Being Put Through The Meat GRINDr

Picture it... It's 1994 at 5:10 p.m. on a Friday night and you suddenly realize that you have nothing to wear to go out tonight... at least something that someone hadn't seen you in already.  A trip to the mall is in order because, lets face it, when you are out to see and be seen, what you are wearing is pivotal, since it defines, at first glance, what you are about and who you are.  You could be shot down instantly for not having the right name brand designer on your back or using the wrong opening line, and within a few minutes of walking through the front door of the bar (which might as well be a fashion show runway), your fate would be set for the evening... or at least until about quarter 'til two when the pickin's get slim and standards are dropped ever so slightly (with a loud thud) right before the lights go up and stark reality shines down like a spotlight.  If you have no confidence, quarter til two wasn't anywhere you should be.  It was brutal and there was no hiding.  A black, blousy shirt became your best friend if you did have anything to hide.  My friends and I would joke... 'what do you think of that guy?', one would ask... 'he's an 11:45', denoting that he'd be someone that you'd want to meet earlier than before the night was over.  Harsh.  We're so hard on each other.

Nowadays, with dating and the phone apps, you can literally make everything up, including your stats, your profile, your age, your occupation and your pictures and sit at home in your pajamas and let the magic unfold from your couch while watching a Meredith Baxter Birney drama (one of the 13 where she portrays a jilted, scorned wife and shoots them or cuts their balls off).  And because very few people ever plan to actually meet up, you can be whomever you want to be since no one is really going to see you... and you don't need a fresh outfit... no need to brush your teeth or run a comb through your hair... yes, you are settled in to a night of Lifetime and a low battery, and the only real action your lap is going to see tonight is from your dog/cat who can't keep still, searching for that comfortable spot.  Mr. Mittens is the only pussy you're going to see tonight.

With the gay apps, you create your profile and just sit back and wait for the shit-storm of judgment and criticism to come down on you like a jungle rain shower.  The nice thing is that it all happens behind the scenes... you don't actually know why someone hasn't responded since you don't actually get to or have to interact with them.  You don't know what part of your profile they didn't like which only adds to insecurity.  And you get no opportunity to find out either.  I'm not sure which is worse... getting instant feedback/rejection face-to-face or that wondering that you have to do when someone doesn't even have the courtesy to respond, at all.  Imagine walking up to someone and saying "Hi, you're handsome... nice meeting you" and having the other person stand there and not respond or acknowledge you in the least bit.  This is what happens all the time on the apps.  Not only has the birth of this form of media bred the worst social interacting malfunction in history, but it also breeds rudeness beyond belief.  I've never read the statement that you agree to when you install the app, but it must say something about setting yourself up for anguish, ridicule and general ignorance.

I find that the majority of people on the apps are of the 18-27 or 46-? range.  I think it's because kids are out of high school/college and have nothing better to do and need constant attention and interaction.  They never want to meet because they always are looking for the next 'best' thing, which comes by every 19 seconds.  They will never be happy or satisfied because they are incapable of getting below the superficial.  And the older ones are on there because they are set in their jobs and their life has become routine and they have more time.  They are also fighting the effects of gravity and getting older, so they are more likely to hide behind an app and probably not meet because they are afraid to be rejected and found out.  Very rarely do you see a thirty-something on the apps... maybe they are busy with their careers in full-swing or they are in a relationship already, I don't know.  If they are, it's usually because they are in an open relationship and they are looking for sex. 

At some point, with all the ways to connect nowadays, we have lost the ability to really connect with each other on any level other than sexual... and the meaningless kind at that.  No emotional exchange... no sympathy, empathy or compassion.  No touch... nothing beyond the surface.  All of it is vapid and shallow.  People talk about wanting a relationship but have no idea what that means or what it entails.  With their parent's broken marriage as the blueprint, they have no idea what love looks like and giving up and walking away seems to be what you are supposed to do.  And fending for themselves because both parents are at work makes them completely void of caring about anyone else's needs but their own.  All take and no give.  This is the norm.

In the sea of love, if you wade in the shallow, all you'll see are tadpoles and bottom-feeders... everything beautiful is below the surface.  You have to dive in and get wet to get to where the magic happens. 

Full of Shinola

My Mom was good for her odd sayings... for someone whose outfit didn't match, she'd say they looked like a 'Russian Christmas on a Wednesday night'... To differentiate time, if something was fast it was 'quicker than shit through a sick goose'.  And if someone didn't know what they were talking about, she'd say they 'didn't know shit from Shinola'.  Shinola, apparently, was a brand of wax shoe polish available in the early to mid-20th century.  It was a dark, sticky, semisolid substance with a faint resemblance to human feces.  Implied, is that shit and Shinola, while superficially similar, are quite different in value when applied to shoes or carelessly stepped in. 

At the risk of sounding like some moral-high-road Conservative, it still shocks me when I see people's behavior these days.  I've written about it over and over again because I just can't wrap my head around how people's moral fabric has deteriorated.  I'm no angel, I'll give you that, but we were always taught to respect each other, but respect yourself as well, if not more.  It's disturbing to see how people act, especially regarding sexual encounters and their bodies.  I'm not sure when things changed, or maybe they never did, but it seems like no one has any respect or dignity or self-worth these days.  The infidelity and lying comes so naturally that it's just accepted as commonplace.  There's no respect, remorse, regret, responsibility or apology and certainly no self-control.  For guys, especially gay, the idea of monogamy has long-since been debunked with the explanation being simply that "it's not natural... we are guys... it's what guys do".  And while I am constantly debating monogamy in my own head as to which way works (because I really haven't seen too many examples of it working in a relationship with or without), I'm not ready to give up, and surely not in the beginning of a relationship 10 minutes into it because someone else whips their wiener out.  And when you throw in diseases brought back to the other or collateral damage, like innocent kids that may be affected, the respect, remorse, regret and responsibility are completely gone from the equation.

I am proud to say that I have never cheated on anyone.  I'm not judging anyone... it's just not for me.  I know that it has been going on forever in time but I, personally, feel that the internet had a great deal to do with the demise of the 'relationship'.  24/7 access to a hook up through the apps makes it impossible to find anyone that is serious about a relationship and even if they say they are, usually they are full of shit regardless.  It's hard not to become jaded... you can see them a mile away... and no matter how much Shinola you apply... 'you can't polish a turd'... yet another one of my Mom's sayings.

