The Sound Of Twisted

You know how like when you learn the definition of a word you've never heard of before, and the next day you read it in the newspaper and your boss uses it at the company meeting? Or someone at a party tells you about their recent trip to Palau and you wonder where the fuck Polow is, and then the next day on the travel channel...there's that Samantha Brown sipping Mai-Tai's on the beach in Palau?

Last week, Tony, in an effort to expand my gay culture base, forced me introduced me to "The Sound Of Music." Yep, I'd never seen it before. It really was much better than I thought it would be.

Then, two days later, I visited Stimpy's MySpace page and he had this twisted symphony as his song...

Negativland - "My Favorite Things"

Deeply deranged. I can't get enough of it.

And The Beat Goes On

As a kid in the ‘70s, I lived for Saturdays. No school. Bugs Bunny. The Superfriends. Valley of the Dinosaurs. And record shopping. Every Saturday, after the weekly blitz of cartoons and Kenner, Milton Bradley and Hasbro ads, mom and I would head to the shopping center, and every Saturday excursion involved a tour of Murphy Mart. She would search the aisles for Saturday bargains on household essentials and ladies’ polyester pant suits, and I would get completely lost in the record section. While all the other kids panhandled their parents for Hot Wheels racetracks, Stretch Armstrong dolls and Battlestar Galactica spaceships, I was obsessively scouring the 45s and the K-Tel collections for new disco songs.

Looking back, I’m really not sure how, or why, I developed my deep, deep passion for dance and electronic music. It’s just always been there. In my small part of the world – far, far from anyone who’d ever been to a discotheque – I was surrounded by Hank Williams, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and the Eagles. But, my first favorite song, was KC and the Sunshine Band’s “That’s the Way (I Like It),” and by the time Chic released “Le Freak,” I was already a self-proclaimed 8-year-old disco authority. I would spend hours in my room escaping into a Casablanca and Salsoul world.

In 1979, when disco collapsed under the weight of corporate mainstreaming, “Saturday Night Fever” and a racist, anti-gay backlash, I was still dancing along with the Soul Train regulars in the living room. I learned pretty quickly not to advertise my love of disco, and as I neared my teenage years I had moved on to soul and new wave. Yes, I knew that I was still listening to disco, but it had become a word that could get you beat up.

Almost 30 years later, I’m still taken away by well-composed dance tracks, and I love researching and analyzing and sharing the history of dance music. I particularly admire the die-hard dance artists who kept the beat going between disco and house music. So, here are a few of, what I consider, the most important tracks of the post-disco, pre-house era of dance music. Enjoy, and get down.

"Let The Music Play" - Shannon - 1983

"The Look Of Love" - ABC - 1982

"Planet Rock" - Afrika Bambaataa & The Soul Sonic Force - 1982

"Blue Monday" - New Order - 1983

"Let It Whip" - The Dazz Band - 1982

"Relax" - Frankie Goes To Hollywood - 1983

"Jam On It" - Newcleus - 1984

"Don't Make Me Wait" - The NYC Peech Boys - 1982

"Don't Go" - Yazoo - 1982

And Iran So Far Away

Seriously, what is wrong with the people of this country? When did we become a nation of hypocritical, war-mongering, angry little sheep? So, Columbia University invited the current leader of Iran to speak. So, the fuck what? It's a university. A center of intellectual thought and discourse. A place where diverse ideas and perspectives are shared, and a community of scholars who seek to understand this world we live in. And, man could we use a little more understanding in this world.

I'm pretty sure that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is a relatively unsavory character on the world stage....but so is George Dubya, and he's invited to speak at universities all the time. Actually, the two have an awful lot in common - they both proudly display a revolting mix of arrogance and ignorance with a smirk, and they both claim to act on God's behalf when they kill and destroy.

Every news "reporter" this evening, felt the need to introduce the story of Ahmadinejad's speech at Columbia using the words radical and extreme and the film footage showed thousands of protesters holding signs referring to Ahmadinejad the next Hitler and a terrorist. And, I had read a few days ago that the Iranian leader had been denied his request to lay a wreath at Ground Zero.

So, damn was I disappointed with, what I thought was going to be a shocking and rabid diatribe by the latest personification of evil. With the national hysteria over this man, I expected fire and demon dogs. What I got was a snoozy propaganda-filled speech peppered with inaccuracies and blatant homophobia. Not unlike Dubya's State of the Union address.

Let's briefly examine some of the main points, that according to even our local news "correspondent," were most delirious and offensive to our American hearts.

1. Regarding reports that he denies the reality of the Holocaust, Ahmadinejad said "Granted this happened, what does it have to do with the Palestinian people?" And, while I'm not particularly anti-Isreal, and certainly not anti-Jewish, I have to admit it's a valid question. He pointed out that the Holocaust was committed by Europeans and happened in Europe, and that European nations apologized by giving the Jews the land that the Palestineans had been living on for 100 generations.

2. Speaking about the 9/11 attacks, he asked "Why did this happen? What caused it? What conditions led to it? Who truly was involved? Who was really involved and put it all together?" More valid questions. I'm pretty sure that Osama Bin-Laden masterminded the attack, and extremist fundamentalism caused it. But, we certainly do have to ask what conditions led to it. How can we ever expect to lead the world towards peace if we are so blinded by our thirst for revenge that we refuse to examine the causes of such deep hatred.

3. When asked about the execution of homosexuals by the Iranian government, Ahmadinejad responded "In Iran we don't have homosexuals like in your country. In Iran we do not have this phenomenon. I don't know who's told you that we have this." I've seen the photos of public hangings of teenage boys convicted of committing homosexual acts, and my heart broke and my stomach turned. But, for this country to suddenly express its outrage at how gay people are treated in Iran is disingenuous at best. For the most part, we aren't publicly lynched, but there is a frighteningly large proportion of the population that given the chance...

