Time Smacker: September 2006

Saturday, September 30, 2006

Vacation

Photos from our villa in Puerto Vallarta, August 2006. Van looks great. No good photos of me, unfortch. What a vacation, though. I miss it.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Get Your Bling on the Cheap

Oh, how I love BTiff.com. When Van and I were searching for the perfect ring, I still lived in New York. While shopping in the West Village, I happened upon a shop just off the 1/9 Christopher Street with a ring I could not resist. Yes, it's brushed metal (of whatever kinds) and cubic zirconia. But it draws attention constantly. (One day I'll have Karl and Michelle's jeweler make a platinum and diamond replica for us ... maybe on our 10th anniversary.)

But we didn't know when I called him from the shop on my cell -- New York to San Francisco -- that it would draw such attention in our life together. I just knew it fit what we were looking for by way of wedding bands.

Scroll down at BTiff.com to the sixth ring on the right, style #RG3336. Love it!

Tonight I think I'll buy another lovely ring or pendant. Whilst I'm spreading the word about my favorite faux jeweler.

Night night bitches.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Jim McGreevey

Tonight I caught the Oprah encore airing of her interview with former New Jersey governor, Jim McGreevey, discussing his life after coming out of the closet and leaving office.

Aside from the fact that I will never be a governor, and I never married, and my parents are not supportive, I have to say that his story resonates more closely with me than any other coming out story I've heard to date.

His description of the torment -- knowing he was different and being called names by other children as early as six -- and then knowing for sure there was something very wrong when he hit 6th or 7th grade -- it could have been a carbon copy. His further struggle with lying, pretending, living an unauthentic life, hating himself while also taking an anti-gay position politically, of denying it to the point that he literally lived two lives inside his head -- it was all compelling and moving. Particularly when he ended the appearance by saying to America, "Please let gay kids be gay kids." I think that's the biggest wish I would have for children, but it's the hardest to do because nobody wants to think of kids being gay -- and usually kids growing up gay want to distance themselves as far away from it as they can.

I applaud Jim McGreevey for such an interesting, whole, and multi-dimensional outlook on what he says would never have happened if his hand hadn't been forced. Good for him. I'm ordering his book, The Confession.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Questions, Questions, Questions

Little Light inspired me with her list, so I've copied it and added my own answers.

1. What time did you get up this morning?
It's Sunday, ya'll. 11:30a.

2. Diamonds or Pearls?
Can I say steak?

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Hollywoodland, tonight, not good

4. What is your favorite T. V. show?
Grey's Anatomy, Las Vegas

5. What did you have for breakfast?
Cheerios

6. What is your middle name?
David

7. Favorite cuisine?
American, French, Thai, Seafod

8. What foods do you dislike?
Hmm, not possible

9. What is your favorite chip flavor?
Salt and vinegar

10. What is your favorite CD at the moment?
We Will Rock You (London cast of the Broadway musical)

11. What kind of car do you drive?
Whatever I rent, don't own a car

12. Favorite sandwich?
The Californian on a roll (smoked turkey, swiss or provolone cheese, avacado, tomato, mustard, mayo, salt/pepper/squirt of lemon)

13. What characteristic do you despise?
Bigotry, mean-ness, ruthless career climber no matter who you ruin along the way

13a. What characteristic do you like about someone?
Humorous, curious

14. Favorite item of clothing?
Lord, there are so many, my new Armani coat I got for $40, originally $1,759 - nice being married to a retail guy

15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?
Just went to Puerto Vallarta, villa in the hills, private pool, I want to go back, can't think of a better place I'd love to see again

16. What color is your bathroom?
Coffee cream white with brown accents (chocolate brown shower curtain on shower, two multi-tonal brown curtains on bathtub, etc, etc)

17. Favorite brand of clothing?
Kenneth Cole usually works for me

18. Where would you retire to?
I'm happy right here in SF, but maybe to London if I could figure out how to be there long-term

19. What was your most memorable birthday?
My 25th when friends kidnapped me, forced me to put on a white leisure suit with powder blue shirt and took me to a "Stayin' Alive at 25" birthday party - as a non-traditional college student, I was "so old" to them. We all laugh now, thirty-somethings that we are.