My Life As a Dog

Not having roots in religion, I've written in the past about my beliefs, which are fairly insubstantial.  I believe there probably was a pretty cool dude named Jesus that would have been someone I would have liked to have hung out with and had some hummus and chatted with about shit, but of all the things though to have really strong feelings about, I have always believed in reincarnation.  We are all dealt different hands in life... some very lucky and some not so much.  I could never understand why life was so unfair for some, and always felt that the life that we are cognitively living currently is one of many that we have to live (or have already lived) before we can get to where we are supposed to end up.  So maybe one life you are very wealthy and one poor... one maybe good looking and one not... one you are riddled with health problems...  one as a minority... and so on.  To me, it made sense that to be a better well-rounded person and someone who was truly worthy, you would need to understand other people's plights and walk in their shoes.  When I was little, I wanted to come back as a dog, because it seems like almost everyone loves dogs and you get to lay about the house doing nothing... maybe the occasional ball lick and an ass sniff... it's all good.  All I know is my current reincarnation must be getting me ready to be a Saint, because the shit I'm dealing with in this go-round from my family better earn me some friggin' wings and a set of mugs.

A friend of mine recently turned me on to an 'unauthorized parody' called Dog Sees God:  Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead.  The play imagines characters from the popular comic strip The Peanuts as teenagers. Drug use, suicide, eating disorders, teen violence and bullying, rebellion, sexual relations and identity are among the issues covered in this drama.  When CB's (based loosely on Charlie Brown (names have been changed)) dog dies from rabies after biting a yellow bird, CB goes to his friend Van (Linus) and asks him where we go when we die.  A self-professed Buddhist, Van tells him that either your spirit dissolves or you become reincarnated.  Another friend tells him that we return to the womb, although it may not be that of your mothers.  And while the story unfolds and CB tries to make sense of it, as well as other things that are happening (like his gay love for his friend, Beethoven), the message in the end is comforting to CB in that some of his friends may be looking after each other in the afterlife.

If it sounds intriguing, you're in luck... The Martinsburg High School is performing it... Here's the production info:

When: September 6 and 7 at 7:30 pm     September 8 at 2 pm

Where: Martinsburg High School   701 S. Queen Street Martinsburg, WV 25401

Cost: Adults $9    Students $7     Festival seating with tickets sold at the door

They will be hosting speakers from the following organizations with a percentage of the profits going to that organization:

Fri--Fairness WV
Sat--National Office of the HRC
Sun-- New Light Metropolitan Church

Strangers in the Night

I had slipped into something a little more 'comfortable, turning out the lights having only a few candles lit around my bedroom and I poured myself some merlot.  The humidity was thick as the warm breeze blew through the open window, curtains blowing as if to draw me in to the heat of the night, begging me to lie there naked and exposed.  I heard a sound as he slowly entered the room and surrounded me.  Softly, he spoke, saying all the things I wanted to hear with his melodic tone... music to my ears after all the others.  His whispers penetrated me, going deep into my soul... transporting me to another time and place... right to my core... raw.  The images in my mind and smells that were conjured overtook me.  I was helpless, under his control, as I unbuttoned my blouse.  Teasing me.  Playing me.  Giving me chills.  Making me want him.  Suddenly, I fell prey to the beautiful song he was singing to me and I called out his name... "Barry... you do write the songs that make the young girls cry", as I, myself, slowly wept... clutching my pillow, wishing it was him.  If only I could meet Mr. Manilow.  He touched me every day, if not physically, then through his music and I loved him so and he, me, and only me (despite this Mandy girl that he so often sang about).

Music has the incredible ability to invoke so many feelings, emotions, memories and reactions from us.  It can make us remember a certain instance or memorable occasion or person... even down to a certain smell.  It can make us laugh and make us cry with only a few notes.  When I hear Stuck On You, I still remember my high school girlfriend and laying in the park on a blanket in the warm summer's sun.  When I hear Sing, I think of my Mom and me singing in the house while we cleaned and a faint smell of Lemon Pledge is conjured.   Eye of the Tiger transports me to Myrtle Beach in 1983 carrying my boom-box down the beach, even recalling what I was wearing. 

I grew up with Big Band music from my parents.  I've always had a love of music, particularly the piano and I took lessons when I was younger and sang in the choir in high school.  I developed a love of classical music early on through a series of tapes called Hooked on Classics, where they took the classical pieces from great composers and added a beat to them, somewhat modernizing them.  From my Italian heritage, I have also liked foreign music, especially Italian and French.  Some of Marlene Dietrich's or Edith Piaf's songs take me back to my trip to Paris, leisurely walking about Montmartre, browsing the many artists painting on their easels with pastry in-hand.  Lounge music from the late 50's and early 60's has always been a favorite of mine as well, with it's bongos and odd instruments, you almost want to light a cigarette and sip a martini.  And I wouldn't be gay if I didn't love a show tune or 300, and the passion behind opera is amazing in that you don't have to understand a word of it to be able to feel the angst.  Even some of the country classics take me back to a time when I used to go to gay two-stepping where I met a lot of my really good friends. 

I'm glad I have a diverse love of music.  In dating some of the twenty-somethings, I think it is the difference in music that is the hardest for me.  Songs that invoke angst or moodiness are my favorite, always being able to pull more feeling out of pain than happiness in a song.  Lady GaGa does nothing for me except wonder where she got the bacon on her dress and why I'm suddenly hungry... to call some of these current singers 'artists' is a joke.  Nowadays, anyone can be famous and it doesn't take talent and the music award shows couldn't be a better reflection.  With auto-tune and various other electronic alterations, almost anyone can sing... well, maybe not Taylor Swift.  Oh well, I'm sure our parents said the same about us... or you, maybe... since I was listening to their music at 14, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

None of My Business

I've always been a 'company man' at heart... not the Don Draper sort of drinking and smoking your lunch, but the kind of man that did whatever it took to succeed, putting work in front of everything else.  I was taught the American dream... work hard and you'll succeed.  From the time I was teenager carrying a briefcase around to school, I knew I always wanted to be in business.  I started as a paperboy with my own route, making $30 a month and wondering how I would ever spend that kind of money.  Then I went into the food industry, managing a restaurant in high school in my late teens, moving on to retail management with Blockbuster Video in it's heyday.  I started as an Assistant Manager and quickly was promoted to the biggest store in the company, which was previously an old supermarket.  Within 6 months of having the highest sales numbers, I was made the District Training Manager while continuing to run my store, training all of my management peers.  I was 22 at the time.  From there, I went into office management, taking over a high-end interior design business in downtown Philadelphia and their showroom. From there, I was an Accounting and Operations Manager for a wholesale manufacturer, which eventually led to my job as Controller of a steel company, HRIS Analyst for SAP, and then Controller and Operations Manager for another manufacturing company before I got out of business altogether.  At that point, I was 33 and I had never attended college.

