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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

 

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

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

 

 

Miami Manners - a Primer

In a city as polyglot as Miami sometimes what one group might consider "rude" may be just misinterpretation of another group's social standards. For example in some cultures good service means a "chatty" server that has a lot  of "flair" (minimum: 15 pieces) in another, the waiter efficiently takes an order and delivers food and removes plates in a very unobtrusive way. Yet in others, surly servers toss your plate at you and give you the stink eye and then expect a tip. 

In social settings different cultures have different concepts of "time" and "time" changes if its business or social.  Driving habits vary across cultures as well.  In some places driving is a community activity where everyone efficiently gets to where they want to go, or Miami where even the shortest drive is really a test of intelligence, guile and cojones. 

Since I am a product of two distinct cultures, Anglo and Latino, and have spent many years in Miami I thought I'd give some pointers that may help everyone understand each other.

1. Time. I could go on about time, especially since they changed the clocks this week, but I want everyone to be clear on what we mean by time in Miami.

     a. On-time Anglo: On-time to an Anglo means 5 to 10 minutes early.  There is no difference between "social" time or "business" time.

     b. On-Time Latino: On time for Latinos has many nuances. Latin business time is usually on-time if you arrive within 30 minutes of a scheduled appointment. Latin social time: there is no guarantee that any Latino will stick to any kind of social appointment time, with the possible exception of weddings and baptisms.

So if you're having a dinner party....you say "dinner will be served at 8:30 Anglo time." most Miamians will respect that. However, Argentines will arrive at 8:30 and refuse to eat till 1AM. 

2. Invitations and RSVPs:  Expecting RSVPs for a dinner, event or party in Miami is like trying to catch moths without a flashlight:  You know as soon as you turn on the light they'll come but you never know how many will show.  Thank you cards are not a very Latino custom, but calling the next day to say how you got drunk and laid, or any good gossip acquired at a their party is the best kind of thank you any host would be happy to have.

3. Cheek kissing and lip kissing. In Miami its customary for men and women (and gay men) to kiss each other on the cheek as a greeting or farewell.  Lip kissing to me is creepy, and I usually turn to avoid the lips. This is not considered rude. Brazilians kiss on both cheeks, left to right.   When in doubt, shake hands.  Anglo people prefer a nice firm handshake, brief if possible. Argentinian men kiss everyone, they are not all gay. 

4. Speaking a language that not everyone understands. It's perfectly acceptable in Miami to speak your native tongue. However it is perfectly acceptable for a non-speaker to ask for a translation, and even demand the nuance and context of any obscure Cuban saying. Simply because they're usually pretty funny in English too.

5. It's perfectly fine to speak loud in Miami. Whether on a cell phone, in English, Spanish it's okay, just let it out. Passion is fine, even if it's just asking your husband where the pickles are in Publix.  You are your own world and nothing else matters but you. 

6. Children: children are meant to be seen and heard in Miami. Not unusual to see four-year-olds out partying with their parents at 1AM.  If this bothers you, and it should, there's nothing you can do. 

7. Appearance. In Miami you are expected to look your best at all times. Not thin mind you, just look as if you put some effort into "your look". You must be clean, all over. Cubans are extremely peste-phobic. Do not have peste!!! (peste to Miamians means stink)

8. Feel free to ask anyone about their background, in Miami it's okay to ask someone where they're from. It's not okay to ask them their immigration status, regardless of how wealthy they may seem. 

9. Miamians generally do not have a "resume fetish" like New York, LA or DC.  In social situations most people don't talk about work unless you are close.  Avoid talking about work in general, it's considered a bit rude. 

10. Safe topics: Your favorite Cuban restaurant, trips to Spain, real estate, weather, clubs, reality TV and local festivals. Miami is not really a sports town unless one of the teams is winning....

So there you have it, a few hints to make your life in Miami just a bit simpler. 

At some point I'll do a blog about driving in Miami. 

SMART Ride for AIDS, an experience....