20. Favorite sport to watch?
Nascar

21. Goals you have for yourself?
Trip to Africa, lose 12 pounds, enjoy life while it's here instead of always waiting for tomorrow

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Soulforce Visits Abilene Christian University

A while back, I blogged about missing some of the fundamental supporting "fence posts" in life, such as my parents, my church family, and my (christian university) alma mater.

I have been following an organization called Soulforce for more than a year now and was encouraged to see that Abilene Christian University treated them with dignity during their 2006 Equality Ride (while other christian universities and military schools arrested them and barred them from entering campus).

Soulforce's Web site contains anonymous letters from students who are currently attending christian universities, where homophobia is still going strong. Letters from the Closet demonstrates how homosexiality will never end. Which makes me wonder why people fight it so vehemently. It also illustrates that homosexuality is not a choice and highlights for anyone paying attention the agonizing conflict homosexuals experience when reconciling faith against who they are.

I came out in 1997. I recently read some of my own pre-1997 journal entries and they are extreme, incoherent, and frankly reflect someone I would steer clear of if I met him today. It isn't who I presented in public, but that was part of the problem. My public person was vastly different from who I was on the inside. It is no wonder that oppressed homosexuals kill themselves. I survived my teenage years because I believe in hell and was afraid of it. As funny as this is, I also survived because I blasted Amy Grant songs (this was the '80s) in my earphones for hours keeping bad thoughts away and "claiming" my value as an individual.

While I remain open, I still can't reconcile a Christian-based faith with my experiences with my parents and the body of Christians I grew up with, who have all rejected me.

It is also difficult to not have parents (who are alive and well in Oregon - my preacher father has a Web site called The Preacher's Study where he tells other people how to live).

It is difficult not to have a warm, accepting place as an alum. All of the data about my experience at ACU has been scrubbed from ACU's history books. This is funny but it stings. I was what ACU calls a "Sing Song Host" in 1996. In 2005, ACU invited hosts and hostesses from the past 50 years to attend Sing Song and perform a song (surely cheesy and an opportunity to look like idiots in front of young, current students). I was not invited, while my straight counterparts were.

I live most of my life not thinking about this topic. I would not go back in the closet or renounce who I am in order to reclaim my parents or my alumnus status at ACU. I live in San Francisco and three years ago moved from New York, where gay people are as ordinary as a sidewalk. We have to watch our backs sometimes, depending on the neighborhood. But for the most part we can be free to live our lives.

But while ACU has shown progress, I would still be expelled if I were a current student refusing to undergo counseling or the reparative therapy process.

This poor blog and its readers really get the brunt of this ongoing topic.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

First Graders Need Therapy, Too

One of the parents at the after school organization I work for called on Friday to say that her son would be taking a leave-of-absence this semester until they could see how he would do as he starts the first grade.

Um.

What?

Van suggested that instead of taking a leave, perhaps the new first grader might consider attending the two one-hour rehearsals each week, followed by a therapy session to get him through the new challenge. I thought he could top it off with a spa treatment -- weekly at least.

Maybe this regimen will give him hope for survival when it comes to the difficult transition into the first grade.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Big Boys, Old School, Always Behind

Would someone please tell me why Katie Couric's new gig as the talking head on the CBS Evening News is such a landmark?

Hasn't anyone watched cable news for the past decade or more? Female anchors have helmed their own shows for years now.

I don't think it so much demonstrates a victory for women, although I'm happy for Katie for whatever that's worth, so much as it demonstrates how BEHIND THE TIMES are the big corporate, male led network news organizations.

Big boys, old school ... always patting themselves on the back for doing something that has been done for years. But always big enough to get away with the stupidity. Heard of the emperor's new clothes much?

And let's not even talk about how many queens have run other countries -- and how many presidents of other countries have been women. The United States is well behind. And yet, when we vote in our first female president, it will be lauded like Katie Couric as groundbreaking and the "first ever" yada, yada.

We should have had a female president years ago. This backward, half-assed country we like to think of as a free, developed nation. Phbt....

Monday, September 04, 2006

Billy Porter Article

We humans find solace in hearing our story shared through someone else. That there is someone else out there who has endured a similar story. Mine is a Church of Christ story, and the female preacher in the story I've copied below would be burned at the stake in most COCs. But the experience is close. I continue to live this story. Even though I consistently try to drown it, trying to fit into the mainstream, well-balanced life of a 30-something grown up with a job. It constantly surfaces like a bobber pulled under the water for a moment, hiding, but leaping out again before settling again on the surface. I realize that perhaps I'm feeding a habit. Because what I just explained is how I lived most of my life on the "other side" before coming out. I consistently denied myself. And here I am doing it again. Alas, the article....

