Marriage Equality, I Am Boring At Last.

The Supreme Court's rulings today were momentous, stupendous, fantastic. 

 

When I was a little gay boy there was nobody like me. Not on TV, not in magazines, nowhere.  There were whispers of fairies and faggots directed at boys "who didn't fit in."   At first I was told I walked funny, so I stopped walking funny.  Then I was told I was a "pretty boy" so I stopped fussing with my appearance. I was told I had a "funny laugh" so I started laughing with my mouth closed.

 

However, my naturally gregarious nature prevented me from turning invisible. But a strong wall of faux-masculinity, insults and eye-rolling got me through my teenage years relatively unscathed in regards to my homosexuality. At 19 I was arrested in a raid of a gay bar. The police gave me two options: pay a $1000 fine or have my name printed in the newspaper as a homosexual. I refused to pay the fine and hired a lawyer instead.

 

years later I fell in love with a single dad with a five year old son. Ah the scandal of two men raising a child! "A child needs the love only a mother can provide." was whispered in my ear more than once.

 

So here I am at 45 and I've gone from a secret gay, to sexual outlaw, to pioneering "gay dad", to über-gay Miamian. Then suddenly I'm legally married in 12 of the United States. The last part occurring between 9:59AM and 10:00AM on June 26th 2013. Talk about going from interesting to boring in the time it takes to figure out a Supreme Court decision.  The long fight to be boring. My husband and I have worked on numerous campaigns, suffered defeats, have given time and money in the fight to be boring.  The fight to be mundane, to protect our property, to protect our son, to protect ourselves.

 

To have a boring existence where you don't have to explain to a nurse who you are in relation to the patient. To live in an existence where your property can't be taken away from you by the government or greedy relatives should you or your spouse die or become incapacitated.

 

To live in a boring world where you know your child won't be taunted, teased or sidelined because he has two dads.

.

Safe is boring, Certainty is boring. Longevity is boring. Legal commitment is boring. Having the same rights and responsibilities as everyone else is boring. I want to be boring. I want that for me and for Florida and all people who want to be treated equally.

 

Now I realize there is a lot of work left to do. Yet words such as "elevated" and "dignity of individuals" and "equality" all used by the Supreme Court of the United States in reference to lesbians, gays and their children, makes me glad to be part of that long fight to be boring.

 

All in all the battle for boring has been exciting. I am looking forward to being boring just like everyone else.

Dame la Gasolina.....(Give me the Gasoline) A local's Guide to Miami's coolest gas stations.

A couple of years ago I was with my hubby heading to a party in the area south west of Little Havana, to locals it's called "La Souwesera." Needing to pick up some wine I remembered there was a Citgo nearby with a good wine selection. I hadn't been there in years. As we pulled up we noticed a bevy of expensive cars pumping gas and filling the parking lot. It was your typical Miami thing, Aston Martins, Rolls, Beemers, etc. I thought, well this is odd but they need to get gas too. 

Just another gas station, right?

In the back of the gas station, where the wine used to be was a small, and very chic tapas place called "El Carajo". There happened to be a wine tasting that night and all the Miami wine cognoscenti were there for the annual Beaujolais Nouveau tasting. It was such a weird juxtaposition. in front there were twinkies, lotto tickets, and your typical 7-11 fare, but just few feet more and you were in a chic wine tasting with candlelit tables and the best tapas in Miami. I mean, they could have added a car wash if they wanted more business, but a fancy tapas place? Today, the 7-11 decor is mostly gone, but you can still buy lotto tickets and gas, now it's considerably upscale, gone are the rows of chips and candies which are now replaced with great wines from around the world. 

Honey, don't forget to play lotto and get a slushy for dessert. 

My next favorite gas station is Dade Corners.  Since I was a little boy my dad loved to take us out to Shark Valley to see the gators.  Dade corners is on the corner of Crome Avenue and U.S. 41/8th Street/Tamiami Trail.  Long the hangout of the Harley-Davidson set, on any given day you can see all types there. From truckers to Honda Goldwingers.  It's your classic Florida tourist station. Here you can imagine some hapless tourist from the 50's driving up to fill up the old DeSoto. Inside you can purchase roadmaps, assorted Floridiana, and it even once had the cool machine that if you put in a dollar it would pour hot green plastic in a mold in the shape of a gator.  Now it is a gathering place where yuppie Harley riders mix in with Hell's Angels on the poker runs to the keys. Drop in the lost tourists, ATV riders, cyclists and you get a great feel for all the "outdoorsy" types you get in Miami-Dade County. On a side note: a friend noted that it has several unique octane blends that are recommended for European sports sedans which apparently are only found there. 

