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.

The Reason For The Season

The malls here in Miami began decking the halls 2 months ago, and had Santa's train installed just as the last back to school sales were ending. I know it's cliche at this point to feel nostalgic for the days when the holy season of giving gently revealed itself shortly after Thanksgiving. Today, a 5am scuffle in the line outside of Best Buy on Black Friday merely marks the halfway point in the season of stress and artifice.

This year, I'm committing to honoring the reason for the season - the winter solstice - and celebrating this beautiful time of year by spending quality time with the people that I love, and sharing meaningful gifts instead of spending time fighting the crowds so I can check people off my list with Ipod accessories.

For the like minded:

ENVIRONMENT
World Wildlife Fund

Greenpeace

Abundant Earth

Care2 - Shop And Help The Planet

Defenders Of Wildlife

The Sierra Club

The Nature Conservancy

The Jane Goodall Institute

Annie's Natural Foods Gift Baskets

GAY STUFF

The National Gay & Lesbian Task Force

Soulforce

United Church Of Christ

Immigration Equality

Outspoken Clothing

A Pleasant Present

Miami Gay & Lesbian Film Festival

Pittsburgh International Lesbian & Gay Film Festival

The Margaret Cho Shop

The Ellen Shop

Ani DiFranco

Gay and Gay-Friendly Music

Gay Movies

2 Boys Holding Hands

ANTI DRUG WAR

The Center For Cognitive Liberty & Ethics

Drug Policy Alliance

Multidisciplinary Association For Psychedelic Studies

DanceSafe

NORML Holiday Gifts

PRO-PEACE / PRO-LIBERALISM / PRO-CIVIL RIGHTS / ANTI-IDIOCY

ACLU

Betty Bowers

Utne Magazine

An Inconvenient Truth

The Dixie Chicks

Darwin Fish Stocking Stuffer

The NPR Gift Shop

The Quakers

Unity On The Bay

Amnesty International

Move On

Mother Jones

The NAACP

People For The American Way

HIV / AIDS / BREAST CANCER

AMFAR

Pittsburgh AIDS Task Force

The AIDS Memorial Quilt

Absolute Wellness

Artists For A New South Africa

Pets Are Loving Support - Atlanta

Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation

ANIMAL FRIENDS

PETA Mall

Adopt A Manatee

Humane Society

Audubon Society

Orangutan Conservancy

Okapi Conservation Project!

ART AND MUSIC SAVE OUR LIVES

Kenneth Treacy

Lazaro Amaral

The Mattress Factory

Queer Cultural Center

The Spam Allstars

India.Arie

Pink

Neil Young

The Roots

HOLIDAY CARDS AND ECO-DECORATING

Betty Bowers

Eco-Decorating Tips

Recycled Cards That Grow

Now go for a walk with someone you love.

Here's To Tomorrow...

New Rules For All Hallow's Eve!

¡Pura Vida!

In a few hours I'll be on my way to the cloud forests in Costa Rica for some much needed adventure time with my hombre numero uno. This will be my fourth trip, but no other place I've ever been nourishes my soul like Costa Rica. Until I get back with some new photos...here are a few that I've taken in past excursions....

Where Was The Outrage?

Thankfully, it looks like the Republicans may finally pushed it too far. The American masses are shocked and angry at, now former, Congressman Foley's stunningly inappropriate online conversations now known as the Foley Scandal. Even die-hard Repubs are looking squeamishly towards the mid-term elections, because they know that Dennis Hastert, among many other Republican leaders, has been covering up Mr. Foley's history of chicken hawk behavior.

Americans are outraged. Soccer moms are outraged. The Christians are outraged. Political independents are outraged. Bush is disgusted. Upper middle managers are outraged. CNN anchors are outraged. Country music fans are outraged. Democrats are outraged (and more than a little giddy). Senior citizens are outraged. Thanks to, what White House press secretary Tony Snow, referred to a just some naughty e-mails, it looks like the Republican reich is about to be hit hard in November.

I certainly agree that Mr. Foley's behavior was inappropriate, unacceptable and creepy at best. I am so happy to finally see something sticking to these Republican hypocrites. But I have to wonder where the fuck has America's outrage been for the last 5 years?

Where the fuck was the outrage when Bush adminstration squandered our opportunity to find Osama bin Laden by focusing attention on Sadaam's weapons of mass destruction?

Where the fuck was the outrage when Bush arrogantly defied nearly every nation in the world, and invaded Iraq on the premise that the Iraqi people would welcome us with open arms, the Iraqi oil supplies would fund rebuilding and weapons of mass destruction and ties to al-Qaeda would be found and eliminated?

Seriously, where the fuck was the outrage when all of the above turned out to be a calculated lie?

Where the fuck was the outrage when it became clear that tens of thousands of Iraqis have been killed since we began our occupation of their country?

