10 Pieces of Advice to a Young Gay Man

As I venture deeper into my 40's, surprisingly I'm finding myself befriending people of all ages, both young and old. Yet in my soul there are things that I want to say to my friends who are under 29 who are really just starting out on life's wonderful journey.  I find that at this point of life they ask me for sage advice, but more often than not I am just willing to blurt it out.  Whether it's fashion tips, life lessons or just  a quick reality check I want to impart some of the things that have helped me along the way. 

1. The best piece of advice my Mother ever gave me:  buy (and pay a little extra) for classic looks.   Penny loafers, khakis, white dress shirts, a blue blazer, and a pair of Levis will go a lot farther, and get you into more interesting places than any of the latest fashions.  Remember to wear undershirts too!

2. Stop dating the person who you want to be.  If all of your boyfriends are of a similar "type", ask yourself why.  Is it because you find those qualities attractive, or because you find them lacking in yourself? 

3. Create your "real" family. Whether it's your parents, siblings, or friends(old or new) now is the time to redefine those relationships as an adult. These are the people who you will probably be sharing the rest of your life with. Tell them how you feel and set the rules on how you want to be treated. 

4. Don't forget the you're only young once, remind yourself that you will never be handsomer, healthier and more carefree than you are right now.

5. Sleep around, have fun and practice safe sex.

6. Remember there are no "official" rules for gay relationships....yet.  Feel free to test the boundaries of your relationships with love and lot's of communication.  Two men together doesn't have to look the same as a man and a woman together. 

7. As a gay man all options are open to you now, you can be a father, a stay at home parent, a CEO of a Fortune 500 company or all three.  There's no need to feel limited anymore, you can have it all......but probably not all at the same time.

8. Learn about the gay struggle.  Learn that we were once prosecuted, imprisoned, hospitalized, murdered, blackmailed, and marginalized for who we are. In many places we still are. 

9. Live in a gay ghetto for at least six months or your life, it can be very affirming, then not so much. 

10. Try to nurture friendships with non-gay people. It can be hard. When gay people meet each other, there's so much that just doesn't need to be explained, an instant comfort.  It's not always the same with people unlike ourselves, give them a chance, they will surprise you. 

Oh yeah, to the young man who asked for advice that got me thinking about all of this: relax and use a lot of lube.

Judgement Day 2011: Jesus Will See You Now.

Ok, so supposedly tomorrow the chosen will ascend into heaven and the rest of us will be left behind with the scraps that the pious ones have left behind.  Since, counter to popular opinion, Church goers tend to be wealthier, better educated and better situated than their non-church going brethren, I am sure there will nice swag left behind.   Jesus will come to each one of them at 6:00PM local time, tap them on the shoulder and say: "it's time to go to a better place."  He might even offer a cup of Kool-Aid to hurry along the process.  I mean you probably don't want to get Raptured on an empty stomach.

I've talked to my Atheist friends and they've agreed to take care of the dog should I be chosen for Rapture.  She'll have the key to the place, I've asked her to just leave everything unlocked, the bank can repossess the car and the house.  Sorry folks, the place is underwater and the new BMW convertible is a lease. (see previous blog) I just had the Saab waxed...it's paid for. 

So I'm ready for the Rapture now.  Today I had my teeth cleaned....(clean mouth, clean soul) and I cut my hair yesterday....shorter is more aerodynamic for flying.  I was told I would have to leave all my "baggage" behind, not sure if that was metaphorical or not, but a carry-on roller bag would be nice.

Last Day Plans:  going to swim, Costco(cooking for last supper) and a party.  Come on Rapture!

Nice Things

"Why can't I ever have anything nice!?!" was my Mother's favorite rant.  Either we had broken something she had or we(I) had gone through her make-up.  Whatever we had done you could feel her sense of frustration in trying to maintain a sense of self, style and status.  Invariably whatever was broken was something of personal value. 

Recently I purchased an expensive car, not my first mind you but I think the it's the first thing in my life that I bought that although I could afford it, it is completely impractical and a luxury in every sense of the word. It's a small German, red convertible.  Since I work at home it is rarely driven except for short runs to the public pool and on balmy weekend afternoons. It's the first thing I've ever bought that generates pride, shame, guilt, pleasure and panic all at the same time. 

Don't get me wrong, I love this "thing".  As an American man, it represents decades of longing and working for a vehicle that shows off years of work and education.  As a Miamian I have entered the large shallow pool of status symbols where brand names soothe the city's large population of exiles and refugees of past deprivations and indignities. As a man of a "certain age" it makes me feel virile. As a gay man it just screams "fabulous".

However, there is a downside. Unlike other vehicles I've recently owned (a string of luxury station wagons), this one seems so much more precious. Mostly because it was purchased for ego and not utility. It is like that pair of Prada loafers that you won't wear because they're "too nice."  When I see the homeless guy at the red light asking for money, I feel nothing but shame. (As a good liberal elite should) When I'm told that the brand is nothing but a status symbol, all I can think of is "yes, but the red leather interior is not available in Korean". Even worse is the disdain I feel for all the jerks who drive the same brand I do. 

I can't relax when I drive it. I clench my teeth and grip the wheel and pray I make it home without a scratch or dent.  I never worried about these things when I was loading up my European wagons full of teenagers and animals. It's like those little china tea cups my mother had locked in the china cabinet. I'm sure she shuddered at the thought of anyone actually drinking out of them.  So as I drive my topless "mid life crisis around I am worried.  Then last night the car alarm went off and all I could think was  "why can't I ever have anything nice.? Sigh.

Who Are the Iranians and What Do They Want With Me?

OK, according to my blog stats there were 13 Iranians, 64 Russians and 1 Tanzanian reading my blog.  There were 12 Chinese as well as 15 Japanese.  I just want to say to all of you: don't be shy.  I know that the life of a middle aged kook living in a glamorous city such as Miami must be fascinating.  Reading this you can learn about feral chickens, aging, taxation, and assorted ruminations by a man who spent the better part of his 30's on anti-depressants.  I am glad I can give you a small insight into why Poodles are dogs for real men and proper etiquette in dealing with middle aged gays. 

However, is it really fair that I don't know anything about you?  I've always found it weird, whether here or on Facebook that there are people who read pages and postings and never comment or leave any trace that they are interested in you at all.  Then one day you run into them at a party, airport, restraining order hearing, and they know all about your postings, the picture of you passed out on the back of a parade float and anything else you put up online.  Come on Mr. Tanzania, or the 24 Dutch people (soccer team perhaps?) tell me a little about yourselves!

