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.
Monday, April 30, 2007
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!
Thursday, April 12, 2007
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.
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."
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."
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
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?
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. 
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. 
Monday, April 09, 2007
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.
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.
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: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 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.
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:
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-----Get that crap off your mind. Oh, and go read PostSecret.
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.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
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!
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!
Friday, April 06, 2007
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.
Happy Easter! Today he dies, to rise anew.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
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.
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.
"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":
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!
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!
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
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.
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
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
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