Are These Reconnect With Your Classmate Sites For Real?
Are These Reconnect
With Your Classmate Sites For Real? – Don’t Get Me Started!
Admittedly I have a rocky connection with past classmates and I’m always
sitting on the fence when I see a new “friend” request come in on Facebook from someone from my school days. I
guess I still think it’s going to be a trick and someone is going to jump me from behind when I accept the request or
something but usually with Facebook I can sort of see what the person looks like now and therefore make a highly subjective
uneducated decision as to whether or not this person wants to still torment me or if they were indeed a pal back in the day
and it’s nice to reconnect with them. I must admit that many of them I have never even heard of to the best of my knowledge
and I admit having to drag out ayearbook to see what they looked like back then to see if I can remember
them at all. But it’s not Facebook that is the problem (for once) it’s the other sites that try to convince you
that someone from your past has left you a message and wants to reconnect with you. Are these reconnect with your classmates
sites for real? – Don’t Get Me Started!
Before I joined Facebook I did join classmates.com at the urging of some emails that kept coming to me telling me
that someone was trying to contact me. It ended up that someone indeed was trying to get in touch with me and we have reconnected
(although now we’re also connected through Facebook so I have no idea why I keep the “premium membership”
with classmates.com but I do). But recently another website that sort of looks like classmates.com has been sending me all
these names from my past that are supposedly trying to get in touch with me. Now I know from being a “premium member”
of classmates.com that if you even click on someone’s name it tells them that you “signed their guestbook”
or something so I have to wonder if this isn’t the same case with this new website that has been contacting me.
Still, the cast of characters that are supposedly
trying to get in touch with me from this new site are quite intriguing. A couple are past bullies and some are people’s
names that I can remember more than I can remember them and then there are one or two that I have no recollection of at all.
Some of my past mental scaring wants to believe that the bullies and in fact all of the other people who have supposedly been
trying to contact me are doing so to apologize, reconnect or tell me that they were always in love with me in high school
and are now billionaires who were inspired to make their fortunes so that one day I would join them in the world of their
private Prada plane and shower me with gifts. (All the while not making me give up my spouse of twenty-one years but sending
the new Bentley as a fond remembrance gift and some trips to some exotic locales where I can be pampered by them but not had
by them – shut up, a boy can dream)
This all takes me back to something I’ve written about before. My twenty year high school reunion was a cathartic
experience for me and one member of my class who didn’t make it to the reunion but contacted me later was a pal who
had the best comment ever. The mutual person who put us back in contact with one another told me that the pal had said, “Whatever
happened to Scott? I always thought he would have had Matthew Broderick’s career by now.” So did I. I think that’s
what most of the new crop of looky loos is, people who wonder if I have Matthew Broderick’s career and so they click
on my name and then the site sends me the email stating that someone is looking for me all the while asking me to pay the
$29.95 to find out what the person had to say or why they’re contacting me. So far I’ve been able to hold out.
I tried to cross reference some of them only to find that they aren’t on Facebook where I could connect with them for
free. But I must admit that every time I get one of these emails it does pique my curiosity. But I think it’s going
to have to be someone I really remember and/or really liked before I join another classmates site. So the question remains.
Are these reconnect with your classmates sites for real? – Don’t Get Me Started!
I Admit It, When It Comes To Cleaning I Know Nothing Other Than How To Call A Professional
I Admit It, When It
Comes To Cleaning I Know Nothing Other Than How To Call A Professional – Don’t Get Me Started!
I’ve written before of when I get into
one of my moods to clean my house I practically asphyxiate myself the cats and my spouse. I’m a believer in if one spray
is good for the cleaning than four different ones combined is even better. I create my own Chernobyl when I clean, I admit
it. I can’t help that I was raised in a home where Yolanda came every couple of weeks and that cleaning was never on
my chore list. It wasn’t that we were rich we just had a Jewish mother who knew that no matter what else we didn’t
have in our lives, having Yolanda was a priority. So while many therapists would like me to “explore” my relationship
with my mother and feelings of inadequacies created by not knowing how to clean, I choose to do what I always do which is
to just write a blog about it! I admit it, when it comes to cleaning I know nothing other than how to call a professional
– Don’t Get Me Started!
After
high school the first set of real roommates I had were two guys I knew from my high school. We were an unlikely threesome.
One had been the high school football star, the second was the former Student Council President and I had been the Theatre
Department’s star and punching bag for the rest of the school. I remember the night that we moved into the house we
rented together in Pasadena. The ex-football star was watching Monday Night Football (sitting on one of those plastic milk
crates that could be used for everything from carrying your shit to ending up as an end table), the ex-President of the Student
Council was hanging photos of himself in his room and I was lining the kitchen drawers and cabinets with liner paper. I think
we kept the place pretty clean on the whole as I don’t remember anything too disgusting or smelly like you assume can
happen when three guys live together (and no, the other two were not gay so you can’t use that cliché). We had
our own cork boards in the kitchen that the former President would leave us messages about everything from our portion of
the electric bill to our cleaning duties (if I remember correctly). Still, I don’t remember mopping any floors or doing
any serious hardcore cleaning. Various roommates I would have after left more memories about the person than the cleaning.