Where the fuck was the outrage when he stood on the battleship well over 3 years ago and announced "mission accomplished?"

Where the fuck was the outrage when it became clear that we squandered our opportunity to work with allies to rebuild a Taliban-free Afghanistan and show the world the greatness of America?

Where the fuck was the outrage when it became clear that we have lost the respect of the entire world, because of the conservatives' need to beat others into submission, as opposed to leading by example?

Where the fuck was the outrage when the vice-president's former company, Halliburton, got handed billions of taxpayers dollars in no-bid contracts to "rebuild" Iraq?

Where the fuck was the outrage when our leaders used fear to pass the Patriot Act, twice, effectively taking whole pieces of the Constitution - ripping them up and throwing them away?

Where the fuck was the outrage when images of condoned sadistic abuses of prisoners in Abu Ghraib flashed across nightly news reports all over the world?

Where the fuck was the outrage when our entire government abandoned an entire class of people in a major American city - leaving them for dead?

Where the fuck was the outrage when 2 weeks ago, our leaders approved the Military Commissions Act, which allows the goverment to secretly detain and torture anyone that might be a subversive or a terrorist, and effectively took what was left of the Constitution after the Patriot Acts and held it up to the American public and set it on fire?

Where the fuck was the outrage when Karl Rove and Dick Cheney violated the Intelligence Identities Protection Act and "leaked" the name of CIA operative Valerie Plame to the press to get even with her and her husband for criticism of the administation?

Where the fuck was the outrage when "voting irregularities" surfaced AGAIN in 2004?

Where the fuck was the outrage when Republicans used American's fears of gay marriage to divert attention away from their war of terror?

Where the fuck was the outrage when the cost of the War on Iraq to taxpayers topped $332 BILLION?

Where the fuck was the outrage when we were told that we can't afford social security, universal health care or decent schools for the next generation, but we can afford $332,000,000,000 (and counting) on a pointless war?

Where the fuck was the outrage when the news media were banned from showing the coffins of dead men and women, draped with American flags, returning from the Middle East?

Where the fuck was the outrage when the number of Americans killed in Iraq topped the number of people killed in the September 11th attacks?

Where the fuck was the outrage when Bush and Congress approved yet more tax cuts - for the wealthy?

Where the fuck was the outrage when it was shown that the administration had ignored the Constitution again, and illegally wiretapped Americans phones and computers?

Where the fuck was the outrage over the past 6 years as Republicans so deliberately and so publicly, with the help of the media, destroyed so much of what made America great?

But, now, once again, America is outraged, and more than a little titillated by a sex scandal. Where the fuck are the priorities of the American people? Sometimes, I just feel like we've gotten what we deserve.

Truth And Enlightenment

Performed by 21 young deaf members of China's Disabled Peoples Performing Art Troupe.

Pure. Wise. Perfect.

A Day In The Life Of Joe Republican

This has been circling the internet for a while...and it's just so true...

Joe gets up at 6 a.m. and fills his coffeepot with water to prepare his morning coffee. The water is clean and good because some tree-hugging liberal fought for minimum water-quality standards. With his first swallow of water, he takes his daily medication. His medications are safe to take because some stupid commie liberal fought to ensure their safety and that they work as advertised.

All but $10 of his medications are paid for by his employer’s medical plan because some liberal union workers fought their employers for paid medical insurance - now Joe gets it too.

He prepares his morning breakfast, bacon and eggs. Joe’s bacon is safe to eat because some girly- man liberal fought for laws to regulate the meat packing industry.

In the morning shower, Joe reaches for his shampoo. His bottle is properly labeled with each ingredient and its amount in the total contents because some crybaby liberal fought for his right to know what he was putting on his body and how much it contained.

Joe dresses, walks outside and takes a deep breath. The air he breathes is clean because some environmentalist wacko liberal fought for the laws to stop industries from polluting our air.

He walks on the government-provided sidewalk to the subway station for his government-subsidized ride to work. It saves him considerable money in parking and transportation costs because some fancy-pants liberal fought for affordable public transportation, which gives everyone the opportunity to be a contributor.

Joe begins his work day. He has a good job with excellent pay, medical benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacation because some lazy liberal union members fought and died for these working standards. Joe’s employer pays these standards because Joe’s employer doesn’t want his employees to call the union.

If Joe is hurt on the job or becomes unemployed, he’ll get a worker compensation or an unemployment check because some stupid liberal didn’t think he should lose his home because of his temporary misfortune.

It is noontime and Joe needs to make a bank deposit so he can pay some bills. Joe’s deposit is federally insured by the FSLIC because some godless liberal wanted to protect Joe’s money from unscrupulous bankers who ruined the banking system before the Great Depression.