In "up and coming" MiMo district, aka Miami's Upper East Side there is the Europa Cafe.  Built from scratch the Europa Cafe is "at the curve" on Biscayne Blvd. Outside it's a gussied up Chevron, gas pumps and a great hand wash. Inside it's a chic and modern décor with plasma TVs, comfortable cowhide chairs and an area that can been closed off with a fabulous chain link curtain.  I have had several business meetings there. It comes across more as a first class lounge than a gas station.  The food is good and the coffee is strong. 

g

My next favorite station is the Art Deco station on Coral Way.  Not because it has a "surprise" on the inside. It's shows us that there was a time when things were built not just to be functional, but beautiful.  That something as mundane as a gas station could have flair and whimsy.  I know preservationists have battled hard to keep this gem from the wrecking ball, but honestly, isn't it worth it? 

Happy Summer Driving Folks! Add your own suggestions for Miami's coolest gas stations.

El Carajo International Tapas and Wines

2465 SW 17th Ave  Miami, FL 33145

http://www.el-carajo.com/

Europa Car Wash and Cafe

6075 Biscayne Blvd. Miami, FL 33137

http://www.europainmiami.com/

Dade Corners Travel Center,

 17696 SW Eighth St. (corner of Krome Avenue andTamiami Trail).

Southland Super Service Station
1700 Coral Way, Miami, FL

I am not the Friend I thought I was.

So I was at the tail end of an argument between two friends and I heard one mutter under her breath "this is how I get treated after I have invited him to the house five times."  Granted, I was not sure whether I was supposed to overhear that comment or not, but I realized at that moment that my friend was keeping score. That perhaps her view is that friendship is more of a quid pro quo than a two way street. Of course that comment got me thinking....am I keeping score?

 

Lately, I've been doing a lot for my friends: errands, small favors, big favors. Doing things for others when I would rather be doing something else. In some cases there was some serendipity: an unexpected tour of a beautiful home, rides in expensive cars....both things I enjoyed immensely. In some cases there was just hard work and no reward beyond that of knowing I helped a friend, someone I care about. That's when I realized, I was keeping score too. 

 

That in that complex and very delicate relationship that we call friend, there is a constant give and take. That there is a tipping point on either side where one party feels a bit put upon.  Unlike family where a favor can be returned in the next generation and although forgiveness is implied, it is not guaranteed. What is guaranteed with family is that you're stuck with them and generally, barring something drastic, you have a lifetime to work off the debt owed in the "favor bank". With friends the favor bank is more of a short term loan, time can run out and it's time to say "what can I do for you?" or even better "can I invite you to dinner."

Let's just make one thing clear, I am not a Marcie to your Peppermint Patty.  I will ask for something in return...it might be tomorrow it might be in ten years. It might be a hug, it might be moving day. So I am not as true a friend as I thought I was, you gotta show the love too.  

Maid in Miami

"The hand who rock the cradle rules the world" Yet we never talk about the hand that cleans the toilet do we?  It may not rule the world, but it certainly has some influence.  I am talking about cleaning ladies and what impact do they have in our lives. The relationship between you and the person who washes your underwear. While employer-employee relations can be tense, imagine that your employee handles your unmentionables on a frequent basis and has free access to the liquor cabinet.

 

What surprises me is the intricate love/hate relationship we have with our cleaning ladies.  That delicate balance and fear that someone we trust to keep some semblance of order in our lives could walk out the door and we're left with dirt, spider webs and general disarray in is otherwise an orderly existence. The enormous trust we place in having a stranger go through our possessions clean them and hopefully put them back where we found them.  

 

My cleaning lady, Maria(not her real name) came to me over 25 years ago. She was the cleaning lady of my best friend and roomie. Carol, my room mate was severely housekeeping impaired.   Her solution was Maria, a person who had spun a severe case of  Obsessive Compulsive Disorder into a rather thriving business for the perennially disorganized like Carol.

 

I lived with Carol a few years, fell in love and moved out. I also forgot to mention to her that I also had hired Maria when I left. I neglected to mention this to my ex-roomie.  Well, it got out a few years later that I had "stole" Maria. Carol didn't speak to me for about 6 months. Carol insisted that I fire the housekeeper....but at that point my Husband and I were under the thrall of clean toilets and color sorted underwear. I realized a clean house was well worth the cost of a dear, dear friend.

 

Over the years I have referred our housekeeper to several friends. She has a waiting list. Through my housekeeper I have a the hookup to other cleaning ladies through a loose network comprised of relatives of my cleaning lady, her friends and people she had met on the bus. People seem to come to me if they need someone to clean.

 

My friends both fear, hate and love their cleaning ladies.  Their fear is that they will have to find another one.  One of my friends, Alex hates his cleaning lady.  "She doesn't clean!" "Her idea of cleanliness is shoving everything into drawers, regardless of whether they belong there on not."

 

"Why don't you fire her?" I ask.

 

"Well, I trust her not to steal and she's been with me a long time. I also don't want to tell her how to clean."