In college (I went to like three colleges but only stayed long enough to get the ID for local discounts) the college I stayed
longest and lived in the dorm for a semester was in Philadelphia. It was the University of the Arts and my roommates were
a fellow actor from Georgia and a guitar player from I don’t remember, Allentown or something. I don’t remember
the place being eat off the floor clean, I just remember my fellow actor pal and I rolling our eyes as our third wheel was
constantly playing his electric guitar (not plugged into anything) so you could just hear the “twing” and “twang”
of fingers plucking metal strings while we tried to rehearse our number from Pippin for the weekly Cabaret.
But here I am in present day trying to keep the
cats fed and my spouse as happy as if we were living in a 1950’s sitcom. The problem with this is many – you see
first of all, I sort of imagine myself more the Laura Petrie type from The Dick Van Dyke Show – you know, ex-dancer
who is making a lovely home. The problem with this image is that I work all day, don’t look good in tight Capri pants
and have no idea how to cook (though I suspect that Laura wasn’t all that good of a cook either, just a thought). Not
to mention the fact that I recently cut off all my hair so the possibility of me having a good Laura bouffant do is not even
a possibility. But the biggest problem is keeping up with that dusting and cleaning. On TV the houses looked clean because
they were sets and I think also because it was in black and white which makes dust show less or something but in my house
it’s a constant battle and while I try to equip myself with the proper artillery I have to admit that I often find myself
with a cleaning product in my hand and no idea how to use it or where I should use it.
One of the biggest sore spots for me is the kitchen floor. It’s
one of those old no-wax floors that was white at one point with the black diamond shapes every once in awhile in the pattern.
(Very 1950’s sitcom flooring) So I’ve done everything I’ve known to clean this floor which usually is me
on my hands and knees scrubbing away cursing the floor Gods all the while inhaling the Pine Sol that I probably didn’t
dilute enough. As I sweat and swear (while humming Hard Knock Life from Annie in my head) the floor always wins. It never
gets clean (well, as clean as I think it should get) and I end up just being thoroughly disgusted. After years of this I finally
went online recently only to discover that you’re never supposed to scrub these floors the way that I’ve been
scrubbing them and most sites recommended a simple combination of water and white vinegar to do the trick as opposed to the
cleaners I had purchased. So I filled the second sink with warm water and then added the vinegar and then I mopped and mopped
and mopped. While the floor still doesn’t look white to me, it looks about as clean as it ever did from my scrubbing
and cursing. The only problem is that my house now smells like I tossed a salad on the floor. Where is Yolanda when I need
her? I admit it, when it comes to cleaning I know nothing other than how to call a professional – Don’t Get Me
Started!
In
speaking with a pal recently I discovered something about myself that I had either not known before or didn’t want to
admit. I make shit up – Don’t Get Me Started!
We were talking about someone we both knew but had not been in contact with for years. I said, “She
got married, had a child and I think she’s out of the show business now and being a stay at home mom.” As soon
as the words came from my mouth I realized that most of the statement had no basis in actual fact. Well, none that I could
point to anyway. I do remember an email from her at one point telling me she had gotten engaged and I kind of remember the
pregnancy thing from someone else telling me I think but the whole stay at home mom business I know I just completely made
up on my own. So after I thought about it, I just said to my friend, “But I don’t know because I make shit up!”
I don’t know why I do it but as I reviewed many of the things I’ve told people, I discovered that a lot of it
is a work of fiction rather than based in reality.
I truly don’t think that I do it from a malicious place in my heart, I think I do it more to make the story
more interesting or because it’s what I think should or would happen. Still, I know it doesn’t make it right.
But on the other hand, it’s more interesting than saying, “I don’t know.”
My spouse is always telling me that I’m never allowed
to repeat anything he says because of the inaccurate way I repeat what he says. The reason for this is that if you told me
something and then put a gun to my head I couldn’t repeat it exactly as you said even with my life hanging in the balance.
It’s because I don’t just take in the words you’re telling me, I’m also taking in your body language
and your tone and mostly I’m allowing how it hits me emotionally to reshape what you said in my mind. If you are standing
there with your hands on your hips, rolling your eyes and saying, “I thought it was a great idea you had to put that
shirt with those pants.” And someone asks me what you said, most likely I’ll say you said, “God, you don’t
know how to dress, you have awful taste for putting that shirt and pants together.” I know, it may not make any sense
to you but somewhere in my head it does.
I like to say that we all have our own mental illnesses it’s just that some of us have it more in check
than some of the rest of us. This is definitely one of my mental illnesses. And yet if you examine the two statements above
I’ll stand by mine. You see the original statement was just that, a statement. The way I interpreted it takes in the
whole body language and makes it more interesting. Yes, I realize this is all rationalization but remember that whole business
about mental illness? Voila – there you have it.
I could sit here and make up a hundred excuses as to why I do what I do but
I think by now you must realize that if I were to do that I would most likely once again be making shit up. So I guess what
this is more than anything else is a sort of disclaimer that when you read my blog you may find that some of it is the truth,
some of it is truth has been embellished and some of it is just a fairy’s tale! I make shit up – Don’t Get
Me Started!
Maybe We Gays Have
Come Further Than I Thought – Don’t Get Me Started!