Alfredo, my husband, says you are all hackers. Really?  In my heart I am hoping that there is a small group of gay middle-aged Russians, working out issues in the cold heart of Siberia, reading my blog with laughter and hope that they too will join a gay swim team someday.  I am hoping that Mr. Tanzania might have a dead cousin who needs me to put $52 million dollars in my bank account for safekeeping while the legalities are sorted out.  I'm wondering if there's a Gay-Straight alliance in Hokkaido, Japan reading my blog and belly laughing and bowing at my jokes in the way only the Japanese can do. 

I'm thinking there might be 13 Persian drag queens hiding behind hijabs thinking: "wow, I thought the chickens in Tehran were loud, I'm sure glad I don't live in West Dade."  Who are these mysterious strangers, trolling the massive internet and reading my blog?

Even if you are hackers, Chinese government bureaucrats, Iranian Jihadists, closeted gay Russians, feel free to leave a comment, a hello.  I'm here for you.....really.

Yeah, I'm from Miami, what about it?

You know I can't stand it when people knock my hometown.  I know it's not perfect, but it's perfect for me and the 2.5 million people who live here.  I recently went to a neighboring city and got a grimace from someone when I mentioned I was from Miami.  I know what he was thinking: "ewww Miami", like it was "ewww lima beans".  

Miami is beautiful and sexy.  It's one of the world's great cities, ranked 33rd in global cities according to Foreign Policy Magazine. They place us comfortably between Geneva and Bangkok. It's influence far outweighs its relative size, with just 2.5 million residents in Miami-Dade County. São Paulo, by comparison has 18 million residents and ranks 38th in global influence according to that survey.

What those numbers really tell us is what anyone who has ever slept with a Cuban in Miami already knows: that it's not all "hablando mierda" some things just have to be experienced to be understood. Miami's influence radiates far and wide in terms of culture, business and politics. I mean have you ever met anyone who has not heard of Miami?

I think of all the great cities that I've been to, New York, London, Paris, Hong Kong, San Francisco and Mexico City, they all have one thing in common: they have a sense of place.  Each exudes a confidence of identity. Paris might be the beautiful aloof girl, New York the rich, smart girl and San Francisco the quirky hippie girl wearing a sundress with no underwear, but Miami is the beautiful Latina who won't speak to you until you're formally introduced by her hot Cuban brother.  When she let's you in, Miami becomes whirlwind of salsa, Latin cuisine, Spanglish and cafecitos at 3AM. 

No, it's not the friendliest place in the world.  That doesn't stop 9.5 million people visiting every year. I'm convinced  that people who come here want to be treated bruskly by the hot 20 something hostess/model . They come to Miami to explore their masochistic fantasies and don't realize that all the "safe words" are in Spanish. So the abuse get's piled on, they go back to Kansas and tell their friends how bad the service was, and sure enough, those friends show up for the same treatment.  

You know I could go on about all the beauty here, the beaches, architecture, everglades. I could tell you that the people from each ethnic group contributes something unique to the city's makeup.  I could say that the fact that everyone does business in English but feel emotions in Spanish is what adds to it's unique character. Of course it's this and so many other things that make it so interesting, crazy, fun and exciting. 

Miami is a place where people have made something out of nothing. There was nothing here when my Great Grandfather arrived here from Alabama. Cubans arrived with little more than the few possessions they could carry in their bags, Haitians even less. Like magic, Miamians have created global success out of a swamp, a beach and an airport. It's the magic city.

It's the End of the World

Tsunamis, riots, Obamacare, earthquakes, government shut-downs, Beck leaving Fox, all indicate one thing: it's the end of the World. Which is someways is anxiety inducing and in others a relief.  Several times in the last few months I have been confronted by individuals who see all this as a sign of the "end times."   For some it's a libertarian/Christian/Gun-toting utopia for others it's a total apocalypse that extinguishes all life.  

The "survivalist, NRA, Christian" types are very pleased with the idea of anarchy and chaos...because they will have guns and food hoarded so they will be able to do "God's Will" at the point of a gun. They will live high on the hog in their bunkers full of Velveeta, beef jerky and Twinkies and those of us who haven't seen the light and accepted JC as our personal savior will whither and starve. The world of medicare, interstate commerce, and NPR will devolve and whither. Only the righteous will survive in small pockets worshiping god and guns.  Sadly for these folks, their vision of apocalypse is a slow boring one, with progressive degradation over let's say 3 to 5 years. These are people who think Rome collapsed in 20 to 30 minutes and forget that Byzantium lasted for another 1000 years after the collapse of Rome. Who's to say, Mexico or Canada may last at least a few more decades after the "end of American Civilizaiton".  The "sack of Washington" may very well be done by angry Mexicans.  

The second group of "apocolyptians" are the cosmic types. The world will end in a puff of smoke sometime before Christmas and it'll be quick and painless.  I find this vision is a great one, because nothing can or needs to be done.  Basically you can just lay back, smoke pot, not pay your bills and nothing you do will matter. I mean if there's no future, why not post a sex video of yourself on the internet, it's not like you'll live long enough to regret it.  The two twenty-somethings who believe and told me this theory smoke a lot of pot and live at home and don't work.   Apocalyptic visions justifying upper-middle class ennui, that's rich. 

What's funny is both groups think I'm silly.  Living my little life, trying to make people laugh, earning my little paychecks. I mean why would I do matter? It's all going to end anyway.  I was asked: "what happens if the world ends the day after you send in your mortgage payment?" (That's funny coming from a stoner in his parent's basement). Another asked me: "if I had made good with Jesus and was I prepared for the end days?" Which was ironic because this was a client starting a new business. In the back of my head I could hear Cristy Lane singing One Day At A Time over the buzzing.

Does it really matter if the world is going to end?  I mean if you want to withdraw and live in a cave in the Idaho woods or in a man cave in the parents garage you're really saying you don't like the idea of the world at all.  Honestly I don't care. You can't change the world by waiting for it to end or hoping that it does, or worse, trying to speed up its demise.  Besides the world ends for all of us at some point doesn't it? Change the world by living in it, and be the best you know how to be......One Day at a Time....lalalala

I am a Man

Yes, I will beat my chest and jump up and down. I will revel in my manliness, I will scratch my privates and fart in public and not apologize for it. I will grab my remote control and not let go unless death or cable interruptions force me to put it down. I race cars at the stop light and revel in my ability to pick up something heavy.

Yes I am a man, not a boy, not a girl. I am a man and I enjoy manly things like meat, pizza and sex. I like to burp. I like to look at a beautiful body. I am a man. I am 43: I am a GROWN man. I don't aspire to be 20 or 32 or 38. I don't want to be pretty, or young. I don't regret my youth nor do I pine for it. I stay in shape because it's good for me, not because I'm competing with, or for, a 20 something. I enjoy being a man. I love my penis.