So earlier this year I did my first long distance ride from Miami to Key Largo, FL.  It was for Multiple Sclerosis. You can read about it in a previous blog post called "On Your Left" http://miamiafter40.blogspot.com/search?q=on+your+left done back in April.  Since April I believe I have evolved as a cyclist.  I retired my very sweet, made in America Cannondale hybrid....they were still made here when I bought it. Now they're made in China. I replaced it with a beautiful Italian Bianchi (well, designed in Italy, but made in China). I've become part of the "Lycra" crowd, and I'd like to think on good days, it's a look I can pull off.  I'm not getting those "look away" stares that women in cameltoe get.

 

In keeping with this year's "bike for terminal illness" theme I decided to ride my first AIDS ride. I mean if you can't ride for a plague, why ride at all?  Each one of these Tour du Diseases require two aspects: First, you must raise funds to ride.  Second you must train. 

 

Being a professional fundraiser the money part was easier.  For the AIDS ride I simply pimped out my mad Haiku skills and promised anyone who donated any amount would get a Haiku. In no time I scribed 20 Haikus and then I knew the ride was on. For more about my Haikus see http://miamiafter40.blogspot.com/2011/12/haikupalooza-project.html.  Almost everyone was happy with their Haikus, except Alex, which hurt because I put a lot of thought into the 17 syllables that I feel define him.   When I gave Haikus freely, I was never criticized, now that I'm asking them to pay for them, everyone's a critic. However, the Haikus are not refundable.

 

Training, ugh. I was determined that I would be prepared for this ride. I would finish and I would not suffer inordinately. I would ride at a relaxed pace and I would not be at the end of the ride, the least bit in doubt of whether I could finish. I am proud to say that four months of training paid off. Despite one road rage incident (on my part) it want off flawlessly. No flats and no fats when I finished the ride on Saturday.

 

Finally: the ride. I can't say too much about the ride. I have ridden and driven these roads many times before. I was by myself for almost all of the ride so indulged in Conch Republic nostalgia.  Each leg had a meaning, Card Sound Road brought memories of countless Carl Hiassen books. Key Largo reminded me of when I lived there doing HIV tests for people under a big mango tree in a park. Islamorada brought back memories of sneaking out of class at FIU and going to Tiki Bar for rum-runners. Leyton: speed trap. Big Pine Key means Key Deer and speeding tickets.  I had seriously over-trained for this ride and spent most of the two days by myself riding furiously with a strong tailwind. Both days I arrived before the bulk of the group did.

 

Lessons learned: well, it was hard to get all maudlin about the whole AIDS/HIV thing. I mean as a gay man it's been around since before I was sexually active. I've lost friends and family and mourned them and I wasn't really feeling inclined to mourn them again.   I felt that I did a very small part, again, to address an issue that we all thought would be gone by now.  I had fun, I proved I could do something extraordinary, I can't wait to do it again.

 

 

 

 

When the Spouse is Away for a Long Assignment OR Why Are There Clothes All Over The Floor?

Honey, but my career...

So my hubby recently accepted a four month assignment in Brazil.  We both agreed it was something we could do and it felt that it would give his career the boost it needed.  What I didn't anticipate were some of the challenges of being on my own again.  So we've lived this shared life for over 20  years, and roles, responsibilities, friendships and rituals are all kind of baked in.  So having to tease all of that out and figure out what I need to do to get on with the business of life is a challenge.

Well, they're not going to pick up themselves!

"What the hell are all of these clothes doing all over the house?"After my hubby left, I found myself tripping over socks, workout clothes, shoes, pizza boxes and such.  I was thinking: geez a real pig lives here and the person who normally picks up all this shit must have a lot of patience. And then it hits me: picking up shit must by synonymous with loving me.  So for the last week, I've done some self love and picked up and maintained the house until the housekeeper comes back on Tuesday. 

All of "our" friends are having such a great time going to parties and having dinners....and not inviting me. Social Media betrays all bias in friendships. They probably sit around reading my hubby's Facebook feed and and look at all the cool friends he's meeting in Brazil, who will also ignore me when he's not around. If this sounds bitter.....well okay. You realize, that in several relationships, people really only put up with you to hang out with your husband. They must have the same conversation you have with your spouse "My friend is such fun, pity he made such a poor choice in a spouse."  

Dogs are awesome!