My mother used to always bitch at me for job-hopping, but I honestly couldn't see myself in any one particular position for any length of time.  My Dad worked in the moving business for 15 years before settling into a job on the railroad for 40 years... both back-breaking jobs, but it was different back then.  In the 80's and early 90's, it was different then as well.  It was an employee's market... I could quit a job at 10 a.m. and have another by noon, and I gained my experience and knowledge doing just that, climbing the corporate ladder, making sure that I gained pieces of business in each move, gaining a better title and more money each time.  When you don't have a college degree, title and salary become the gauge of your success and self-worth.  I had to work harder than anyone else to prove myself not only for not being educated, but for being young as well, most times walking into a management situation where I took the promotion of an older, already-established person in the company.  I've always had the philosophy of lead by example so when I rolled my sleeves up and jumped right into the trenches, I quickly gained respect.  I worked long hours and did what I had to do for the good of the company.  I've moved 38 times in my life... some for relationships but most for jobs.  I didn't know any better.  My blood pressure was through the roof and I had no life beyond my workplace.  This was living?

At the height of my business career in the position that I excelled at the most, my job was given to a friend of the family that I was working for, and I was left scrambling for position at a time where I was making too much money for someone without a college degree and one was now required to pump gas, practically, in the new business climate.  It was an employer's market now and competition was fierce.  I was disqualified most times right-off-the-bat because I didn't have an education.  The days of recognizing someone for their experience was replaced by the minimum requirement of an education and how cheaply they could hire someone.  The idea of a company man went out the window as employers didn't give two shits about their employees.  I had to reinvent myself, so I did.  Having always had an interest in physical therapy (something completely different), the market was saturated with an influx of people in the field, so I chose massage therapy and enrolled in school.  Six months later, before I even graduated, I opened a day spa and hired an esthetician and did that for a few years.  It was a total mind-fuck for me to go from title and power to the service industry and my self-worth took a tumble.  While my esthetician sat and did nothing all day long instead of drumming up business like she was supposed to, my business grew so fast that I was working 8+ hours a day, 6 days a week booked solid.  I was essentially working my ass off to have her sit on hers, so I closed up and did it out of my house for a while.  It was very rewarding to be able to physically help someone with their pain and stress, but it didn't help mine in the least bit, developing back and wrist issues as well as depression from the stress of keeping it all going and being in a dark room all day long sucking up other people's bad energy and being around those in constant pain.

I went through a several-year period of depression and odd jobs and a move to Vegas to start fresh that ruined me financially and led me to almost take my life when it didn't work out.  I moved back and did some massage and bartending while having a near breakdown that reduced me to a child-like, basic mentality of survival.  My daily goal was just telling myself that all I needed to do was get up, shower, go to work and come home, and that's exactly what I did for a long while.  I became paranoid as the recession hit, hiding all my money under my bed in a box, eventually accumulating $19k... in a shoe box... under my bed.  I was doing massage on the weekends walking out with $1,000 a weekend, plus bartending and I took a side job with my friend who had a landscaping business.  I really enjoyed being outdoors and it gave me time to clear my head.  I was working so much that I had little time for anything else.  I wasn't right in the head, but blogging and hard work got me out of the worst depression I had ever been through.  When an opportunity to take over the landscaping contract at the Marriott came up and my friend that I was working for didn't want to bid on it, I did and got it and I've had it ever since, which led to expanding into my own landscaping and deck business.  The other day, the General Manager of the Marriott left for another position, and as I watched him pull away from the parking lot on his last day, I couldn't help remembering how that was... to look in your rear-view mirror back at the place where you worked your ass off and gave so much.  Now gone, it will be hard for me to be there without him, since he was not only my friend, but also the only person there who really cared about the hard work that I put in and the attention to detail in my work ethic.  I suddenly feel a lack of purpose there that I will have to overcome.  The effort that I put forth is mostly for myself, setting standards that I can live with, but it is nice to have someone appreciate your work as well.  It also makes it worth while.  I will have to prove myself once more to the new guy.  It angers me when I see today's twenty-something's come out of college and expect to have a job handed to you, making $50k out of the gate after sending out a resume or two.  That degree doesn't get you anything except getting in the door... the rest has to be worked for and proven.  Always proving yourself.  Always.

Sure, there are days that I miss the business world, but when I look at my friends who work in cubicles for the 'man', giving their life and breath for their work, most times getting nothing out of it but high blood pressure and misery, I am thankful that my life turned out the way it did.  It took me a long time to come to the realization and acceptance of who I am and what I do for a living... I pull weeds and cut grass... I am my own boss, I take only the jobs that I want to, I run my schedule for the most part and I am finally happy. 

Recently doing work at the house I grew up in, there's a long-needle pine tree that looked like the Charlie Brown Christmas tree when I planted it.  It now towers about 70 feet high.  I am surrounded by beauty and nature in my job and when I plant a twig and see it grow into a tree, I know that I have made my mark on this earth, in my own board room, on my own terms.

Because George Michael Tells Me So

I've always been a highly logical person rooted deeply in science and needing physical proof of things or have it be right in front of my face to have belief.  'The proof is in the pudding' and 'actions speak louder than words' are mantras that I tend to live by because there's a tangible result.  In school, I was never any good at algebra and always good at geometry since the shapes and theories were easily proven visually.  Witchcraft, the paranormal, superstition and (dare I lump these all together), religion... are all things that I can't wrap my head around.

Faith is described in the dictionary as "confidence or trust in a person or thing or another's ability"... going further by saying "belief that is not based on proof".   The Bible defines faith as “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see”, which doesn't surprise me since faith is the cornerstone of the basis for religion and the Bible is chock-full of things that can't be explained by evidence. 