Joe has to pay his Fannie Mae-underwritten mortgage and his below-market federal student loan because some elitist liberal decided that Joe and the country would be better off if he was educated and earned more money over his lifetime. Joe also forgets that his in addition to his federally subsidized student loans, he attended a state-funded university.

Joe is home from work. He plans to visit his father this evening at his farm home in the country. He gets in his car for the drive. His car is among the safest in the world because some America-hating liberal fought for car safety standards to go along with the tax- payer funded roads.

He arrives at his boyhood home. His was the third generation to live in the house financed by Farmers’ Home Administration because bankers didn’t want to make rural loans.

The house didn’t have electricity until some big- government liberal stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and demanded rural electrification.

He is happy to see his father, who is now retired. His father lives on Social Security and a union pension because some wine-drinking, cheese-eating liberals made sure Dad could take care of himself so Joe wouldn’t have to.

Joe gets back in his car for the ride home, and turns on a radio talk show. The radio host keeps saying that liberals are bad and conservatives are good. He doesn’t mention that the beloved Republicans have fought against every protection and benefit Joe enjoys throughout his day. Joe agrees: “We don’t need those big-government liberals ruining our lives! After all, I’m a self-made man who believes everyone should take care of himself, just like I have.”

Hat Tip: Bring It On!

Roadtrip To The Heartland

This past weekend, we packed up the car and hit the road for a much needed weekend getaway. Tony, Jody and I headed 5½ hours north to St. Augustine, in Northeast Florida. Having been founded by the Spanish in 1565, St. Augustine is the oldest European settlement in, what is now, the United States. It's a small town with cobblestone streets, Spanish Colonial and Southern Victorian architecture and a million antique shoppes. It has, what are some of the cheesiest "attractions" I've ever seen, including Ponce De Leon's Fountain of Youth. And just outside the downtown area, you can find beautiful beaches and kitschy mid-century motels. St. Augustine just drips with charm, ghost stories and Spanish moss. I love everything about it.

Except for one thing - the people. St. Augustine looks like it should be home to artists and poets and eccentric ladies with frizzy hair who live to feed homeless cats. You'd expect folk singers and hippies and older gay couples. It's easy to imagine literary geniuses sequestered in Victorian turrets, writing the world's next important work.

But, because north Florida is geographically and culturally very much a part of the Deep South, St. Augustine is awash in hateful rednecks and Bush-loving bible-thumpers. I haven't had to "not be gay" for a long time, and I forgot how unsafe it can feel to be surrounded by conservative straight, white Americans with monster trucks.

These are the folks who think it's a good idea to drop the bomb on the Middle East and exterminate all them A-rabs. They're the same people who won't allow the Coloreds into their church and pray to Jesus that them Mexicans will die in the desert before they can git here to steal our jobs. I actually saw a nice American family proudly wearing this nice t-shirt...

Um...yeah...it takes a minute...Malcolm X. I can't even imagine the extent of hatred in someone's heart to go so far out of their way to hurt other peoples' feelings. And these bumper stickers - produced by the 700 Club - are apparently the very latest in vehicle accessories...

Despite all the homeland hatred, we had a great time. We took in the sights, watched wild dolphins, toured the Castillo de San Marcos (built in 1695)and drank from the Fountain of Youth.

Our Accomodations. Yes. The Bunnies Jump!

The Castillo De San Marcos

Downtown St. Augustine

The World Famous *BOB*

Many years ago, early on a foggy San Francisco Sunday morning at the End Up, I met a vision named *BOB*. She was like a candy-flipping Mae West meets Las Vegas showgirl from an outer galaxy. She was twirling around the outdoor dancefloor in a glittery space frock with a huge blonde wig and platformed go-go boots. Erik, *BOB* and I quickly became friends, and I was amazed when I discovered that underneath all the plastic bustiers and 6-inch sparkly eyelashes was a true heart of gold.

In the early '90s, when the San Francisco club scene imploded, I lost track of nearly all of my friends, including *BOB*. Over the years, I have been saddened too, too many times by news of what happened to all of my old aquaintances from that era of my journey. About 5 years ago, I found out that *BOB* had not only made it through all the chaos, but she followed her dreams to New York and was busy entertaining and helping to create a new burlesque scene in the Village. I have seen her a couple of times since, and I was lucky enough to catch one of her shows at the Slipper Lounge in New York, but unfortunately, it is hard to keep in touch.

I've really been too fortunate to have known so many outrageously creative and unique characters in my life, and well, if you're in New York any Friday this month....get your ass over to Avenue A.

Bitches.

Double Feature Night

Last night was Tivo double feature night at Jody’s.