 

Another friend, Amy says about her housekeeper, Patti "All she wants to do is organize my closet, she's not a cleaning lady at heart." "I also think she's a frustrated decorator." Patti has worked for me when my housekeeper was on a month vacation. Patti works for several of my friends, she is also known as the Queen of Bleach.  Apparently bleaching every possible surface both cleans AND disinfects.  Amy tries to hide the bleach from her, but she always finds it.

My friend Evelyn fires cleaning ladies.....just the idea of another woman in her house drives her batty. Though she doesn't do a good job of housekeeping herself, she's an excellent critic. Kinda like a food critic, can't cook but knows what food should look and taste like.

For me it's trickier. Maria has been picking  up for me for 25 years. She has earned her place in my heart and I consider her family.  I know her so well, that if I annoy her she will walk out. I've seen her do it before. She will not tolerate disrespect of any kind. Plus she is totally OCD so things must have order and cleanliness.  Unlike Maria I am a frustrated decorator. I move things around, have lots of tchotchkes which I take out and put away.  You can imagine the torture it is for Maria.  Out of respect for her OCD I've given up on "grouping" things in a way I find aesthetically pleasing.  Each item must be placed on a shelf in an orderly way, about 10cm apart.  She also hates almost empty shampoo bottles....twice she's thrown away a weeks worth of Aveda shampoo.  Sometimes I seethe at how she's reorganized the towels, my gym bag( yes, I know it can smell) but I don't want it cleaned because she'll throw away all the shampoos I have in there.


In any case, for my friends and I, our domestic professionals bring sanity and order to our lives. I some cases they may be the person who cares for us when we're sick if we live alone. They insure our sanity by organizing disorderly closets, giving us a care-free Saturday where laundry is being done so we can go to the beach.  For me it's that touch of Mom that kept the house running seamlessly, not realizing how much work it really is to clean toilets when someone has bad aim like me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miami, Always Trying to Keep It Classy.

A couple of years ago Miami was voted 2nd rudest city in America.  Working from home I don't always get the chance to fully embrace my own Miami bubble that basically disregards all else except my immediate gratification.   So last night I went to the Arsht, Miami's spectacular performing arts center.  The show was typical "Broadway Across America" and it truth, it wasn't bad. Gratefully, it wasn't the usual inane "family fare" that forced me to stay away for so many years. I mean how many times can one see Judy Taymore's Lion King? But I digress, I'm really here to talk about the patrons.

 

In particular, I'm talking about cell phone usage. Recently, at a movie theater in Broward, there was an announcement that said people who use cell phones will be removed from the theater. Hurray!  I know people might think it's common courtesy not to text, play Bejewelled, or actually answer the phone while at a show.  In Miami, it's a birthright to do these things at any time during the show....for long periods of time.

 

The tickets were expensive, so I'm sure that gives people the right to answer the phones. Like "hey, I paid for these seats, I'll do whatever I want while I'm here." It's Miami. It's not like anyone here is going to do anything about it anyway. The thinking is that maybe if you let your neighbor do it, you get a free pass sometime later in the show to do it yourself.

 

Now, imagine the baby is an iPhone

I had scored some amazing box seats for the show, just above the stage, set back a bit. Sadly, there was a woman(actually many people) who through the entire show had her cell phone on. Non-stop. I'm sure she was doing important things....closing deals, gossiping, sharing recipes and winning Words With Friends and getting high scores on Bejewelled.  I'm sure her Facebook postings were riveting. What was funny is that she was hunched over trying to create a light proof "phone bubble" made of elbows, cupped hands and her breasts.  Kind of the way a mother might huddle over her baby during a lion attack.

 

Yes, I care...no I really don't

So Intermission came and I heard several people talking to the ushers asking them to do something about it.  You got the typical Miami usher half-smile shrug that says: sorry rich guy, I don't speak English and I would do something about it, but I am a part-time minimum wage employee and I don't really care. Then the usher would go back to texting.

 

So during intermission I confronted the "phone bubble" lady. Her husband was with her.  I asked her to stop using her phone....not nicely...because I am a native of the 2nd rudest city in America.  I know from experience that the white guy saying politely"please don't use your phone" is the equivalent of asking a dog not to pee on the fencepost.  So I raised my voice and made sure that everyone around could hear: "YOU WERE USING YOUR PHONE THROUGH THE ENTIRE SHOW".

 

The couple's response "Well the guy next to us was texting too."  REALLY? That was their defense. Not even a denial.  So fucking lame.  Of course, they were ready to engage me in an argument...and believe me I was ready....but it was a night out at the show and I did not want to be ejected for "rudeness".  I was just keeping it classy, you know.

 

Very little phone usage in the theater after my outburst. That was classy too.

 

Miami Potpourri: Ft. Lauderdale Haters, Fat(as usual), Bicycling.