I have worked for continually for 25 years, I have earned a degree. I have raised a son. I have loved. I have been married. I have watched friends die. I have fought for my right to exist as a whole person. I am a man. I have been a coward. I have been scared. I have laid down and prayed for death. I have been amazed at my own survival. I have been surprised by my ability to thrive despite all the odds.

I am a gay man. I am not less or more than any of my brothers. I may like "womanly" things but I've paid a price for that, and come out happier because of it. We are not "boys". We are not pets. We are not part of a "collection". You might think it's cute or shallow that we take care of ourselves, worship beautiful things like art and fashion. We're still men. We still scratch our balls.

Our relationships don't always look the same as straight men, but that doesn't mean they're not as deep or as loving or as serious. They work for us because we're men. They may not last as long, because we're men. It doesn't mean that gay relationships are any less serious, or intense as straight ones.

So don't call us boys, girlie-men, or add diminutives to our names. It's not cute, it's patronizing. I've earned my manhood, just like any other 40 year old male. We Gays are men, just like your father, brothers and sons. You might not like it, but respect it. I am a man plain and simple.

While the Cat's Away

My hubby has a new job the requires him to travel about six days a week. So I've begun to notice subtle changes in my behavior. I'm seeing new and old habits slowly emerge as I spend more and more time by myself without the companionship of my husband of 15 years.

Before I get into these disturbing changes I would like to point out that for the last few years we've both worked at home. So throughout the day him and my dog have been my constant companions. It's worked out very well for us. Although I picked him for his intellect and sweet demeanor, I think one of the reasons I stay with him because he's the least annoying person on the planet. He's quiet, hardworking and respectful, doesn't waste words and generally respects personal space and has good manners. He only farts in private. I think the last time I heard him break wind was 10 years ago. How could you not love a man like that?

At first when his travel began, I tried to pretend he was around, and kept up the habits I normally do as a couple. I do my morning walks, pick up after myself, make a fancy lunch and dinner and watch the programs the we would watch together on TV. Generally just thinking that although he's in Montevideo or Moscow, in my heart he's in the next room doing whatever he does for his Russian software company that sends him around the world.

Little by little that pretense has gone by the wayside. More and more I find myself doing things that I did before I was married. I've begun to eat over sink again. I know that sounds strange, but why take out a plate that has to be washed? A sandwich tastes just as good eaten over the sink. No dishes or napkins needed and I can wash my hands all at once. No muss on fuss.

I've also noticed my sleep patterns have changed. No more in bed at 11 to get up at 7. Now I find myself in bed at 1AM up at 8 and a nap after work before dinner. Could this be my true sleep pattern? Or do I really like watching infomertials, then reading a good book till my eyes close.

I'm finding I like to clean the house at 11PM, I guess in case I "die before I wake." I don't want anyone to see that the peanut butter is on the counter and that there are dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. I've also found that ants come out at night. (Which I had forgotten since somebody else normally cleans the kitchen.)

I think the most disturbing is my radical change in music. Lately I've gravitated back to classic rock instead the usual disco/pop/80's music I've spent the last 15 years listening to. Led Zeppelin, Rush, Blue Oyster Cult, Rolling Stones.....why did I let you guys go? Lady Gaga what was I thinking? I was listening to the Stones' "Devil" thinking damn, this is some good shit. Which is what used say after inhaling....a habit I haven't returned to, but if I did, who would be around to care?

This extensive traveling is hard on a relationship. For me, who's at home the question is: how do I move forward? Do I just put my life on hold until the hubby comes home? Do I go out and do things with friends but feel guilty for not being able to share that part of my life with him because he's gone. Do I hold off on important decisions till Friday night? Should I start eating off plates again?

So many questions.....

When the Federal Government Gets out of the Business of.......

Consistently I've heard a steady cry that the Federal Government needs to get out of the business of ______________(you name it) almost instantly there is a willingness on somebody's part to pick up the slack. Because when the Federal Government get's out of any scope of responsibility two things usually occur: 1. Disaster and 2. Higher taxes.

I'll tell you why. There is such a thing as economies of scale. In the scheme of things America's economy is off the scale, so is it's government. It's 13 times larger than the next largest economy: China. 13 times! So in Government as in private industry (i.e. capitalism) the most efficient(cheapest) way to provide a service or product is to do it in a massive way, therefore spreading out the cost over many units than just a few. In truth the Federal Government is far more efficient and smaller than ever: there are now fewer federal employees as a percentage of the population than there were in the 70's. Of course this is counteracted by an explosion of state and municipal employees.

So let's say the Federal Government is going to get out of the business of, let's say Aviation. It can do two things: have private companies do it (and that would reduce costs and increase safety?) or have each state regulate it's own airspace. I've never been a fan of private companies regulating anything, or worse yet, self regulation. (Homes built by builders who "self-inspected" in South Florida before Hurricane Andrew literally had the roofs blown off because they weren't attached to the structure.) Could you image 50 different state aviation administrations?

In the 80's Republicans tried to get the Federal Government out of the business of Public Health. Attempts to close the CDC in Atlanta and the Public Health Service led to the worst epidemic of the 20th Century, HIV. If Reagan had succeeded, the epidemic would have raged across all 50 states unchecked since only a few of them have adequate public health systems. The epidemic nearly bankrupted hospitals in New York, New Jersey, Los Angeles and Miami until a national response could be created.

How about getting the Feds out of the business of protecting Civil Rights, Food Safety, Labor Standards or interstate business regulation? In each case states could decide for themselves what they wanted, sounds okay in theory until you go to another state and find out that the milk isn't homogenized, or you can't open a business because your product is made in another state under different set of rules, or that the water had more dioxin in it because in this state there are no minimum standards for water quality.

What about disaster relief? Every state for itself and hope that when there's a disaster like a hurricane or earthquake that each state will have a telethon and hopefully raise enough cash, quickly enough to rebuild a city or region.

Finally what if the Feds get out of the business of the Social Safety Net. No social security or medicare, or medicaid. It would be simple, states would pick up the slack...how? By raising taxes on their citizens.

Is Fat the the new Fuck?

Funny, as a child the worst word you could say was fuck. It was as powerful as lightning. It brought silence to the schoolyard. It was a word that would leave both kids and adults frozen, their mouths gaping in the shape of an "O". It was a word of power, of defiance, it embraced taboo. As a child it signified the unknown. It was a word of mystery.

40 some odd years and countless R-rated movies later, the word has lost it's power. Now it seems every one can cuss like a sailor and nobody even bats an eye. "Fuck you!" isn't even offensive, firstly, because the giver or the receiver of the phrase are probably very unlikely to be fucking each other. So one can't even imagine it pertaining to you.

