hudson, or Fergie. If I lived in New York, I'd totally go to one.

I wonder if Los Angeles has an equivalent. I think I should do more weird LA things, things like my mid-day skates through Skid Row. (Did you know Skid Row is the single largest homeless population in the United States. There are an estimated 9,000 people living in this 50 square block are of downtown Los Angeles. It's gross.)

4) Do you know where fresh fish in Los Angeles comes from? Apparently, Skid Row. (Did you know Skid Row is the single largest homeless population in the United States. There are an estimated 9,000 people living in this 50 square block are of downtown Los Angeles. It's gross.) On my skate today, the fantastically foul stench of urine was broken through by the much better stench of decaying fish. I looked up and noticed a number of large businesses with combinations of these words in the signs: fresh, fish, seafood, ocean, sea, fresh??? Seriously, how fresh can seafood be in the heart of Los Angeles?

5) Right now, I am most amazed by mounted police horses. Check these horses out some time. How is it that they don't freak out, storm through crowds and kill thousands? I can't skate through Skid Row once ever 6 months without freaking out and these horses work down here every day! AMAZING!

It's the time of the month...

SCUBA Kicks Ass

I LOVE SCUBA DIVING! Diving is the greatest way to spend a day. If I could, I'd go diving every day. Having just got back from vacation, I am still psyched about the idea of diving, and diving without students... just me and my dive buddies. In Thailand, I had the most awesome group. As a whole, we were probably the best of the four groups. We lucked out -- and by lucked out, I mean as soon as they mentioned we'd be diving in set groups all week, I immediately set about to make sure I had the best group I could pull together. Mostly, it meant not having people with scabies in our group, but it turned out well altogether.

As a first, I'm joining my dear friend JenMac in putting a video online. My friend BrianMac made the video on our last night dive in Thailand. He used his camera's video feature, so it's pretty simple. It's also short. It's just a video of our entry. Sounds like a silly thing to get excited about, but in all my diving, this video is a shot of my very first backward roll entry off an inflatable dinghy. Another interesting fact about this video: Because it was the last night dive of the trip, the novelty was wearing off so it's a pretty small group. A group so small that everyone in it was an instructor level diver... and Elie. Elie had just gotten certified... ON THIS TRIP! He had maybe 15 or 20 dives, all but 2 he had done in Thailand. It's fun to dive with an experienced group when you are used to diving with first-timers.



Because of this, I decided that I'm gonna go diving, all for fun, on Memorial Day. Wanna come?

Falwell is Dead. Oops.

Jerry Falwell died this morning. Oh well. Humans are mortal, we die. Especially morbidly obese fat slobs. News agencies are speculating on the cause of death. I imagine it had something to do with having obstructed bowels, you know, with the whole Republican Party's lips lodged so far up his ass it was bound to turn out in disaster.

I do not like this man. He is scum of the earth. CNN reminded me of one of my favorite Falwell memories:

Falwell has found himself at the center of several controversies, such as the one sparked by his comments two days after the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks in which he seemed to blame "abortionists," gays, lesbians, the ACLU and People for American Way for causing the attacks, saying they "helped this happen."

On September 14, 2001, he told CNN that he would "never blame any human being except the terrorists, and if I left that impression with gays or lesbians or anyone else, I apologize."

This is wrong in so many ways. First of all, September 11th was carried out by Fundamentalist Islamic terrorists which have A LOT more in common with Falwell than abortionists, homosexuals, and feminists. Al Qaeda certainly wouldn't place itself on our side of an ideological battle. Second, there should be no license in this country to say dangerous, hurtful, ugly things and than apologize 2 seconds later and be welcomed back in to the mainstream. Falwell is entitled to say whatever he wants, and what he says clearly places him with the lunatic fringe. Don't let him apologize and suddenly treat him like his a grade school social studies teacher.

This is all moot because he's dead and I shed no tears for him.

Great Thailand Stories I

So, Brian, Newton, Jen, and Tai, and probably a few others, are walking through Bangla road on our last night in Patong Beach before boarding the Scuba Cat for five days at sea. Realizing we should probably get some cash before we leave -- booze and tips -- we decided to hit the ATM.