Just wanted to write about a few things on my mind but in reality there may or may not be any coherence to this week's blog post.  As this post is about Miami and being a "man of a certain age" I thought I'd get a few things down that may be good fodder for future blog posts.

 



"Classy" Ft. Lauderdale......whatever.

Firstly, I read an article somewhere about 37 things that make Miami the best and weirdest place in the U.S.A.  The post was funny, but the comments section wasn't.  http://www.buzzfeed.com/jessicamisener/37-reasons-miami-is-the-best-and-weirdest-city-in-the-us
What surprised me was that there were so many haters, and most of them from our neighbor just 23 miles up the road: Ft. Lauderdale.  So I wrote a whole page about how Miami was better than Ft. Lauderdale, I discussed it with my friend and she said "why bother, Miamians don't even consider Ft. Lauderdale. I mean does the fabulous prom queen ever think about the blah girls who don't even qualify as nerds? No." I thought about it and she was right, I never think about the place unless I need to go to Ikea. So I dedicate Janice Ian's song, Seventeen to Ft. Lauderdale and it's environs.

http://youtu.be/KCp-ymJpRP4

 



"Hello Kirk, we are going to be good friends!"-Bob

Okay, I am a man of a "certain age" and I've decided to "dress my age". Also for some reason my clothes seem to be shrinking.  I'm going to make the move to XL.  It pains me to admit it, but I'm expanding and nothing seems to stop it. No more tight tees stretching across my grossly distended belly. I am going just make friends with the belly and learn to love it. I will not suck it in at parties, at the beach or pool.  It will be a prideful belly that will not shy away at the sight of a hot guy. Nope, no more sucking in the stomach for me!  Don't get me wrong, I am not giving up my healthy lifestyle, it's just at some point you have to admit there are things on your body that can't change without surgery or discomfort.  Hello belly, my name is Kirk.
 

It doubles as a dress.

I know I may be suffering from a bout of body dysmorphia, but tight clothes are no longer comfortable. I want to wear shirts in the "blouson" tradition that define the middle aged. Under all that fabric there's fat, under that fat, there's a body. Those puffy, oversized shirts from Brooks Brothers which are so comfortable and go great with a 38 waist size pair of Levi's. Just letting go of vanity perhaps there's some dignity in hiding this decaying corpse of a body that once danced on boxes in nightclubs.

 

Ok, new topic! Bought a bike. You think being the captain of a swim team would be enough (remind me to turn in my Speedo's briefs for Jammers). Not just any bike but a lovely Italian racer made of carbon fiber. The bike shop fitted me for the bike and more tight clothes.  Hopefully I'll be riding hard enough that I won't notice my knees hitting my belly. I am a bit nervous moving up the biking food chain, but it is one place where clothes as tight as sausage casings are de rigueur.  

ON YOUR LEFT!!! MS 150 Breakaway to Key Largo

A few months ago Jose, my barber, showed me his new bike. It was a sleek road bike with a carbon fiber frame that was white, black and neon green. Just beautiful.  He asked me to lift it and all 13lbs of carbon fiber, steel and aluminum caused my heart to melt. Since then I've had some serious bike envy.  That bike inspired me to ride in South Florida's premier bike event: the MS 150 Breakaway to Key Largo. The event was last weekend.

Prior to the ride, I collected a few intrepid bikers to ride the ride with me.  All of us had what in the bike world would be considered "beaters".  Older bikes, hybrids and road bikes that are clearly "recreational" bikes.  I began to see the pecking order of the biking world.

Like any community defined by the machines they use, the pecking order is clear: expensive new bikes at the top, everyone else below.  Concordantly, the nicer and more expensive the bike...the bigger the ego (dare I say: asshole) who rides it. Let's get one thing clear, the MS is a RIDE, not a race. Which is open to ALL cyclists regardless of bike or ability. You pay your entry fee, you raise $400 for a good cause and you ride.  No Lycra, no carbon fiber frame or Shimano Dura Ace components required.

So our intrepid little band started the ride and happily pedaled away at the leisurely pace of 15 to 18mph.  We thought we were towards the back of the ride as the faster cyclists, teams and groups were to the front. We were wrong. As we laughed and sang our way along 80 miles of Florida roads through suburbs, farm fields and mangrove, groups of "elite" riders would pass us(wait weren't we in the back?) and literally scream "ON YOUR LEFT!!!" in my ear.

Next year pink bicycle lady "on your left" will be me!



What kind of jerk yells at someone putting along on a country road which is deserted and closed off for the "ride". Go around...there's nobody here but you and me and an empty road.  One person yelled at me while I was resting on the side of the road not even moving. ON YOUR LEFT she screeched from her $3000 10lb pink Quintana Roo road bike, followed by a peloton of 20 bikers wearing acres of matching Lycra spandex shorts. (Rest assured very few people can pull that look off very well.)

