Today I Bear Witness

"May you live in interesting times" is as much as a Chinese curse as it is a blessing. Today on Martin Luther King's birthday I think about my own life and my own experiences as a gay man living in a time of rapid social change. That this battle for the full participation of African-Americans in the American experience continues as well for all minorities in their quest for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Today, I feel its important to bear witness to what gay men have endured in their own battles for equality. As reflect back on my own youth, my own "history", I can see how many of my experiences are vastly different from what young people may live today. Now, I can look back and see the systematic oppression perpetuated on gay people, gay men in particular. I can understand how hate crimes work, what bullying really is about and how legal codes were put in place to systematically intimidate and extract a price. Most importantly I can look back at age 42 and remember the death toll of the AIDS epidemic and the governmental apathy that lasted until the death toll reached of 50,000 men before the leader of ALL American's could even say the word AIDS.

I remember clearly in 9th grade at the "gay boys" who were systematically hazed and tortured. I saw a kid stuffed into his locker. Another beaten up every day after school. I don't know if these guys were gay or not, but they were different and it was made clear that they didn't meet the standard of "masculine". Nobody came to their defense, not the administrators, not the teachers, nobody. Slowly but surely they disappeared into the shadows of school life: sneaking out during lunch breaks. Working the school schedules so they could leave school early or wait till Senior year to take gym with the Freshmen, so they could avoid both physical and psychological torture. Or they just dropped out altogether. Today I want to bear witness to the lost potential of these boys. To the ones who dropped out or committed suicide. I want to bear witness to the years of pain they endured. This is part of my civil rights struggle.

When I was 20 I was arrested for "battery on a police officer" when I grabbed the ass of a undercover police officer wearing a red Speedo at a gay beach. He was muscular and male model handsome. He flirted with me. He invited me back to his place. We turned to leave and when we got to his car he arrested me and put me in a van with 20 other unfortunate individuals. Over the course of the day 50 men were arrested on various trumped up charges from battery to lewd activity. In each case the police officers entrapped the beach goers. We were offered a deal: $1000 fine or they would call the newspaper and print our names and the charges. For eight hours work, the police department made $49,000. I was the only one who fought the charges. Today I want to bear witness to unjust treatment of gay men by the authorities. This is part of my civil rights struggle.

Few outside the gay community care to remember the AIDS epidemic. Sadly, 300,000+ gay Americans perished in that epidemic. For men my age, the medical breakthroughs ended the previous decade of deaths. To this day, gay men in their late 40's and 50's are a very rare breed indeed. Today I want to bear witness to these men who died pointlessly because the larger society felt they were not worthy of one penny of additional funds for research and care. This is part of my civil rights struggle.

Of course its important to understand that much has improved in my lifetime. I just want to bear witness that the oppression was real. That many of my gay brothers never reached their potential for happiness and success because of it. That we as gay men, should never forget that we too have fought, sacrificed and died in the battle not just for equality, but for our very lives. That is part of my civil rights struggle.

I have fun there.

Recently I was having lunch with my colleagues and the topic of religion came up. Almost all of them had negative comments about organized religion. While I tried to explain my attachment to my church, which I love deeply, I was at a loss to defend my need for it. I couldn't express how I had found my church home, and that most of my interactions there brought me deep satisfaction. The best I could do was say "I have fun there."

Yes, I do have fun there. Now "fun" might be a bit trite for something as portentous as faith. Some might say you get "joy" or "deep satisfaction" or "peace" from church. I have fun.

Church fun? My church is about fun because for me there are some prerequisites for fun:
1. Safety, you can't feel fun if you don't feel safe. My church lets me be me, and trust me, that is a LOT of acceptance. My inappropriateness, my diarrhea of the mouth. My unfiltered comments, tight clothes and six inch heels. (sometimes I can't get home to change after the clubs - just kidding)

2. In the moment; you really have to be present to have fun. Yeah church is about being present: mentally and spiritually. Its working both your intellectual abilities and your spiritual self. You have permission not just think, but feel.

3. Connection, to have fun you're really connecting on a human level. You can have fun alone, but its like that tree in the woods, if there's no one to hear it, did it really make a a sound?

So yeah its fun. I enjoy the beautiful sermons while at the same time checking out my pastor's heels.....(there is a gay contingent at church that won't let her wear cheap ones). Losing control of the Sunday school with thirteen year old boys throwing Bibles, Bibles! at each other. Watching that stranger walk in on one Sunday and having a laugh with them, as a friend, a year later. Oh yeah, and the gossip, there's nothing so rich and satisfying as church gossip.