Being gay, it's difficult to separate how the Church acts and what they say.  There isn't a better example of hypocrisy and the actions speak louder proverb couldn't be more proven by religion.  "God is Love", "Love Thy Neighbor", "We are all God's Children"... are all things regurgitated but seldom followed, especially in regards to gays.  So it's no wonder that the majority of gays are Athiests, myself included.  After all, how can I believe in something that, supposedly, condemns me to the bowels of Hell when it was, supposedly, that something that created me, and in it's image?  This becomes a real struggle for those who believe and a battle that can't be won, resulting in constant angst and, in cases, taking one's life.

In my rationalization, I have to believe that if there is a higher power and they created me, then they know what they're doing (faith in another's ability).  And while I don't follow the scriptures and the teachings of the Bible, I was taught what was right and wrong, and I try to live my life accordingly.  I answer to myself and I do what I do because it's the right thing to do, whether what's respectable, kind, considerate, moral, or what's law.  I don't look for praise for my deeds.  I don't do it for promise of reward or threat of punishment as religion dictates.  It's most times thankless and not the easiest path to take, but I do it to hold myself accountable.  In this regard, I often feel that I am more 'Christian' than Christians are.  My further belief is that, if there is a higher power, on my judgment day, how I lived my life and treated others would be valued as much as anyone who 'believes'... and who I loved (as if it's a sin) wouldn't take precedent over how I loved.

In the horror movies, our limits of belief are pushed more and more.  What seems totally ridiculous plays out in front of us in HD IMAX stereophonic realness, opening the door ever so slightly for doubt.  And while I may say I'm not superstitious, I can't say that I wouldn't turn down another street to avoid a black cat that crossed my path, or if I break a mirror that I'm not looking over my shoulder... or if I spill salt, I don't throw a bit over my shoulder, just in case.  And maybe there is a boogeyman under my bed (feel free to look for me, I don't even let my foot dangle over the bed out of the covers)... and maybe there are times when I feel an evil spell is cast upon me by the local witch, I guess I 'gotta have faith' that it's not true to continue on with my day, much like those religious have their belief system.  Perhaps I'm more of faith than I care to admit, so I'll keep being a good person, just in case.  Besides, the humidity we're having is already way more than I can handle, much less the pits of Hell... and it wreaks havoc on my skin and height of my hair.  What does the Bible say about vanity?

Through Rose-Colored Glasses

I catch myself sounding like my parents more often than I care to admit.  "When we were young..." seems to be the Once upon a time lead-in to a lot of my stories.  I used to cringe when my parents felt the need to share one of their heartache stories.  I guess at that age you don't want to hear about hardship or how life was different or better.  From snot-nosed kids who think they know it all, being told differently doesn't go over so well.  Which leads me to my next most-used saying I got from my parents:  If I knew now what I knew then.

I used to look at all my parent's pictures that were in black-and-white when they were growing up and it was hard for me to imagine life in color back then.  I guess some of it had to do with the dirt roads, dirty industry and the depression... and also with film, photograph and television being in black-and-white, but I can't see it in any other hue.  There are several apps now that you can take your photos and apply a 70's, sepia tone to them to make them look older.  When I see the 70's when I was growing up, in my mind, as with B&W era, it's how I picture my childhood growing up.  I don't remember the actual crisp colors, I only remember it through the pictures with soft, filtered, muted colors.  Today, with everything enhanced in HD, details are amazing and right in your face, if not so abrupt in stark reality.

In the 20's, 30's, 40's and 50's, things were pretty much 'black-and-white', right down to the conduct of blacks and whites.  There were strict rules of ethics, laws, regions, unions, religion, ethnicity and etiquette in social behavior. You knew what the rules were and you followed them without question.  You weren't encouraged to think outside the box but, rather, to conform.  You didn't worry about what the neighbors were doing and you kept your mouth shut and lived a rather simple, quiet existence. Your life was pretty much centered around your family and it's survival, convened once daily around the dining room table at 6 p.m. followed by a radio show... with music being light and non-offensive... all without leaving your small part of the world.  This was living. 

When the 60's, 70's and 80's came around, people started to think more about themselves and expressing their thoughts.  Advancements in communication and technology opened up your sphere of influence and the walls came down.  Equal rights for blacks, free love and women's lib bust the doors wide open for blurring the lines of social and political influence in an age of blurred color in photos and film.  Music started having political messages and pleas for peace and tranquility.  Dads started traveling out of town for work and the TV dinner replaced the nightly meeting at the dining room table as you were summoned by the dinner bell in the back yard or your mom yelling out the back door.  As a child at that time, so much happened that I was oblivious to, including the Vietnam War and several other controversial events.  I was attached to my Mom's leg in my protective, muted, soft, filtered world, just as the pictures portrayed.  We were plopped down in our living room in front of our huge 20" color console TV;  our window to the world.  Close, but far enough away.  Involved, but at a safe distance.  This was living.

Today, the internet has opened our lives up to practically the universe. You can see what's happening around the world in real-time in places that you never knew existed.  You can take vivid, color, HD pictures from your phone and half dozen other sources.  Detail is down to the freckle and anything is viewable from gore to porn 24/7.  If you're not pushing the limits of the law, economics, social norm, etiquette, opportunity, politics and geographic location, you simply are not living.  The stark reality of the age we live in is all around us and is captured in millions of megapixels and posted on every social media available for all to see.  News is around the clock and we're so bored with entertainment that we have had to go to a reality-based world of the bizarre and unexpected.  Music is graphic and explicit.  You're in everyone's business and everyone is in your face, including apps that give a blow-by-blow of your day and every move you make. Everyone wants their 5 minutes of fame.  Your job has you traveling around the world as well as your spouse's and the kids are left to fend for themselves, explaining the lack of social manners and ability to interact. Dinner is a free-for-all, rarely ever all sitting down at the same time.  This is living.

I remember my Dad telling me about him hitting a can down the alley with a stick for fun.  For us, we left the house at 8 a.m. and usually didn't come back until dark, playing in the woods and riding our bikes, etc.  At Christmas, I would spend more time playing with the box that things came in, making something out of it, rather than the actual present.  Nowadays, kids need everything to be interactive and they need to be entertained continuously.  Imagination, a thing of the past, has been replaced by minutely-detailed, graphic reality. They grow up so fast and are exposed to so much so early.  Their childhood is stripped from them early in their teens, a time where I was still playing with my Matchbox cars and Barbie G.I. Joe.  And most have had sex by the same time.