Your dog is really your best friend. Who had a Sushi dinner with me on Saturday? My dog.  Who had a hip gay brunch with me on Sunday? My dog.  Who is sleeping in my bed now? My dog.  Never in my life have I realized, that canine affection can be the sole thing keeping us happy and well balanced. How welcome the touch of a cold nose to the back my knee is. The sheer joy of a barked greeting when I walk in the door can mean so much. 

With technology you never really need to get up off the sofa. I leave my door unlocked and tell the Ubereats guy I'm disabled, and needs to actually come into the house to the sofa.  Through Ubereats I  can choose just about any food I want, and not really move. Internet at my fingertips, remote controls, Alexa all work in concert to keep me on the sofa for as long a stretch as possible....there's even a new dog walking app.....but hey...there are limits. 

Big Mac, fries, large coke

So to summarize, being home alone without your significant other basically sucks.  Technology, domesticated animals, and self discipline take out the sting, but at the end of the day my spouse is my best friend, comrade, confidant and workout partner.  Life feels pretty dull without him.

Enemies

Yes, of course you're fat, as a gay man I cannot lie.

You know at some point in your 40's, and I'm at the halfway point, you collect enemies.  My enemies are generally people I've insulted after a few drinks. By insults, I generally told them a truth, which they found too hard to take and then when I tried to apologize they lashed out in anger....and hence became my enemies. The hard part of the group I just mentioned is that I still have to deal with them on more than one occasion. Some of them have been mentioned in this very blog. (http://miamiafter40.blogspot.com/2011/01/is-fat-the-new-fuck.html).

There are other enemies too, people who've hurt me along the way through cruelty, mental illness or maliciousness. Those enemies come to me at weak points, where their humiliations, put downs or anger come to me on restless nights, low points or days when I've forgotten to renew my prescription for Xanax. Usually those enemies are just in my head and have long since move out of my life.  But they haunt me because I ceded the battlefield to them and spend a lifetime trying to let go, forgive and forget.   (http://miamiafter40.blogspot.com/2009/12/descent-into-madness.html)

You might think the enemies in the first group would be the harder to deal with. After all they are still in your life and thus you must constantly try not to engage them. Sadly, most of my enemies are women, or gay men and you can read into that what you want.  Another thing I want to state is that very few of my enemies are fat (with one exception) and one has put on a lot weight recently, which makes me happy. The German word is schadenfreude which means joy in someone else's failure. Fat is a failure folks. All of my enemies are white, since we white folks (today my Anglo side is speaking) and I hate like white people.  

Did you steal my wedding gifts?

How white people hate:  Condescension. Unlike my Latin side, which is all heat,emotion and passion, my white side hates like ice.  It’s the kind of cold that if you touch it will damage skin. It's a narrow squint in the left eye that just stares unblinkingly.  It's a passive aggressive hate which leaves short, well timed phrases guaranteed to stir doubt about your enemy among those who associate with them. Whispered comments like "she sure like's her gin" and "she just can't quite seem to get it together."  It's the "oh how nice to see you," with your nose scrunched up like somebody farted. It's addressing your enemy only when they're seated and you're standing, that's condescension. Be aware when a white person says "oh don't get up," high ground gives advantage.  White enemies don't forget, we nurse past slights and wait for occasions like Thanksgiving to throw them into the mix. I'm still waiting for that apology from my stepmother for accusing me of stealing her wedding gifts 20 years ago.....at some point I'll bring it up....but the right moment has come up yet...

I said: BRRR it's cold in here!

I don't really have any advice to give. I often hear "move on, forgive". Yes, forgive and forgive, whatever.  Enemies come with life, like wrinkles and grey hair.  In some cases you hold them close because you know they keep your life interesting. Other times they are a burden and weigh you down.  You might think you don't have any enemies.....but you do.  Out there are people who don't like you, not just a passive dislike....but a "I will CUT her" kind of dislike.  It might be someone you hardly know or a wicked stepmother. In any case they are yours....and enemies make you stronger, more interesting. If they don't.....find better enemies. 

Oh the Cubanity !!!!(Part 5) Meat as Crime.