So what is the new "fuck"? What word has the power to stop someone, make them reflect, and then react with revulsion? What word implies ostracism, personal pain and ridicule? A word that says you're lazy, gluttonous, and deserve ostracism? A word filled with shame. The word is FAT. Fat is personal, fat is real, fat is tangible. We see fat, we feel fat. Fat is something we know. Prove me wrong: go out to the street and say to someone, after a brief glance say; "you're fat". Their mouth will fall open, they will look down in shame, they will be in shock.

Trust me, in joking I called someone fat. It basically ended our friendship. I was drunk, thought it would be a witty bon-mot to her making fun of my name.

She asked "is it was okay if I called you Kirky?"

At 43 I don't really like anyone to put an infantile modifier to my name so I replied: "is it okay if I call you fat?" She walked away and we haven't really spoken again.

I should have just said: "Fuck you, my name is Kirk". We would probably still be friends.

Talkin' 'bout Your Generation

Sigh, Baby Boomers and Baby Zoomers? I recall a commercial by Dennis Hopper quoting the tag line: "Dreams Don't Retire" about retirement. The Baby Boomers defined denial, now they can actually live it. As part of working in the medical field I have been forced to sit through several meetings on how this new generation of retirees are going to be more active, savvy, "hip". I recently had a customer buying software for his "B" career argue with me that paper files were more efficient. Yes, when you had an efficient secretary to file them and retrieve them for you. Boomers insist that they're going to keep on working till they're septuagenarians, then have an active and exciting "retirement" doing something "they always wanted to do" like gymnastics, wrestling and mountain climbing. A "second act" so to speak.

Well Dennis Hopper is dead, so I guess his dreams didn't exactly "retire." He did leave a messy estate that ended up suing his widow....how sweet. Not quite the "second act" he was going for. Most of the people in these symposiums are baby boomers themselves who in one breath are counting the days to retirement, but are excited to be able to keep their old jobs at the same time. So what it means that they are collecting their retirement at the same time drawing a salary. They are "consulting."...so they are doing their old jobs but just showing up at 10:30 and leaving after lunch.

The problem with this? Well, basically a younger person will have to wait till this "consultant" decides that even showing up for work at 10:30 is too much and would rather spend time on the golf course. I understand that many of these retirees might need to work a few years after 65 to "make up" for the loss in the value of retirement assets. But by that age they should be out of the market all together. Plus, retirees today are more likely to have pensions not just the crappy 401K plans that people under 50 get.

By refusing to retire boomers are being selfish and self-centered. Oh wait, isn't that why they are called the "me" generation? I continually hear from 60ish people that they're irreplaceable, that they're needed. In a few professions that could be the case. But it's greed and selfishness that keeps these people working, plain and simple. Think of all the people in their 40's that will have to make up for this dragged out "Great Recession". Those most productive years spent on unemployment. I nor my parents are Baby Boomers, they were born before the boom and couldn't wait to retire. My mother retired at 60, my father at 62. They couldn't wait! They had money in the bank, assets paid off and were debt free. Now they play golf, shop, garden and take a lot of cruises. In short, they are out of the way...helping economy like all members of the "Greatest Generation." If I could retire today, I would! BABY BOOMERS: there is no shame in retirement.

So all this self importance about the Baby Boomers from themselves. Yes I'm sure they're going to redefine retirement, I just hope they do it from the golf course, not the office cubicle.

P.S. 60 is not the new 40, 40 is the new 40. Life expectancy in America is 78 years and 4 months.

World Cup - how we rank our favorites.

Ah the exquisite pain and joy that the World Cup brings. There is a particular joy to watching the World Cup from Miami. Being Latin America's northernmost city it is a tremendous pleasure to watch the world cup here. Only in Miami can a native of Honduras have friends empathize with a loss at the worlds biggest sporting event. Better still they know where Honduras is.

Yet in Miami its easiest to understand the complexities of rooting for several teams and nations at the same time. We know that we can cheer with as much heart for Honduras on Monday as for Brazil and Argentina on Friday. Here is a way Miamians like to rank their teams:

1. Where you were born. It's easy because you have to root for your natural born team. It doesn't matter if you left when you were two, it's your home team forever.

2. Where your parents were born. Again, a "home" team.

3. Team U.S.A. its home now, it has earned our respect.

OK the rest of your choices are all subjective but here are some ways to help guide your choice of teams ask yourself some of the following questions:

1. Are they a winning team?
2. Are you living with someone with a team in the World Cup?
3. Who throws a better Word Cup party?
4. Did you have a good vacation there?
5. Did you date anyone from that country...and did it end well? or badly?
6. Is your boss from that country?

The final tier of questions help with any tie-breakers:

1. Do you like the uniform?(Green and Yellow)
2. Do you find their team, women, or men particularly attractive?(Where is Ronaldo from?)
3. Would you find that if their team won, would they become more arrogant than they are already? (A certain South American nation comes to mind...one that claims its "Europeaness")

In any case I will go with the Univision rule: "Que gane uno de nosotros"

Great Expectations?

A conversation at a party the other night really got under my skin. A woman casually mentioned her son, so I asked how old he was. She said he was 22. I mentioned my own 21 year old and how proud I was of him. Before I knew it, I was blasted with the accomplishments of her 22 year old and at that tender age he had accomplished much more than me at 42 and probably most of the 300 people at the party...combined. She rattled off each college degree, scholarship and award with such a degree of smugness that she really just came off as a shrew. With a mother like that I would have worked my ass off to get as many scholarships too...to get my ass out of the house as soon as possible. Not feeling the desire to try to match up my son's or my own accomplishments with that of her 22 year old prodigy, I excused myself. She stood there by herself with a very satisfied look on her face.

That conversation and the fact that Father's Day was last Sunday made me think about expectations, my own and as a father and as son. Unlike my adversary at the party, my parents were very vague about expectations. There was a lot of "as long as you're happy" comments about careers, colleges and life expectations. The only time expectations were clear when we clearly failed them: failing grades, wrecking new cars, arrests.... By the time I was a teenager my brothers and I had earned a whole new set of expectations from our parents.

So as I sit back and try to remember what my parents wanted from me I have some concrete ideas, as in things they wanted me to have...but not much in the way on how I was to get those "things." I remember I was supposed to be a "good person" and not "kill anyone." We went to church regularly. If I met a police officer I was supposed to say "yes sir" (this came in really handy having talked my way out several traffic tickets and arrests). My mother wanted me to have a "beautiful wife and live in the suburbs and own a Volvo". She said this to me tearfully after I told her I was gay. I managed the suburbs and a Swedish station wagon, although not the brand she wanted. My father wasn't so specific, he just wanted me to graduate college (check.) and consider "delayed gratification." which meant to him "save all your money and plan for a great retirement." It sounded okay, but my own personal circumstances indicated a more live for now approach.