We make withdrawals, take our receipts and walk away. Someone notices that our bank balances have been converted to Thai baht. (35 baht to the dollar, give or take.)

Newton says, "Isn't it crazy how big your bank account seems?"

Brian looks down at his receipt.

Balance: 11 Baht

Not so crazy to me!

(It was pay day and there was some mistake and so it didn't post... maybe it was the whole dateline thing. It sorted out.)

Newsman Cometh...

Poor, poor Adam Landau.

Centered?

Should I stop centering photos? I think I do it too much. Basically, when I right or left justify them, I feel the text encroaches on the photos. Centering it is.

Debauchery?

When I was in Sunday school as a child -- which is kind of a story telling device, since I have few "Sunday school" memories because I went to a Catholic school in kindergarten and above and needn't attend Sunday school -- I never imagined at 28 years old I would be up until 3:30 AM on a Wednesday.



But that's the case! Having a large group of childless friends only leads to trouble. I guess this is what being a young gay professional cosmopolitan is supposed to be all about: Thursday morning hangovers nursed with sleeping in and obscene amounts of coffee. And there's 2 more days left to this week!

I'd share photos from last night's Chamber Evening Dinner (a fundraiser for the Hyperbaric Chamber -- an emergency care facility for SCUBA divers -- and not an uptight social of business-minded Republicans) but in my drunken haze, stumbling from Tai's car at 2:30 AM, I apparently left my camera behind. Maybe tonight.

I must be making an amazing impression on my new boss. 1) I called in sick on his first day. (And I was actually sick. You all should know by now how much it pains me to use a "sick day" on an actual illness!) 2) I wandered in in a daze this morning. 3) I desperately want a new job because I got screwed on vacation time. Assholes.

Although, the new bossman is promising. I've worked for 4 women and 2 men. All 4 women were nightmare. The men: amazing creative professional relationships in which I felt productive and mature.

Back to my coffee... and Thailand photos.

Concerned for your entertainment, I decided to steal a video for you from my friend JenMac. She's one of the most creative people I know, and in preparation for turning 30, she's keeping a blog of new things -- she's doing one new thing every day of her 29th to 30th transition year. While I was gone, she taught herself the Italian National Anthem and sang it... for you!

Okay, I have officially devolved into a post-adolescent video-making YouTuber. What fun! If I were 13, I'd be the hit of junior high. Or, people would still hide my gym shorts and call me Starvin Marvin. Whatever. At the suggestion of my birthdaying friend LeMar, I decided to learn and sing a national anthem I don't know. He suggested Denmark's, but I'm completely unfamiliar with the language, and couldn't find a phonetic pronunciation guide to help me not butcher it. So I learned and sang the Italian national anthem. It's fun! I can see why Italians love soccer so much! I did try to memorize it, but that would have resulted in my butchering the language more than I probably did (but less than I would have destroyed Danish). So my space-stare in this vid is directed at the words. My voluntary twitch is directed at my too-long bangs.

Where have I been?

THAILAND!

More to come... check out photos in the meantime.

Tax Season

Thank god I am waiting until the last minute to file my taxes, or else I'd have missed this opportunity:



Don't forget, the tax deadline is rapidly approaching. (Even though we get some extra time this year.) Also, don't forget to wish Katrina a "Happy Birthday," the second easiest birthday-of-a-friend to remember. (The Mexican born on Cinco de Mayo being the first.) Happy Birthday Katrina!

Thank you (anonymous friend) for the Craigslist link. See people, I wasn't the one trolling... this time.

Stupid Wonderful Fat Girl in a Bee Costume

When I was 7 years old, I asked Santa for a television. Specifically, I asked for a "13 inch color television with a remote control." This TV, in 1985, would be the first in our house with a remote control. And isn't it charming that we used to specify types of televisions with adjectives like "color," instead of the cold and humanless acronymns of LCD and DLP that we use today?

