The Countdown Is On

Three Questions Come To Mind...

1. Are there really people living on this planet who didn't know that Al-Qaeda's finances were being monitored? If so, why aren't they embarrassed by their stupidity instead of standing on the floor of Congress proudly displaying their dimwittedness?

2. Had this actually been a "leak," shouldn't the administration official who "leaked" it to the NEW YORK FUCKING TIMES be the target of the administration's fury as opposed to Joe Reporter putting Freedom of the Press into practice? Like if I tell A* a secret, and she tells Hof and he blogs about it, I'd be pissed at A*, not Hof, and totally talk shit about her on my blog for like years.

3. Is Keith Olbermann rocking lately, or what?

Happy Homo-American Pride!

Because We Need It Now More Than Ever.

Take Part in Kelly's Campaign

Hat Tip: Scott-O-Rama

What If?

Left To My Own Devices - Part One

I am a lucky guy. I have heard far too many gruesome “coming out” stories where good people lost family, friends, jobs and homes because they told someone about their capacity to fall in love with someone with similar anatomy. Stories of people who suffered through years of self-denial, self-hatred, fear, violence and loneliness – unbearable loneliness. I’ve also heard tales of immense courage, determination and strength with a healthy dose of humor.

Gay folks don’t just share coming out stories, we share the experience of the process of coming out – a process of accepting, constructing and articulating a Gay identity in a heterosexual world. Most coming out stories start with “I always knew I was different” and then proceed into a personal and revealing life history. We use our coming out stories as catalysts for developing a relationship of acquaintance into a friendship or more. Coming out stories provide us with a way of nearly instantly relating to each other through shared experience.

I always knew I was different. I always knew that I would grow up to like boys in a different way than I liked girls – though at the time I thought boys were dumb and I wanted nothing to do with their mob sports and general rowdiness. I preferred solitary magical expeditions in the woods spying on deer and foxes, or sitting on the basement steps traveling to foreign lands and meeting historical people through an old set of encyclopedias. It wasn’t that I preferred the solitary part. It was more that I preferred not feeling like an awkward outsider.

In second grade, Dennis Giel called me a faggot. I wasn’t totally sure what that meant, but I knew I felt ashamed deep inside. I knew by the way the other kids laughed, that faggot wasn’t a good thing, and that it applied to me. In third grade, I stumbled upon a 60 Minutes-style televising the burgeoning Gay Power movement in San Francisco. I remember a particularly indignant blonde, woolly-haired fellow in a ringer tee and striped tube socks telling the reporter that he was “proud to be a faggot.” I still remember the sense of relief that I felt, knowing that one day when I was grown up, I could move far, far away to San Francisco and be with the other faggots.

I spent my entire childhood hiding, and alone. That all changed in a single September evening, with a chance decision to attend a Junior Achievement meeting that had been promoted by my 10th grade English teacher. Erik, who sat in front of me, signed up too, and we decided to go together. Erik’s dad dropped us off outside, but we never made it in to the meeting, opting instead to walk around aimlessly for hours, and launch a lifelong friendship. He taught me how to smoke a cigarette, and we made plans for the weekend. Together, over the next few months, we learned how to smoke pot and shoplift, watched the Breakfast Club roughly 43 times, discovered the Smiths and New Order and stayed out really, really late on school nights. And, we came out to each other. Honestly, I don’t remember exactly how, but I know it was a quick evolution from, “hey, look, that guy’s clothes are cool” to “um, yeah, that guy’s hot.”

Erik had a bit of a head start on me, in the process. He, and a mutual friend of ours, Jody, had already come out to each other. The three of us devised a coded language and alphabet, for clandestine phone communications and the all important note-writing in class. At the beginning of 11th grade, we met Marla. She had a new wave haircut and a penchant for Joy Division and Sylvia Plath, which of course, was a big green light in our book. And she too was Gay.

The four of us waited it out together. We waited for the opportunity to escape the isolation of Gay teenagehood in exurbia. Unlike most Gay kids, we were lucky enough to have each other. Those years weren’t easy. But, without the hope that we were able to give each other, we very well might not have made it. I certainly am a lucky guy.