When I look back what did I want? It was probably close to what my Mom wanted for me, which was stability. Of course my natural tendencies tended engender chaos, so my hope was to find an anchor and keep me in one place. I wanted a full life, with lots of friends and lots of things to keep me busy. I wanted to be taken seriously and to have fun. I never wanted to be bored. I didn't want to be fat. I think I've achieved most of my expectations.

My therapist once told me that my son had not met my expectations for him....by a long shot. I think of all the unmet expectations in my life, mine, my parents; those of your kids are the hardest to let go of. At the time, on some level that therapist was right, but he was 17 and had a lot of growing up to do. At 17 he hadn't killed anyone, he always said "yes sir" to the police and he hadn't been arrested so on some level he had met some expectations. Yet the dreams you have for your children far exceed any you had for yourself. Dreams that go far beyond a pretty wife and a SAAB station wagon. Your son is your chance to get it right, to play sports or be the bad boy rebel that you never could or would. I always taught him to be different, to be an individual and find his passion. I wanted him to question authority and fight the norms. On so many levels he has achieved this. He's proud, he's truly independent, he works harder that I ever have or ever will. He's a good person. He's only 21, he can still go to college, get a degree and earn his Nobel Prize. In the areas that count he has met and exceeded many of my expectations.

Remember our peak earning years?

In my 30's my income was significantly higher that it is today. So was my partner's and with exceptions, most of my colleagues and friends.

In our 30's we had pension plans and a 401K match. We had health and life insurance through our employers. We got raises and cost of living increases. Life was good.

Vacations increased with seniority. You could even accrue unlimited vacation and sick time. You could donate it to other employees who needed it.

My home was appreciating in value every year.

Layoffs were virtually unheard of.

Its weird, but somehow all that work on our careers isn't paying off, but all that work on our selves is. The less my job gives me, the more I realize that I'm free to structure my life around family, friends and hobbies and less around work.

I'm happier for it.

I Need A Hero....in praise of Sci Fi.

We all need heroes, real or imagined. We need to know that an ordinary person, caught up in extraordinary events, can rise to the challenge set before them. We need our heroes to be brave but also humble. We need to know that as the planet or the galaxy spin out of control, somebody smart and plucky is going to control the Force, break the Orgazmitron, or throw a gold ring into the volcano.

From our adolescent dreams spring Luke Skywalker, Frodo Baggins and Captain Kirk. Luke and Frodo share many common traits.....country rubes forced into manhood by evil circumstances and a destiny beyond their control. Virginal, innocent they represent all the promise of manhood. For a gay boy like me they represented the promise of heroism, that if I just did my best, worked hard, saved the galaxy, nobody would question the fact that the only crush I've had in a decade was on my twin sister or that I spent an inordinate amount of time with my best friend Sam. Luke and Frodo tells us gay men that if we're extraordinary, our non-existent, secret personal lives won't matter.

Captain Kirk on the other hand tells us being extraordinary forgives personal weakness. Unlike other heroes, Kirk is a kinky son of a bitch. You know its not a big leap from sleeping with a green female alien to to sleeping with a male one. Kirk was a sexual rebel but a great captain...again telling sexual rebels everywhere.....do your job well and you can sleep with whomever you please.

So as hopeful as Luke, Frodo, and Kirk seem....it each case the hero ends up alone. Again, the rewards of heroism are transitory and fade away. Do any of our heroes get a happy ever after? No! Frodo remains tortured and depressed and sails away, Kirk dies in one of the movies, childless and Luke is left staring winsomely at spirits of dead people. That's the other message: saving the world/galaxy/universe takes a huge toll on your personal life.

11 Questions You Don't ask Gay Men

I think as "the Gays" become more mainstream, non-gays are feeling emboldened to ask questions they might not otherwise ask. The Gays, who initially were pleased by this sudden curiosity in gay-subculture seemed happy to just "let it all hang out"(I'm just speaking metaphorically, of course). The usual culprits asking these questions are stylish women who want "a gay" to complete an image. Or it is a blossoming homosexual asking. Of course rules of disclosure have changed in our era of shake and bake friendships and faux intimacy. Women (and some straight men) find it titillating to know about the mechanics, quantity and quality of the personal lives of gay men.

In more innocent times (the 80's, say). The Gay held a slightly more elevated stature than a maid. The florist, fashion designer, interior decorator, hair stylist all knew their place as passive listeners, as society confessionals but never disclosed any personal details about their life whatsoever beyond making things pretty. They were mere conduits for society gossip. The previous century's equivalent of Facebook.

Now, many women (and some straight men) are now fascinated with the intimate details of gay lives. Gay men are being asked questions that they themselves only figure out about each other when their pants are down and negotiating about who's gonna wear the condom. So I thought I'd put down a list of questions that you shouldn't ask a gay man if you're a woman and ESPECIALLY if you're a straight guy. Lesbians sometimes can get a pass.

1. How big is it? I have been asked this question by women on three occasions. I wonder if its some kind of trick that might work with straight guys. If you're a woman I am not going to show you my junk...hard, soft, cold, hot. Forget it, its off limits to you woman.

2.A You mean you've never been with a woman.....ever? Some gay men have, my husband has a son to prove it. What difference does it make? If a man says he's gay, in the present tense, he likes men, with penises, in his bed...tonight.

2.B If you haven't tried it how do you know? Yeah, I don't think I'd like vagina....most gays feel this way...its innate, instinctual, we just KNOW. Leave it alone already, your vagina is not going to be the one to change me.

3. Are you the man or the woman in bed? I am always a man. Gay men are always men, that NEVER EVER CHANGES. We love our masculinity and we love it in our partners. I could be crude....but being penetrated is not the same as being emasculated.

4. Does this dress make me look fat? No, it makes you look FABULOUS. That's why I picked it out for you.

5. Do you wear women's clothes? Is it Halloween? Is this a costume party? Gay men wear women's clothes for the laughs....the same reason straight men wear women's clothes. Its not a daily habit. (next column: ten questions you don't ask transvestites.)

6. Do you hate women? Yes, except you, because you're not like those other bitches. Just kidding...gay men dislike women about as much as straight men and other women do.

7. What's the deal with Gay men and Lesbians? Don't ask that question...because gay men tend not to see Lesbians. Which kinda pisses them off.

8. How many partners have you slept with? Don't ask a gay man this question because he really doesn't know or care. Virginity, purity, chastity are rarely adjectives ascribed to men. Gay men generally don't like to deal with virgins....way too complicated, takes too long to get them to relax. Any answer to this question is generally a lie, which is a good thing.

9. Are all gay men sluts? If given the option all MEN would be sluts. Gayness just makes slutty a viable lifestyle choice.

10. Does gay sex hurt? Not if you do it right.

11. Aren't you scared of getting AIDS? Yes. But discussing my community's greatest fear is none of your business. However, being gay is so much a part of who I am, of my core being, not even the threat of death would make me want to stop and change. I'd rather live with the fear of illness than give up my ability love and be happy with another man.