So we finished our ride and as we walked away a "biker prince" said to my friend in a halfway rude, halfway pick up line kinda way "you rode 80 miles on THAT?"  Yes we replied, surprisingly her bike was the most "road" of all the bikes we had. She had tricked it out with some cool leather handle grips. We still couldn't figure out if he was just not good at conversing or a jerk.

 

So despite the "elite" riders, the RIDE (not a race) was amazing. The chance to see parts of my community from the best vantage point possible, on a bike.  America's winter garden in South Dade, Everglades, Mangrove swamps, waterways just pedaling away for a good cause.  It was fun, it was healthy and it felt good to push ourselves beyond what we thought we were capable of.

The MS 150 Breakaway to Key Largo was awesome fun.  Yeah it hurt physically. Yeah, my ego took some serious bruising not having some sleek road machine. Like showing up to the Indy 500 in an AMC Rambler.  Ouch, each time some jerk yelled ON YOUR LEFT! not as a safety warning but as a victory cry. I was glad to help our for a worthy cause. I was glad to challenge myself to something extraordinary and survive. Next year, I will be the one screaming ON YOUR LEFT!

 

 

The New "Normal"(Gay Pride redux 2013)

Crazy weekend past. I was swamped with Gay Pride, attending a wedding by two dear friends and executing Miami's Gay Swim team float.  After last year's debacle at gay pride, I was sure the Nadadores, colloquially known as the "Nads", would represent this year. Even if it was just me wearing my Speedo's.

 

But I'll get back to the Parade soon.  First I want to briefly describe the lovely wedding I went the night before. Two friends from the swim team finally tied the knot.  Attractive, successful these two are the poster boys for Marriage Equality. More importantly the ceremony was both poignant and beautiful. Set on a beachside terrace at a South Beach hotel the wedding guests sat outside waiting for the couple to walk down the aisle. Attending were both men's families (a Mexican and a Argentinian union). There was crying, there were flower girls, there were mothers-in-law and it all seemed so lovely, beautiful, exactly the way a wedding should be. Hotel guests could see  from the beach and pool the wedding going on. Strangely, there seemed no reaction to see these two striking men walking down the aisle.  Tears, dancing, love....the new normal.

 

So, the next day I'm scrambling to find hot young guys to be on the swim team float for  Miami Beach Gay Pride.  This year's crop of swimmers are a far cry from what the team had when I started swimming five years ago. (See "Gay Swim Team blog 6/12/08).  While the team has  it's fair share of hot young gay guys, the demographics have switched up a bit.  Now there are significantly more women, parents,seniors and oddly, straight young male professionals. Who, much to the chagrin of the gay guys, are actually extremely attractive.  

 

As I cast out calls for people to be on our float, of course I was hoping the hot young ones would heed the call. But like anything young and pretty, they need to wooed, begged and convinced that strutting themselves in a Gay Pride parade in Speedos is not going to make them seem uncool and/or slutty.  That somehow if their young nubile male flesh exposed to the world (they are on a swim team after all!) would make them damaged goods on Grndr or some other social media outlet.  That somehow being seen on a Gay Pride float in a pool would make them seem.......god forbid...."un masc"(non-masculine).

2010 Young hot and wet.....

The straight guys, the women, their kids, the seniors were like "hell yeah" let's do it! That's the new normal.  Yes we had a few young hotties on the float. What shocked me was that we had a lot of older ones too. There were kids (youngest was 3), there were women, and there were seniors: oldest person on float was 71. No, it wasn't the hot young crew we had in year's past. But isn't that the new normal?  Isn't that what we want for our community? That an event called Gay Pride, can hopefully be called "community pride".    An event that in the past (in other cities) that was known for R-rated frottage in public by people in just the minimal amount of leather clothing is now known for PG-13 strippers dressed as firemen and churches' bringing their entire youth groups to march in support of marriage equality.

That our allies, their families, our seniors are there for us.  Holding our hands, standing by our sides, in Speedos on a float and saying yes, I will be there for you. I want for your family the protections that I have. I am glad to see that too.....is the new normal.

2013 Diverse hot and wet



Visit the website nadadores.org

Before the (Gay) Parade Passes By,

It's Gay Pride time in Miami again and of course I feel like writing my annual "angry gay" column. I've just spent an evening with several bickering homosexuals, a homosexual ally and two 14 year old girls.  The teens and I danced to gay anthems while the rest of them bickered of Gay Pride signage.  My slogans were: "Can't Pray Away the GAY" and "Fabulous by Choice, Gay by the Grace of God". There were several others as well.

That being said, I'm not going write the "angry gay" Pride column. I really want people to understand why this event is important to gay identity.  Why we do this. Is seems frivolous,  pointless even.  It's core roots forgotten and it's overt sexuality misunderstood. Why do gays want this, why do we NEED this and why it might all just go away.