I would imagine this next generation will look down on the current one as we did on our parents, and so on.  technology will have advanced at a rate that will make today's know-it-alls as ancient as we now are, much less our parents. In closing, the phrase 'don't be in such a hurry to grow up'.   I wouldn't mind seeing life a little more blurred right about now. THAT... was really living.

Bring Home The Bacon... Please!

For all my vegan and vegetarian friends, proceed with caution.  You may want to take your children and leave the room... it's going to get ugly up in here all kinds of quick for you.

Bacon.  I could end this post with just that one word and nothing else would have to be said to get my point across.  But since I love it so, I will go on.  The taste... the texture... the smell... the sound of the sizzle... nothing puts a smile on my face quite like a nice medium-cooked piece of bacon, which is my preference over crispy... and maybe in a nice applewood or mesquite smoked flavor.  And in the convenient one pound serving size (let's face it, after you make bacon, there are no leftovers)...  YUM!

Having breakfast for dinner is one of my favorite things to do and is most certainly 'bucking the system' and I feel like I'm cheating, just as in the health-conscious world that we live in, eating bacon is like shoving the middle finger in the face of everything healthy and holy.  The word 'bacon' comes from the Old High German bacho, meaning 'buttock'.  It comes from the pork belly of the pig mostly, at least in the U.S. where we love everything fatty, although less fatty cuts can be found in the back and shoulder.  There is actually quite a bit of science behind why we like it so much, having to do with the Maillard Reaction which occurs when sugars in fat and amino acids are broken down with heat.  The same reaction occurs in chocolate, roasted coffee and caramel.  The bacon and egg breakfast was popularized by Sigmund Freud when he conveyed the importance of a hearty breakfast to his nephew, Edward Bernays, who eventually got a job in a P.R. company and one of his first customers was the bacon industry.  After surveying doctors, it was deemed healthy and the bacon mania began.  It's a comfort food, through and through.

The phrase 'bring home the bacon', widely popularized by the Enjoli perfume commercial of the 80's ("I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget you're a man... 'cause I'm a woman... Enjoli"), actually originated in the boxing ring near the end of the last century.  Bacon was considered a valued prize, and for that reason, Joe Gans' mother, before his fight said "Joe, the eyes of the world are on you and everybody says you ought to win, so bring home the bacon".  To 'live high off the hog' is a phrase used to mean living a rich, prosperous lifestyle.  The general belief is that the less fatty, or better, cuts of bacon are on the upper flank which is literally high up on the hog.  In the 60's and 70's, police officers were referred to as 'pigs', and the phrase 'I smell bacon', means that the police are in the area.

Today, you can get so many things bacon flavored.  The other day, I had a hamburger at a local restaurant that had bacon-wrapped grilled bananas and chunky peanut butter.  At another restaurant, a hunk of grilled bacon with cheese and French fries on thick Italian bread.  At the local donut shop, warm donuts dipped in a maple glaze adorned with fresh bacon bits on top.  I'm not one for shrimp, but our local Chinese buffet wraps them in bacon, and I can eat them.  I've had bacon-infused vodka, vanilla ice cream with bacon bits in it and, at the candy store, there are all kinds of things bacon flavored now, including bacon gum and taffy and chocolate-covered bacon strips.  For a less fattening type, there's even turkey bacon.  And for my vegan friends (that ran out of the room in the beginning), I believe there's a tofu version.  I'm sorry, there just isn't anything that bacon doesn't go with.  To me, bacon ranks right up there with the orgasm and chocolate.  I wait with slobbering mouth and a whole lot of impatience for that sizzling piece of goodness.

Getting Marriage Back To Being About Love

When it comes to gay rights and the gay 'agenda', straight people think that we're seeking some sort of extra benefits or protections or laws when we are just looking for what everyone else has.  Some 1,100+ benefits, laws, protections and rights and not afforded us simply because of who we love.  Straight people take for granted the things that come naturally to them via laws, the Constitution and the influence of the Church.  We only want what everyone else already has.  Nothing more, but certainly not anything less.

Since it is the 'fight' for equality, logic would suggest that any change would come from the side fighting for the thing in question.  It's fairly confusing that the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) by it's very title, wasn't put forth by gays as a way to petition for their rights to marry but, rather, by conservative, religious zealots in an effort to 'protect' the sanctity of (straight) marriage.  Considering that divorce is actually a sin in the Bible punishable by the stoning of the wife and that the current divorce rates are around 50%... and that people get married several times... and with all the adultery going on... I'd say that the only protection they need is from themselves.  How my getting married to a man is going to affect their marriage is beyond me.  In fact, and I've said this before but rarely hear it being brought up (oddly not by conservative Republicans who you'd think would be leading the charge), the only thing that my marriage would have that would affect them is that we would be able to file our taxes jointly just as any other married couple, therefore lowering the tax base.  Actually, they may have had better luck calling it the Defense of Tax Revenue Act.  Then there would be some actual logic brought into the conversation, not just hate and prejudice.  For the life of me, I don't understand how black's rights are voted on by whites... how women's rights are voted on by men... and how gay's rights are voted on by straights.  Is it me, or is there something wrong with this process.

Today, in a historical vote, the Supreme Court ruled DOMA unconstitutional and shot down Prop8 in California as well, which means it is federally legal for gays to marry and in California as well.  As an older gay male, while we've strived for this sort of thing for so long, I never thought I would see it in my life span.  I couldn't help welling up with tears as I read response after response on Facebook... stunned and afraid to believe it.  And while many are currently in committed relationships that this will have an immediate effect, for me, I have to take this as a win for humanity.  With the public's opinion changing so much over the last couple of years, it's a good feeling that I have today about my country.  And while we're still behind the 8-ball in comparison to many other countries and we still have a long way to go, we are moving ahead.  Rights in estates, survivorship, taxes, Social Security, medical coverage and power of attorney, government spousal benefits... just to name a few of the 1,100+... will now be recognized.  These decisions will be the basis for arguments in the future towards a more equal America.