More than outrage at Ahmadinejad's words, I feel fear. Fear that my country is ready and willing to go to war with any nation that Cheney, Condoleeza and Dubya decide is a "rogue nation" or "state sponsor of terrorism." I fear that America is ready to destroy itself in its quest to "get them back." I fear that the exact definition of "them" isn't important to us. I fear that the media is eager to jump back on Dubya's "we have to fight them there" wagon. I fear that it's already too late.

What's In A Name?

I was named after my father. My parents got married, and divorced young. And, when I was 2 ½ years old, my father took me to a babysitter and never came back. He left me with only the clothes I had on, and his name.

There were a few stops along the way, and I ended up being adopted by Ruth and Edward. I also ended up with their last name, and Edward as a middle name. I left Edward’s abusive home when I was a teenager, and I reluctantly took his middle and last names with me.

I’ll go out on a limb and say that most people have a deep connection to their name. Some people were named after a wise and adoring grandparent, or a beloved wacky aunt or uncle. For others, their name reflects a religious tradition or a specific era. Some people carry their parents’ hopes and dreams in their name, and most everyone keeps family history intact through last name inheritance. Most likely, you know the inspiration and the story of your name.

All of my life, I felt no connection to my own name – like I had borrowed it just because I didn’t have one. Every time I had to write it on paper, the external-ness of it reminded me of my particular aloneness in the world. I felt embarrassed every time I was asked why my birth certificate name didn’t match the name on my school records.

Six years ago, a very strange sequence of coincidences led me to meet my biological mother for the first time, since I was two years old. She shared old photo albums and family stories. I saw how much I look like my biological father, and I saw pictures of uncles and grandparents – people who shared my very first last name. She told me what a good guy my biological father really is, and she tried to explain how she “looked for me.” I know she’s lying. She answered a lot of questions for me, and in a lot of ways, I have gained a sense of closure.

Shortly after meeting my genetic past, I decided that I needed to take a conscious, symbolic step in the writing of my own story. I legally changed my name.

I wanted a name with meaning – something to remind me that I am not just a product of the disappointments of others. I needed to have a name that spoke to my experience and reminded me of my strength and depth and character.

I’ve written before of the magical experience I had in the early San Francisco rave scene. It was without a doubt one of the most defining moments of my life – a rare realization that everything in my life had led me to that moment. My first rave was Toon Town – UFOs Are Real. The lights and music swirled in my head and stirred my soul. At the peak of the party, I found myself in the middle of the dancefloor, a part of one huge pulsing, universal organism. For the first time in my life, I knew that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see this cute kid with colorful baggy clothes and the happiest smile I’d ever seen, just standing, looking at me and smiling. He reminded me of the Cheshire Cat. I asked him if we had already met, and I can still hear him saying “no, but maybe we should!” And then, he hugged me and we sat down, on the dancefloor, in the middle of thousands of dancing and jumping bodies and we became friends. His name was Cyrus.

Cyrus was the first friend that I ever made a rave, and he quickly became my rave tour guide and peace and love buddy. I loved his need to participate in, and contribute to the group vibe, and his energy was just tremendously positive and contagious. With him, I felt welcome and special, and a bit like his rave apprentice. To me, Cyrus was a perfect personification of the joy and innocence and intensity of the early rave scene.

Not unlike a flower generation before, the sudden burst of youth culture and magic energy was like a fleeting fantasy, and after a few life-changing months, our paths diverged and I never saw Cyrus again.

So, I had my middle name legally changed to Cyrus in honor of that time in my life – that time when I began to realize my place in the universe. Because our time as friends was so momentary and ephemeral and fairy-tale like, Cyrus is to my memory, a sort of mythical character who represents the time and place that I began to grow past the circumstances of my earlier life.

I believe that we are all a complex combination of a genetic basis, environmental influences and self-determination. My name, now has meaning to me as it speaks to this belief. My first name, from my biological parents, connects me with my genetic history. My middle name reminds me of the strength of my choices. And, my last name links me to the place where I grew up, and the people who raised me.

Now, that okapi thing…..

Damned Tree Huggers!

Stimpy sent this one to me, and well, I just had to share....click on the picture to make biggy.

Score One For The Witches!

I just love this story....

From USA Today:

Elwood "Bunky" Bartlett says a New Age book store made it possible for him to become an overnight multimillionaire...Bartlett, an accountant from Dundalk, Maryland, said he made a bargain with the multiple gods associated with his Wiccan beliefs: "You let me win the lottery and I'll teach." Both tickets he purchased had numbers chosen randomly from the computer.

Happy Long Weekend!

Mel & Kim - "Showing Out"

The Hypocrisy Continues

Let's See...

Traditional Family Values Case # 1 - In September of last year, Florida Republican Senator Mark Foley immediately resigned his position as the public was made aware of a sexually explicit instant messaging conversation between the Senator and an underage male Congressional page. Ironically, much of Mark Foley's political career had been built on fighting child pornography and the sexual exploitation of minors. Conservatives joined Democrats in a call for further investigation, and possible criminal charges against the Gay chicken hawk former Senator.

Traditional Family Values Case # 2 - In November of 2006, Mike Jones went public with the news that vehemently anti-gay born-again evangelist preacher Ted Haggard had paid him for dirty meth sex, on a near monthly basis for 3 years. Ironically, much of Ted Haggard's career had been built on waging a "culture war" against Gay people. Ted Haggard was quickly removed from his position, and shunned by his long-time conservative supporters. Ted is now completely heterosexual, but having been previously Gay....his career is now over.