On the whole I think I would classify myself as a cynic. I think cynics are lazy. After all, cynics
just get to sit back and judge other people’s ideas (sort of the Simon Cowell of their own life and other people’s
lives) and tell them that they probably won’t succeed. They don’t have to put in the sweat and determination it
takes to have a big idea, share it with others and try to make it a reality. No, we can just sit on the sofa and go, “Nope,
that’ll never work. Life doesn’t change that quickly.” Of course the down side to that is the next thing
you know someone’s actually made the Snuggie (the blanket with sleeves) and are now laughing all the way to the bank
while you scratch you head and ass going, “Hmmm. Must have just been one of those flukes.” So while I am aware
that there are times when I do take risks and have ideas, on the whole I’m as I described above, a cynic. But every
once in awhile something happens that makes me think that I’m wrong and that there is reason to be excited about ideas
and the future. This is one of those days. Maybe we gays have come further than I thought – Don’t Get Me Started!
The big burst of positive force came in the way
of an email. This is one of the reasons I love technology. You don’t have to really know someone, you just need their
email address and you can start the conversation. I’m convinced this is how those dating sites make so much money. The
email started with,“I’m a fifteen year old kid from West Virginia” now normally when
I get these emails I immediately put on my gaytriarch hat and think that I’m going to be asked for
advice or assistance in calming a teen who is involved in some sort of drama. These emails don’t come in often but when
they do they normally follow that pattern. This email did not. It was an email telling me that they enjoyed my Gay Icons Series
of vblogs on YouTube and suggested that I do a video on the likes of Madonna, Cher and Lady GaGa. All good possible choices
for this series but that wasn’t the thing that made me begin to examine life in a new way. It was the last sentence
after suggesting Lady GaGa that did it for me – “My boyfriend JR and I are in love with her.” (Name changed
to protect the innocent)
Here’s
a kid who is fifteen and has a boyfriend. Now whether anyone else in the world knows that he has a boyfriend is another thing
altogether but the fact that he could write to me and tell me that he has one got me to really start thinking. What was I
doing at fifteen? What would I have been like if I could have had a boyfriend at fifteen? I’ve always known that I was
gay so it’s not about that, it’s about a world of espionage that you had to go through when I was a teen. You
had to act as if you weren’t gay even though everyone knew you were, you had to try to have girlfriends so that no one
would know, you had to change the pronoun if you were talking about someone you “like liked” from “he”
to “she” and a host of other lies you had to tell to try and protect…well, protect what exactly I don’t
know. I just know that even though you could be as flaming as could be you weren’t supposed to admit it because everyone
had the same opinion of gays being some sort of deviant perverts or something. Yet here is this fifteen year old that has
so much more time on his hands than I ever had because at least it seems that he is comfortable enough with himself to have
a boyfriend and do a bunch of other stuff besides wasting his time trying to cover his tracks.
I’m not someone who dwells on the past or has a bunch
of regrets but I do wonder what I would have done with all that wasted time of trying to convince people I wasn’t gay
if I had been allowed (mostly by myself but also society) to just say I was gay and move on. Maybe I could have learned about
geography or how the stock market works or even learned to knit with all the extra time. And maybe I wouldn’t have become
so cynical. I think cynics are born from people who drink from the river of broken dreams. They don’t become what they
think they should or want to so there’s a part of them that doesn’t want anyone else to have their dreams. At
forty-five years old I’ve learned enough to be honest with myself and just like trying to eat healthier and exercise
more I’m going to learn how to trust more and believe again in dreams for myself and others. I’m not going to
stop demanding that we gays have equal rights in a country that is supposed to guarantee me equality but maybe, just maybe
I’ll learn to no longer have one eye brow cocked at all times in an expression that reeks of sarcasm and cynicism because
even if I didn’t get to have a boyfriend at fifteen, there’s someone out there who does have one now and God bless
both of them and me and the rest of my generation and the generation before us who paved the way to make this possible for
the gays of today. Maybe we gays have come further than I thought – Don’t Get Me Started!
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Maybe It’s Us
Gays That Need To Change – Don’t Get Me Started!
Sometimes I write to amuse, sometimes to cause a reaction but mostly I write because if I didn’t
I think I’d explode. Yesterday I wrote about the rainbow flag that was burned outside of the New York LGBT Center. Now
I hate the damn rainbow business from the get go and anyone who has read my stuff knows that so I don’t think it could
have been all that big a surprise that my feelings on it were basically, “Burn baby burn!” Look I get that we’ve
all worked long and hard for the piece of second class citizenship our government and the Right Wing White Christians who
rule our country have afforded us but the more I thought about that flag in all its rainbowlishness the more I wondered if
maybe it’s us gays that need to change – Don’t Get Me Started!