Broadway star, Billy Porter, wrote the following in a recent issue of The Advocate.

By Billy Porter

There’s an old hymn that says, “This little light of mine / I’m going to let it shine / Let it shine! Let it shine! Let it shine!” I used to sing this song in church when I was a little boy armed with the belief that the light inside of me was one that was worth shining. My voice was my direct connection to God, and I sang proudly in my Pentecostal church choir every week with the unwavering impression that God was a loving God and that I was one of his children. I was taught that God’s love was unconditional and that anyone could be the recipient of it—as long as they “believed in their hearts and spoke with their mouths.”

As early as the age of 7 I remember the adults in my life engaging in conversations behind closed doors, whispering to my mother about how “my light” might be shining just a little too brightly. For you see, my light was not a small simple light, it was opalescent—a rainbow of effulgent light whose colors were synonymous with sin. I didn't know why I felt sinful at the time; I just knew somewhere deep inside that I was. I prayed for deliverance. I prayed for a healing. I prayed for my light to shine an appropriate and subtle white: “Dear Lord, whatever is inside of me that’s not pleasing to you—take it out.” Then puberty hit, and I realized what all the fuss was about. The whispering and private conversations even became personal attacks from the pulpit. It seemed like not a single service could go by without some passive-aggressive minister or evangelist brandishing Leviticus 18:22 in my face. It became so toxic that I stopped wanting even to go to church since every time I was there I was either being told that I was an abomination and a disgrace or that AIDS was punishment for my homosexual urges. Something I didn't even have control over was causing an international plague. My light was dimming.

The straw that broke the camel's back came at the Believers Convention, where the now-famous televangelist Joyce Meyer was the headlining minister of the evening. The conference was happening in my hometown of Pittsburgh, and I was invited to be the soloist. Something in my spirit told me not to go, but my mother really wanted me to, so I accepted the invitation. My solo was situated in the service directly before Meyer was to bring forth “the word.” After finishing my song, I returned to my seat in the congregation, which was about three fourths of the way towards the back of the sanctuary. Meyer rose from her seat in the pulpit to preach, and the first words out of her mouth were, “Brother Porter, I want to talk to you. Won’t you stand up for me?”

I stood.

“The Lord spoke to me, and I have a word from Him. He told me to tell you that every time you come into the house of the Lord, you need to sit in the front pew. Because if you sit in the front pew every time you come into the house of the Lord, it'll keep you straight.”

There were audible gasps. I took the walk of shame to the front pew as the multiple thousands in the congregation glared in pious silence. Pastor Meyer proceeded to dive into her sermon and skillfully pull out some Bible verse that swirled her public outing of me into some message about living on the “straight and narrow.” My light was officially out.

“This little light of mine / I’m going to let it..."

I prayed to be fixed, but He didn't do it. I prayed to be healed, but I was still a homo. I spent a decade rejecting religion. I took my inappropriate light and decided to shine her elsewhere. There was no place for me at the table where the feast of the Lord was going on. I allowed the dogmas and arbiters of the religious right to take my God away. I lurked silently in the shadows of shame while my gay brothers and sisters were dying. And then on September 12, 2001, I woke up and my voice was gone. The only thing that made me want to live was gone. I prayed. I asked the Lord why. And then came Jerry Falwell’s blame: “I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way—all of them who have tried to secularize America—I point the finger in their face and say, 'You helped this happen.'"

And there it was again: my sexuality exposed as the cause of all the world's horrors.

Why

Why can't I be on vacation for half the year?
Why can't I stop eating everything in sight?
Why do I have to spend every cent I earn?
Why can't I be satisfied with status quo?
Why can't we have a Democrat in office again?
Why am I getting wrinkles?
Why can't I take Rogaine and Propecia at the same time?
Why do I have to choose testosterone or osteoperosis?
Why am I so damned good looking?
Why are you laughing so hard at that last one?

Earthquake

I realized yesterday that being soaped up in the shower might be the worst possible place to be during an earthquake. Before, during, and after.

Time Smacker