Traditional Family Values Case # 3 - This past July, Senator David Vitter's name was released as a client of a Washington D.C. house of prostitution. The Louisiana Senator admitted to having broken the law and paying for extra-marital sex in the past, and let the world know that God, and his wife have both forgiven him. Ironically, much of David Vitter's political career was built on his traditional family values fight to stop Gay people from having equal marriage rights. Senator David Vitter was NOT removed from office, or even shunned by his Republican base. In fact, good ole' hooker-hiring Louisiana boy David Vitter received a loud round of applause at a recent Senate Republican luncheon.

Traditional Family Values Case # 4 - Senator Larry Craig's name has been all over every television, radio and internet outlet ( including the well-received Lair of the Okapi ) as dirty Republican Senator of the week. As we all know by now, tap-dancing Larry Craig pleaded guilty a few months ago, after an arrest for soliciting sex from another man in a public restroom. Ironically, Senator Craig's political "stances" have always been particularly anti-gay. Most certainly, Senator Craig is going to be forced out of office, if he hasn't been yet ( I'm still waiting to hear the breaking news ). Fellow Republicans are calling for the most severe consequences possible for the tearoom troll.

Is it me? Or is there something even more wrong here? Mark Foley, gay, removed, ruined. Ted Haggard, gay, removed, ruined. Larry Craig, gay, removed, ruined. David Vitter, straight, applauded, possibly re-elected.

Traditional Family Values - Part Two

Ok....I think at this point, that I should run a weekly "Traditional Family Values" update where I collect and post all of the week's goriest Conservative sex scandals. Following right on the heels of Mark Foley, Ted Haggard, David Vitter, Bob Allen - we now have the Senator Larry Craig public restroom debacle.

A little background on Senator Craig. Before tearoom-gate, good old Larry Craig was well respected amongst his fellow hateful, mean-spirited, self-loathing conservative brethren. The American Conservative Union, a powerful lobbying group, awarded the ill-ustrious Republican leader with a score of 96 out of 100 for supporting the Federal Marriage Amendment (which would ban states from allowing gay people to marry), as well as his vote to NOT extend the federal hate crimes legislation to include hate crimes against gay folks. Certainly, he also got a few points for his statements shortly after Hurricane Katrina, comparing the birthplace of Jazz to the quagmire in Iraq and suggesting that New Orleans should be abandoned because "Fraud is in the culture of Iraqis. I believe that is true in the state of Louisiana as well."

In between all of his "social work" and voting to stop the gays from marrying, Senator Craig also found time to rehearse with other right-wingnuts - Trent Lott, John Ashcroft and James Jeffords - The Singing Senators! It seems that back in 1995, the Singing Senators barbershop quartet was formed as a back-up plan, should the Republican Revolution backfire. Apparently, not a bad idea. The Singing Senators actually performed with the Oak Ridge Boys and released a CD.

Now, we find out that Senator Larry Craig was arrested in June, and pleaded guilty to suspicion of lewd conduct. Though he did actually plead guilty, Senator Craig now claims to have no idea how his toe-tapping, foot touching, finger indicating, door-crack peering bathroom stall antics could have been construed as anything but normal public heterosexual behavior.

You can read the police officer's report here

At what point will Americans get sick of the hypocrisy. What will it take?

Hot Off The Press!

Today's headlines...

Karl Rove has quit his position as the white-est man at the White House to pursue a career in mainstream hip-hop.

Hillary Clinton admits to her work in the 1970s as the voice of Wonder Woman.

Scott-O-Rama returns to save the Constitution.

And Stimpy turns 38!

You Know How I Feel About Texas....

Louise: I don't want to go that way. Find a way that we don't have to go through Texas.

Thelma: Wait. What? You want to go to Mexico from Oklahoma and you don't want to go through Texas?

Louise: You know how I feel about Texas...we're not going that way!

The marketing team of the High Point Church in Arlington, Texas is really top-notch. According to the church's website, High Point started just a few years ago as a congregation of just 16 poor souls in someone's living room. But, under the guidance of Pastor Gary Simons, the High Point marketing division was able to build their flock to 5,000 loyal spiritual consumers, who now worship every $unday in a 432,000 square foot House of the Lord, that sits on 100 of the holiest acres in Texas. With slogans like "Miracles Still Happen...I'm Living Proof," the High Point public relations gurus were able to move beyond the fact that Pastor Gary has the most extreme case of "gay face" since Paul Lynde, and really take their humble little church into the realm of "any franchise for Jesus is possible."

Well, the miracles are still happening at High Point...thanks to a miracle-working marketing team that really knows its customer base. This past week, High Point Church cancelled a planned memorial service for Cecil Sinclair, who was the brother of a church janitor, because Cecil was an unrepentant homo-sex-you-all, who was survived by his life partner. Cecil was also a son, a brother, a member of the Turtle Creek Chorale and a Navy veteran of Desert Storm, where he helped rescuers to find downed pilots.

The High Point marketing group, and Pastor Simons, know that Jesus, and his most beloved followers, hate the homosexuals, and to have offered the dignity of a memorial service in their Mega-Church to a loathed homosexual would most certainly have tarnished the brand's image amongst the good spiritual consumers of Texas.

From MSNBC:

Simons said the church believes homosexuality is a sin, and it would have appeared to endorse that lifestyle if the service had been held there.

“We did decline to host the service — not based on hatred, not based on discrimination, but based on principle,” Simons told The Associated Press. “Had we known it on the day they first spoke about it — yes, we would have declined then. It’s not that we didn’t love the family.”

And, just so there's no confusion....divorcees, adulterers, child abusers, liars, thieves, Bush-administration officials, cat burglars, malicious gossipers, shell-fish consumers, Aqua-Net users, warmongers, gun-toters, bullies, gamblers, cheats and coveters are welcome every $unday at High Point.

UFOs Are Real!