We all talk about wanting equal rights but there’s a large part of me
that wonders why we aren’t simply demanding it at this point. I mean, why are we still playing the center square on
Hollywood Squares with our double entendres when we should be hosting this God Damned party? (Who puts parties together better
than gays? No one!) My point is that we want to be accepted as being “normal” and “look at us we can raise
kids” when really we’ve been raising other people’s kids for years. Like it or not, gays have always been
attracted to helping people. Whether it’s teaching them in a school or helping them get their luggage in an overhead
bin, the point of the matter is that although many in our “community” seek the holy grail of a “straight
man” or “straight acting male” most of us are in touch with our feminine or as I prefer to think of it,
“care giver” side. The truth is we know more about compassion than many of our straight counterparts by the little
we’ve been shown throughout history. (As with many other minorities) We embraced our youths as they were thrown out
by their uneducated parents when they found out they were gay, we’ve fed and hugged our community with HIV and AIDS
when many would have us believe it was a plague that you could get from being in the same room with someone infected. And
guess what? We’re still doing all of that today and more. Why aren’t we embracing this side of ourselves, celebrating
it and shoving it in the faces of those who would have us locked away on some sort of Lepers Island of rights? Let’s
stop asking to be accepted and take what we are due as citizens of the United States and human beings. And why do we crave
the label “normal” so much? We’re not “normal” but guess what, no one is “normal”
it simply doesn’t exist. It’s a made up condition much like I think restless leg syndrome is
but maybe that’s just me, after all they have a pill you can take if you have crazy legs and we should all trust the
pharmaceutical companies, right? (Yes, sarcasm)
I guess what I’m saying is that we as the LGBT (which always sounds like a sandwich to me and in certain orgy
circles I’m sure it is) community tend to whine about other people’s opinions about us and laws not changing but
we ourselves haven’t changed all that much with the times. Yes, we needed the Stonewall riots and we needed Harvey Milk
and maybe even the rainbow but today we need to move on from our history books and create a new system and way of doing things
from lessons learned from the past while looking toward the future. Great, maybe we’re not Paul Lynde or Liberace anymore
and now we have Neil Patrick Harris and Ricky Martin who are out and we even have gay characters on television who are actually
allowed to say they’re gay and kiss. But what’s next people cause this sure as hell is a bunch of nothing to hang
our hat on. Let’s get out of some of the old habits that aren’t suiting us anymore. I saw an article on queerty.com
about getting rid of the whole “coming out” label and I agree. No one needs to “come out” to anyone,
it’s no one’s business who you sleep with as long as it’s two consenting adults so let’s just stop
making it such a big deal and let’s start being. The covers of People magazine shouldn’t be filled with “He’s
Out!” It should have a cover of a celebrity that’s in the news for what they do not who they do (or that crazy
chick with the million kids cause I love it when the crazy straightees get the cover instead of us gays). And the same goes
for average citizens and military. If you want to tell someone you’re gay, tell someone, if you don’t, don’t
it’s up to you and shouldn’t be left to the mercy of publicity whores like Perez Hilton and his outing of people
to try and get famous from information as opposed to talent. I’ve got an idea. Let’s stop greeting the fact that
someone is gay with such sensationalism and let them just be the sensational individual they were meant to be. Look,
I love that I’m gay but I don’t need that to be in every conversation and it’s not all that I am and I sure
as hell don’t need a rainbow sticker on my car to let the world know either. I want to challenge the youth of the world
(straight, gay, whatever) it’s time you took this thing over. Get rid of the labels of “coming out” and
the rainbows and give us the future of what we should be because as any good educator knows from looking into the eyes of
passionate youths, they will take over and remake the world with or without us and this gay thinks that’s a good thing.
Maybe it’s us gays that need to change – Don’t Get Me Started!
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Am I The Only Gay Who Didn’t Mind The Burning Of The Rainbow Flag?
Am I The Only Gay
Who Didn’t Mind The Burning Of The Rainbow Flag? – Don’t Get Me Started!
According to The Advocate magazine, a burned rainbow flag was left outside the
LGBT Community Center in New York. While many have weighed in and they do have video footage of the perpetrator, no arrests
have been made yet. They are calling it a hate crime and I guess that’s a good thing, or is it? The flag apparently
didn’t belong to the Center which means that whoever did it really had to think about it. They either had to steal or
buy a rainbow flag, burn it and then drop it off at the Center. Lots of planning for what ultimately to this gay means nothing
because you see I’m an American and I believe in the whole flag burning thing being our right as a way of showing our
freedom (and burning I guess). So while some may be upset to know that I’m not upset I have to wonder, “Am I the
only gay who didn’t mind the burning of the rainbow flag?” – Don’t Get Me Started!
Let’s forget the whole freedom of expression thing for
a moment and let’s discuss why I really didn’t mind the rainbow flag being burned. I hate the whole rainbow thing
representing the LGBT community. With all of the wonderfully talented artists in our community you would think we would have
something or better taste at least to not have the damn rainbow as our symbol. I get it, “like many colors of the rainbows,
so are the days of our lives” (you get where I’m headed here) but a rainbow, really? Isn’t that something
that is usually reserved for unicorn stickers that grade school children put in sticker books and Mork’s suspenders?!?
I wish that were the case, believe me! I’m more than a little embarrassed for us gays that we haven’t done anything
about this whole rainbow deal long ago.