Yes I read Gay Pulp Romance Fiction...what about it!?!

I am an avid reader. I read three or four books a week. I just have one general requirement in the books I read....that there is at least one gay character. I don't really care if the character is good or bad, smart or attractive, they just have to be there. Why? Because as a child I read just as much and there was nobody like me. There were no gay pirates, firemen, spacemen, spies, soldiers, superheroes, heroes, doctors, or scientists. No we were not reflected in popular literary culture.

There are contemporary gay "reads" on characters; like Biff Loman, or Frodo Baggins and see perhaps a hint of pink. But it is a stretch of the imagination to see these characters in any context but what they are. To apply a "gay" label is just wishful thinking.

My passion for reading came from my mother. As a pre-teen I would read her books. She only read two genres: romances and spy thrillers. So I read a lot of Harlequins novels, Barbara Cartland, the queen of romance, mixed in with Robert Ludlum and Clive Cussler. Barbara Cartland's books always had her dressed in fuzzy pink hats and with a white fuzzy toy dogs on her lap. My older brother read Doc Savage, about a scientist and his intrepid band of talented friends. There is a definite gay "read" on Doc Savage by the simple fact that the novels are completely devoid of females and that Doc Savage was a musclebound god....sorta like a buffer, more tan Mr. Clean, with platinum blond hair.

My first inkling of a gay character was in Susan Isaac's book: Almost Paradise. Which was one of her best...about an agoraphobic that marries a movie star...yeah you can see there's a challenge there, I'm sure its hard enough to marry an agoraphobic if you're not a movie star. In any case her devastatingly handsome brother was caught kissing a producer or something. It was too subtle for my 12 year old mind, but somehow "I got it." I didn't really know what gay people did until I read Judith Krantz' book Princess Daisy when her fashion designer boyfriend (really Princess Daisy had no idea? Fashion designer...come on!) goes back to his "assistant" and Princess Daisy catches them in flagrante-delicto. Ms. Krantz goes into a bit of detail about what gay men really do. Thanks Judith!

So one day I was wandering through the Barnes and Noble bookstore, not the big superstore ones they have now, but the dinky little ones they had in Malls in the 80's. It was like a Hallmark store with a newsstand attached. So there I am, a suburban bookworm, and I happened across a rather intriguing paperback with two beautiful men, reclining in the sun, unusually close, with a beach scene in the background. It was done in the style of my Mom's sappy romances...it was like Fabio and his boyfriend were at the beach. The cover was very gay....in a straight Harlequin romance kind of way. It was a series of gay romances by Gordon Merrick

The Gordon Merrick story-lines were weird, but then again they were written in the mid 50's so the sex scenes were written in classically euphemistic terms like " his manhood" or "reach ecstasy" and being "taken". I had no idea was ecstasy was but I know I sure wanted it and I was so ready to be taken. Only mushrooms grow well in the dark, so Merrick's romances were "mushroomy" in the sense that they blossomed inside the closeted world of the 50's. There were weird relationships of married men with "understandings" between wives and lovers. Young men yearning and having "furtive" gropings in rowboats. There were rapes of young men by Greek sailors(duh). None of the characters worked, they were all rich and angst ridden. It was as satisfying as muddy water would be in a very dry desert.

As the 80's drew to a close, better novels appeared by Edmund White, James Baldwin and a plethora of new voices arrived at the local Barnes and Noble. The internet was a long way away and the term "gay bookstore" had a different meaning entirely.

Still for many years, aside from a few "respected" gay authors which managed to come out or break out after they were established, there were still very few writers willing to populate their books with gay characters and even fewer willing to create gay characters that weren't tragic.

Amazon.com and Google put gay literature literally just one click away. Today the gay romance genre is dominated by women.....strange but women seem get much of the longing that gay men have for acceptance, earning self esteem, and self respect yet at the same time create compelling plot lines and very erotic sex scenes....its as their gay best friend has given them all our secrets! The books are populated by extremely handsome men, who have interesting careers. The overcome the usual obstacles to love: class, low self-esteem, werewolves, vampires, jealous love interests, fallen angels, angry exes, murderous exes, disapproving parents, and being "out". Gay romance also has many sub genres: sci-fi, firemen, werewolves(WTF?), vampires, you name it. While I'm not sure where gay characters are in "straight" literature, but I'm sure they're there. Suggestions welcome.

Intersections, how a murder by the pool raises lots of questions.

A murder last week of a teenage boy happened on a basketball court less than 20 feet from the pool where my swim team, the Nadadores , practices. The shooting happened about 25 minutes before practice was about to begin. Two of my team mates were at the scene. One saw the shooter fleeing away while the other team mate was administering first-aid to the victim. I arrived about 15 minutes after the shooting.

The team-mate who was administering first aid is a young woman with a three year old boy who was taking swim lessons. At the time of the shooting a youth team was practicing at the pool. There were probably 50 kids and their parents there when the shooting occurred.

The young mother was understandably upset. I found out later that she was the one administering first aid. She was demanding that the team move to a a pool in a safer neighborhood.

I tried to explain to her that it was especially hard for our team to secure a pool, she looked at me in confusion.

So here I am trying to explain to a young, straight, middle class mom, who just witnessed a murder, why a group of very affluent, mostly male, swimmers can only secure pools in the most violent, poorest neighborhoods of Miami. Where individuals who had made the choice that swimming and camaraderie were worth going to a facility in an area stricken by high crime and poverty. At that point I realized she was at an intersection of so many events that had put her and her child in danger.

She was at the intersection of bigotry, where a team of gay swimmers were never deliberately asked to leave the city's better facilities but were plagued by mysterious "pool closings", outrageous pool fees or inconvenient practice times. After years of trying secure a regular practice site, the team was happy to find welcoming pools in areas with the highest murder rates in the city.

She was at the intersection of poverty. Our current pool is yards from "the projects". In Miami there are exits off of I95 that most middle class people would never considering taking. Our pool is on Martin Luther King Blvd. When you try to describe this part of Miami, even to long-time Miamians, they don't have a clue what you're talking about. Most whites and Latinos cannot make a distinction between Allapattah, Brownsville or Overtown. For the middle class these areas are blank pages, with no geographical or psychological reference points.

She was at the intersections of race, class, world view. For few painful moments trapped in a fenced pool facility with her small son. One second enjoying the proud and excited feeling of watching a child learn to swim. Another in fear of stray bullets. How many moms that neighborhood live in daily fear for their children? My team-mate has luxury of finding a pool in a better neighborhood.