Paul Moller, an engineer, inventor and apparent devotee of Nu-Renaissance Fair, Dr. Who-esque Moog analogue synthesizer music has finally been able to bring us the M200G Flying Saucer Hovercraft. It hovers about 10 feet off the ground, and can travel up to 50 miles per hour. The price tag: around $100,000.

My birthday is coming!

The Children Of House

It was Tim’s 1990 Bastille Day fete – one of those events that always brought all the Pittsburgh underground youth tribes together. There were the Carnegie-Mellon hipsters, the patent-leather creeper ambisexuals, the edgy industrial-punk queers, the militant Act-Up-ers, the Point State Park theatre majors, the disaffected Dithridge kids and the should-be-in-New-York-but-stuck-in-Pittsburgh clubbers. And, of course, no party of that era in Pittsburgh alterna-gay history could have even been mentionable without the attendance of the residents of 227. Most often just referred to as the Queens’ House, 227 North Neville St. was a sort of hip, debaucherous gay frat house, certainly not affiliated with any sort of higher learning institution. Erik, Thom, Jason, Michael, Joel and a changeable entourage of minor characters who, generally, had simply forgotten to leave after the last Queens’ House party a month or two ago were the epicenter of all things cool, fun and irresponsible.

It was a muggy, sticky summer night and Tim’s house was packed to its Victorian-era rafters. Having been around the scene for a few years already, I knew most everyone, but I’ve never been much of a mingler or a chit-chatter so I headed straight for the living room dancefloor. Back then, DJs at house parties were a luxury and a rarity, so days before a party were lost assembling mixtapes of underground alterna-dance music. Rare New Order and Pet Shop Boys 12” remixes imported from Japan, Nitzer Ebb, Xymox and Book of Love. And of course, the perennial white label pre-released Madonna du jour.

Stimpy pulled me off to the side, and asked if I could somehow get whoever was in charge of the music to play a cassette that he’d brought. He handed his cherished cassingle to me. I looked down at it, and then never looked at him the same way again.

I met Stimpy a few months earlier, through our gay youth group. Tim had known Stimpy in high school, and brought him to the group and the scene. Stimpy seemed like a nice guy to me – but a little nerdy and a lot needy. Years and years of school torment left me susceptible to over indulge my first experience of in-group status.

It sounds a bit more new-agey than I’m comfortable with, but I really was feeling a connection to some new energy – a 100th monkey-style pull. And, when I saw that cassingle that said “French Kiss” on it, I knew – I knew – that Stimpy was feeling it too, and that I had just completed another necessary connection. We got the tape played, and everyone danced to the sound of the future.

A year and a half later, the vague pull that we felt turned to outright restlessness, and Stimpy, on a total whim, instituted his SEARS (Sell Everything And Run Swiftly) sale. Within 2 weeks from his decision to leave Pittsburgh, found himself at roommate referral in San Francisco. Shortly after arriving, he, and about 20 of his new best friends, called me from a pay-phone at one of San Francisco’s first raves – the Whoopy Ball, and Stimpy’s picture was plastered in NewsWeek as a visual of the new cyberdelic youth movement on the West Coast. Two weeks later, I was headed cross-country in a Renault Alliance with $300 and some techno tapes.

It’s been 15 years since we stepped off the edge, and became who we are. We live in different cities at the moment, but we still talk nearly every day as though we’d just seen each other yesterday. Most people wouldn’t believe the things that we’ve seen together, and that doesn’t matter to either one of us. We were a part of the revolution that no one knows about, we stood on top of the mountain and watched the sun rise and we’ve laughed ourselves out of the absurdity of 1,001 tragedies. We were the children of house.

Happy Bastille Day Stimpy!

Traditional Family Values

I’ve been trying to keep my nose out of politics. I haven’t publicly expressed my seething hatred of this administration in quite some time. I’ve been watching Life on the D List and Top Chef instead of the pundit talk shows. I haven’t gotten into any heated discussions with co-workers over the Decider’s decisions regarding Scooter Libby, Alberto Gonzalez, or “The Surge” in Iraq. Sure, I’ve been wearing my new OBAMA t-shirt…but very quietly, and I haven’t made a peep about stupid Ann Coulter. It’s been good for me to take a breather.

But David Vitter. Good ole’ boy, David Vitter. Could there be a better poster boy for conservative America? David “family values” Vitter who has been adored by the Christian Coalition and the Family Research Council for spearheading the campaign to re-write the Constitution of the United States so as to forever ban states from recognizing the lifetime commitments made by gay Americans. David “traditional marriage” Vitter who stood in support of upholding and affirming traditional marriage by protecting it from those people of the same-sex who wish to love each other and live their lives together. David “sanctity of life” Vitter, who has fought so vehemently against a woman’s right to choose and against gay peoples’ right to adopt unwanted children.

And, on Monday, news broke that David Vitter, while serving his family values agenda, had been a cheating-on-his-wife customer of a brothel in Washington D.C. Apparently, it gets lonely in the capital while one is drafting mean-spirited legislation. Luckily, according to Senator Vitter himself…both his wife and God have forgiven him for his indiscretion.

Now, today, it’s come out that upstanding Senator Vitter was also a favorite customer of a brothel in his home state of Louisiana. * blush *

Honestly, I don’t really care that he visited these places. I hate that modern politics revolves around these sort of personal life ambushes. For all I know, his wife is totally ok with it, and encourages him to hook up with hookers. It’s the jaw-dropping hypocrisy that kills me. What kind of moral void does one have to possess to construct and relentlessly pursue a political agenda based on denying a group of people the basic dignity of marriage – because they’re not good enough – while banging a series of prostitutes all over this country?

I guess it’s the same moral void that drove our second Republican sex scandal this week.