In what would be a HUGE mistake for "Santa," I got my television. It would be a controversial sour point for siblings that didn't get televisions when they were 7 years old. As wisely put by my mother, "You never asked!" It also started my poor sleeping habits and lifelong love-affair with television. I would stay up on Friday nights, alone in my room, with a full bag of popcorn and watch 20/20 with Hugh Downs and Barbara Walters. (Did I mention yet that I am a geek?) I would also fall asleep at night to the bluish glow from the screen and the sweet tones of my favorite reruns whispering in my ear. The sleep timer was magic.

Several years later, I would discover that the clock on the television also had an alarm feature. In high school, especially after Ted left for college, I would rely on that alarm feature to get me up and ready. Without it, I certainly would've ended up a high school dropout.

In the summers, much like now, I wouldn't get to sleep in. Our swim team would have summer practice at 7:00 AM or some time like that, and I remember setting the alarm. Summers in high school, well, would be the time of MTVs Real World. I loved that show, and so I would usually fall asleep with MTV on. Which meant MTV would wake me up. My sophomore year of high school, that last summer before I'd be working and the last "free" summer of my life, I would wake up at 6:00 AM every morning... to Blind Melon's No Rain.

MTV played early morning videos in a simple rotation, probably the product of some illegal payola scheme. Doesn't matter, this song will always be the opening track on the soundtrack of my "free time."

Poll Question: Should Diane Sawyer do a better job tucking in her penis?

ABC News is running with a story about the Guerrilla Gay Bar movement (or rather, Guerrilla Queer Bar for my non-Los Angeles based friends).



This is interesting to me because I enjoy going to Los Angeles' Guerrilla Gay Bar events. It is typically, by far, the best night in Los Angeles' gay community. It's a fun mix of people, we get to venture out to new venues, and occasionally we get to dress up in costume. But did you see the poll question? Click on it:



Is ABC News in competition with Fox for Great Achievements in Douchebaggery?

Indulgences?

I'll need to ask you to indulge me for a moment here. Last year, as faithful readers will recall, I ventured briefly in to the world of reality television. I was left on the cutting room floor of the lesbo-fest known as Bravo's Work Out. I'm really fine with that.

What I'm not fine with is sleaze ball reality show-trainers being rude to me. My "date" was none other than shallow gay Jesse (not cool gay Doug, who passed away this year), and he was really cold when the cameras went off.

He was cute enough, and I thought as a trainer probably had a decent body. He was moderately charming, if not that quick, but not on par with his female counter-part. While I don't have a trainer's body, I think a nice fag from Los Angeles should consider a date with me a positive experience.

I ran into him at the Abbey just when the show was starting. He was in an undershirt and jeans. I remember kids in grade school getting picked on for wearing undershirts like real clothes, but I digress. He was just as rude to me then. Bitch.

Well, I may not have a trainer's body, but it should be a moot point because, frankly neither does Jesse. We are watching the drama of the "fatty-fatty 2 x 4, can't fit through the dressing room door" unfold this season.

My final question for you, dear readers: If you could choose, who would you want to take home? (Totally disregard how charming you already know option B to be.)

VS.

"He preached the gospel message of intolerance and self-loathing..."

Get Over Yourselves...

I frequent a Southern California SCUBA diving bulletin board called Diver.Net. To my friends over there who don't really know me because I'm more of a lurker than a poster, get over yourselves.

One of the divers is on a dive trip that involved a departure from Mexico. She brought 7 cameras with her -- and is an AMAZING photographer -- but is pissed because Mexican customs gave her a hard time entering the country. Within 2 seconds of reading the post, I thought, "They don't want you selling the cameras. Or they don't want a tourist coming into to work without authority." Sure enough, later in the conversation someone points out that duties are high on electronics and the concern was probably that an amateur photographer has no need for 7 cameras so there must be a sinister plot to avoid tarriff afoot. However wrong that assumption may be, it's reasonable. And it's Mexico. They have every right to enforce their laws and rules no matter how dumb we think they are.

Conservatives complain about illegal immigrants -- most from Mexico -- say that they should respect the laws of our country if they want to come here. I say, ditto! This is an important point because the commenters on the post are chiming up to castigate Mexico. And 15 minutes on the Board will show you that its dominated by crusty, politically conservative SCUBA divers.