At it's core it's a protest.

How do you piss off a nun? Well I know from experience, not much. However, to really anger a "moral" "God fearing Christian" you wiggle your firm male buttocks in their faces to thumping dance music. It get's them fired up, angers them, forces them to pray....pray hard. Even if you're 2000 miles away in San Francisco, your hot bod is going anger someone in Tupelo, Mississppi at the Family Research Council. Really piss them off. 

It's a protest about moral oppression. Back in the day, the Stonewall riots lasted for three days. Gays were tired of being brutalized and humiliated by police.  It's a protest about societal rules that kept gay sex hidden, in the darkness,  where someone's natural inclinations were to be ashamed of.  To the point somebody would wish you incarcerated, hospitalized or dead.  It's about taking that shame and shining it in the sunshine and say....no, I won't hide anymore, my love, my body, my person. 

This is the kind of thing that pisses off the biblicals

It's a Celebration!

The media says it, we know it. No other movement has come so far so fast. This year 2013 could be the chance that marriage equality could become real for all. In 50 years we have moved from the fringes of society. Arrested, incarcerated, institutionalized for who we were. We can serve openly in the Military! We can marry in several states! Travel companies fight for the gay dollar! 

 Soon we will the most boring neighbors with the nicest begonias and rose bushes on the block.  We will be normal! We will be like the middle class black couple down the street, seemingly out of place, but here nonetheless.  We will become one more denizen of the potpourri of American life...and it will be no big deal.

It's a Remembrance.

600,000 gay men died in the AIDS epidemic.  No other group of people outside of the Vietnam generation can understand what it's like to lose an entire generation of people.  The epidemic taught us the lesson of uniting in the face of adversity, to advocate for ourselves in the face of government oppression, to understand the we, as gays, have something unique to offer this American experience. 

There's no real account of the thousands of teens who have committed suicide because of bullying and non-supportive families. We remember them and fight for the end of intolerance and bullying. It does get better.

Parade beauty queens....that should have been me. 

It's Passe.

Maybe, maybe not.  Aren't all parades passe? When is the last time you went to a parade? All the parades are fading, St. Patrick's Day, Fourth of July, New Year's Day, Orange Bowl.....I remember when Miami had all of those. Why does Gay Pride still bring out over 30,000 people to Miami Beach.  

Younger gays are moving on.  As our battle for rights getting closer to victory, in-your-face displays of homosexual lust seem a bit 20th century. Hot muscular men writhing against each other is just one mouse click away....who needs a parade for it?

  I mean for those of us who grew up playing "smear the queer", the world has moved on to Gay-Straight Alliance clubs, sensitivity courses for bullies and real acceptance in their personal and professional lives.  Gay marriage polls at 80% for those under 30....

Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence

Why keep pissing off the nun, when she's already in the Parade?

Before the parade passes by 
Before it goes on, and only I'm left 
Before the parade passes by 
I've gotta get in step while there's still time left 

I wanna hold my head up high 
I need a goal again, I need a drive again 
I wanna feel my heart coming alive again 
Before the parade passes by 

I'm gonna carry on 
Give me an old trombone 
Give me an old baton 
Before the parade passes by

Lyrics by Gerry Herman.

"Thin Places"

Recently my church celebrated a "Celtic lent".  When I was told about this I rolled my eyes and thought "let the white people have their voodoo too."  Next year I hope we have a "Santeria Lent" or an "Afro-Cuban Lent".  That being said, the pastor defended Celtic beliefs and described the concept of "Thin Places". 

Now I know you thought this was going to be another rant about the morbidly obese.  Somehow the concept of "Thin Places" stuck in my head.  In Celtic spirituality, "Thin Places" are places where the wall between heaven and earth are blurred. Where you feel a sense of spirituality, of magic.

I try to be a pragmatic spiritualist. I mean I go to church every Sunday, I have just a bare mustard seed of faith, but it's enough to keep me going to church with a healthy dose of skepticism. Yet I wanted to be a geography major in college because of a love of maps and places. So the concept of "Thin Places" stayed with me.  I knew in my memory that I had experienced such places but couldn't quite remember where.

For Holy Week this year I chose to go to Guatemala. I chose this place because my husband is a devout ex-catholic (like a guy who still loves his ex-wife) and despite being an avowed main-line protestant, the siren call of the mother church still beckons him.  New Pope and all I thought I'd go to the most medieval, über-catholic place I could think of for Holy Week: Antigua Guatemala.

Full disclosure: I lived in Guatemala for several years as a little boy. We arrived in "Guate" as the locals call it with my entire family in tow...2 brothers, mother, niece, husband. I won't get into family dynamics here, but it turned out fine.