Erik and Cyrus - Class of 1988

Pick up a brochure about the sun
Learn to ignore what the photographer saw
I was always told that you should join a club
Stick with the gang, if you want to belong

I was a lonely boy, no strength, no joy
In a world of my own at the back of the garden
I didn't want to compete, or play out on the street
For in a secret life I was a round head general

I could leave you, say goodbye
Or I could love you, if I try
And I could
And left to my own devices, I probably would
Left to my own devices, I probably would
Oh, I would

I was faced with a choice at a difficult age
Would I write a book? Or should I take to the stage?
But in the back of my head I heard distant feet
Che Guevara and Debussy to a disco beat

"Left To My Own Devices" - Pet Shop Boys

Chihuly At Fairchild

Last night, Tony and I went to Fairchild Tropical Gardens for the “Chihuly at Fairchild” nighttime walking tour. So cool.

Getting Away From It All

One day, some time ago, during our days of 11am alarms and leisurely, outdoor crossword puzzle breakfasts, Jason and I hiked in our Havaianas the four blocks from our Art Deco apartments to the beach, looking forward to a few sublime hours of warm sand, puffy clouds and electric blue water. It was one of those perfect South Beach days, where the thought of living anywhere else was just absurd and we shared our mocking sympathy for the poor people in New York and Boston and Chicago who were suffering through deadlines and schedules, road salt and grimy slush. Life was good.

Shortly after beginning our beach blanket nap, we were snapped back to awareness by an extended tourist family setting up shop – plastic and Styrofoam coolers, umbrellas, floaty tube things, foldable spectator chairs and bags and bags of Cool Ranch Doritos. The visiting clan was headed by a loud and large hairy man, silverback in appearance and behavior, and none of them seemed to realize that they were totally desecrating an otherwise divine day with their bickering, belching and sand –kicking.

Finally, all settled in, they pop open cans of beer and reflect on their issues of the day – loudly. Positioned just about 15 feet away, Jason and I can’t help but to hear every inane word, and spend the next few minutes listening and rolling our eyes – trying to find some amusement in an otherwise aggravating situation. Then, the afternoon took a sharp turn for even worse, when the patriarch noticed two obviously gay guys walking past, along the shore, and declares “they should take all them faggots and put ‘em on an island!” Not missing a beat, Jason yells back “we are on an island, you fucking moron, and we were here first!”

Mission Accomplished!

Monday will mark the 3 year anniversary of America's Mission Accomplished in Iraq, and I think a tempered, tasteful remembrance of Bush's big day on the big boat is in order. This year, instead of joining the raucous street celebrations, I've decided to just review the words spoken on that day in 2003 by our defender of American freedoms.

"Thank you. Thank you all very much. Admiral Kelly, Captain Card, officers and sailors of the USS Abraham Lincoln, my fellow Americans, major combat operations in Iraq have ended. In the battle of Iraq, the United States and our allies have prevailed.

And now our coalition is engaged in securing and reconstructing that country.

In this battle, we have fought for the cause of liberty and for the peace of the world. Our nation and our coalition are proud of this accomplishment, yet it is you, the members of the United States military, who achieved it. Your courage, your willingness to face danger for your country and for each other made this day possible.

Because of you our nation is more secure. Because of you the tyrant has fallen and Iraq is free.
Operation Iraqi Freedom was carried out with a combination of precision and speed and boldness the enemy did not expect and the world had not seen before. …

In the images of celebrating Iraqis we have also seen the ageless appeal of human freedom. Decades of lies and intimidation could not make the Iraqi people love their oppressors or desire their own enslavement.

Men and women in every culture need liberty like they need food and water and air. Everywhere that freedom arrives, humanity rejoices and everywhere that freedom stirs, let tyrants fear.

We have difficult work to do in Iraq. We're bringing order to parts of that country that remain dangerous. We're pursuing and finding leaders of the old regime who will be held to account for their crimes. We've begun the search for hidden chemical and biological weapons, and already know of hundreds of sites that will be investigated.

We are helping to rebuild Iraq where the dictator built palaces for himself instead of hospitals and schools..."

Dear Mr. President

I really never paid any attention at all to Pink. She just seemed like another assembly line pop product putting out songs that were "catchy." Now suddenly, she's the voice of a generation with "Stupid Girls" and this...which might actually be my favorite song this year.

Happy Eostre!