Feature #1…..Python vs. Alligator. Complete with forensic scientists armed with digital x-rays and seriously gruesome pictures, National Geographic succeeded in bringing out my inner 8 year old barbarian who screams neat-o at the sight of a 15 foot Burmese python that “mysteriously” exploded after eating a 6 foot alligator. Like an episode of CSI Everglades, a group of biologists pieced together the mystery of exactly what went down when an introduced python was introduced to a native alligator. The conclusion seemed to be that while the python was digesting the alligator, a second alligator attacked and ripped open the snake. The local ecosystem has been taking a beating for years from aggressive introduced species. Australian pines, Brazilian pepper and meleleucas have overtaken thousands of square miles that used to be dominated by a diversity of native trees. Tilapias, cichlids and oscars ate most of the native freshwater fish. Huge poisonous cane toads from South America are killing native animals as well as backyard dogs and cats. And now, thanks to the irresponsible exotic pet trade, we have to contend with wild Burmese pythons and water monitors – which are slightly smaller cousins of the Komodo dragon and are apparently reproducing like crazy in the suburbs of Miami. When the piranhas and spitting cobras set up shop, I’m done.




Feature #2…..30 Days. What a cool show. Created by the “Supersize Me” guy, Morgan Spurlock, 30 days delves into contemporary social issues by arranging and documenting the experience of someone from one side of an issue living with a family on the other side of said issue. Kind of like a political foreign exchange program. A nice follow up to Python vs. Alligator, the episode we watched examined religion and tolerance by having a born-again Christian family from Texas host a suburban Atheist mom from Lawrence Kansas for 30 days. Non-believing mom attended church services and bible study, and calmly defended her ability to live morally and ethically without fear of retribution from the supernatural world. The faithful family reached out of their comfort zone to have dinner with a group of Atheists and hear a perspective that they had never encountered before. This show was thoughtfully done – not at all based on shock-value and with neither side being a caricature. Next week’s episode looks at the abortion issue.

Miami Heat

Here's a surprising bit of trivia: Miami is the only major city in the contiguous portion of the United States to have never reached 100 degrees. Sure, it's 96 for months on end...but, nope, never 100.

Betcha didn't know that!

The Boob Squad

How nice. The god-fearers are saving America from women's breasts, again. The Janet Jackson Squad is up in arms over this month's cover of Baby Talk Magazine, that features a baby nursing au natural, and actually shows less breast than any TRL music video.

One mother who didn't like the cover explains she was concerned about her 13-year-old son seeing it. "I shredded it," said Gayle Ash, of Belton, Texas, in a telephone interview. "A breast is a breast — it's a sexual thing. He didn't need to see that."

It's a sexual thing. Now can we give Texas back to Mexico? Please?

An Icelandic Fable Of Love And Art

With the state of the world today, it's comforting just to know that Bjork exists...

Left To My Own Devices - Part Two

In 1988, a small group of disenfranchised, but glamourously resourceful teenagers, myself included, formed a Gay youth group – Pittsburgh’s Growing Alternative Youth. Our mission was to welcome, educate and empower the next generation of Steel City queers, as well as to greatly expand our social circle and dating possibilities. We took up a campaign of guerilla marketing – infiltrating high school libraries and stuffing any medical or psychology book with an index reference to “homosexuality” with flyers for the group. We networked at Gay cruising spots and outside Gay bars. We posted flyers in the womyn’s bookstore and the universities’ student unions. We grew from meetings of 4 or 5 to a weekly attendance of over 60 in just a few months.

A local Gay minister and activist, Lou, helped us get organized and encouraged us to take on the world. We had weekly speakers, presenting a range of topics. Herman, a charming, elderly African-American gentleman came to tell us what Gay life was like for him in the 1940s. Kathy, a licensed counselor, came to speak to us about ways to improve self-esteem, and Don, in a 2-part workshop, “Eroticizing Safer Sex,” taught us how to protect ourselves in a newly dangerous world. We watched “Torch Song Trilogy” and “Desert Hearts” and planned monthly under 21 parties at local Gay bars.

In 1990, Chris, my roommate, and a member of the youth group with a long history of depression and self-esteem issues, ended his own life. I think many of us felt that we had failed him – failed to be a good enough family when his family wanted nothing to do with him. We failed to take him seriously when he joked about suicide and when he made theatrical attempts that we thought were “just for attention.” Jason and I were the leaders of the group, and after Chris’ death we lost interest, and the group fell apart (some time after it was reincarnated into a less educational, more social entity).

But, I look back now, and I don’t see failure anymore. I often meet Gay people in their 30s and 40s who are struggling with issues that we were able to address in our teens. Through Growing Alternative Youth and with Lou’s help, we learned more about Gay history and culture before we could legally enter a Gay bar, than many middle-aged Queers know. We had opportunities to grow at a time when, unfortunately, many Gay people are stifled by internalized homophobia.

I realize now that we didn’t fail Chris. We more likely succeeded in keeping a lot of other Gay kids from following in his footsteps.

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