Yavin 4, Rebel Base



Our first stop was Tikal.  You might recognize Tikal as the fictional moon of Yavin 4 in Star Wars. Tikal is an ancient Mayan City.....and a Thin Place. Even George Lucas could understand that the "Force" is strong here.  Nestled in a deep jungle with gigantic Ceiba trees which my niece compared to the "Home Tree in Avatar." You trek for a few kilometers through the Jungle and come up to these amazing ancient ruins that were uncovered in the last century and the magic is palpable. Monkeys are the full time residents now but it's not hard to imagine why the Maya picked this place as their capital.  My husband claimed that taking his shoes off in the temple courtyard cured his gout as proof the spiritual power of the place. I think the concept of "Thin Places" best describes the locale. Beyond the majesty of the temples and jungle, a feeling here, a tingling...who knows. But it felt nice.

Tikal circa 2013

Flew back to Antigua, Guatemala for the second part of the vacation. Antigua is the old capital of Guatemala. It was abandoned in the 1500s after a series of earthquakes rocked the city.  Also I think the Guatemalans realized that the valley was going to be too small for a capital city. Yet they managed to build 35 churches, monasteries and convents.  Antigua's Holy Week is famous for its "carpets".  Every day during holy week there is a procession of Jesus. Passion Plays are acted out across the town. Celebrants come from around region to participate. Antiguans lay out amazingly detailed "carpets" made from colored sawdust, flowers, and fruits for the processions to cross upon.  During this time, I believe, Antigua becomes a "Thin Place." Tens of thousands of indigenous people come to celebrate their faith. 

I don't think so many religious sites concentrated in a such a small area is an accident.  A lush valley in the shadow of three volcanoes, one named "Fuego" which belches smoke and lava on a daily basis, how can it not be a "Thin Place"?  Spiritual centers must be drawn to some type of feeling or energy or beauty. There must be something in the geography that tells humans....this is a special place. This is a place of worship.  This is a little piece of heaven. I'm happy to say Thin Places exist. I found mine in the Jungles, mountains and volcanoes of Guatemala.

Ceiba or "home tree"?

Working "Out"

 

Sorry woman, I'm just not feelin' it.

 

I have been a fully realized gay since I was 13. I remember the day like yesterday.   I had looked at a pornography stash that I stole from my older brother I went to pages with nude women. I looked at the female form and looked again, and looked again....nope...no reaction.  Nothing, like looking at a ham sandwich, no I actually like ham sandwiches. There was no reaction.  There was no panic, no despair...it was a moment of realization and then I moved on. In fact, I was disappointed I couldn't admit it and have a big drama scene over it.

 

Fast forward 30 years and I'm still not out to clients. Usually this is not an issue. I rarely spend more than a few hours with them and most of the interactions are on the phone so it doesn't come up. I also like to talk about my son, which totally throws off the whole "gay" vibe that I give off.  However I have been hanging out with different clients at conferences and it's becoming awkward.

 

What? You can't see me? I'm behind the gay aura

I'd like to think I radiate "gay".  That there's a rainbow aura that emanates from my pores. A Rupaulness that says "sashay away."  However I realize to some people I'm not as gay as I hoped to be.  It's a bit uncomfortable. I mean I really like these people and in some cases I'm spending several days with them at conferences and workshops. When the conversation comes around to the personal I find myself using neutral terms like "spouse" instead of husband.

 

Red BMW 1 convertible, gay much?

Then I use the whole kid thing as a great "equalizer" with my clients. I mean one way to build common ground with others is the sharing of parenthood tribulations.  But like all things associated with me that I call "gay" I call myself a "gay-dad", I had a "gay-wedding", I drive the "gayest" car. My home is appropriately fabulous, at least I try to make it as gay as possible. I mean I don't have a phallic object 'd art in every corner, but there's a six by ten foot painting of Judy Garland in my living room.

 

What I don't do is call myself a "gay-salesperson" or "gay-territory manager".  It's not relevant in business. However, many relationships begin in the business world and bleed into others. How often have we spent four days at a conference and by day four have created a new friend.  When is it necessary to shed that professional identity and let the personal one take over. I like a lot of my clients I know many who would not be comfortable with a gay man, but the others who would be happy to see me take off that business suit and show just a little of my rainbow aura.

"Sashay away"

 

OMG, did you mean BLACK people?

"Petrolero!"

So we're talking about a friend's new boyfriend which no one has met yet.  Subtly my Cuban friend takes his right index finger and rubs it back and forth on the soft spot between his left thumb and finger.... the other Cuban guys squeal "OMG you mean he's BLACK.?"

 

"Gurl, don't you know it." He replies.  "A total petrolero."