"I don't believe there's any issue that's more important than this one. I think this debate is very healthy, and it's winning a lot of hearts and minds. I think we're going to show real progress." – David Vitter speaking, shortly after his state was devastated by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, in support of banning gay Americans from marrying their life-long partners.

"Unfortunately, it's the crossroads where Katrina meets Rita. I always knew I was against same-sex unions.” - Comedian Senator David Vitter speaking at a Lafayette Parish Republican Executive Committee luncheon. Apparently, Senator Vitter’s joke was supposed to be at the expense of gay Americans…but was taken as offensive to a lot of non-gay Louisianans who lost their homes, family members, friends and livelihoods during the those hurricane disasters.

My Summer Vacation

In what has become an all too common occurence around here, I've been busy tending to real life stuff. Everything's good - just really busy. It's another beautiful day, and I'm on my way to finally see Sicko, so I can't go into anything of substance today. But, here's a quick update...we moved. Yes, Tony and I moved into a dee-luxe apartment in the sky-high. Life is good on the 17th floor.

The morning view

And, All Evil Things Too!

As a follow-up to my last post, it appears that all evil things must end too. Hateful, smirking, self-righteous and just plain mean Jerry Falwell has finally left this world. I don't want to celebrate anyone's death, but I must admit that I feel a sense of relief knowing that Jerry Falwell can no longer use religion as a deadly weapon against love and peace and tolerance.

All Good Things

The pure genius of New Order was one of the greatest factors determining who I became. "Perfect Kiss" from 1985 is an electronic symphony handed straight down from the heavens. This week, they officially called it quits after 27 years of innovation and art. I am so grateful that my era coincided with theirs.

It's Not Over

Last week, I received an e-mail that Jeff was not doing well - like, really not doing well. The e-mail went out to the whole extended group of friends, and it let us all know that Jeff had developed Progressive Multifocal Leukoencephalopathy, and that he was not expected to pull through. None of us even knew that Jeff was sick. Jeff passed away on Sunday. Jeff was a great guy, and I'm so, so sorry for those who were closer to Jeff than I was. I'm not sure what else to say, so I'll leave it at that.

Jeff Sweeney 1970-2007

15 Days

After 15 days, Henry Petithomme ended his hunger strike. Last Sunday, he was visited by Congressman Kendrick Meek, who promised Henry to deliver his message to Congress and George Bush. On Monday, Representative Ileana Ros-Lehtinen made a personal visit, and she also made a promise to Henry to work towards a day when Haitians are treated as refugees, in the same way Cubans are treated today. Nearly every local news channel and newspaper covered the story, and helped get Henry's message out, and Haitian-American leader Marlene Bastien helped everyone understand the terms refugee and temporary protective status. My friend, Lou, who works with the United Church of Christ in Pittsburgh, sent out a press release to over 100 media outlets in Western Pennsylvania, and to all United Churches of Christ nationwide. My friend, Erik, in New York, contacted some friends at the U.N., one of which is currently stationed in Haiti. Trisha sent a note of encouragement to Henry from England, and Olga and Lisa stood on the street in Little Haiti and invited passersby in to hear Haitian speakers and poets. Rodrigo, Brandie and Jason myspaced and e-mailed everyone they know, and visited Henry to give support to a man they'd never met before. A lot of co-workers of mine and Henry's ventured into a small church in Little Haiti for the first time, not knowing much about Haitians, or our policies regarding them, but wanting to let Henry know that they support him - even if they don't completely understand what he's peacefully fighting for.

Immigration is, I'll admit, a diffcult issue, with a lot of hard questions to be asked of ourselves and our country - and I don't pretend to have all the answers. But, what I do know is that my friend Henry is made of unbelievably strong character and a beautiful heart. His sense of commitment and responsibility is deeply inspiring and this country is a better place with people like him.

Visiting Henry every day, and getting to know his friends and family has been a great experience for both me and Tony. And I saw, once again, as Tony was moved to join Henry for 24 hours in a show of support, what an intelligent, compassionate and all-around great guy I've got. Under Henry's leadership we were all invited to help build the bridges necessary to make our community and our country great - and I don't think we'll ever be quite the same again.

Starving For Justice

Life has kept me super busy for the past month - new job, getting ready to move into a new place, visitors, a week o' the flu, and catching up with neglected friends - so my blogging and lurking has suffered severely.

But I had to stop back in to share something important, and ask for a favor from my gentle reader(s).

A friend, co-worker and all-around good guy has committed himself to bringing attention to the discriminatory immigration policy that exists - commonly called the wet foot/dry foot policy. Right now, the law allows any Cuban who reaches United States dry soil to stay as a refugee from communism. If Cubans are interdicted at sea by United States authorities, they're sent back to Cuba - unless they can prove that they're lives are in danger if they are returned. For Haitians, it doesn't matter if they reach the beach, or not. They are detained for months in immigration prisons, and sent back automatically, because the policy states that Haitians are just economic refugees, whereas Cubans are refugees from a communist system of government. To a lot of Haitians, the wet foot/dry foot policy looks more like a white foot/black foot policy.

A little over 2 weeks ago, a small boat with 102 Haitian refugees landed in Hallandale, just north of Miami. One man died in the surf, trying to reach the shore. The rest of the 101 people were captured and detained, and will most certainly be sent back to Haiti after risking their lives to escape. Unfortunately, Haitians and Haitian-Americans have very little political power, even here in Miami, so few people even noticed these people's misery and pain.

My friend Henry Petithomme, answering what he calls a spiritual calling, decided to commit himself to peaceful protest through a hunger strike - to call attention to the discriminatory policy that our government pursues, and to the suffering of these refugees. Henry is one of the most committed, strong, stubborn, visionary, hard-headed go-getters that I've ever known. Today will be 12 days without food. Henry's health is deteriorating, and he is prepared to die if he doesn't reach his goal of gaining national attention.