I've always suspected Cubans were always easily distracted. Anything turn the heads away from the task at hand, a phone call, a smell, or more commonly another Cuban yelling at them. Which of course is quite common because Cubans only travel in groups basically yelling at each other, quite passionately.  Your true power is your ability to modulate a certain tone that will draw attention to oneself. Loudness is helpful, but easy to tune out, there has to be a forceful assertiveness needed to get your way, accented by hand gestures, standing on ones toes and when all else fails a hug, handshake or kiss.  The point is to get noticed, hence get your message across and then ultimately get your way through force of will. Clearly this force of will has filled both houses of Congress with Cuban-Americans and undoubtedly the White House someday as well.

Force of will is required for survival in the island. Those who choose to remain in Cuba spend the greater part of each day trying to get simple things done: fix a tire, get gas, get basic food.  Life is a constant struggle of searching and red tape. Cubans rely on  huge networks of friends and acquaintances to make life bearable in the island. With few consumer goods, television, computers or diversions to hold an individual's attention all that's left is yelling at each other.  Which is funny because Cubans still prefer to yell into a house or building than just texting "hey I'm outside".  Cell phones are ubiquitous like everywhere else, but the preferred method of communication is still a raised voice.  You could put Cuba on the list of "loud countries" like Italy and the Middle East. 

An uncle of my spouse said "Cuba is best country in the world, if you're rich."  Actually, anyplace is better if you're rich. My mom's wealthy husband promised her a Blackglama mink coat if she moved to Logan, Utah. All that money didn't make Logan any warmer or greener in the winter.  Money can't buy you happiness in Cuba, nor can it buy you orange juice, fresh milk, fast internet connections, onions, and countless other staples that are not in short supply, they are in no supply. It is illegal to have beef. Meat as crime? I'd like to see the Cuba CSI investigate why cows in Cuba have so many "accidents".

There are countless stories of deprivation in Cuba. The giant ruin that has become of Havana. The weird propaganda, Fidel's face on every wall, billboard, book, pamphlet, flag, window. The chronic mismanagement of everything. Why should having beef be criminal? There is small hope in the changes that Raul Castro is proposing, however, Cuba has such a long road to take  to get to the 21st century.....because it hasn't even made it through the 1960's yet. 

Maid in Miami

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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


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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grant me the Grace

Sunday, I sat through a presentation by Jeff Chu, author of Does Jesus Really Love Me?: A Gay Christian's Pilgrimage in Search of God in America.  He had come to at the behest of my church: Coral Gables Congregational as part of our ongoing dialogue exploring and better understanding our faith.  He was a journalist for Time and Fast Company and his book was recommended by the New York Times Book Review.

His story is a common tale of overachieving boy born of fundamentalist parents realizing he's gay and then trying to reconcile the subsequent conflicts between him, faith and his parents after he fully acknowledges his homosexuality. In classic millennial generation style, he, being exceptional, finds the grace to forgive those who hurt him and realize that they are hurting him out of "love." Now on some level he's right. A good Christian should "turn the other cheek" and offer an unconditional surrender to love and forgiveness.

However, Mr. Chu takes it to another level. He decides "as an objective journalist" - (his quote on Sunday), to spend time with the followers of the Westboro Baptist Church of the "God Hates Fags" fame.  Here is my first critique: how exactly is a personal pilgrimage objective journalism?  He proceeds to describe them as "really nice people" who do what they do "out of love". Who he broke bread with, and made "funny jokes about cool-aid."  Who were just like you and me in their day to day lives.  He mentioned casually later on in his presentation that he had never met anyone who's family funeral was marred by one of their protests.

So I'm going to say this to Mr. Chu: I have been to two funerals where they have appeared. Prior to the tactic of going to Military funerals, they would scour the obituaries for men who had died of AIDS and show up there.  Grieving for a loved one is probably the hardest thing anyone has to go through. Especially someone young who left too soon. Then at that moment, that sacred moment, a band of hatemongers have attached themselves to the memory, your memory, of that person....and hopefully you can forget, that when you were at your weakest, somebody pulled an emotional sucker punch on you. So Jeff Chu asks us to find the Grace, to forgive them for what they've done to your family, friends and community because they're just "regular folks who eat cereal in the morning".