So organized religion, church, can be a good time. It can be fun. And that ain't a bad thing at all.

I am a member of Coral Gables Congregational Church.

Coral Gables Congregational Church

www.coralgablescongregational.org

3010 De Soto Boulevard
Coral Gables, FL 33134-6317
(305) 448-7421









.

Descent into Madness

I guess it would be entertaining to recount office madness at the expense of a boss nickenamed "the beast" would be fun, I don't think it would really be a great way to advance my career in the local non-profit arena. Oh well, let's have some fun.

"The Beast" is a real life person. In the caricature of bosses she might defined best as "a screamer" or "the bully". As I mentioned in a previous blog my early days at the TV station were fun and rewarding. As a temp I had been separated from her and her staff and placed in the center hallway of the executive suite. I was told to whisper when I spoke and not look any of the Vice Presidents in the eye. I was told to have as little interaction with them as possible. So I focused on the task at hand and ignored their gestures of friendliness. I was told to be "invisible". If you know me even a little, invisibility is not really a trait that could even remotely be me. I am a big ol' muscle queen queer. So trying to be unobtrusive at 6 feet, 210lbs in the middle of an executive suite is just not going to happen. Yes I tried to be subtle, but I've got feathers, and sooner or later they're to fall out of my mouth, pocket or...well you get the picture.

I could waste thousands of words describing her: lonely, middle aged, homely, muscular. Yes she was muscular. You know she could hurt you. When she walked; no stomped, through the office, the floor actually shook. Not like the clacking of high heels on terrazzo, but a muted thump, thump, thump as she crossed the threadbare industrial carpet. You could hear her coming. She was a swimmer (like me) and had the shoulders, traps and lats of a swimmer. Yep, there was a muscular physical presence. She was crazy too. I've found in my experience in social work, crazy usually comes strong. She was strong.

So I guess the turning point came in August. My "golden boy" status had officially ended. I knew it wouldn't last but I had this fantasy about a career in TV. By that point I had ingratiated myself to the whole staff, and I got some very positive feedback. Ah, the higher we fly....

So in August came the new "Golden Boy". Chaz was a very cute, very smart summer intern. Not a college intern mind you, a high school one. Besides who the fuck isn't cute at 15? He was an eager beaver, making some extra cash and building up his resume for college. He was a big boy, 6'2" 230lbs. A nice Jewish boy who played on the football team, probably a linebacker.(I'm sounding a little butch here but I just watched Sandra Bullock's the Blind Side). I liked him. I'm a father, this is his first time in an office, so I gave him some advice like: get a profession, don't waste your time on a Liberal Arts degree(like me), go to a good school.

The Beast took this as idle talk, and had convinced herself that I did not have enough work to do. So she made me write out by hand about 75 thank you cards. Each had to be identical. Of course my face was disgusted, here I am 42 years old with 20 years experience writing grants and proposals and I am writing out thank you notes for the staff.

"And Chaz, I want you to supervise Kirk, if I find one mistake, you're in trouble young man." So imagine, a 15 year old high school summer intern is supervising a 42 year old man with 20 years experience. I was humiliated. Of course writing 75 thank you cards, by hand, there are going to some descrepancies. She checked each one and berated Chaz for "not being a better supervisor." He was almost in tears. I didn't quit that day, this was just too rich.

Disgruntled Employee

Well, as this year draws to a close, I guess I should sum up this year's employment highlights and, better yet, lowlights. In full disclosure, the nature of my employment in the non-profit healthcare arena tends to be grant funded so I am what some people might call a "job hopper." I prefer to call myself a "grant gypsy".

As a grant gypsy I work until the grant money runs out, then its time to move on, either within an agency or to a new one. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy what I do and I like the variety of people and experiences I encounter. Plus I know practically everyone in non-profits in Miami because I probably worked with them or for them a some point in my career.

This year was especially interesting because I had a "dream job" which ended due funding cuts. It was a research study on gay men who were addicted to sex and drugs. Talk about fascinating. I mean talking about sex at the water cooler was one thing, talking about sex all day was quite another. It was absolutely fascinating. I also worked with very hip grad students who were talented and as social science majors were well on their way to becoming jaded liberals who believed that everyone has some sort of pathology and given enough time it would reveal itself. Of course it was too good to last, and as America spiraled into financial turmoil, the Feds cut the funding to the project and also my job.