I’m totally fascinated by the way certain cultural traditions can be passed from generation to generation for hundreds, and often, thousands of years and how symbolic expressions evolve or are co-opted into a new representation. The celebration of Easter is a great example. Easter, possibly the holiest of all days for Christians, has its roots in Pagan, pre-Christian Europe. Eostre was the Anglo-Saxon goddess of fertility, and she was honored through feasts and fertility festivals that coincided with the Spring equinox. Her earthly symbol of fertility was the rabbit – hence the chocolate Easter bunnies that we know and love. For the Pagan peoples of Europe, the season of Eostre was a time to recognize Nature’s ability to reproduce and rejuvenate in each day of increasing sunlight. As Christianity’s dominance spread throughout Europe, Christian missionaries and leaders co-opted the old ways and traditions and re-signified them with images of Jesus’ rebirth during the days of increasing sunlight. Now if I could just find some literature on the cultural and religious significance of peeps.

This Land Is Your Land....

I just love a wedge issue. Especially one that threatens to rip apart the GOP, by challenging Republikans to choose between their two most fundamental character traits – greed and hatefulness. On one side you’ve got the moneyed establishment conservatives who, in order to conserve more and more wealth, see illegal immigrants as nothing more than cheap labor that allows for more profit to float to the top. For these Wall Street Republicans, this is basically about property rights, not human rights – and as we all know, this is a property rights era. Bush certainly racked up points with CEOs across the country, when he let us all know that “there are jobs that no Americans will do,” and I’d guess that Halliburton’s stock jumps a few notches every time someone mentions building a wall along the border.

On the other side of the Republican civil war are the Lou Dobbs groupies, the O’Reilly lunatics and the Minutemen-loving fundamentalists who are kept awake at night with images of brown-skinned illegals climbing over walls to apply for welfare and rape white women. These people are the real heart and soul of the Republikan Party, and most likely, these will be they will be the victors in this bloody battle. For these Calvinists, illegals’ geographic place of birth is evidence of their unworthiness, and crossing the border to work is to spit on God’s plan.

The only thing that really overshadows this theatre, is the mystery of why conservatives chose to allow this divisive issue to boil over right before elections. The Democrats don’t need to instigate anything or have a plan (thank god), because it looks like the Republikans’ internal jihad between greed and hate, being played out through the Dubai Ports Deal and illegal immigration conflicts, should sufficiently fuck them for November.

The Trip Report

The family visit actually exceeded all of my already over-inflated expectations. We had a blast. Of course, three days o’ Disney was exhausting, but everything worked out exactly as planned. The weather was magnificent, our room at the Animal Kingdom Lodge overlooking the savannah habitat was ideal, and not one of us was afflicted with vacation dysentery, cholera or lyme disease. After allowing the mouse to pillage our wallets for three days, we sojourned south to the M.I.A. It was wonderful and surreal to have my two lives fuse together in front of me. You see, I’ve lived in Miami for over 12 years now, and the possibility that my family from Pittsburgh might ever know my life here, outside of e-mailed photos, never even crossed my mind. They’re great people, but not exactly world travelers. The largest city my sister has ever seen is, well, Pittsburgh. She’s not afraid of going places or meeting new people. In fact, she’s open-minded, friendly and extroverted. But, for reasons that someone like myself will never understand, she’s just never had a longing to see the world outside. But see it she did. They stayed in South Beach, dined on Lincoln Road, swam in the turquoise ocean, trekked through the Everglades and met people from all over the world. And they had a great time.

It feels good and healthy to have been able to integrate my family into my life here. I feel more whole in a way that’s hard to articulate. My sister let me know how impressed she was with the genuine warmness of my friends and that she noticed how family-like we are in our closeness. I thanked her for giving me the ability to forge real relationships. But I don’t think I thanked her enough.

So. Stoked. Can't. Breathe.

My sister found out yesterday that one actually does not fall off the Earth when crossing a border, thereby leaving the state of Pennsylvania. She, who hasn’t left the Keystone State since her 1976 honeymoon in Virginia, is en route with my brother-in-law and my newly 10-year-old niece to Florida. I’m meeting them in Orlando in a few hours for 3 days o’ Disney. Then, they’ll be visiting the M.I.A. for a few days. I can’t breathe, I’m so excited.