I get that to some, burning the rainbow is like burning the cross but at some point don’t we all have to recognize
that the old symbols of hate that have survived for years are just, well, cliché? I mean, if I see one more swastika
that I’m supposed to be afraid of or feel something for I’ll puke. Sure I’m a Jew and I think the Holocaust
is a tragedy too difficult to even fully imagine (much less why so many stood by and did nothing or choose now to say that
it never happened) but it’s a symbol and it only has as much power as you give it. Sure you can argue that that someone
that would wear a swastika arm band is trying to intimidate or show hate but to me it’s just bad taste and just looks
like the arm bands Michael Jackson and Color Me Badd from the early nineties used to wear. Seriously, we all worry too much
about symbols and not enough about actions.
So take the action of burning a rainbow flag, is that a hate crime? Is the crime against the LGBT Center, LGBT
people or against the flag itself? (If it’s against the flag itself I’d have bought the kerosene if they’d
asked.) Once again, no property of the Center was destroyed so to me it’s a tactic to intimidate and if we show we are
intimidated by this act do we not let the terrorists win?
Sure I say we catch this person and charge them with defacing property but
hate crime? If someone does bodily harm to someone and it can add additional penalty I say go for it but a flag not a fag?
I say, no. No hate crime here, just another stupid person trying to intimidate and I’m done with all that shit or shall
I say I’ve evolved? I was bullied all through school and I’m in my forties so if you think anyone is going to
intimidate me by burning a flag, wearing a swastika or telling me that I’m going to burn in hell because of my sexuality
you’re mistaken. It’s not going to intimidate me as much as it’s going to annoy me and make me think you’re
a moron. Let’s stop the cycle of being afraid of symbols. I’m not thinking the whole world will all sit in a circle
and sing Kumbaya (certainly not, I mean someone has to sit outside the circle and criticize what the people in the circle
are wearing and their lack of deodorant, yes?) But at some point we have to get smarter as humans and our interactions with
one another don’t we? So let’s get smart about not hating one another and also let’s get rid of that damn
rainbow. Who’s with me? Am I the only gay who didn’t mind the burning of the rainbow flag? – Don’t
Get Me Started!
Maybe The Worst Part Of Facebook Is Losing Someone You Just Got Back In Your Life
Maybe The Worst Part
Of Facebook Is Losing Someone You Just Got Back In Your Life – Don’t Get Me Started!
I hadn’t spent years looking for him, after all, we knew
one another when he was a teenager and I was about ten yet one day I typed his name into Facebook and there he was. He had
been a gymnast with one of the most amazingly outgoing, sunny dispositions I’d ever come across. His easy going charm
and good looks couldn’t help but draw you into him. I don’t know if I wanted to look like him more than I wanted
him to be my boyfriend (I always knew I was gay) maybe I wanted a little bit of both but I just knew that the hours we spent
together rehearsing for our kids’ performing group were always made better for having him around. He was so strong.
He could pick you up by your feet and lift you so you were upside down without any danger of your head hitting the ground
and before you even knew you had been picked up. He had you and though you screamed in mock fear, you knew you were safe.
I don’t remember much about where he went after high school. I was told Los Angeles and then somewhere in Nashville
I think when he decided he would have a country recording career then back to LA I think. I always knew I’d hear something
from him some day or maybe be buying one of his albums at a signing and he would look up and our eyes would meet and we’d
spend the rest of our lives making one another laugh like we did when we were kids and letting one another know how much we
loved one another. (Don’t worry, no possibility of me leaving the tall black man and my two cats, just a giggly boyish
friendship fantasy here.) When I found him on Facebook we sent a couple of notes to one another. It brought a smile to my
face and I hoped to his as well. Just some memories you only share with certain friends. We didn’t communicate every
day or every week and it had been a few weeks since I’d had a response on something silly that I sent him so I decided
to click on his picture and go look and see what was going on in his corner of Facebook. All it took was the first post of
condolences to let me know I’d been too late and that the reality was the man I giggled and wrestled with had left this
planet. And that’s how I learned that maybe the worst part of Facebook is losing someone you just got back in your life
– Don’t Get Me Started!
When
I had reconnected with him on Facebook I knew that he was sick. Not so much from the pictures posted of him but the fact that
he was sharing his cancer treatment regime with friends and family through Facebook postings (when he was up to it). I don’t
know what kind of cancer it was and I don’t know if it was related to HIV or AIDS (questions I think that are going
through your mind and I admit went once or twice through my own mind). What did it matter? What did it matter what the cause
of death, he’s gone. Not just ignoring me or “unfriending” me on Facebook, I mean really gone. There will
be no reunion, there will be no giggling, there will be no more than what was locked in my mind as a ten year old kid’s
memories of a friend I looked up to and admired.
I try to rationalize that we hadn’t been in touch for years so it shouldn’t hurt so much
but what the hell sense does that do you when you discover someone from your life has left this earth? How do you stop your
heart from aching for all of the things left unsaid or more importantly moments not shared? It’s a strange sort of grieving.
I don’t know if I grieve for the person he was when he passed that I didn’t really know or the one he was when
we were in one another’s lives. Maybe I grieve for the ten year old boy who idolized him because I know his heart is
broken. My heart is broken. As I stared at the computer screen reading the words his Facebook friends and relatives had to
say to him my eyes glazed over and I found myself thinking of him as I looked through the computer screen. And then I realized
that maybe the worst part of Facebook is losing someone you just got back in your life – Don’t Get Me Started!
Finding Your Passion
For Life On DVD – Don’t Get Me Started!