I mentioned this to friends at the dog park and a week later, pow, I am in SHOW BIZ. Yes I got a job at a non profit TV station and managed to break a personal record in unemployment...10 days unemployed. I had planned a nice vacation, perhaps train for a triathlon, but no. My friend and future supervisor gave me a quick interview with a manic person who after asking my name and about my previous employment hired me on the spot. It was a four minute interview. I was soon at a cubicle using my people skills for the TV On-Air Auction.

You know, a four minute interview is usually not a good omen. I mean the pay was meager, barely a quarter of what I was making before, but it was a job and it still paid more than unemployment. Plus with such low pay, I really didn't have a lot of ego invested in it. And, of course it was SHOW BIZ. 10 days after I was hired, my immediate supervisor walked out the door, never to return, not even to the dog park. That left me in the direct line of supervision of a crazy, frothing of the mouth, manic woman.

Having dabbled in various aspects of the non-profit world I have had the opportunity to pick up a plethora of medical terms, both physical and psychological. I've become intimate with the DSM diagnostic manual and happily play the "what the fuck is wrong with that one?" game. My frothing at the mouth boss is what psychologists or social workers would call a "borderline personality disorder." Which is pschobabble for "really, really fucked up".

I realized this pretty much from day one, and I knew that my stint in TV undoubtebly end badly. But because all crazy people like shiny new things, I was the "golden boy" of the development office. Granted at 42, I'd passed 'boyhood" long ago and really resented it, I went along with the general patronizing because, A. I needed a job, B. it was showbiz, C. I really get off on being a "golden boy."

But as all of us who deal with bi-polar personalities know, shiny objects lose their luster and golden boys get long in the tooth. Also golden boys, tend to be easy targets in the cross hairs of a crazy boss.

Next: Descent into Madness.

Home Office

I guess as a chronic "job hopper" it was only a matter of time before I job hopped right into my own bed, which according some evil gossipers, is exactly where my career began. Finally, after struggling to reach the corner office, I've finally got one, in the corner of the bedroom. I can't complain though, I can look out on the roses, gardenia and jasmine in the back yard.

As I complete my second full week at my new office I'm noticing a slow and steady degradation of several important habits that one would say are the very basis of group living, or perhaps the foundation of civilization itself. I remember when my Father started his consulting practice from home, he would say things like: "I still put my suit and tie on to go the office." or "its important to dress like you're working". I'm finding those adages really hard to live up to. In fact, my Grandmother used to warn me about leaving the house without clean underwear on, "in case you're in an accident. " How many accidents do you have between the kitchen and the bathroom? You can probably see where this is going.

Yes, I am a people pleaser. I realize my only motivation to shave, shower and shine is the prospect of seeing people and having people see me. The only person who sees me is my husband, Alfredo and he doesn't seem to care if I'm in boxers or less. Scruffy the Poodle, my office assistant, is happy to see me anyway I look. However if I'm nude he hides because he's afraid that I'll take him into the shower with me. Which at this point is an irrational fear since I didn't shower today till 1:00PM. Yes, higiene is the first thing to go when you work from home.

I am more fortunate than most home office dwellers. I have the joy of hearing my husband on the phone working in his office. He actually has an office! With computers, servers, blinking lights, a printer and a fax. He's a techie so its like having my own personal computer support just a holler away. "HONEY!!! the system is down!" Unlike my previous job this techie is nice to me or he goes without dinner or...other stuff. I will explore this constant togetherness and see how our relationship will flourish in future blogs.

I have very large mahogany desk that was a dining table in a previous life. On it you will find the same things found in your typical cubicle: tape dispenser, computer, overstuffed in-box, stapler, etc. Of course there also the comforts of home: many pictures of my 14 year marriage to my husband Alfredo and our son Alfy. Included as well are my collection of Star Wars action figures from the 70's, little Mexican Day of the Dead skeleton figurines and a miniature Asterix and his companion Obelix. So I'm quite content to play escape from the Death Star on my desk during webinars and conference calls.

I've noticed small things that go on around your home that you miss while you're at the office. One of them is the parade of people that knock on your door: Postmen, UPS, Telephone book (WTF!?!) delivery, cute Mormons, Jehova's Witness(not so cute), neighbors, etc. All seem to break up the day. I've noticed that the leaf blowers drone on for hours. That the dog really doesn't do anything but sleep all day. Despite my declining higiene, my hunger is on a schedule as strict as a Swiss watch.