It's difficult for people to equate our journey with that of other equal rights groups such as the Jews, blacks, women, etc... but there's been as much hardship and hatred and bloodshed and loss of life fueled by the same sort of prejudice and, not so oddly, from the same group, passed on from generation to generation.  Hopefully, that way of thinking is on it's way out replaced with tolerance and acceptance and love.  Much thanks is due our straight allies for their support in making this cause their own. It's time that we minorities rise up as a majority and get what is rightfully ours under the Constitution... which doesn't just pertain to white, straight, religious males... but to everyone.  Life, Liberty, The Pursuit of Happiness.... and Justice For ALL.

A Few In a Sea of Many

 

Last week was Pittsburgh's pride festival.  It was so great to see people that I haven't seen in years and with 30,000 showing up, it was a really nice day, but enough to put me into gay overload.  I was planning to go to Columbus' parade this past weekend but wasn't sure if I could deal with 300,000 gays after 30,000.  I decided to take the plunge and within a half hour, I booked a hotel for the two days I'd be there, packed my 18 t-shirts (a gay needs choices) and I was out the door.  One factor in my decision was that a guy from Charlotte that I had never met that I've been talking to on Facebook for a year was heading there with a few of his friends I and thought it's as good a place as any to finally meet him.  We all met up at a bar later that night and had a great time.  His friends were so nice and you could tell they had a really tight friendship going on back home.  We spent the night bar-hopping and drinking and laughing and the time went by so fast but seemed to stand still, as well, not really aware of what was going on around us.  There wasn't any drama and we all enjoyed each other's company so much, it was as though we were the only ones no matter where we went.

The next morning was the parade and we leisurely made our way downtown right about the time that it was starting and we stopped to have lunch while the parade went on down the street.  We finally made it to the parade and watched for a little bit, then went to the park where everyone was going to end up.  With the oppressive heat, we found a tree to sit under and met up with my other friends from Columbus, Matt and Scott, and just sat and chit-chatted.  When we had enough, we walked around the mall and had dinner and then hung out in the hotel, not even going out that second night, content to just be in each other's company.  It was so refreshing to just get to know each other and that they welcomed me into their fold, not feeling like we were missing a thing or on the constant pursuit of getting some 'strange'.

One of the pivotal points in the life of a gay is that time where you have a fresh outfit all laid out on the bed on a Saturday night and it suddenly hits you that you're not missing anything if you don't go... and having some down time or spending the time one-on-one with a friend or lover or even curled up on the couch with your dog is a better prospect.  When you're with someone and it's like they are the only person on the planet;  everything and everyone else fades into the background and you are so focused on them that you don't even notice what's going on around you... you don't notice a hot guy that walks in front of you because you don't care... that's the best time.  I've always said that it's about quality, not quantity, and that especially pertains to friends.  I don't need to surround myself with the masses nor do I need to parade myself around for attention.  I am content with just having good people around me with good conversation and even with being surrounded by 300,000 gays, the beating of drums, twirling of the batons, the tossing of free candy and condoms, and hot-pants and high-heels galore... human interaction and friendship are most valued to me and still at the core of who I am as a person. 

Wanderlust or Wonder-lost?

I blame my parents.  Both of them, biological and adoptive, had a hand in my constant state of unrest.  Everything about me stems from movement, from my hyperactive energy and Gemini rising and relentless drive to accomplish... to my adoption itself.  My mind is perpetually going a mile a minute, debating and thinking and analyzing and deciding... looking at every side to a situation and my body isn't far behind.  I catch myself tapping my thumb on my teeth while I'm watching TV or go through nervous ticks so often that I seriously am concerned that I have Parkinson's Disease.  I've moved 38 times in my 46 years.  I've had countless jobs and career changes.  Normally, I love all the goings-on, but lately, and as I get older, I question whether I want it to stop.  I seek out peace and quiet and calmness.  I avoid taking trips and being away from home.  Has my wonderment disappeared?  I've had an incessant desire to be anywhere but where I am, not so much running away from anything, but running to... but to what?

I've spent a good 20 years searching for answers to my birth and adoption.  Little by little, I have come across information, sometimes stumbling upon it, and have been able to put the pieces together, but still not entirely... and not with 100% certainty.  Not knowing my complete history has created and unsteady foundation upon which my whole existence is built, and without an understanding of your beginning, it makes it almost impossible to have a middle or an end. 

My birth mother was a bit of a tramp and a roustabout.  She went with a lot of guys (even while married), moved around a lot and had several jobs.  In total, she had 9 kids from various suitors partly because she was such a beautiful, free-spirited kind of gal... and partly because she liked the attention of the male persuasion... and apparently could never find a condom in her purse for all the slips of paper with men's numbers on them.  My biological father killed himself after getting the news that my birth mother was pregnant with me but before I was born, which suggests some mental instability with him, to say the least.  I get my depression and ups and downs from him.  Not quite the rollercoaster ride you'd like with a father, but movement, nonetheless. 

My adoptive mother had a severe case of OCD... since she didn't work after they got married and didn't drive, she cleaned... a lot.  My most vivid memories of my Mom are of her cleaning something... and instead of remembering her perfume, I can still remember what Murphy's Oil Soap and Lemon Pledge mixed together smells like.  My Mom wanted to be a singer and she had an opportunity to tour with Fred Waring and Pennsylvanians, but her Mom wouldn't let her go, so she married my Dad and settled down in the suburbs in a nice house with a big yard... with no one around her... and she was miserable.  My Dad worked on the railroad and was gone several days in a row, sometimes home for a few hours before he'd get called out on another trip.  So they adopted my brother first, then adopted me.  She wanted a daughter... well, she almost got one with me... close enough.  She loved clothes and getting all dressed up, but she had nowhere to go.  She loved to get in the car and go and especially loved our vacations to Myrtle Beach every year.  When my Dad retired, she was raring to go, but my Dad was tired from his physical job, and he pretty much sat for a few years and did nothing.  She passed away a few years later, never getting to do the traveling that she wanted.  Most of the conflict between us was that I left for Philadelphia when I was 20 and I honestly felt that she was jealous that I got out and she never could.

I've been fortunate to do some traveling in my life.  I've been to Paris, most of the islands in the Caribbean and all the St.'s... Mexico, on several cruises and throughout the continental U.S. and Canada.  I've gone from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia so many times, I can drive the PA Turnpike with my eyes closed.  There have been some things that grounded me over the years... a few relationships... having my dog for 12 years (although I moved her so many times that even she got confused when I asked her if she needed to go out and make a sissy, she'd run to the closet door more often than not)... and, currently, having my Dad live with me. 