I don’t know that I was a great actor. The obvious indicator would be that I never had a grand
career at it so I couldn’t have been but that doesn’t mean that in those classes and as Shakespeare put it, as
“a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage” that I didn’t learn to somehow feel in my
soul the words I was saying or being told by a fellow performer. I think this is the reason I can go and see an awful theatre
production of something yet be moved to tears. I remember years ago seeing a God awful performance of A Chorus Line where
the actor playing, “Paul” recounts the story of discovering he was gay, being molested and his parents discovering
he was in a drag show (all in one monologue). The actor was so bad that it seemed as though he had no idea what the meaning
of the words were he was saying. True, I had played the character previously so I had some sense memory to draw upon but as
he got to the climax of the monologue (poorly) there I sat with the tears streaming down my face. Not from the performance
but from the written word, what I imagined in my head was this character’s experience, etc. Sure sometimes it’s
actors that make me cry. I hardly think it’s the written word of the soldier coming home for Christmas brewing Folgers
that sets my tear ducts into a frenzied drowning of my face. And yet nothing moves me more than a good documentary. With so
much reality television on now I think that the documentary art form has lost some of its audience because people fail to
realize that while a documentarian is showing you their perspective in the way that they shoot and edit the film, they don’t
have people on screen more worried about how to turn this into a career where they can be a celebrity even though they have
no ability whatsoever. They all ready have careers or something that is interesting about them. From watching these documentaries
and what I can only describe as my empathy I’ve discovered something quite remarkable. The ability to be inspired by
other people who themselves are inspiring. Finding your passion for life on DVD – Don’t Get Me Started!
While there are a ton of documentaries that I
could go into here I will focus on two for the moment so as to not completely bore all of you.
Having spent a Sunday at home watching not only the documentary
September Issue but all of the bonus DVD footage, I can tell you that this is worth seeing. I saw it in theatres but had to
see it again. While some may feel that fashion is a frivolous endeavor with the current state of the world and hunger and
natural disasters abounding, when you watch these people who create Vogue magazine, I don’t know how you can’t
be moved or motivated by their passion for what they’re doing. They are a microcosm of what I had always dreamed society
could be. A bunch of passionate people discussing, arguingbut ultimately putting out the best product
they can all the while knowing that it’s a fleeting endeavor and will need to be made greater their next time up to
bat for the next issue. I’m sure there is down time that isn’t shown in the documentary but the point is that
everyone is contributing, in their own way and to the best of their abilities because those who are in charge not only demand
it but inspire the best out of these people.
If you never saw Mad Hot Ballroom, I would highly recommend that you not only buy this DVD and watch it but that
you then send a copy to your local public school’s administration or county commission that decide on funding for schools.
With budgets being slashed and slashed again, I find it no wonder that Glee is a phenomenon. A stunningly visual representation
of arts in the school system which most school systems have seen either cut to one or two classes or no longer existing at
all but that’s a blog for another day. Mad Hot Ballroom follows a program developed for the New York public school system
that not only teaches boys and girls how to dance but for those of us who have ever had anything to do with the arts know,
it teaches them how to have manners, respect themselves and one another all the while teaching them the skills to dance and
become better rounded citizens of this world. Watching these young people unscripted talking and gossiping about who they’re
dancing with, what it means to get on the final team that competes is compelling enough but watching the educators who volunteer
to teach this program (along with professional dancers who assist) never fails to send me right over the edge when it comes
to being inspired and reduced to tears at the same time.
How does this translate into your life? Easy. You may not be putting out the next issue of the world’s
most recognizable fashion magazine and you may not be teaching a child how to tango but what if, just what if you treated
your work as if it was that important? Sure you can say that a fashion magazine isn’t important but think of all of
the people it employs and how it influences the world. Still unimportant? How do you influence the people you work with or
employ them to be better than they ever thought they could be? And as a former dance teacher I can tell you that teaching
the tango is more than just teaching dance. It’s learning to trust a partner, to make eye contact and to find a way
to dance the same steps everyone else is dancing yet at the same time make them your own so that you stand out in the crowd.
For me the problem isn’t becoming inspired and passionate when I watch these documentaries, it’s maintaining it.
I strive to be passionate about what I do, I want to inspire others to be passionate as well because the more I surround myself
with people that are passionate, the more I can sustain and nurture my spirit for finding inspiration in my life. Sometimes
it’s good to have something to get you started. So if you’ve lost your passion, here’s to finding your passion
for life on DVD – Don’t Get Me Started!
Thank You President Obama For The Hospital Visitation But Please Know Your Work Is Not Done For Granting Gays Equal Rights
Thank You President
Obama For The Hospital Visitation But Please Know Your Work Is Not Done For Granting Gays Equal Rights – Don’t
Get Me Started!