My fear as I see fewer and fewer people, I will become a pitiable Howard Hughes figure. I'll have long curling nails and hair, wearing hospital gowns, scraggly beard and hairy ears. Of course I will document all of this here and on Facebook. My postings will begin with phrases like: Did you know you can still use the keyboard with 5 inch ragged fingernails?

So this is my newest adventure into "inner space". Just me, Alfredo and Scurry the Poodle. Wish us luck.

Commicating

Its interesting how quickly we are drawn to short cuts. How my rants and rambles started out as an e-mail to friends, then a blog, then down to two snarky sentences every few hours on Facebook. Yes, I do post every few hours. Surprisingly, people make fun of me as being a "Facebook addict". However, they're reading my postings.

Recently I celebrated my 42nd birthday and invited everyone through Facebook, with the exception of my Dad because he just has e-mail. Although he has just begun to text me. He is 74 and I feel very awkward texting a 74 year old man. I feel awkward texting him the same way I feel awkward texting my 20 year old son. It seems strange to me that they both communicate with weird text abbreviations and both have no compunction about using curse words in text. (My son feels no compuction using curse words during "polite conversation") But then again I'm still reading Jane Austin and I wait in vain by the mailbox for handwritten letters from Pemberly or Longbourne.

My older brother has used text to completely renew our relationship. He sends me a "funny" every so often via text. For example instead of a call asking me if I was coming for Thanksgiving, he sent a text-photo of an erect penis being inserted into an uncooked turkey. He sends me a variety of inappropriate, un PC photos that if I left my phone sitting on my desk at work, I would be sent to HR. I thought the Thanksgiving one was pretty appalling. My "Christmas" text was an animated Grinch "giving it" to a real Santa who was unclothed from the waist down.....classy. However, I feel that the fact that my brother even recieves these photos via text, I feel he is giving me insight into his active inner life. It makes me that much closer to him.

So for now I will just have settle for "tnx for the xmas card," from my Dad pornographic photos from my brother and "want $$$ for bday" from my son. I know that hidden between those short abbreviations are beautiful sentiments of fatherly pride, brotherly love, filial obligation and deep gratitude that just can't be expressed on the screen of a cell phone. In text they are all saying: "thkng of u" .

The Winter of Our Discontent

As a gay man at 41 I've lived through my share of natural disasters, human epidemics and panics. An earthquake in '76, Hurricane Andrew, AIDS, and the Y2K bug. I am proud to say that I've survived all of them. As a child I moved to a new country about every 3 years, so I am quite accustomed to collapse,change, starting over, rebuilding.

So when I got laid off last month, I took it rather well. While there was no particular warning, I could feel it coming, like a shark swimming in the gloom, just beyond the field of view. So with as much dignity I could muster I picked up my office and left. Painful yes, but not devastating. I counted my blessings, cursed my bad luck and spent a week being pampered and consoled by family.

Today, less than three weeks later, I have new job. Not bad for the worst economy in 60 years. Of course its for less money and no benefits, but there is an opportunity for growth and change. Besides, its at a TV station, I guess I can say I now work in Show Business!

Resolution to do something about HIV

Friends:

Among one of the things I am committed to doing this year, aside from blogging is recommitting myself to fighting the spread and assisting in some way the battle against HIV disease. These things need to be done in January or the resolution doesn't count.

To satisfy this desire to address the HIV issue I decided to join one of the committees of the Ryan White Care Act here in Miami. I haven't been to one of these meetings in many years mainly because of their political nature and the intense decisions involving milions of dollars for care, treatment and prevention. One of the places where lives and health are at stake.

I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. There was a healthy representation of Miami's diverse population and the group to a degree matched the epidemic. What I had expected to see was a room dominated by people who were either too sick to make a meaningful contribution or not smart enough and overwhelmed by the complexity of system. What I found instead were Gay men, African-American women, and others who were competent enough to understand what was at stake in my community and seemed to be able to make good decisions. It was reassuring to say the least.

Of course as a gay activist I did bemoan a speech made by a staff member going on about the trajedy of African-American women getting infected at higher and higher rates. I bemoan this because she didn't seem to think that anyone getting infected was a tragedy. In my gay-o-centric world I think its a tragedy when anyone gets infected with HIV. To make a speech about the rising infection rates of one group while saying nothing about the others really makes it clear, again, that Gay men are really not valued at all. That all we've suffered, that hundreds of thousands of us who died really don't add up to a hill of beans compared to that heterosexual woman, regardless of race, who in effect is an "innocent" victim.