Posted by jlyle on April 09, 2007 at 07:07:49:

You must have met the same guy that stopped me from taking pictures of the terminal at San Juan del Cabo airport...

I didn't know gray-haired, old men with digital cameras were so dangerous.

There's no reasoning with these guys, you either buy them off or play by their rules, as unreasonable as they are.

This reminds me of a great Bill O'Reilly exchange post-9/11. He was advocating segregating the Arab / Middle Eastern / Muslim population and subjecting them to closer scrutiny as terrorists. The guest pointed out that you can't stop there. The Oklahoma City bombing was carried out by a white male, a former Army soldier. The target list grows. That the bombings of the Olympic Park in Atlanta, a lesbian bar, and a family planning clinic were carried out but a devout Christian. The target list grows. And that one of the most notorious terrorist organizations, which bloody campaign against a government had resulted in the deaths of over 4,000 people -- more than on Sept 11 -- was the Irish Republican Army, a group of Irish Catholic. A group which could describe Bill O'Reilly. The target list grows.

You needn't pay all of them off. All you should do is respect a country, its people, and its inherent authority. No more respect than you demand here.

PostSecret

Do you read PostSecret? It should be mandatory Monday reading. People send in postcards with their secrets on them.

On retreat a few years ago, we did this amazingly cathartic exercise. We wrote notes on small slips of paper. The notes could be secrets, confessions, problems, or anything that was a barrier between us and God, or us and others. We took those notes and we nailed them on to a cross. Followed it with a simple prayer. Sometimes, thoughts can overwhelm me. I'm gonna go buy a stack of postcards.

A fun alternative:

-----Email Message-----
Sent: Monday, April 09, 2007 12:43 AM
Subject: Eostre

Dear Frank,

Today we decided to write down our secrets and put them in little plastic eggs along with some candy. We hid them all over San Diego. It was the best Easter we've ever had.

Get that crap off your mind. Oh, and go read PostSecret.

On the upside...

I still get Easter baskets! YAY! And the "Bunny Easter," as my 2 year old neice calls him, threw in some gummi egg yolks from Harry & David. I really do love Easter.

Anew.

It's a silly word that I overuse, anew. "In a new or differnet form." I like that better than "starting over." Starting over seems to connote little value in what happened prior. Starting over isn't always necessary, sometimes it's better to just try it differently...

Today is Easter, my favorite holiday. For Catholic, like me, there's a lot to do with this holiday. My family was talking today about there not being "a lot to Easter." My Easter started on Thursday when I attended that awesome Mass of the Lord's supper where reflect on humility and service. On Friday, it was suggested by my friend Ron to check out St. Monica's Good Friday service. It was my first -- a reflection on suffering and survival and sacrifice -- and it was remarkable, if only for Fr. Doug Glassman's homily. And Saturday, I brought my Easter celebration to a close with the Easter Vigil at Loyola Marymount University, a celebration of human victory, the undeniable power of God, and a promise for the future. But even if you aren't Christian, Easter is a holiday I think you can get in to, because Easter is about how nothing is insurmountable. Easter is about beginning anew.

I am a pretty happy and lucky fellow. I have some great friends and a hobby that is the single greatest experience in the world. I get to do this hobby nearly every weekend, and will even be travelling to Thailand soon to go diving. I have an amazing family, a family that makes me quite happy. I have -- after a lot of thought -- a pretty cool job that pays well and doesn't demand too much. (Okay, it doesn't really demand anything. But that's for another post, or several past posts.) So much about my life is perfect.

But I can't help with feeling a little empty when I spend tim with my family because I am reminded of the one thing missing: a relationship. My roommates cuddling on the sofa, my brother holding his daughter during a baseball game, my parents sitting side by side. This is the one area I can't seem to make work.

I typically choose to not discuss too much about my love life. Occasionally there are a few things that demand be blogged about, like dating a priest or when you are drugged into spending 6 months with a vapid, anorexic retard. The reality is, though, that I just can't seem to get it right. Most of my friends barrage me with "you are wonderful," "I wish you were straight," "you are amazing," but when I am interested, it never seems to go that way. Or I get hurt, because I think I am being giving, and honest, and in reality it never comes through. I never read guys right, I never say the right things, I get vulnerable. I don't want to be alone.