A few days ago, Jetro Nelson, who I also work with, joined Henry's protest, and went 3 days without eating. Yesterday, Tony (yes, my Tony) joined Henry with a commitment to 24 hours with no food as a show of support.

Today, there will be a unified cross cultural stance of Hope & Unity as we support Henry at the Episcopal Church of St. Paul located at 6744 N.Miami Avenue in Little Haiti, from 12 noon throughout the day. I don't want Henry to die, so I'm asking as your friend, because Henry is my friend, that if you are in Miami - please stop by and show your support, and if you are outside of Miami, please forward this to as many people and media outlets as possible. It only takes a few minutes. There will be live poetry, skits, powerful motivational speakers, special music guests and more. Congressman Kendrick Meeks is scheduled to come. Please forward this to radio, TV, internet bullentins... all media. Let the voice of the voiceless be heard. Please help Henry in his efforts.

IF YOU WANT TO SEND A NOTE OF SUPPORT TO HENRY - E-MAIL Makendal30@yahoo.com. Thank you for your support ! Please pass this on and help get the word out.

I will return to regular blogging about nothing in particular and lurking around your blogs soon.

It Sure Gets Cold Up North

Last week, Tony's nephew and his nephew's fiancee came to visit from Tennessee. We had a great time showing them around. This week we are in the midst of a spur-of-the-moment-I-need-to-get-out-of-New-York visit from Erik. I couldn't be happier. So, until I can return to the world o' blogging...here's the Okapi Song of the Week...

"Young Folks" by Peter Bjorn & John

The Las Vegas Remix

Until my company’s conference two years ago, I’d never been to Las Vegas. I’d been all around it…Phoenix, Los Angeles, Reno…but never Las Vegas. To be honest, Sin City was never really high on my list of necessary travel destinations. This was certainly not due to its sinfulness, per se, but more due to my perception of how Las Vegas sins are packaged. I think I must have bee rebelling against a perceived commodification of sin, which, all too often, dilutes the fun.

Upon my first visit, two years ago, I stood corrected. I was there officially for an unreal estate conference, I didn’t drink, I gambled really minimally…and I still had a BLAST!

For those not in the know, for the past several years, I’ve been applying my graduate degree in Comparative Sociology and Socialism by selling out to the Man and doing marketing and transaction coordination for a real estate team. A couple of months ago, my team semi-dissolved and I was temporarily without job. In addition to the possibility of homelessness and starvation, I was really bummed that I wouldn’t get to go to the upcoming annual conference in Las Vegas. But, alas, I was quickly hired by another team…same company, different office…and BAM! I was, once again, headed to Vegas!

Since Tony works for the same company, we got to go together and, enjoy a romantic, partially company-subsidized Las Vegas Valentine’s Day. We both had a great time. Here are some quick highlights:

*Blue Man Group – it was my third time (once before in Las Vegas, and once in New York) and Tony’s first time. Blue Man is possibly the coolest show on the planet. I really think that truly great post-modern art can be defined by its ability to simultaneously touch the primal and the futuristic, its abililty to provoke both complex introspective thought and childish giggles, and its ability to be interactive. Blue Man Group epitomizes great post-modern art.

*David Hasselhoff – we saw him walking through the MGM Casino. There are few possible celebrity sightings that could’ve matched it.

*The Stratosphere Tower Rides – at the top of the 110ish story tower are three cute and relaxing rides called the Big Shot, the X-Scream and Insanity. Yeah, um, if you need to take a load off, and relax after a long day of walking from casino to casino, this is the place to be. If you don’t have a lot of leisure time, Insanity is particularly relaxing.

*Dollar Rent-A-Car – when renting a car for a two-day road trip to the Grand Canyon, we were amused as the perky and professional rental agent let us know that we needed to return the car with a full tank of gas, and that since the car had just been turned in, we should inspect the glove compartment for anything that might get us arrested if we got pulled over for anything. She wasn’t trying to be funny.

*Big Horn Sheep – we saw a small group of them climbing a rocky slope near the Hoover Dam. As you can imagine, I nearly caused us to careen out of control as I screamed for Tony to pull over. So, so cool.

*Flagstaff, Arizona – we spent the night in this peaceful hippie-ish mountain enclave. Love the vibe, but fuck does it get cold at 7,000 feet.

*The Grand Canyon – we took a helicopter tour, and after, just stood on the rim, speechless. I really don’t have words to describe the soul-shaking beauty of the Grand Canyon. You think you’ve seen it on tv, or in movies…but the awesomeness of it just can’t be conveyed in any other way than to experience it for yourself.

Oh, yeah, and I nearly met Vegasgustan. I tried. He tried. Missed him by that much (said in Maxwell Smart voice). Now, he and Audra and Noah have to come to Miami.

The Okapi's Favorite Nibbles

A little more than 2 years ago, this blogging thing was still a mystery to me. It just seemed a little self-important…to think that the public would be interested in your diary. Then, my little lamb, started The 9th Circle, and I found myself coming back again and again – mainly to keep up with her life in New York. She’s great at getting her voice into her writing, and I could just hear her in every snarky viewer mail post and every scathing observation on public transportation. It somehow made her seem not so far away.

So, just out of curiosity, I started the Lair. I knew that I didn’t want to do a daily diary type blog, and I didn’t want to do a specifically themed thing. I thought it would be less obligating, and more my style to think of my blog as more of an online scrapbook for ideas, pictures, stories and stuff. I started to read other blogs from The 9th Circle blogroll, and found myself “getting to know” a few bloggers – Jackie, Hof, Van, Vegas, Dan and Moo. Through Moo, I met Val. And she made me laugh with her cricket finger puppets. Then I went through a “not so good” period, and I was surprised by how my blog friends really rallied around, when I needed a few kind words. I, myself, couldn’t put much into words then, but I spent a lot of time surfing blogrolls and filling my temporary emptiness with other peoples’ lives. During that challenging time, both Val and Marisol suffered terrible losses, and my heart just ached for them.