Sadly, Mr. Chu has touched evil and didn't see it for what it was. As a gay man I have encountered evil.  It always comes in the guise of "regular folks". Did he think the Nazis had horns? Did he think that the KKK didn't go to church on Sunday and love their children too? Yes, as Christians we have the duty of Grace, but don't we have a duty to call out evil when we see it?  What Westboro does is violence of the worst kind, do we look inside ourselves and say "oh well, they're just "regular folks" who are misguided, let's just forgive and move on. "

Grace, forgiveness, comes very hard to me and to my family.    It's something that forces me to dig deep and try not to hurt someone physically. (I am seeing a therapist about anger management) To tell me that someone who goes up to a grieving mother and tells her that her child will burn in  hell, at that child's funeral, is certainly not deserving of God's grace regardless of what they had for breakfast that morning.

Fred Phelps, the founder of this Church died today, March 20th, 2014.....Grant me the grace. 

Why You Should Go To Your High School Reunion

Few things can be as anxiety ridden as attending your first High School reunion. I can remember attending my 10th high school reunion and the angst I felt on the drive there. I was 28 and was just  getting established in my career and had finished college but hadn't really made my mark in the world. I had outgrown any youthfull geekiness and was (and am) a very confident adult. I was also much hotter at 28 than at 18. High school was definitely not a high point in my life but it was tolerable enough and I decided to go.

So last weekend I went to my 30th reunion. I have attended others, not all of them, but they were fun. This one left me a bit more pensive than most. I realize that high school reunions are a great reference point to who you are now.  Although we may say it, life is nothing like high school.  At no other time in our lives are the decisions we make  as permanent and irrevocable like they are in high school. Fail out of college? Go back to Jr. College.  Fired from a job? Go get another one. Bad marriage? Remarry.  Life after high school is full of second chances. High school not so much.  You had four years to complete a set of tasks: physical, academic and social and then its over. No going back. Your regrets, will be your regrets and there's no do-overs like you have as an adult. 

What reunions do is take us back to the last day of high school. The last day you really were a "kid". The last day when gossip, cliques, animosities and friendships seemed to be the most important things in the world. Probably the last day you thought like a kid, and not realizing that all that stuff is going to be packed away like an old yearbook, left to collect dust.  The reunions allow you to go to that last day of school and forgive yourself for bad choices, forgive your classmates for real or imagined slights or just move on and see that all these people are just typical screwed up adults.

For just a few hours you can undo some of the damage that high school inflicted on us.  Those annoying insecurities that we "just did not measure up" to our peers in some way.  And for a few hours you can remember that some people were assholes in high school still seem kinda assholish today, so the kid in you might not have been wrong either.....which is healing as well.  Then there is kid the adult in you can't forgive because the transgression is too great or too humiliating.  So you both just avoid each other.

For me personally, I go back as the only openly gay man out of a class of over 600 people.  I find it somehow empowering to "represent" with my classmates.  Weirdly, many of my classmates go out of their way to make me feel welcome as a gay man and I love to play into the best of the gay stereotypes and some of the worst.  For instance, I am happy to flirt with the girls and even with the boys who at late middle age, can't come out of the closet. I prefer the company of the women over that of the guys, being gay, it's just a more natural fit. The (straight) guys talk about work and sports, the women talk about challenges of child rearing, careers as women, as parents.  Challenges that as a gay man I can relate to.  Also, as a many a gay man can attest to, being surrounded by a lot of women is a lot safer than trying to fake talk sports with a bunch of drunken straight men. 

So I do recommend going to a high school reunion. You can reconnect with people and feel some camaraderie in the fact that you a prolonged shared experience with them, even if you didn't know them then it can be the basis for new friendships. But throughout that night, for some brief moments, you can reunite with that kid you were, give him a hug and and reassure him a bit. Because you're not that kid anymore, you're so much more. 