Thank You TV Land

In what was supposed to be a much needed evening of mind-numbing after work couch napping and channel surfing, I found myself hurled back to my near-forgotten first celebrity crush. No, no, no, not Farrah Fawcett or Suzanne Somers or even Valerie Bertinelli. The dream date of my 10 year old heart was Matthew Laborteaux – probably known better by the masses as Albert from Little House on the Prairie. I never, ever missed an episode of LHOTP. Ever. That thick black hair and those deep, dark eyes full of adorable and charming reformed bad boy sexiness confirmed my long suspected gayness. I would have given up my K-Tel disco records in a heartbeat to live in Walnut Grove with Albert. Sure, I couldn’t proudly display posters of my crush on my bedroom wall like the other kids did – mainly because of the Little House shame factor. Well, I’m not ashamed anymore. So here it is. I love Little House on the Prairie. I’ve even thought of buying the DVD collection.

Guns Don't Kill People

Copy and Paste

LOS ANGELES (Feb. 10) - Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa said Thursday he was blindsided by President George W. Bush's announcement of new details about a purported 2002 plot to crash a plane into a city skyscraper, but the White House and state officials said the mayor's office was contacted.

I'm amazed that the president would make this (announcement) on national TV and not inform us of these details through the appropriate channels," the mayor said in an interview with The Associated Press. "I don't expect a call from the president - but somebody."

In Washington, White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan said the administration "did reach out to officials in California and Los Angeles to let them know, I think it was yesterday, that the president would be talking about this."

Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, the alleged mastermind of the Sept. 11 attacks who was captured in 2003, had already begun planning the West Coast operation in October 2001, Bush said Thursday during a Washington speech. The hijackers were to use shoe bombs to blow open the cockpit door of a commercial jetliner, take control of the plane and crash it into the Library Tower in Los Angeles, since renamed the US Bank Tower, Bush said.

Apparently, Thursday morning, Bush's crack team of public relations officials realized that they hadn't yet hammered out a bone-chilling, menacing terrorist "plot" that would show the need for wiretapping and citizen surveillance, and justify to the sheep, the ripping up of the American Constitution. So, out of the pressure of time constraints, they decided to copy and paste from previous headline grabbers.

P.R. #1 : "Let's see, shoe bombs really frighten them."

P.R. #2: "I don't think we should use New York. New Yorkers made it through the transit strike. They won't care about this

P.R. #1: "Let's try L.A. this time. It'll be fun to watch all those Hollywood liberals shaking in their loafers."

P.R. #2: "Yeah," (chuckles) "Good Night and Good Luck, Hollywood."

P.R. #1 "Hey, what's the tallest building in L.A.?"

P.R. #2 "Should we use Sadaam?"

P.R. #1 "No, let's use some other guy with a funny name!"

P.R. #2 "I hope Scott doesn't fuck it up in front of the cameras again."

P.R. #1 "Yeah, what a dumbass."

The Reinvention Tour

Ok, for those interested...I am still alive. As anyone who is interested would know, my life fell apart in just about every conceivable way a few months ago. On the employment front, I'm now doing marketing for a different team in the same office and it's working out really well. I moved out of South Beach and into a cool, old apartment in downtown Miami. Just a few weeks ago, I was able to get my nearly totalled car repaired. And, though I still can't look at photo albums or listen to Lite FM, I'm crawling out of the shock and awe of "I don't want to continue from here."

So, now I'd like to return to my irregularly scheduled blogging absurdity. In the meantime, I'm concentrating on sending out some particularly positive vibes and thoughts to Marisol and Valerie. I hope they both know how strong they can be, and how many people are rooting for them.

Happy Thanksgiving

I'm backing away from the Damien Rice for a moment to be thankful for having the absolute best friends and blog buddies anyone could have. I am as grateful as one can be for all the support I've received...and for Madonna's new cd.

Yet Another Shoe Drops

Yesterday my heart broke into a million pieces. Hopefully music still saves our lives.

yesterday i got so old
i felt like i could die
yesterday i got so old
it made me want to cry
go on go on
just walk away
go on go on
your choice is made
go on go on
and disappear
go on go on
away from here
and i know i was wrong
when i said it was true
that it couldn't be me and be her
inbetween without you
without you
yesterday i got so scared
i shivered like a child
yesterday away from you
it froze me deep inside
come back come back
don't walk away
come back come back
come back today
come back come back
why can't you see?
come back come back
come back to me --- "In Between Days" by The Cure

So Not Eligible For VH-1's "Best Week Ever"

We all know that life is full of ups and downs and that the downs allow us to appreciate the ups. The problem is that when you’re going through a down period, it’s just so hard to see the up period down the road – and when you’ve had a week like I have, it’s just not fucking possible to see past survival mode.