For the team the question of moving to a new pool is not so cut and dry. Attitudes may have changed in the last 10 years, but many people are not comfortable with the idea of a group of gay men anywhere near children. There are moms who have walked into men's locker rooms to "check on their kids" if they find out there's a gay swim team on deck. Do we revisit past battles with the same pool managers and park administrators who are still running the city's pools? Also, does the team contribute to the community it's swimming in? We do help generate revenue for inner-city pools. We pay for lifeguards who live in the neighborhood. We help keep those facilities open and accessible. Is there benefit for the affluent, gay middle class swimmers to have a psychological and geographical reference point to Brownville, Allapattah and Overtown?

Kirk's rules for Social Media or the "Barf In Your Mouth Test"

As someone with a mild case of TMI Disorder (too much information) .I'm always surprised when somebody has it worse than I do. The way I judge that is when somebody I'm not close to tells me something and I taste a little bile in the back of my throat. I call it the "I threw up a little in my mouth test."

I try to apply this test to my social media experiences. Whether here on this blog, on Facebook or just relaying a personal message in an email, I ask myself....would this make the reader barf....even a little? Sadly, that cannot be said for the spoken word.

So I know the "I threw up a little in my mouth test" is generally one that allows a considerable amount of leeway in a lot of areas. I mean in politics, only Ann Coulter gets that kind of visceral reaction.(I just wrote her name.... yes....yes, I can taste a bit of lunch...perhaps a chunk). There are other topics I try to steer clear of...bowel movements, for example. I did a posting on a good one I had recently and the commentary was lively....albeit told in euphemisms....because how can you not get giggly about a BM?

Soooo, a few people have mentioned to me about the dangers of stream conscience postings on Facebook. I was told to keep it bland in case potential employers would check it. While I do keep what I would call an "above average" (120 is the average) number of friends(304 at last count), its not a ridiculous number....and I'm more than happy to let a few people go. It's not like I'm a friend "whore", I don't just friend people at random. I generally know them. I defriended someone once, and the next night I saw him at a party. It was not pretty. Now I have a few kids, family members and even my pastor as friends on Facebook.

So I know the whole "barf in mouth test" gives me a lot of leeway so I'm thinking of moving to a newer standard. I know that what people read and see on Facebook is really me. It reflects my political views, my hobbies, my friends, my marriage....in short its the image of myself that I portray to the world. However, I am also aware that I friended a 12 year old that posts things on my page asking me what Twilight character am I and how I feel about Miley Cyrus. (Don't like her or her achy breaky Dad). At the same time how do I discuss the prostitution (shout out for Amaria on 69th and Biscayne!) in my neighborhood and the state of my very gay, very sexual relationship with my Husband who I love most in the world? At the same time still hope that people respect me, understand that I am an accomplished professional, proud parent and have a deep love for the community I live in.

So I guess I've narrowed it down to a few simple rules:

1. Restrict what minors who are my friends can see.
2. Deny all friend requests from coworkers or employers
3. Do the best to write from the heart without attacking....(except Ann Coulter....hate her).
4.Would it make me throw up a little in my mouth?

Naked Cynicism

I know it's incredibly rude to listen in on other people's conversations, but when you're sitting alone at the beach eaves dropping others' conversations can give you a window into what people are feeling. Especially at the nude beach where its best to keep your eyes closed and ears open.

I remember a time, not too long ago, when Americans were generally loathe to discuss politics, race or other controversial issues. That "hot button" issues were discussed in private amongst like minded individuals. That politics was something discussed once every four years, from September to the first Tuesday in November and then we would turn off NPR and a go back to pop radio and classic rock.

In April, I casually mentioned that I added my 21 year old son to my health insurance policy. I get attacked, yes attacked, for offering a "government entitlement" to my son. He's getting Obamacare. To be clear, the government, nor Obama, are not paying for my son's health care, I am. It's not free health insurance it cost upwards of $300 per month. The insurance company is making out like a bandit for someone who is not likely to get very sick.

So what happened? Here I am in May and two white, naked, gay men (OK, I'm at the nude beach, does that automatically make me a liberal?) are agreeing not to fill out the census because its a waste of time and they don't "want the government to track them". Yet it's okay for corporate America? Is it easier or harder to track nudists? They go on to discuss how Hispanics are filling out the census to "boost their numbers." Nearby I hear one Cuban man telling another how voting is rigged. Ironic, because no group has benefited as much from voter turn-out and registration as they have. Can you name another non-white group that has produced six congressmen and senator in a single generation? Sooooo, white men are worried about losing power and representation don't fill out their forms which will, in effect, cause them to lose power and representation. Cubans who don't believe in the power of the ballot box. Not sure about the logic there.....but naked, gay, tea partiers are more than welcome to their cynicism.

Call me old fashioned, but I like History the old way.

I remember Britney Spears being hauled off to the loony bin in the middle of the one of the most important presidential debates in history. It was a split screen on all the networks....Obama talking about the economy in financial free-fall on one side and a helicopter view of the drug addicted pop-star strapped to a gurney. Except for Chris "leave Britney alone" Crocker, it was hardly worth breaking into a Presidential debate for.

So yesterday, I sat rapt as Congress prepared to make history. I watched the votes were counted that would truly change my life in a very personal way. I held my breath waiting for our collective ADHD to kick in. I was waiting for the networks, the Democrats, the nation to be pulled away from this important business at hand and be drawn to the "shiny object" or distraction. Fortunately there was enough ADHD going on in the house to keep everyone in the House Chamber focused on the circus inside and not be distracted by any potential celebrity melt-down or outside distraction.

The crawl at the bottom of the screen informed about bananas stopping HIV and the death of Peter Graves. His most famous line from the movie Airplane! "do you like watching grown men in the shower?" was repeated over and over during the break. I'm sure he wants to remembered for a role as a pilot with pedophilic overtones. Titillating isn't it? Bananas and pedophilia....that's the liberal media for you.

After the "news break" we get back to history in the making: a Democratic congressman who is pro-life was called a "baby-killer" by a pro-life Republican. The minority whip promising "Armageddon" if this bill passed. At this writing its been 16 hours Mr. Boehner, and there have been no reports of the four horsemen in the news today....not on MSNBC, CNN or CBS, ok maybe there was something on the crawl on Fox. Calls that this would end the "American Experiment" and usher in "fascism and communism" (wtf?) . These tactics and tea-party antics did nothing to stop the Democrats from doing the right thing.

I guess I remember my history being uninterrupted and commercial free. It was boring and drawn out but I knew it was momentous and important. I guess that just how I like my history....without news breaks, celebrity tidbits and news crawl. Call me old fashioned.

Inner peace is not all its cracked up to be.

At last I have achieved inner peace. Just now, right after I had lunch. I figured I'd write about it now cause it probably won't last more than another 15 minutes. I'm totally in balance right now. It feels nice, I'm not fearing the future, not regretting the past. Its a cool sunny day. I am not taking any mood altering medications.