Leader of the (dog) Pack and Miami's Dog Parks

So inadvertently I became the temporary leader of my own personal dog pack.  I do have one dog, the perfect dog, but through the simple act of saying yes, for the last three weeks I had four pooches. Each dog, with the exception of my own, came to my home when I said yes to two friends who were traveling abroad, another is a dog I sit for a dear neighbor, the dog barks when left alone. I basically told both friends that I would sit their dogs while they were away. I didn't bother to ask what dates they'd be away and coincidentally both couples were leaving and returning around the same dates. I couldn't back out at the last minute and ruin vacations and friendships. 

My temporary "pack" of fierce dogs!

Creation of my Pack:

So packs seem to form organically. By Saturday I had 4 dogs and initially there was an adjustment period.  I learned that different doggie parents have different values when raising their canine companions. For example, house-training is a value I believe in as a dog owner. Dogs must relieve themselves outside. A stack of pee-pads came with one of the darlings and well I realized there were some different values regarding training. The problem is, when one dog uses pee-pads.....the other 3 felt like pee-pads, bathroom mats, and assorted floor coverings were put there just for any spur of the moment urination.  A second value I hold dear about doggies is that they don't sleep with me. Don't get me wrong I do not judge you if you sleep with your animals, it's just something I don't do. Call me elitist, but I am the alpha male and I sleep with other humans. I just want to keep at the top of the pecking order. When you raise your animals to your level, you're giving away your "power".  Whining  guests were quickly informed that the beds on the floor were for dogs. Any attempts to hop on the bed were blocked. 

So by the fourth day my pack began to act pack-like.  Keeping them all on the same walking schedule and food. I just mixed up all the fancy dog foods together, no use trying to each give them their "special food".  Like all dogs they slept for inordinately long stretches, but when they were awake they'd play and jostle and pee and play some more.  A leader emerged, Max, who would herd them in and out of the house and keep the dog pack working in a systematic, organized group. He'd poop, the other three would poop, he jumped in the back of the car, they'd jump in. The "runners" eventually fell into line and by the end of the week I didn't even need leashes to control the bunch. It was fun and fascinating and kept me entertained.

Going to Dog Parks:

So with four dogs I knew they needed exercise. I know people thought I was that "crazy dog person"showing up with four dogs. Also I didn't want to give off that "I'm a dog-sitter" vibe, because I went to college and have a job that pays. Plus I work at home and have a scruffy beard, so to a stranger, I might be some homeless dog hoarder that shows up with well groomed poodles. To me, having four dogs in not attractive, its just one dog too much.  My "pack" behaved well at the park and ran around and did all the normal dog things. 

Museum Park is lovely, not an "official" dog park. 

Good Dog Parks:

Best: Haulover Beach Dog park: Largest park around. Fenced in and has a small dog/big dog separation. There's a dog beach too.

Good: Blanche Park: Park is a bit small and crowded. Not much parking nearby. But it's fenced in.

Good: Pine Tree dog park: Fenced in. Shady. Dog owners were not friendly and gossipy about each other. If you go there stick to yourself and your dogs. 

Okay: South Point Park:  park is not fenced, too small, shrubbery around it. Good people watching.

Okay: Legion Park: fenced in but no grass, just dirt. poorly maintained dog park area.

Strip Club Etiquette for Ladies

My whole life I've been watching characters "decompress" at strip clubs. Whether it was Al Bundy at the "nudie bar" or the guys from office dramas, or even guys on the lam, the strip club was a darkened haven of manliness in a sea of rampant femininity.  Bored, the dancers would writhe on the stage or pole as the men stared blankly and vaguely aroused.  I mean strip clubs tend to be subdued affairs where men chat idly, sip booze, and give sullen whoops as they put cash in the dancers' g-strings.    This had always been my experience in strip clubs whether they were straight or gay. 

This is quite a different experience from the way women behave at events where male strippers perform. There is shrieking, clawing, guffawing and just crazy fun at the sight of a hot man gyrating his pelvis at her. You would think that the girl has never seen a man in the nude before.  I've always been curious at the female tendency to scream when she sees a naked man, is it a biological imperative? I mean is it like a "fight or flight" response? What is it about the male anatomy that makes women squeal followed up by a giggle. I remember this response in middle school when I flashed some girls, it seems after the first squeal, it's imprinted behavior.