It was
the early nineties and my guy and I had been dating for over three years. We both worked at a theatre where we would be performing
one show while rehearsing the next show. It was a grueling schedule, working seven days a week but we loved it and loved working
together. Between one show closing and a new one opening there was a ten day period to change over the sets, costumes, etc.
to get ready for opening night. During these ten day periods we noticed my guy would always get sick. Sure it could have been
the long rehearsals or doing the same numbers that we would eventually only do once a night over and over again to get it
right but whatever it was after one of the more grueling ten day periods we opened the show only to have him wake me to say
that he wanted to go to the urgent care center. He couldn’t breathe. Having grown up with a brother who had asthma,
this was my diagnosis but whatever it was I had never seen him like this. Here he was a six foot black man who was muscular
and strong who now was almost a greenish/white color and who couldn’t put on his own clothes. As I dressed him I tried
to not show my concern and at the same time keep him focused on breathing, which had become so labored that I honestly was
just hoping that I could get him somewhere in time. Here I was at all 5’4” of me with the full weight of my partner
on me as I took him down the stairs and put him into the car. During the drive to the urgent care center I talked non-stop
about anything to try and get his mind off of the fact that he couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know what else to do.
When we arrived at the urgent care center I told
him to stay in the car and that I would get him a wheelchair. I walked into the center and the first nurse I encountered I
asked for a wheelchair so that I could bring someone in who was having trouble breathing. She looked me up and down and in
a tone that only one who has been discriminated against or looked down upon could recognize, she said, “Pneumonia?”
Remember that this was the nineties and for even some health so-called professionals, gay meant HIV which meant AIDS which
meant cancer and/or pneumonia, period. Knowing this was not a battle to fight to win the wheelchair and the care that my partner
needed I said, “No, asthma. May I please have a wheelchair?” Slowly she walked to where the wheelchairs were behind
the counter and before she brought me the wheelchair I saw her put rubber gloves on all the while staring at me. She pushed
the wheelchair toward me making sure that at no time did we both touch the chair, no doubt so that she could avoid catching
gay. Again I swallowed what I wanted to say and raced out to get my partner. Upon wheeling him in, the original nurse and
another nurse were talking behind the admittance counter and as the original nurse came around the counter to take my partner
she said, “I’ll take him from here.” As I began to walk with her she simply held out her hand to me like
a crossing guard in all white and said, “Take a seat.”
I went to the other nurse that was behind the counter and asked if there was any paperwork to be filled
out. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow and asked, “Are you related?” Our gaze locked with one another, “No”
I said, “But I have all of his information if I can be of any assistance.” “You can’t.” was
all she said to me as she got up and walked away busying herself away from where I was. I used the pay phone to call my partner’s
parents who lived in the same city to let them know what was going on. They told me to do whatever I thought was best as that
would be what they would do and they asked me to call them and keep them updated and that if they didn’t hear from me
within a half an hour they would be on their way. I didn’t tell them that no one would allow me to even fill out the
paperwork for him. I was ashamed, felt as though I had failed him and his parents. So I took a seat and waited. And waited
and waited.
Finally a third nurse
came out to get me. She was silent as she took me back to see where my partner was in a small room lying beneath an oxygen
tent barely conscious. There was a female doctor in the room as well. She explained that my partner had asked her to explain
everything to me. She explained that he had a severe case of asthma that had caused his lungs to fill with so much infection
that when he blew into a tube to lift a small plastic ball to see his breath capacity, he blew a zero. This large muscular
man couldn’t even make the ball rise. She explained that it was in fact his musculature that was forcing air through
his lungs, the only way he was breathing at this point. She told me that they were transferring him to the hospital and due
to the severity of his condition he needed to be transported in an ambulance. I was not offered the option to ride in the
ambulance with him. As they wheeled him to the ambulance I walked alone back through the maze of the urgent care center in
a daze.
My mind was racing. What
if my partner had been unconscious? Would anyone have come to tell me what was going on or would I be left in that waiting
room while he was moved to a hospital without me ever knowing? Why wouldn’t they let me fill out the form so that I
could have at least felt as if I was doing something to help? Why would they stare at me and put gloves on just at the sight
of me? Was it hospital policy to keep me from him while he waited to see the doctor or was this nurse just exercising her
right to prejudice because there was no law or anything I could do about it and she knew it?
I can’t tell you about my drive to the hospital because
I don’t remember driving there. I must have called my partner’s parents before I left the urgent care because
they met me at the hospital. His mother was a retired nurse and seemed to know everyone at the hospital so I was whisked in
with the family. Again I couldn’t help but wonder, what if I hadn’t had a good relationship with his parents?
Would I have been going into the ICU at this point? Would anyone have told me anything? After all, there were no laws, no
policy that said I had to be told. I had been with this man for over three years and I had no more rights than a stranger
on the street when it came to the man I loved.
My partner was in the hospital for ten days before the entire infection had been eradicated and he was released.
Through a series of tests they discovered that he had exercise induced asthma, thus the “flair ups” during the
strenuous ten day periods before a new show would begin. He was put on a preventative treatment plan and was healthy and strong
again in no time.
Flash forward
to 2009 when my partner and I had been together for 21 years. We now lived in Nevada where there had been a law passed to
ensure that we could not be married in the eyes of the state years earlier but due to some decent politicians we had won the
right to register as Domestic Partners with the state as of October 1, 2009. No shoes, no rice, no guarantee that employers
would be required to offer health benefits to my Domestic Partner but it gave us the right to hospital visits (and shared
responsibility of any debt either of us incurred after the date of our notarized document stamped by the state). We had no
ceremony, we simply went into our bank had the paper notarized and mailed it into the state with our check. A week or so later
our certificate came in the mail. We were now Domestic Partnership certificate 00812 according to the state of Nevada.