BUT I DON'T WANT TO BE PATHETIC, EITHER!

It can be difficult though, when I'm with my brothers (or others in happy relationships), who were both married with a child by the time they were my age. They owned homes and were on their way to the "big lie."

I'm still not pathetic, just holding out hope.

I am using this season to take a different form, to move forward anew. Happy and glorious Easter, may it be a meaningful season for you!

Insomnia?

I can't sleep. This is new. It feels weird. I'm not happy about it. Today -- or rather yesterday -- didn't leave me too happy about a few things. Good Friday, my ass.

Happy Easter! Today he dies, to rise anew.

Only in LA.

Ever have an "Only in L.A." moment? For those of you not living in Los Angeles, you probably don't have them as often.

I did tonight. I needed to meet friends this evening and squeeze in Mass for Holy Thursday. My crazy ass church wouldn't cut it since Mass wasn't until 7:30 and since it's big and gay, the dolled up liturgy would likely last until about 10:00. So I ventured to St. Agatha's on Adams. It in a traditionally black neighborhood and used to be a mostly black parish. I went for the first time in college, my first time at a "Gospel Mass." It was so amazing!

Well, neighborhoods change and like much of L.A., Adams has a much larger Latino population than it once did. Most Catholic churches have offered Spanish-language Mass for some time. But St. Agatha's is a smaller parish and it only could offer one Mass on Holy Thursday.

Solution: A bilingual Mass. A bilingual Gospel Mass. Black, Latino, and a few white gays -- it's also a pretty progressive parish -- worshipping together. It rocked.

It's about damn time.

Disney announced today that they would allow gay couples to participate in Fairy Tale Weddings organized at the parks and on the cruise ships.

"Of course," you might say.

But no. Prior to today, gay couples really were banned from the Fairy Tale Weddings packages. Now, common sense seems to demand that "Fairy Tale Weddings" would have been designed with gay couples in mind -- well, maybe not lesbians -- but not at Disney. A few weeks ago, the gay media caught wind that the Fairy Tale ending was not an option for gays to start a life together. But Disney relented.

The Lavish Wedding Option also includes a ride to the ceremony in the Cinderella coach, costumed trumpeters heralding the couple's arrival, and attendance by Mickey and Minnie Mouse characters dressed in formal attire.

Seriously, what self-respecting gay would do this to his husband?

5,000 years of tradition...

... reduced to this? A dingy Catholic church auditorium, paper plates, a crappy sound system, 4 token-off-key-singing-Jews, and Brian and Amy with a camera?



Amy invited me to her church's Seder Supper, a kind invitation that you and I know she'd only ever extend to me. An invite to watch Catholics mangle the beautiful traditions of the "Chosen people", for whom many still blame for the slaughter of our messiah and most of the world' problems, dine on foul tasting mystery foods, and relish in the absurdity of it all, is something that can only be offered to a few people.

Thank heaven I am one of them.

I arrived early and scoped out the grounds waiting for Amy. My curiosity was piqued by the gathering convention of AARP, the Gray Panthers, or some sort of secret society dedicated to the toothless and incontinent. I was initially struck with fear, crippled my by unrelenting inability to relate to the elderly, but I was soon consoled by fact that I was on hallowed property and God surely would not have one of his humble servants harmed by Satan's retired army while waiting in St. Jerome's parking lot.

Amy arrived and we ventured to the church auditorium, or church hall for those of you who haven't been to a Catholic church in a generation. The first observation was somehow the Neptune Society was going to holding a cremation-sales meeting in the same room as the seder, or perhaps no one under the age of 95 had been invited. (Amy clearly sneaking an invitation because of her high-ranking, nearly Papal position as church lector.) Now, it's not that I hate old people, it's that I don't understand them at all. Most people think I am weird, and usually I am left alone in my elder-phobia. However, one kindred soul shares this disgust of all things old: Miss Amy. As Depeche Mode once said in their prophetic anthem "Blasphemous Rumors":

I think that God has a sick sense of humor / And when I die / I expect to find / Him Laughing.