So there's a new Club in Miami called Swinging Richards. It is a gay themed strip club that caters to men who like men. Most of the strippers are straight personal trainers from local gyms who are proud of their physiques and their equipment. On any given night there are about 30 guys, on three stages who dance a 10 minute set. If the guy earns $10 bucks in the first 8 minutes he will strip down completely, full monty. If not, he will dance out his set and gracefully exit the stage. 

For the most part the patrons sip their booze and happily tip the dancers. The men who watch chat with each other, discuss politics, home decor, fashion and gossip the way their heterosexual brethren might talk about sports, and sports. Until that is, a woman comes in.

I was sitting there drinking my cosmo, chatting with my friends and this woman walks in the door, runs up to the stage and literally starts screaming. She was a foot away. Two other woman came up next to her squealed and giggled. Really? These were not young women. They were making a scene like this was the second coming or the last penis on earth.  None of the men were squealing, Dennis Rodman was not squealing. Then, after groping the performer, seeing his privates....they walked away giggling, no tip. They basically cock-blocked all of us from tipping the dancer and then the guy was just left there, penis in hand, no money.  It was at that moment I was glad I never dated women.

So ladies, if you go to a gay strip club just remember:

1. It's not Chippendales, go scream with your real girlfriends

2. Guys are there to chill, respect that.

3. Tip your dancer, waiter and bartender, they are not there solely for your pleasure.

4. Gays really don't want you there, no matter how much you think they do.(Even gays like a female free environment once and awhile.)

5. Don't act like middle school girls when you see a bunch of hot men stripping, sit back, relax, enjoy the show....make them work for their tips.    ; )

Oh the Cubanity!!! Part 6. Just a travelogue.

I guess I should tell you a bit more about my trip and some of the "highlights" once I arrived. I'll do it in chronological order so you can skip over the boring parts.

Day One: There was the whole nightmare scenario of dealing with Sky King Airlines, the four hours it to took them to check us in, weigh our bags, steal our cash (it's a cash only airline, no credit cards.) Hand out fake vouchers to top restaurants in Havana and Santiago. (Nobody in Cuba recognized the vouchers)  Maylady(pronounced my-LAD-ee) did take care of a lot, after forking out additional cash.   It was basically a training ground for dealings in Cuba.

There were several very fabulous male flight attendants who were quite shaken by the turbulent crossing. I was thinking I would die in an unmarked watery grave in an unmarked white 737. Yes, Sky King Airlines is just a white plane, no markings. It was probably bought on 36th street at one of the used car lots where "everyone drives out with a vehicle."

We arrive in Cuba only to be detained by immigration. As the only two passengers traveling on U.S. passports we were questioned why we (My son and I)were traveling on U.S. passports and not on our "real" nationalities. I was born in Central America, he in Russia. They tried to separate us, but I refused to leave him. We sat for about 45 minutes being interrogated by a very cute Cuban guy....it was the only thing that made our delay bearable.  The whole time I was thinking: this is my vacation?

We arrive at last.We were "released" to the family.  Hugs, kisses and sighs of relief that we were not sent back on the Sky King plane which had still not left for its return flight. Joy and songs and dancing that we had arrived. 

Day two: Sightseeing in Santiago. Santiago is a small Spanish colonial city on the Eastern side of Cuba. The weather is HOT. The men are HOTTER.  I would suggest to any woman who wants a man to go there. It seems there is a surplus of men, of all races (yes there is such a thing as Cuban-Chinese) who are buff, shirtless and eager to help tourists for a few CUCs (CUCs are Cuban Hard Pesos, because Soft Pesos don't get you anywhere). Lots of people dancing in the parks playing live Cuban music. Just about everywhere we went there was singing and dancing....because that's just what socialists do. 

Day three: Socialist Wedding. We went to a socialist wedding wearing our newly purchased Paul Smith shirts, not Guayaberas (See previous posts).  I liked the ceremony, it lasted all of five minutes, just a signature in a book and exchange of rings. Everyone was a cousin. Then rum, dancing, more dancing, more dancing. More rum, beer, dancing. Bad food.