But I'm most at home when I'm on the road, especially without any definite plan or path. I guess that's what my life has been about... moving without a plan from no definite starting point.  I've always said that you need security in insecurity;  that if you had confidence in what you can accomplish, you could accomplish anything no matter what came your way.  I didn't have a definite beginning... I wasn't handed some family business... I don't have a fancy degree... I've had to overcome things along the way and, most times, it was getting out of my own way... but the point is, while there are things that make up who I am, it's what I make of them that is going to get me through life's journey.  Maybe one day I'll reach the destination, but for now, I'll just roll the windows down and let wind blow me forward and not spend so much time looking in the rear-view mirror.

I recently cancelled my travel plans for the summer... I'm just not feeling it.  What's happening to me?  Am I settling?  Maybe I have replaced my wanderlust with lost wonder.

Just Jack

With Pittsburgh's gay pride festivities this past weekend, it's always nice to see people you haven't seen in a long time, support some good causes and, of course, see the sights... both good and bad.  The party in the streets is pretty much the bars, but outside... and it can be very unforgiving.  What can be hidden in the aptly-lit lounge is out on display in all it's solar glory.  There's no hiding from the broad daylight.... and by 'broad daylight', I mean a man dressed as a broad in the daylight... among other things.  So I did what any self-respecting gay would do... I colored the grays, did some push-ups, put on a tight shirt and headed out to see and be seen.

When I came out as a gay man when I was 20 in 1987 in Philadelphia, things were much different than they are now.  We were in the middle of the AIDS epidemic and every event you went to was a fund-raiser.  It was rammed down your throat that AIDS=death.  We were very aware of what was going on and what those who came before us accomplished on our behalf, like Stonewall, for instance... and how that became the single most important event leading to the gay liberation movement and the modern fight for gay and lesbian rights.  I'm not sure if today's young gays get any of that stuff.  For them, it's just a reason to take off your clothes in the street and drink.  HIV is just something you get to get it over with so you don't have to worry about using condoms and you just take a pill or ten.  Things come too easily for them nowadays.  A lot of the work has been done and the doors have been opened by the likes of Will and Grace.  In our day, the movie The Boys in the Band was groundbreaking.  Never before had we seen the gay lifestyle up on the big screen.  It got real... real fast.  It was as shocking as it was titillating. 

In 1987, the homosexual 'approval rating' dropped from 44% to 32%, I'm guessing due to the AIDS scare.  Since then, it's been on the climb to the current 58%, almost the highest it's ever been.  I can remember it was the consensus that as more and more people came out and had their family's support and the more people could say they know a gay... that it would slowly climb and that's exactly what it's done.  It's strange seeing it happen some 25 years later... it was unfathomable to even think that far ahead at that age.  Slowly, the closet door opened out popped a bunch of gays.

I have attended many gay parades in different cities over the years and even went to the March on Washington in the early nineties.  It never fails that any news coverage of the events is always of someone half-naked or in some outrageous outfit.  I always thought that as the public realized that we were essentially just like them (except more fabulous)... doctor's, lawyers, fireman, policemen, etc... that it would open their eyes and we would gain acceptance.  Unfortunately, what opens their eyes on the TV is Dykes on Bikes and the tall drag queens... or something of that nature, and I always thought it didn't do our cause any good.  I'm not so sure any more.  In fact, dare I say, I had it completely wrong.

As I walked around, I'm ashamed to say that I spent an unhealthy amount of time worrying if my shirt was going to get wet from the rain and was my hat on straight and if I got too drunk and made an ass out of myself and... and... and.  Meanwhile, all around me were people being themselves.  They didn't give a shit if they got wet... they weren't obsessing about what they had on... and they were drinking and having a great time... singing and dancing and mingling and just being themselves.  I don't know why I can't just let go and be me... what is it that I'm afraid of... what would happen if I was myself... and who the hell is that to begin with?  At 46 and after all the self-reflection I've done through my blog, I spend too much time being composed and in control.  It was about that time in the day that I realized that it wasn't me trying to give straight people what they wanted that was advancing our cause... it was the people being themselves... that further our cause because they push the boundaries... they do what they want, when they want to do it and they don't care what anyone thinks, and that's what gets people to notice and once the shock value wears off, they realize that the gays are really no big deal and they go back to watching Duck Dynasty and shooting at cans.

Also, about that time, an interesting group of guys and girls (both dressed in gowns) came onto the stage called The Pillow Project.  They describe themselves (as per their Facebook Page (check out their upcoming event schedule)) as the collaborative work under the direction of improvisational artist and multimedia filmmaker, Pearlann Porter; a new movement in Freejazz (using the body as the instrument playing visual notes… an instrument that is the musician….the study of how dance and music can visually and spontaneously play together) created by a passionate collection of experimental performing artists for igniting new ideas in spontaneous expression.  At first, I can honestly say the hot guys in dresses drew me in... but it was their random flow of energy and spontaneous, haphazard expression that kept me mesmerized.  Movement set to music kept you watching to see what happened next and without a script or plan, they acted and reacted off each other constantly.  The same thing was happening in the streets all day long.


The whole day made me wish I had the nerve to be as free as everyone around me. I guess it's time I be more of a Jack or Emory... and not worry about what people think... least of all, myself.  I'm really not doing anyone any good.

Walk The Line

I always have to credit blogging for the work I did on myself in examining my behaviors.  Nothing is as telling as sitting down and truthfully writing to a bunch of strangers.  When we talk with our friends and family, are we really ever truthful?  After all, we have to see these people on a daily basis and no one wants to paint themselves as an asshole or a crazy.  In the end, though, it's the 'strangers' that probably know the real me.  I suppose I have myself to blame for that, but people are smart enough to take the façade that you present and see through that eventually.  Still, for me, there's no better therapy than getting it all out on paper so you can see it all in front of you.  Once you do, then you can figure out what parts you like and what parts cause you grief and figure out a plan of action to change those behaviors and I have a long way to go... it's an ongoing project.  This is the natural process... at least for some of us.

I've always come from a position of dotting my 'i's' and crossing my 't's'.  With my managerial background in operations, I'm trained to look at a situation and find solutions not only for the problem at hand, but for the problems that could arise and solve them before they happen.  As a little girl, err... boy... in Brownie Troop #317, err... Boy Scouts, they taught us to 'be prepared'.  When we're looking at our relationships, we first have to look at ourselves and our responsibility in a situation.  We have to have done the work on ourselves before we go out and expect to have successful experiences in our interactions with others.  If an altercation arises and we have done our part to accept our own responsibility and make amends, don't take shit from no one.  If you do, you are doing yourself a disservice.