Maybe I sound bigoted in this writing, but what I'd really like to see is a mourning for everyone who gets infected and that every group is worthy of prevention and treatment. That we should be angry about every new infection regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation.

Today's Haiku

HIV Session
People sick, people alive
A community

Pink is the New Black

Pink is the New Black. This is just a polite way of saying something I overheard the other day: "Gay is the new Nigger". Now I never believed that I would ever write that word in anger, let alone say it, let alone apply it to myself. But yes I finally understand, really, what it's like to have 62.8% of my neighbors say: you and your people are not worthy of what I have.

Not only are you not worthy, I have judged you, restricted you, condemned you to the life of inequality. These laws are clear and unequivocal, you are not worthy of humanity. A black comedian(DL Hougley) on CNN called me "a lucky bastard" for not being able to get married. Maybe white people thought the same of his grandfather because he didn't have to worry about deciding his future.

I should just be happy we got Obama. That's what they tell me. Great, we have someone who is president of all citizens, both first and second class ones.

Is Marriage a De-fabulization of Gay life?

Lets face it: Being gay is fabulous! We work hard at creating environments that are unique. We live in cool neighborhoods with old houses, industrial lofts, and in remodeled factories. We drink cool drinks, wear nice clothes and faithfully go to the gym. We visit fabulous places: Palm Springs, South Beach, Bali, Provincetown, Malibu. And the parties, are just the best. Why would we want to trade in all that in for a Volvo wagon, two kids and a split-level ranch in the 'burbs?

So why? What is the sudden attraction to a ho-hum existence like everyone else? As someone who did trade in the jeep for the station wagon for 12 years, all I can say is that it is great to focus on my fabulousness again. However, after almost 13 years of being with my partner I still find that many people, straight and gay still don't see us as a couple. That somehow the years we've shared, the hard times, the heartbreak and joys don't add up to a "whole." That if you hurt one of us, that you won't be contending with both of us. Far too often we feel that we are not seen as spouses, but as something less, something approaching a marriage, but not quite there. Also internally you doubt whether what you have is on par with what "real" marriages have. In fact I've often encountered gay men who feel somehow that we don't need or deserve the same rights as others. I mentioned to friends that we were going to California to get married and they perplexed by my lack of enthusiasm. I should be "thrilled" said one, and another was really happy for me. Of course, feeling tension I played it down by joking that we would have the reception at Burger King. As if acknowledging this moment in my life would be anticlimactic and somehow as a gay man I am not worthy of that "special day".

So we're going to do it. My mom is coming down, our Son will be there and we'll do it in a simple but romantic way. I guess 13 years together is fabulous enough.

You're all invited.

Today's Hiaku
Something Borrowed
Something Blue, Something New
Gay California Marriage

Out of Character?

Last night I was scolded by an officious 25 year old, red headed lesbian. I was taken into a back room and told to "behave and do my work". I was told "not to be late again, and stop talking to the others in the room." When I got up, handed her the phone, and papers and told her I was leaving, I was told to "grow up". This whole interaction happened within a span of 10 minutes. This was my volunteer experience.

So I screamed "YOU ARE A BITCH" at the top of my lungs.

Yes, I lost it.


Today's Hiaku

Volunteer for cause

Gift of time, deeply caring

better things to do

Gay Swim Team

As part of this jouney into middle age I've committed myself to trying new things or perhaps trying out things that didn't work out the first time I tried. Being on a swim team was one of them. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy swimming. In fact I could probably live on, or in, water. However, I remember not enjoying being on a swim team. Why? Because of the bathing suits. Not about the way they look. I think they look great! Its just the way they made feel....down there. Yes, I quit the swim team because those Speedo's gave me a boner. Of course being surrounded with very cute guys in similar suits just added to my embarassment and arousal. Nope, a swim team was just not going to work out.

Flash forward 29 years. I was invited to Miami's local gay swim team; the Nadadores. Better known as the "nads" (as in gonads, as if I had to explain it to you). Anyway I decided to "take the plunge". I've recently lost weight so I felt confident in my ability to wear a pair of Speedos. Besides, being gay means you HAVE to wear them or you're not "officially gay." The "erectile disfunction" I suffered at age eleven has gone from one extreme to the other so now I can just relax and focus on my swimming and not worry about what happens...down there.