We found an empty table near the back (easier getaway) and quickly grabbed two seats for us and two for her friends that said they'd come (as we quickly clung to any chance that we would have someone to talk with who couldn't tell us where they were when James Garfield was assassinated).

Fear not, with our Catholic manipulated, Hebrewless haggadah in hand (see above picture), we were ready to roll -- especially since our table was properly outfitted with a full bottle of Manishevitz Concord Grape Wine. They wouldn't make us share, would they? I mean, we were only being pretend Jews today; no reason to be cheap, right?

We would have to share. With whom? With the dreaded pack of shuffling feat coming towards our table. Unfriendly scowls and purses (mine and Amy's) hanging on empty chairs did not deter the faithful. Four individuals -- ranging in age from about 60 to 172 -- came to our table. Three women and one man. One miserable looking man. As if he was it perpetual agony.

Niceties followed and were quickly forgotten by me. However, I did feel compelled to grab a pen and jot down some notes.

When someone noticed the candle holder (small porcelain crosses... at a Passover seder... celebrating our Jewish friends?), one of the women was quick to remark, "The price was right. Free." Dang, these ladies must have been practicing for Passover.

In reply to a little senior wit, one of the women responded with, "You can be so sarcastic in your old age." All I could think is, she should be lucky she can be anything at her age!

The festivities would end when Amy messed up her seder plate, switched it out with the one next to her, and we could begin.

I was asked to read a portion. I was actually asked, "Do you have a nice, loud voice?" Amy was quick to answer for me, "Fuck yeah!" The man seemed to be looking for powerful voices, but I think he came to me because he figured I'd be easier to understand. You know, because I had teeth and all. I read the Hebrew I was given perfectly, mostly because there was no Hebrew read at all. They did "bus" in some nice Jewish folk to help with leading us in song. They might as well have bussed in some nice Korean folk, it would have had the same effect.

Amy read, too (practice for her big lector debut the following day), but that wasn't her only contribution to the evening. She also cheated. When our fearless leader hid the afikomen, Amy was quick to point it out to the only child in attendance. "Hmmm. I wonder who will find it. Dear Leader promised a prize, and quickly went on with the seder. I've been there before and quickly recognized this as a ruse to get out of paying the poor kid that had to suffer through this meal. (Maybe that's it. Maybe the Catholic seder is MORE authentic because we are suffering just as much as the Jews did in Egypt.) We checked in and made sure he got his cash. I think Amy tried to skim off a 10% "finder's" fee, but she wasn't successful. (Thank goodness she had the wisdom to ask for the change when making her donation to cover our "supper.")

As the traditional seder came to a close, we prepared for the real dinner. Maybe some Matzoh ball soup. Some kugel or lahtkes. Nope. Terriyaki chicken, pasta with meat balls and MUSHROOMS!, some beefy dish, a salad and salmon. We clearly were remember the Jews of great diaspora who found their way to the Far East and Italy.

"Next year in Shanghai!"

Several years ago, a Jewish friend expressed disbelief that Catholic churches typically host a seder during the Passover season. I grew up with this rediculous tradition and assured her it was so. She still didn't believe me so I invited her and her husband to a Gay Catholic seder being organized at my church by the gay ministry. she said she loved it -- despite its Jesusiness. We are very ecumenical.

This piece of absurdity was actually quite wonderful. I love sharing these times with friends like Amy, who appreciate what I find funny...



... or at least sometimes appreciates it.

Happy Passover and Glorious Easter, everyone!

The Most Powerful Lesbian in the World

In my previous employment, I worked with at the Big Gay House, a behemouth Gay & Lesbian organization. That organization did some amazing work, and its very existence is part of why I am so proud to be a gay man. The people who do that work deserve all the kudos they get, especially those running the organization. Please remember those last three sentence before reading the following.