My life did get back on track, and as I became interested in the world again, I expanded my blogroll with blogs that caught my attention because they were smart or funny or particularly well-written – like Scott-O-Rama, Get Your Life, Random Speak, The Martian Anthropologist, Afarensis, Meanwhile and Joe.My.God.

Recently, I noticed that a lot of the blogging friends I’ve made over the past 2 years, have, for one reason or another, bowed out, and my blogroll was looking like a museum collection of blog relics. So, I searched and I lurked. And I pruned and grafted my list of daily reads. And I’m getting to know a few new fantastic sites and their really, really talented authors – like Cooper’s Corridor, Circumlocutor, Getting Myself Together, Intelligent Design , Sad and Mad, Juliepatchouli, Angry Black Bitch and It’s Just Ice Cream.

I’m leaving for Las Vegas today for a week. While I’m gone, I’d love if some of my “old” friends introduced themselves to some of my “new” friends – and vice versa. Go ahead. Most of them won't bite.

Now tawk amongst yourselves.

More Rant, Less Rave

At the moment, these are the top 5 things wrong with America...excluding, of course, the upcoming War on Iran and Syria.

1. Family car decals. I think this annoying trend started as a way for soccer moms to justify their gas-guzzling, global-warming SUVs. "Look, I have 7 kids ranging in age from 2 to 14, so I need a Ford Explorer, dammit!" What I can't figure out is why otherwise decent suburban parents would want to advertise to every sexual predator sitting in traffic, the ages and hobbies of all of their children. As a side observation...though these decals are offered in "dark-skinned" versions, you will never see black folks partaking in this silliness.

2. Leaf blowers. Seriously. The leaf blower really is a prime example of what is wrong with our society. It's an overly obnoxious, clumsy pollution machine that does nothing but blow your waste onto somebody else's property. Oh, yeah...and wake me up at 7am on an otherwise lovely weekend morning. Grab a fucking rake, and shut the fuck up.

3. Self-checkouts. I'm stunned speechless by the stupidity of retailers' move towards self-checkouts. Just look under the sign at Home Depot or Winn-Dixie that points to the new "ultra-convenient" self-checkout mess. It's complete chaos. A significant percentage of the public will never understand how use them. And, for the people who, for all intents and purposes, should be able to use them, they don't work. And the store still has to hire someone to stand there to help nearly every single person. What genius came up with this pennysaver? I'll take a surly cashier who hates his/her job anyday over this mess.

4. Glenn Beck. How did this hateful, racist, xenophobic bumbling Baby Huey-looking dork get his own show on CNN? That Bill O'Reilly really riles them up. And, that Ann Coulter...grrrr. But, I can't imagine that even hateful, racist, xenophobic middle Americans find Glenn Beck entertaining. Even Faux News didn't want him.

5. "Santorum to Think About U.S. Enemies." Rick Santorum has been drafted by a conservative "think tank." I thought this was an article from the Onion when I first saw it. But, apparently, Rick Santorum is one of the conservative rights most important, um, cough, um, thinkers.

The Rite Of Spring

The Journey Home

As a kid, I sometimes felt embarrassed by my lack of exposure to church and religion. My adoptive parents were Methodists in name only, and neither one had stepped foot in a church, save for the occasional wedding, in at least 30 years. When a significant portion of my classmates were talking about catechisms and confirmations, I remember feeling afraid. Afraid to be exposed as the kid who didn’t go to church. It was just one more difference, one more wall, between me and “all the other kids.”

My friend Marla grew up in a fairly conservative Catholic family. Her parents and brother were devoted pro-lifers, and I can actually recall family dinner conversations about the pros and cons of killing abortionists. I took up an invite to attend Sunday mass, and got a crash course prepping from Marla. I sat, I kneeled, I stood. I kneeled some more. I pretended to pray on cue, and made sure not to follow everyone up front for a wafer. I looked around at all of the icons and representations of bloody suffering and wondered how these creep-o images filled the hearts of minds of the congregants with compassion and communion. It was like a weird B-movie to me. Did these people actually hear things that I didn’t hear? Did they see stuff that I didn’t see? Why would otherwise seemingly sane people suddenly behave so differently here? On Sunday? In this building?

I never felt embarrassed again about my lack of churchin’. I realized that I was actually saved – from glazy-eyed brainwashed indoctrination. Thank god I wasn’t seduced by the promise of not having to treat this life as if there was no other.

I suppose I wouldn’t have ever had to revisit religion, or more precisely religionists, except that I was a leader of a gay youth group in Pittsburgh. Our adult advisor was a minister of MCC – the gay church, and he provided us with a lot of support and a lot of counseling on how to handle the crazy fundamentalists who so venomously opposed the simple existence of our group. We had threats of lawsuits and allegations that we minors were corrupting our fellow minors.

But the real destruction that I saw done by the “Christians” was in the gay kids who were disowned by their Jesus-loving, gay-hating parents. One kid, Joel, was sent by his parents to ex-gay camp long before ex-gay camps were cool. I only saw him once after that, and the damage was depressingly obvious. Before Jesus camp, Joel was a witty and articulate young man. We all knew that he was suffering through his coming out, because of his ultra-conservative family, but it seemed like he was going to make it. He balanced being a member of Growing Alternative Youth with his position as president of the pro-life group on campus at Pitt. He went to gay clubs and got up early for church on Sunday. He dressed as Nancy Reagan for Halloween. After ex-gay camp, Joel moved to Washington DC, and became a writer for “Clinton Watch.” I hear that he married a woman and became a minister – as, of course, any self-loathing ex-gay would.