I get to the pool and jump in. Not completely familiar with the routine I ask a few questions. I am not familiar with an 800IM or a 300free or a 100fly. I just kind of follow the swimmers and hope I do as many laps as they do. Swimming was fun. I'm swimming right along and keeping up, more or less, with the other two guys I'm sharing the lane with. I was really getting into the sensory deprivation of swimming, limited sight and hearing but being totally aware of your body and its suspension in water. I was in some cases swimming faster than other people in the pool.

I would ask questions like "how many times across the pool is 300? Is it six?" "Is it three?" As I grew more exhausted from all these laps, my ability to multiply was rapidly diminishing. I also noticed that the other swimmers were getting tired of doing my multiplication for me. After about 50 minutes of continuous laps I lost my ability to do any type of multiplication whatsoever. Finally the guy next to me said the other swimmer in my lane:

"Bonito pero bruto." Which translates roughly to: "cute, but total, complete, moron."

You know, I really love Miami. Speaking Spanish and Portuguese and being bicultural allows me to fully experience this city in a way someone who is not bilingual can't. Not being bilingual in Miami is like missing a sense, or limb. In Miami I am the epitome of a white boy. People assume I don't speak Spanish. "Bonito pero bruto" reverberted in my head after every stroke.

As a gay man, its hard not feel ambivalent about a remark like that. I mean in gay culture, cute trumps smarts every time. Plus, I was really fucking tired from all the swimming. Of course my concentration was shot. There was no way I could multiply now. If I swam any more, "bruto"would far exceed any "bonito". I got out of the pool, convinced that my second attempt to join a swim team in 40 years was a disaster. I went to the locker room and changed. Two hot guys asked for my number.

The next practice is on Thursday. I better get some multiplication flash cards and a speedo.

Today's Hiaku:

Swim silly gay fish

hot freestyle in tight speedos

The water is so nice

Amendment 2 and the Rotarian 4 way test

For years my Dad tried to get me to join the Rotary Club. Instead he recruited my husband, Alfredo. Alfredo asked me to write this for the Rotary Club of Coral Gables.

Does Florida’s Amendment 2 stand up to Rotary’s Four-Way Test?

In November of this year Floridians will be asked to vote to amend the state’s constitution to define the meaning of marriage. The ballot initiative, known as Amendment 2 on its face seems quite simple and reasonable:

This amendment protects marriage as the legal union of only one man and one woman as husband and wife and provides that no other legal union that is treated as marriage or the substantial equivalent thereof shall be valid or recognized.

So let’s see if this amendment stands up to the Rotary 4-Way test.

Is it the truth?
The truth is that in Florida marriage is already defined as between a man and a woman. It is the second part of this proposed amendment that has many concerned. It calls into question the protections offered non-married partners have acquired in the last decade. Miami-Dade, Broward, Palm Beach, City of Gainesville, Miami Beach, and other municipalities offer limited protections for domestic partners such as visitation rights in hospitals and official recognition for employers which offer benefits to non-married partners.

Is it fair to all concerned?
Amendment 2 is unfair to the many couples in Florida who choose to live together but for a myriad of reasons can’t or don’t want to marry. Whether straight or gay, amendment 2 is about removing legal protections, denying health insurance from families and denying hospital visitation.

Will it build goodwill and better friendships?
Amendment 2 is not about goodwill, it is about discrimination pure and simple. It seeks to remove protections from unmarried couples. In 27 states where similar amendments have passed, proponents quickly sued to take away health insurance, domestic partnerships and other benefits from unmarried couples. How can an amendment designed to prohibit one group of people from getting health insurance, visiting a loved one in a hospital, or getting some kind of limited legal recognition show the goodwill?

Will it be beneficial to all concerned?
This is an initiative to take away benefits: insurance, legal protections and societal recognition. Who benefits when people are denied health insurance? Who benefits when people cannot properly care for loved ones? How does Florida benefit when discrimination is enshrined in the state’s constitution.

The Ask

The ASK

The best thing to do when you’re unemployed is get involved, network, and meet as many people as possible. Being a professional community organizer/volunteer coordinator it was not too hard for me to do. I love to talk, gossip, and fight for a cause. Sadly, I find it difficult to say no to any worthy cause.

I invited myself to a gay leadership forum that would be addressing the passage of a domestic partner law for Miami-Dade County. All of the executives of the large gay service organizations were there.

During the meeting somebody joked about how busy we all were and that weren’t just sitting around eating bonbons. I glanced at my husband, who was attending with me and chuckled, knowing full-well that I wasn’t working and that, in-fact, I had eaten a bon-bon earlier that day. The Chair of the local gay-rights organization saw our little interaction and approached me after meeting.