It important I mark this moment in my life because it took me a hell of a long time to get here. Wow, feels good.

Ok, now I'm bored.

I Don't Really Do That So Well

There's a point in life where you know more or less what you're good at and what you suck at. By your 40's you know that you can say "I'll try, but I really don't do that so well." My problem is that I suck at something integral: I suck at work.

I'm not saying I don't like work, or that I don't work hard...but I'm just no good at it. I recently tried to count all the jobs I've ever had, whether it was working for one day at Burger King or several years at Children's Home Society, the number I came up with: 27. Considering that I've been working for 26 years I can only come to one conclusion: I suck at work.

Amazingly, I am extremely adept at getting work. That the longest time I've been unemployed was three months (even in this economy) shows that I have some mad interview skills. In fact, I love interviews. I love to dress up. I love to talk. I love to talk about myself. So, in an interview I can shine on about my skills at the BK broiler steamer or how I reduced asthma rates in inner-city San Diego while wearing my newest pair of Cole-Haans. Yes, I buy a new pair of shoes for each interview. Good investment? I've got 20 jobs on my resume to prove it.

So what to do? I mean in this society where you are defined so much by how you earn your living. Too bad success couldn't be redefined by how many friends you have on Facebook. I don't even have to steal Facebook friends, people "friend" me. I guess the job I most want to be paid for is "lovable loser." but it seems I'm not fat enough to get that job.

Worse yet, I don't give off loser vibes. I act competent, happy, accomplished; because I am. I shower every day and try to maintain a certain age appropriate style. I am an athlete. I am a generally happy guy. Just not too much into the work thing. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel like a failure. I've accomplished everything I've ever set out to achieve. I've got a successful marriage, a happy son, lots of friends, a well appointed home, a nice car and a caring family. I even have a job. By almost all measures I'm successful. Yet, I really don't do the career thing very well.

Somebody asked me what would my dream job look like. It might have been a parent, a guidance counselor, several therapists or a personal coach and I always reply the same way: "I want to be paid to be me."

Now I don't know what that entitles but I know it means naps, the ability to be inappropriate at any time and to able to stop whatever I'm doing to post something on Facebook. Maybe be like Sarah Palin or something.

So maybe I'm not into work, but I think all the other things should count for something.

Dirty Old Man

When I was 25 I promised myself I would give up dancing on a box in a nightclub by 30. I officially gave up dancing on a box at 32. To me the is just something so demoralizing to see somebody who is 35+ wriggling their tired middle aged ass for all to see. At some point you just got to get some pride and dignity and act your age. By that age I had become a dad, and I couldn't imagine explaining to my son what I did on a Saturday while he was at a sleep-over. So now that I'm 42, I'm finding myself becoming a dirty old man.

I see a future ogling at younger men, making extremely "off color" comments and just grossing them out. Don't get me wrong...I am not in the least, not at ALL interested in younger men...in that way. I just have this sort of Tourett's syndrome where I just give out this low growl, and say things like: "damn boy, I'd like to slap that ass" or "what kind of snake do you have in that bathing suit." I can't help it. It gets out before I even realized I've said it.

I've always had a low brain to mouth filter. Its as if I need to take a thought out of my brain, put it out there for all to see, and let the public decide if it was inappropriate or not. The next day, I'll feel terrible. I once told a boss who had a weight issue, "you're a little more fat today" and another "what were you thinking when you put on those shoes"(it was her only pair). I once told a teacher, but I really was kidding ; "you have nice bone structure, but you're really not a very pretty girl." She never let me forget that remark.

So now as my brain ages, my witticisms are becoming reduced to dirty remarks about the male and female anatomy. Worst of all, I do it to people who hardly know me. Later on I feel so ashamed. What they must think? I've always believed that as you age, you must work on becoming dignified, respected. Churchgoer, board member, manager, husband , father...all these titles I've earned, and worked hard for all can be undone with a dirty leer and a comment like..."hey baby, if that ass was any higher, you could pull your wallet out over your shoulder..."


P.S. Lisa: I'm sorry I said your hands smelled like vagina last night. I sure its sweet just like you said.

A dirty world of cock-fighting, unpasteurized eggs, and chicks dyed pink at Easter.

This weekend my partner, being a good Cuban, was taking care of his 92 year old uncle in one of Miami's more distant suburbs. Even though we were close to the edge of the city (just a few miles east of the Everglades), we were still in what would pass as a typical suburb. Many rows of split ranch homes built in the very late 20th century style, double doors, split levels, kitchens with an "island". Yet lurking behind these bland facades is a world of illegal chickens. A dirty world of cock-fighting, unpasteurized eggs, and chicks dyed pink at Easter.

I once saw a movie where a bunch of chickens built a plane and escaped. I know for a fact that the plane landed at Opa-Locka Airport. Since then this city has been overrun with chickens. Normally, the sight of feral chickens doesn't bother me. Once I was eating at an expensive bistro on Brickell Avenue, Miami's international banking district. I was eating with a chic young executive from D.C. As we nibbled on our chicken wraps a bantam hen strolled through the crowd of bankers dressed in their Brooks Brothers suits and power ties. She came up to us and asked if we were almost finished, because she needed the table. I see chickens at the supermarket, not in the poultry section, but running free in the parking lot. I see them on the street. I see them at the gas station, Costco(they prefer to buy in bulk), and the library.(WTF?) In fact I've seen a cute chicken family move in just six blocks away.... and there goes the neighborhood. But after this weekend, I am OVER the frickin' chicken.

So as I slept uneasily in this suburban quiet, I was yanked from my alcohol enhanced slumber with the shrill cry of the early morning. 3AM to be exact. Cock-a-fuckin'-doodle-do. Mr. Rooster crowed on exactly the same timing as a snooze button on an alarm clock. Starting at 3:00AM, 3:23AM, 3:45 AM, 3:46 AM, 4:30 and on a seemingly random non-random interval. An interval designed to interrupt REM sleep just as it was beginning. Each call spaced far enough apart, so as soon as you drifted off, you'd be awoken once again.

You know, it could be very easy to target specific minority groups about the chickens. I know people use them for many purposes: as pets, for stews, making feather boas, ritualistic sacrifices...or all of the above. I used to think people kept them for food to save money. It was for poor people. My mother is a millionaire and keeps chickens. She gives them all Mexican names.(?) So there's really no rhyme or reason as to who might have an illegal coop in their back yard. In my opinion, its for people who hate their neighbors but can't afford a loud bass stereo system to piss them off with.

So I say: no more, NO MORE to the chickens. My 93 year old Grandma Fran doesn't eat chicken. When I asked her why, she replied; "they eat their own shit." 'nuff said.