The organization's leader, while talented, is a little bit of an ego-maniac. So when I saw that she made Out's list of the Top 50 homosexuals in the country, I knew she'd be a real pill. Until I saw who outranked her:

17. Perez Hilton (the blogger)
19. John Aravosis (the blogger)
24. Nate Berkus (Oprah's bitch)

Maybe I should be on that list?

He He. Perez Hilton. At number 17. He He.

A Fun Game

In the movie Breach, the Ryan Phillippe character is asked by his new boss to tell him three things, one of them not true. I think this is a fun game.

1) When I was little, and my oldest brother had his driver's license, I would go with my brothers to the driving range after school and watch them hit balls. One day, when I was messing around, I got nailed in the face with a nine iron. I was bleeding really badly from my mouth, but the owner of the pro-shop wouldn't let me in to use the restroom because I was bleeding. My brother didn't care and took me in anyway. I think of this story about once a month for some unknown reason.

2) If I had been born a girl, my name would most likely have been Meaghan. (I'm guessing on the spelling, and applying a more Irish spelling of the name.) It's weird because I've only known 2 "Meaghans" (or Megans, or Meagans) in my life. One lived near me when I was a young child -- and she walked in on me peeing when I was about 7 years old -- and the other was a large girl I went to Junior High and High School with. Since then, I've always thought Meaghan was a "fat girl's name." Apparently, my folks were torn between Brian and Andrew and I was born and settled with Brian. Ironically, I've never dated a "Brian" but have had several crushed on "Andrews."

3) I've never cheated on a test. In high school, I swung with a pretty gnarly crowd in Geometry class. They provided a lot of distractions, and led to the creation of the worst study group in the history of American high school education. I actually even went on to repeat a semester of Geometry, or rather, got moved into the 3 semester class instead of the 2 semester class I was on track for. Our Geometry group resorted to some low points, and I even created crib sheets for almost every test out of peer pressure. But I never used those crib sheets. I knew the rest of the group was cheating, and I pretended to cheat as well to fit in. This was one of the first group of friends I had that wasn't from "the smarter crowd" and I desperately wanted to fit in. It also wasn't exclusively female -- another draw for me -- but it turned out that the guys from the group would all go on to be homosexuals.

So, which isn't true?

I'm gonna pass this on to the other bloggers that I've actually chatted with, or that I know well. Maybe they'll do it, too.

UPDATE: Christopher points out that it was 4 things in the movie. My notoriously bad memory strikes again. I can only remember things years after they happen. However, I have decided to keep the post as-is, with only three things. This is easier for you.

Rick, Christopher, Jen, Taylor, Amy

First Times

I did something last night that I've never done before: I went out alone.

There was this show I wanted to go see, this singer, Jay Brannan, was doing a show at a bar/restaurant type place in the Hollywood area. I put out a pitch to friends and got a few bites. This was going to be a fun night out. Mix in that I have today (Friday) off for Cesar Chavez day and it could be an epic night.

Things change. One friend baled last week. Another earlier this week. Finally, the last one -- the guy who introduced me to this artist -- worked late and was dead tired. At 8:45 I had to face a decision: to go or not. Normally, I wouldn't go.

I've never been to a movie by myself. I've never eaten at a restaurant where I waitress takes your order and sat at the table alone. I don't "do" much alone, which might seem weird for someone who spends most of his time single. Maybe I should. Normally, I try to surround myself with people, or I stay in.

It's not that I don't appreciate being alone. Today, I'm alone at home. I like sitting in bed and reading. I like walking through the city alone. I like exploring the library alone. I like being alone.

I'm just not good at breaking social taboos, like going "out" alone. Last night, I did. It was a lot of fun and I'm glad I didn't let my crappy, flaky friends ruin my chance to see Jay preform live.

Here's a couple videos:





Okay, I cheated. I did run into two friends. This is another first for me. I kind of was seeing one for a while. The other is his super AWESOME fun lesbian friend. (That's a little shout out to her, as she mentioned she still reads the blog.) I haven't seen him for months. An random email since we went out a few times. Not much else. But it's funny. I find myself staying in contact with -- even friends with -- people I've dated over the last few years. That's weird. I've never really stayed friends with "exes". I like it.

I liked the show, too.