Day four: Sightseeing in the Countryside. Lovely, green, green, mountains, shirtless men working in the fields being tilled with donkeys. This is the triumph of socialism?  Went to a Catholic Shrine, saw a little doll that supposedly washed up after a storm as spoke to three boys. The doll was like Barbie fabulous. It was a bit of a stretch for me. We ate at a restaurant on a lookout about 5,000 feet above a prison. You could hear the congas emanating from the prison.  

Day five: Cubana de Aviacion to Havana.  I have to mention the Cubana flight, It was a Soviet Tupolev 334. The weird thing about this flight was the fog. Apparently this model is famous in Cuba for producing fog....from the moment you board, there is a thick fog being pumped out of the air vents. At first it's just around your feet. As we headed along the taxiway the fog was at my waist. In mid flight the fog was at my neck. It was like a weird movie where all you could see were the disembodied heads of the passengers. The plane had an escape rope. (WTF?)

Tomorrow: Havana and the last installment of the Oh the Cubanity. 

Before the (Gay) Parade Passes By,

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

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

At it's core it's a protest.

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

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

This is the kind of thing that pisses off the biblicals

It's a Celebration!

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

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

It's a Remembrance.

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

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

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

It's Passe.

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

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

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

Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence

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

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

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

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

Lyrics by Gerry Herman.

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"

Cleaning Ladies Save Marriages and Other Relationship Advice.

I recently celebrated my 17th anniversary together with my husband.  Of course, that got me thinking about what are the key ingredients that has made our relationship work all this time. I've also been asked how we make it work.   I kind of wanted to go down to some basics that get us through the day to day issues which over time start to build up.  I think half of the break ups are due to the big stuff: incompatibility, cheating, money and non-supportive families. The other half is the small stuff: socks on the floor, flatulence, poor toilet aim, not knowing left from right when giving directions.  So I guess I really want to cover a lot of the small stuff,  because that what makes the big stuff seem so much worse.

My first piece of advice is to fall in love with the least annoying person you can imagine yourself being with.  If he annoys you in the beginning, that's not going to change. Hence I suggest dating for at least one year before you move in together.  That way you'll know if he's a farter, nose picker, snorer, funny laugher, has some kind of a tic, or wears his underwear in the shower.  These qualities may seem endearing, but over time you'll grow to hate them.  I have been fortunate in my choice of mate, since he does most of these things when I'm not around. 

So our first challenge moving in together was our different cleaning styles.  I agree that housekeeping is the first big challenge for most relationships.  I tend to be a "night cleaner" letting the detritus of the day (or week) accumulate until right before bed then I sweep through house and put things in some semblance of order.  My hubby has a "gatherer-hunter" mentality. He gathers up my mess all day and hunts me down to tell me what a pig I am.  Clearly we want the same thing: a clean house, but getting there was never easy.  So after six months together I convinced him we needed a cleaning lady, fortunately I knew one with severe OCD and the first stone of the foundation of our relationship was put down.  Maria (not her real name) is worth her weight in gold and has saved us thousands of dollars in couples therapy.  Really, $15 an hour for a housekeeper is a lot cheaper than $150 an hour for a therapist. A fresh, clean toilet is worth at least 10 Xanax. Sometimes I think I stay in my relationship because I'm not sure if she would pick me if I left my hubby.  She has been cleaning up after me, off and on for the last 25 years. 

I guess my other big piece of advice is to create a life together outside of the house. A shared hobby that you can do together and alone makes life interesting.  If it's a hobby that requires both of you, it's limited. It's something you share, but it could be done without the other present. Sports, church, fitness, gardening, politics, volunteer work are all things that are as much fun alone as together. So if either one of you is away or not in the mood, they can still connect with you on that shared activity.  It also makes them miss you more because they weren't there to share it with you. 

The third piece of advice is try have sex at least twice a month, even if you're not that into it.  I've found, that once you get started, it's like hey, now I remember why I enjoy this so much with you. It may seem routine, but I've found that if you talk about "spicing it up" while you're having sex, it's easier to do when you're not. So if you're having your normal  session on Saturdays between 11:06 and 11:26 at 11: 17 you might say, "hey this is hot, but what would really turn you on?"   Then at 11:28 you can go back to sleep. 

Of course with respect and communication, hopefully rest of the stuff just works itself out. 

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.