Being adopted, I have always felt that I had no foundation from which to grow.  It took me twenty some years to put the pieces together and I'm still not sure 100 percent.  That feeling of being given away or not wanted stays with you... at some point, you realize this.  And while I had a wonderful upbringing, my Mom wasn't exactly the warm and fuzzy type, so that while I'm sure she loved me, she certainly didn't show it.  With my brother a complete idiot and my Dad always traveling for work, I don't have deep roots in my family and, as a result, I have always looked to friends to fill that gap.  Somewhere along the way, I developed a strong need to be surrounded by good friends, not in quantity, but in quality.  With my expectations set too high, probably based on what I give, I badly need to feel important and wanted but rarely do.  I give a lot in my friendships and relationships and ask for very little back, which is probably why I get just that.  I can't really blame anyone except myself.  I put up with a lot of shit from people before I blow my top, and when I do, it's usually at a point of no return and the people around me don't see it coming... mainly because they haven't been paying attention.  The signs were there all along, but when they're treading along, usually all over you... it comes as a complete surprise, especially when they fail to take responsibility for their actions and behaviors.  I don't forget anything... there's a running tab in my head.  I'm not perfect, but I at least try to accept my part and make amends without lying or twisting things and I have an unhealthy habit of apologizing for things that I didn't do just to smooth things over... and keep those people in my life... so that they can basically keep on treating me like crap.  It's something that I'm working on.  Sometimes I wish I could just go around being selfish... but at the end of the day, I can look at myself in the mirror and after questioning my own crazy... know that I'm not.

I'm known for my sharp-tongued emails.  While I don't go around bullying people, I definitely am not afraid to speak my mind.  I have few regrets for things that I've said over my lifetime.  If I said it, I meant it and it's probably rooted in some truth that the other person doesn't want to hear.  I don't go looking for trouble but at the time that I unleash my wrath, I've basically moved on in my head.  It's usually the end of the friendship or relationship, and I definitely don't have any problem walking away.  I don't want bad people in my life and I think that I deserve the respect and consideration that I give.  People say to me "but you were really good friends"... to which I reply... "no, I was a good friend to THEM". 

Over the last year (and particularly the last week or so), I have walked away from several people that weren't treating me as I treat them.  The way I figure it, there are many more people that I haven't met in this world and sometimes the unknown is a much better bet than the known.  The people that I have let go will never look honestly at themselves... their world is built on a fragile house of cards and they're too stupid to realize that if they would take a good look at themselves and do the work, all aspects of their life would be better.  Instead, they walk around with a false sense of security that the people around them give a shit about them and they are blameless.  Why wouldn't you want a better life?

I can honestly say that the people around me are, now, good people.  I would rather be alone than surround myself with idiots... fortunately, what's left of my friend-base are genuine, honest people, and I am grateful to have them in my life.

Mowing Down the Past

I had the opportunity the other day to take on grass cutting for a new client... the people who currently own my Dad's old house... the house where I was born and raised.  As it turns out, the people who bought it from us recently sold it and, as I often do, I rode past it last week when I heard new people moved in.  The yard was haphazardly cut... broken branches were piled up around the trees and the grass was a foot tall in spots.  So I knocked on the door and told her who I was and offered my card and services.  About a week later, she called me and told me to come by and help her.

I have to admit that while I solicited the job, I had my hesitations.  I've been cutting that grass since I was little and I had a hard time imagining myself riding around the yard again... and what I'd be thinking of while doing it.  So many memories there... everything that I look at stirs up some thoughts of the past, both good and bad.  The driveway, where my Dad let us drive the car up and down... and where I made all my Matchbox roads on... the stone wall where I ran the car into... and where I would burn my model cars on... the weird piece of white spongy stuff that was embedded into the cement parking pad... the river rock that I painted a smiley face on was still in the rock garden... the budding peonies that my Mom loved... the 1980 Lake Placid Olympic sticker still stuck to the garage door window... the wooden step still nailed to the tree that I used to climb... the spot by the road where my paper route box sat... the attic window where I would sit and look out at the planes that flew overhead and that I would wait to see my Dad's car coming down the road... the lilac tree that I would pick flowers for my Mom (her favorite flowers)... the spot in the yard that we'd play baseball and the other spot that we used as our football field.  But there were some things that were gone as well;  the two apple trees that I would gather apples from so my Mom could make pies... the giant weeping willow tree that I would always climb (and fell from, which screwed up my back)... where the swing set used to sit that I climbed up on and dropped the hammer on my brother's head... the dog pen where Jeffy and Benny (my Dad's hunting Beagles) lived... the screen door that would be left open and unlocked, with the smell of spring and summer wafting in... the fire barrel that I would burn the garbage in... the overhead wire that our dog, Lucky, would run the width of the yard, the hill that I would jump my Suzuki motorcycle off of... the Easter eggs from the hunt we'd have for the neighbor kids... all the friends that would gather in our yard... and the years in the house without my Mom.

As difficult as it was to remember, it was equally difficult to live in the reality of the now.  My Mom is gone, my Dad is old and the property isn't anywhere near what it used to be.  With my Dad fixing everything and all of us taking care of the outside... and my Mom and her cleaning OCD, it's a shock to see the house now.  About 7 hours later, I had all the sticks picked up... had the hedges trimmed... had the grass all cut and everything weed-wacked and the whole while, I was torn between wanting to get out of there because it was no longer my home... and not wanting to leave, so as to not let go of the past.  Getting it cleaned up was the most miserable job... some areas I had to run the mower over 4 or 5 times.  I was exhausted and disgusted, yet I felt I owed it to the house and the memories.

I spoke briefly to the new owner (while her daughter played in the yard) and I went into some of my memories of the house growing up.  She was appreciative of the information, but I realized halfway through that my memories and what we did and how I grew up there means nothing to anyone else.  Those experiences that we have throughout our lives are exactly that; ours, and ours alone.  They are unique and make us who we are. 

I'm glad I grew up in that house... I had a great childhood.  It might not be my house any more, but it'll always be where I called home.