In ’92, I moved to San Francisco to become a part of the emerging rave scene. As I’ve mentioned before, the rave scene was a deeply spiritual experience for me. Sometimes with the aid of entheogens, and sometimes without, I came to understand the unlimited potential of 2,000 people transcending difference and creating a positive vibe on the dancefloor. The feeling of communion was strangely similar to the wonder and instinctive connectedness to Nature that I felt as a kid playing in the woods. I realized that my experience in the rave scene and my experience in the woods shared some kind of deep, organic truth about existence and consciousness.

Somewhere, shortly after, I lost my way. My mid-20s were a muddled stew of day-to-day existence, crystal meth addiction, isolation and self destruction. Only because of the unconditional love of friends, I was able to make the long, long trip back to me, and, to be honest, I was hardly recognizable to me when I got there. I moved to Miami Beach, and in ’97, I decided to take a class or two at Miami-Dade Community College, just to do something. I chose a literature class with a professor with a very literature-sounding name – Deena Blazejack. Professor Blazejack was a real-life Dead Poet’s style professor, and I sat mesmerized as I breathed in her passion for literature and life. Her classes were like sermons, and she once shared with us Carl Sagan’s proposition that as all of the particles and atoms that come together to make our bodies and minds were once a part of the stars, we are the Universe trying to understand itself. It was, and still is, the most profound idea I have ever experienced. Every thought I have had, since then, has been influenced by the idea that we aren’t a “we” exploring “it.” We are it. We are all that is and all that is, is us.

A little over a year ago, Tony invited me to the Unity on the Bay holiday concert. Here in Miami, Unity is pretty popular with the Gays, and crunchy New Age-y types, so, of course, I had heard of it before (not to mention that I live directly across the street). Tony had mentioned that he used to sing in the Unity choir, and I knew he really wanted to support his friends in the choir on their big night. I didn’t really know what to expect – I’d always imagined Unity as candlelit yoga and drumming circles. So, I put on my finest lesbian khakis and plaid shirt, and we headed across the street. We entered through the gift shop – which is filled with videos and books about candlelit yoga and drumming circles – and took front and center seats in the sanctuary.

I immediately noticed how un-religious the sanctuary seemed. There weren’t any fear-inducing depictions of a bloody savior nailed to a cross, or images of angels, or saints, or martyrs. There weren’t any secret rituals or fancy schmancy robes. It really looked more like a concert hall at a mid-sized university than a church. I was deeply impressed by the diversity of the audience – every color, ethnicity and sexual orientation. There wasn’t any self-segregation and everyone seemed genuinely comfortable and friendly. I could feel the hard work and heart that was put into the show, and the music reflected the diversity of the audience. We had a really nice time.

To make a long story slightly shorter than it could be…I’ve been going to Unity, fairly regularly since. I love the message – each and every life form is an individual expression of the whole…every life form is an individual attempt by the Universe to understand itself from a different perspective. Every bit of knowledge that we are able to discover, and every part of self that we explore, adds to a greater understanding. Unity on the Bay has allowed me to really explore my deepest, and most natural self. The self that intrinsically knows that, for me, the deep woods and deep house music are truth. The self that knows that sins and judgment days and holy wars have nothing to do with enlightenment. The self that knows that real beauty and the divine nature of the Universe can be found in the complexity of evolution, the sacred balance of an ecosystem, and the fortuity of the Big Bang. I feel so, so grateful to have found a home for the feelings and knowledge that I have always had. Now, pass the Kool-Aid please.

Thank You.

So Long 2006

I'm a bit late on the good-bye 2006 post...so...some quick highlights....

Tony, Olga, John and I spent a day at Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary.

In August, we went to St. Augustine and did the ghost tour thing.

I was really impressed with the art scene in Pittsburgh. The Mattress Factory was exceptionally cool.

In October, I breathed in the spirit of an old-growth cloud forest in Monteverde, Costa Rica.

And, Tony and I survived the zip-line canopy tour.

And, I dressed like a lesbian German tourist.


We roadtripped 19 hours to Nashville to visit Tony's brother's family for Thanksgiving. From left: Me, niece Julie, nephew Mike, Tony and niece Jenny. Good, good people.

Tony was extra cute in Key West.

We saw the Mayan ruins at Tulum, Mexico.

Mexico was quite lovely.

And, we considered just moving into this place near Playa Del Carmen.

Now, on to 2007...

A Heap O' Imogen

I'm going on a cruise to Mexico today. If I die of a mysterious cruise ship illness, I leave you with this...

"Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap

Miami Urban Photo Safari

A lot of people consider San Francisco as the epicenter of different in America. It's stuffed full of established anti-establishment types, still tripping hippies and the Burning Man set. It seems like everyone in San Francisco is "alternative" in some way or another. I lived in San Francisco back in the early '90s and I can assure you that it is a weird place, full of weird people.

In 1994, I left the Left Coast and moved to Miami- South Beach to be exact. At first, I often felt sad that I wasn't a part of the progressive city any more, and it took me a while to feel at home here. And now, after 12 years, I've come to realize that San Francisco is weird - surfacely weird. Miami's weirdness is so much deeper. San Francisco is very, very conscious of its freak factor and loves to celebrate it, and display it, at every possible opportunity. Everyone in San Francisco wants to be weird. Miami thinks it's normal, and just goes about its daily business as if it were Colombus Ohio.

Back in the day - 2005 - me and my homey went on an urban photo safari in a couple of the more overlooked hoods in Miami, basically as an excuse to get out and explore the deep, hidden oddities of our city. Every couple of months, we pick a different neighborhood and try to capture it in 10 pictures, or less - and then research community history and publish it all at Okapi Visuals. The lastest expedition was in Little Haiti.