"Kirk, I need you to help. Could you work on an event committee on my behalf?" Not really having much on my plate, I agreed.

Fired

“Well what could you offer if I decided to resign today?”

She was your typical HR functionary, doing her job and trying to analyze whether I would (a) resign, (b) sue or (c) go postal.

Her response: “Well, Mr. Arthur, considering your short employment here, the most we could offer is one month.”

Shit, I thought, a month’s pay is a lot of money; in fact it was a helluva lot more than I would get with unemployment. I knew deep down I wasn’t really worthy of making all that money. I knew within a week of being hired that making $75,000 was sooo not worth all the trouble. The job had been a nightmare from the first day and never improved. They weren’t even nice to me. Not that they were mean, they were just….indifferent. Screw it; let’s make this woman work for her pay.

“I’m sorry I don’t feel that resignation is an option. I feel that I’ve been unfairly treated by this institution”

“Well Mr. Arthur, I’m afraid we’re going to terminate your employment effective immediately.”

I drove home in a daze. I mean it wasn’t the first time I had been fired, if fact, I’ve been fired from more jobs than I cared to remember. Each time had been painful and traumatic.

This time had not been any different.

Dog Park Confessional

There should be rule that whatever is said at a dog park, stays at a dog park.

First, one must understand that proper names are never exchanged at the dog park. Eveyone is an alias: Scruffy's Dad, Beenie's Mom, Violet's Owner. It is understood that names will not be remembered and that dog park relationships rarely, if ever, go beyond the boundaries of that park.

The bond between man and dog is a uniquely intimate one. Perhaps more intimate than any other. On many occasions your dog is witness to things that you probably wouldn't do in front of another human being, at least not on purpose. For example; my dog insists on sitting on my lap when I'm on the toilet. Often in the throws of passion I have glanced to his doggie bed to see him staring with disgust at our nocturnal activities. In the movie Best In Show, Parker Posey's Wiemaraner had a breakdown witnessing just such an event. My dog even knows what websites I visit.

Given that so much intimacy is shared with our four legged friends its not hard to understand how a simple conversation about fleas can rapidly progress to squeezing anal glands. Next thing you know you're discussing your checking balance and medical history. It's amazing how someone can confess about sleeping with thier dog and ten minutes later you find out they're having an affair with thier boss, who, by the way, was also catergorized as a dog, so it may not seem quite a stretch.

Our culture's conditioned us to need shake and bake intimacy. We seem to a have post-Catholic need to confess to a stranger the wierdness about our lives. At least at the dog park the therapists all have referrals: four legged ones.

Todays Haiku:

Run Spot go catch boy
Bad Dog, Good Dog Come here now
Follow me room to room

Diabetes Class

Hello:

Ah, the joys of diabetes! Who knew that having a potentially fatal disease could have so many side benefits for a gay man. I mean Viagra, and induced rapid weight loss by just eating a sugary food for a day or two. Three days of M&Ms and my abs are cut for a circuit party. First, I want to say that I'm not a typical diabetc. That is to say if the typical diabetics are the people in my diabetes class. As part of my new diagnosis I was sent to a series of classes of how to manage my new disease!

I was quite distressed about my new diagnosis. I found little compassion from anyone in the medical field. There was this nonchalance about the whole thing. Like a I was a lung cancer patient who refused to quit smoking. "Its your fault" I read in thier eyes, "you shouldn't have eaten those sugary orange slices". In fact I was eating those with an Orange Fanta just minutes before I had my blood sugar measured. My blood sugar: 1000+. Ten times the normal level.

So I went to the class. I was running late and I passed a rotund woman struggling up the stairs. I got into the class and looked at my classmates. Before I tell you about them let me describe myself: I'm 5'11, 210lbs, 32waist, 36 chest. I'm fit and trim. I workout a lot, I like what I see in the mirror....naked. So here I go into this class and I look at the students. Fatty McFatfat, Rotunda and the circus fat man were seated around the room. I asked timidly: "is this the obesity class?" Angry looks shot at me thenI realized I was in the right place. Just then, the plus size woman I passed from outside came in huffing and puffing, she was sweating and looked like she had just run a mile. Genuinely concerned, the diabetic nurse asked if she needed water or CPR.

"I'm sorry I'm late" she said in a sort of guttural wheeze. "I had to climb all those stairs"

There were four stairs.