 

"avanzando la raza"

I'm sitting in a community meeting for one of the more upscale neighborhoods in Miami.  The community activist is discussing the community. He is white.  As he discussing different areas of town he says: "well, there is nothing we can do for that area, it's what we call the uncivilized areas of (insert upscale neighborhood name here).  In my mind I know he's talking about the black and Hispanic area of that upscale neighborhood.

 

 

I'm at a neighborhood gathering in the same upscale neighborhood. This time an elected official states: "I know we're on the East Side because we are drinking and eating on glassware and not paper plates and cups."  In Miami, the East Side neighborhoods tend to be on or close to the waterfront, expensive and white and Hispanic.

 

I'm at a meeting for the improvement of Morningside Park.  A very old white lady states: "We need to close this city park (one of the oldest and loveliest in the city) and keep those "ethnics" out of our neighborhood."

 

"beautiful 3bed 2 bath in the uncivilized west side"

In the previous examples there was some strange commonality. In each case the groups were either liberal, gay or Democratic.  The affluent areas discussed are overwhelmingly diverse with no plurality of whites, Hispanics or Blacks.  So to hear no sense of hesitation when other groups are disparaged, called "uncivilized" is surprising. One thing is to joke among friends about somebody dating a black man. Fine, most of the guys at the table had at one time or another done it. Yet, to sit in a community meeting with a group of strangers and call a whole neighborhood "uncivilized" or trying to "keep those ethnics out" is ridiculous, sad and retrograde. Most of the people making these statements were of my generation or older.

 

In Miami it's been awhile since I've heard the coldness of white people racism. When it comes from old white folks there seems to be a sharpness to it I can't describe.  When Latinos speak about racism against blacks it's coached in humorous giggles but just as condescending. As someone who is half of one and half of the other, I find both offensive.  

 

I, like everyone, am guilty of racist thoughts and comments.   I even make them around black colleagues and friends. They are too polite to call me on it.  Gotta work on that too.....

 

 

You Don't Look Like.....

One of the joys of aging in this modern society is that change is inevitable.  We age, our experiences change us and who you look at now, might not be the same person you met five years ago. In fact you might not look like the person people think you are.

 

"Can you pinch an inch?"

Let's just begin with our bodies, we get fat, we get thin, we grow muscles, we get flabby again. I sometimes do this in a week, depending on my mood.  Of course I really mean over time, so like my twenties were yo-yo between fat and thin, but I was definitely "soft" during those years. Thirties were muscles, now my forties I'm more "toned".   But whatever the case, comments like "you don't look like you weigh 200lbs." don't help. I do weigh 200lbs, I have since I was 30. I'm also a 32 inch waist...I was a 36 inch waist in High School.  Notice that I say "I am a 32 inch waist" not "I have a 32 inch waist". Because in America we are our waist size.

 

"You don't look like a diabetic." said the nurse, MD, technician. (translation: You are not fat.)

 

So when my diabetes got out of control (despite regular exercise and a decent diet) I got no sympathy. More than one nurse would say:  "You don't look like a diabetic", "You don't look like you weight 200lbs" "OMG, you're a 32 waist, I don't believe you." The last one was by a store clerk.....she was shocked when the 32 inch 501's made me look hot....bitch....I bought them just to spite her.   So NO, I don't look like a diabetic, I am not some pathetic FAT person.  However, because karma is a bitch she gave me a FAT person's disease.

 

"You don't look Honduran." said the lawyer.



"Tu eres tira flecha!" said the Cuban.

I was serving jury duty and during the void dire (jury selection), the question of whether anybody was Honduran came up. I proudly announced my heritage and birthplace. "But you don't look Honduran."  What, I don't look Mayan? Are all Latinos brown skinned people of indigenous descent? Miss Legally Blond, do you think less of me, why the surprised face and skepticism? Don't just put me in the "white juror" category because of my Anglo first and last name.  Hello, Latinos come in all colors, shapes and forms, even Honduran ones. As a matter of fact I ate a pupusa just last night.

 

 

 

"You don't look 45." say a lot of people younger than 45.

 

I guess in this youth directed culture that is a compliment. I will take it that way. Thanks to the cute 20something waiter that handed me his number the other night, in front of other 20 somethings.  However my youthful, non-botoxed appearance does not deny my experience as a man. I am a parent, I am a professional, I am one HOT DADDY.  I have lived and am not a "boy". 

Tom Ford, hot, mature and "a gay"

 

 

"You don't look like a gay" said the client.

 

Well I'm not sure the use of the article "a" before the word gay is proper usage....because I'm not sure if she had a particular gay in mind.  I mean if she meant Rupaul, no I don't look like "a gay" but if she meant Tom Ford, I'd want to be "a gay."  The fact is I am "a gay" in fact to my friends and family I'd like be THE GAY.  I'd have no problem if my name, like Rupaul's, would be synonymous with gays everywhere.  Things are not what they seem folks.....

 

 

 

"You'd better work....bitch"