Saturday, October 22 – I noticed that I missed several calls from the office. I didn’t return them, because, well it’s Saturday. The phone rang again, and I answered it, with a purposely annoyed tone. Christian from work asks me what happened to Gary (Gary is my boss), and I ask him what he’s talking about. He tells me that he heard that he just heard that Gary’s handyman found him collapsed on the floor at his house, and that he’s now in the hospital. I call Gary’s cell – no answer. I call Mariano, the handyman. He tells me that the hospital just called him, and that Gary se murio. Gary died. He fucking died. He was 47 years old, and he just died. I had to go to the house and assure the police that Mariano did indeed work for Gary, and that it was ok for him to have been in the house. Gary’s parents were on vacation in Boston. His mother called me to find out what was happening. I had to explain, as best I could, to his mother what happened.

Sunday, October 23 – I spent most of the day walking around numbly, and not preparing for the hurricane that’s coming.

Monday, October 24 – At 6 in the morning the roar of the hurricane woke us up. The windows were shaking and buckling and the power went out. From our window, I could see huge trees being ripped to shreds and satellite dishes and roof tiles smashing into the building next door. I realized that this hurricane was like nothing I had ever seen before. We sat nervously for hours listening to the howl and destruction outside. After it passed, Rodrigo and I took a walk around the neighborhood to assess the damage. Fucking unreal. Nearly every tree was just shredded, huge cement utility poles were just lying in the street and a van had been flipped upside down onto a car. We took a turn onto Euclid Avenue to check on my car. I had parked away from all trees and signs, just in case. What I had not calculated was the roof of the synagogue on the corner flying at 100 mph into the side of my car. The entire side of my car was completely smashed in. It looks like two buffalos rammed into it full force. The nicest touch, though, has to be the roofing tar all over my car. Um, yeah.

Tuesday, October 25 – It’s pretty amazing how quickly society breaks down without electricity or water. The whole scene turned into Mad Max Beyond South Beach – no lights, downed power lines and trees blocking all the roads and sidewalks and tribes of unshowered people just roaming around with flashlights. I forgot how dark it can be at night. The stars were beautiful. Cell phone batteries died.

Wednesday, October 26 – After living on potato chips and bananas for 2 days, we are deeply grateful that the café where I used to work (and Rodrigo still works) has food. I’m still trying to get a footing on what the fuck just happened. Everyone was just migrating around from friend’s apartment to friend’s apartment looking for something, anything, to do.

Thursday, October 27 – We got water again, but of course it’s cold. Cold showers suck ass, but I would have taken a dip in the Antarctic Sea at that point. Thursday night we got power back. So thankful that I live in the tourist area.

Friday, October 28 – I spent most of the day having “off the record” conversations with Gary’s family, friends and clients. It seems that Gary didn’t have a will, or even life insurance, even though he had literally millions of dollars worth of real estate deals in process. I have never really posted much about work, but as it turns out, I am the one who has all the information that everyone needs. I have all the passwords and account information. I’m the one who knew just about everything about his life. So, now I am the one being placed squarely in the middle of this entire mess – though I no longer have a job. Gary was the company. Without Gary, there is no company. Without Gary, I am completely unemployed. But, of course, that doesn’t matter at all to all the folks who want to “protect their interests.”

Saturday, October 29 – My biological mother, whom I just met a few years ago and have a still uncomfortable relationship with, comes to visit to celebrate her birthday.

Sunday, October 30 – I attended the memorial services for Gary. It didn’t offer the closure I had hoped it would. There was no viewing, because the morgue didn’t have power and they had to cremate his body. Um yeah.

Monday, October 31 – Rodrigo and friends dressed up for Halloween and we walked around Lincoln Road, watching the drag queens frolic – it is their night after all. I’ve rarely felt so miserable. Afterwards, Rodrigo, my partner of nearly 4 years, and who’s been weirdly distant tells me that he feels like things between us aren’t so good right now. Our conversation is interrupted by friends coming over.

I know things get always get better, and blah blah blah. But, fuck, I’m so not in a good place right now. I usually am a pretty chipper guy. Really. Ask anyone.

Just In Time For The Holidays!

The Moo-Cow Nativity Set

Thanks to Valerie over at Forward Ho! for a giving me something to do at work - and thanks to Moobert and the Crickets for being > Tab!