The trim, pert diabetes instructor began her lecture. She emptied out her bag which was full of fake food. The same kind of food that comes with that child sized Barbie Kitchen I never got. I watched the others drool over the rubber food. I could swear they were salivating and licking thier chops at a simulated peice of cake. The instructor discussed exercise and diet, yeah whatever, I'm a health instructor tell me something I wasn't doing or didn't already know. I was angry. I work really hard to keep in shape. I look good, naked even! Now diabetes is making me sit in a class full of hungry fat people. I was thinking: diabetes sucks, I want some candy.

I never returned to that class. Maybe there's a diabetic class for fabulous people.

Today's Hiaku:

Candy is poison

You'll go blind, lose a toe

Diabetes sucks

Politeness

Hello Friends:

I'd like to thank Kevin for his actual surprise that I feel politeness is important. Since returning to the "rudest city in America" I can really appreciate how politeness and good manners can really make your day and how one simple rude remark can ruin it. Kevin may remember a time when my acerbic wit, and painful, albeit truthful, observations were directed at him. What I didn't know was the that the undiagnosed diabetes in combination with my antidepressants really made me a bitch, and for that I apologize.

Now that I have my blood suger under control and I've increased dosages of my other meds, the voices in my head that pointed out small flaws in the people around me have quieted down. Thank goodness I don't feel the need to point out cheap shoes, bad taste or recent weight gain to the people I care about. I assume they felt bad enough about it without me having to rub salt in those wounds.

So Alfredo and I have a system for addressing rudeness. We train people to be polite, everyday. How? Well, in our building nobody would say good morining. So when we leave for work, we make a point to greeting everyone as they leave. At first thier mouths would strain and mumble a "buenos dias" or a "good morning." I could sense the deepest pain in their souls at having to utter these words. After a year of this they avoid us completely or when they feel cornered they blurt out a hearty "Buenos Dias!" even before my greeting. I am quite proud of the work we've done here.

Today's Hiaku

Good Morning, Hello
Her jaw is locked at dawn
Buenos Dias, gringo

My Poodle makes me Manly

My Poodle makes me manly.

You know I've been meaning to get this off my chest for quite awhile and with this blog I finally can. I want to know what the problem people have with poodles.

I own a small poodle. When I mention that in company I can see the amused faces and snickering. What's amazing is that people don't even feel guilty about expressing their obvious prejudice against them. I don't want to make this an American thing, but I find the bias extremely pronounced among my countrymen. Don't get me wrong, I am as patriotic as any dog owner, I even started to call my dog a "freedom" Poodle. People go out of their way to mask their Poodle desires, they spend thousands on cockapoos, labradoodles and golden doodles. I know the truth: they want a Poodle.

Often when I walk Scruffy the Poodle, I get comments like: "You're a pretty big guy to have such a small dog" or "You own a Poodle, are you a homosexual?" or the classic: "what a cute dog!" Okay the last one doesn't mean anything. Still, what is being implied is that Poodles diminish manliness, they don't enhance it. What rubbish!

I want you to know: Scruffy the Poodle is one tough pooch. He was feral, yes feral, living on the mean streets of Miami. The vet said he had probably been on the street for several months! Can you say that about your dog? Can you say that about yourself? No, I didn't think so. So let's get this straight: Poodles are tough, Poodles are cool. Poodles are macho!

Blog #1 Hello

Hello All!

It's been awhile since I've written to all of you but since moving back to Miami last year I figured I 'd let the clock run out on my 30's and restart life and my blog at 40. Many of you got my personal stories about our son and what it was like to be a gay dad. So here we are a year later and I'm an empty-nester, firmly entrenched in middle age and dealing with life's ups in downs in this chaotic paradise called Miami.

For those of you who don't know me I'm a 4th generation Miamian who recently spent 4 years in San Diego. I have a 18 year old-son, a partner of 13 years and as mentioned above I recently turned 40. Some other relevant facts of my life include: I have a poodle (which was rescued from a feral existance), I commute to work by bicycle here in Miami(which classifies me as an adrenalin junkie). I am passionate about politics, poodles, and politeness all of which seem out of favor in this early part of the 21st century.

Of course being 40, this will also be a health blog. I have survived the major epidemics of the late 20th century: HIV, Crack, and Diabetes. (Ok, I've never done crack) but I survived the bad crack jokes nonetheless. I am a health educator by trade and it seems I am the crash test dummy for plagues and chronic diseases. So here is my little blog.....

Tomorrow: What do people have against poodles?