I still live in fear that some uneducated person
will try to keep me out of my partner’s hospital room or him out of mine and as I write this I realize that I most likely
should have copies of our certificate and the law itself in both of our cars and on us at all times just in case something
God forbid should happen. More hoops to jump through than our straight counterparts I think can even imagine. Even heterosexual
supporters of equality for same sex partners may not know just how much we’re still treated and seen in the eyes of
the law as second class citizens. They don’t have to think about the fact that we pay more taxes because we can’t
file a joint income tax return due to the Defense Of Marriage Act that was passed prohibiting same sex couples to be married
in the eyes of the federal government. They don’t think that should our employer grant our partner health benefits that
due to the fact we’re not “married”, it’s considered additional income that is taxed unlike our straight
counterparts and their spouses’ coverage. They don’t think about the hundred or so other rights they have that
we still don’t have, including to serve our country.
I realize that giving same sex couples the right to marry scares many people due to their religious
beliefs but I still believe that our government is supposed to enforce a separation of church and state. And while I’d
like to say that after twenty-one years I don’t need or want that piece of paper validating my relationship with my
government I’d be lying. You don’t have to give me the shoes and rice in your church but you have to give me the
rights guaranteed me in the Constitution. And I dare anyone to look at what my partner and I share and tell me that we don’t
love, honor, cherish and obey one another in sickness and in health for richer or for poorer all the days of our lives any
differently than our straight counterparts.
Five Things Guys Need
To Stop Wearing – Don’t Get Me Started!
Every once in awhile there are guys (straight and gay) who get locked into a trend. Now to be clear,
“trends” all have a shelf life, if they didn’t they’d be called, “classic.” Now there
are times when I myself am a trend monster. God knows during the 80’s I had many a pair of parachute pants, worn with
doubled up polos with the collar up and my hair coiffed into something akin to what Duran Duran sported so I know about some
trends kids. But trends aren’t meant to last. The proof in this are the mullet and women who still have the blond hair
with the dark roots from the 90’s trying to look like Morgan Fairchild. I get that some people hang onto a trend or
hairstyle because it’s the last time they felt really good about themselves but people please take a good long look
at yourself, the forty-year old self that is currently appearing in the mirror and ask yourself if you are seeing yourself
as you are or as you once were, then get rid of the acid wash jeans. And if that all seems a bit too much for you to handle
guys, allow me to assist you with the five things guys need to stop wearing – Don’t Get Me Started!
1.Ed Hardy Anything – This trend ended a long time ago but the grim reaper on it was when Jon
Gosselin started hanging around with Christian Audigier threatening to design a kids clothing line with him and use his kids
as the models. You can now get Ed Hardy dragons and tattooesque looking designs on lighters at convenience stores. Time to
let the glittery skull shirt go that you used to think helped you get into clubs. (Knock offs from Ed Hardy such as Affliction
are on notice that their fifteen minutes of fame are almost up as well)
2.The Silver
Thumb Ring – I don’t know who started this or why they started it but it usually came with a soul patch which
should also be gotten rid of. I have no idea why people feel the need to have thumb rings (or toe rings) for that matter but
a recent trip to a Nordstrom found me amazed that the sales person who handed me my receipt was wearing
a chunky silver thumb ring. These look stupid guys and are no longer a trend so please get rid of them. They look like your
boyfriend gave you a ring and it was too big to wear on any of the usual suspected ring fingers so you wore it on your thumb.
The same goes for the index finger ring. Only wear one of these if your Barnabas Collins from Dark Shadows (too young to get
the reference? Look it up and know that Tim Burton is making a movie version of it soon with Johnny Depp as Barnabus)
3.The Faux Hawk Hair-Don’t – I’ve written about these before but for some reason the
male population at large is not listening. You look like you’re an ad for Bob’s Big Boy or something in most cases.
It doesn’t look cool, it doesn’t look as though you just rolled out of bed and that was the style that appeared.
It looks exactly like it is, something you used way too much product and time to create. It looks silly, not cool so please
enough all ready with this hairstyle, dudes.
4.Baggy Pants – if you spend more time pulling up your pants than doing anything else then allow
me to save you some time. Get some damn pants that fit and perhaps even a magical device they call a belt. I’m not even
talking about the really baggy pant wearers that had a song created by that guy who auditioned for American Idol – “Pants
on the ground, pants on the ground…” I’m talking about the guys who just wear pants that are too big for
them. I don’t know if you’re wearing them because you think they help disguise the fact that you’re so heavy
you could be on next season’s Biggest Loser or if you think they’re cool but in most cases they just make you
look sloppy which translates to lazy, unreliable and stupid. Plus, gals and guys alike appreciate a great ass on a guy and
you’re depriving anyone who might be looking or interested in you in knowing just how great that ass of yours really
is.
5.The Square Toed Dress Shoe – This is a trend that has stayed way too long at the runway. I don’t
know who looks good in these or why the designers continue to shove them down the male population’s collective throats.
To me they have a futuristic quality. A future where men stop having a normal shaped foot and have feet that look like large
ice cream sandwiches or something. These types of shoes always look to me as if they would look really good with a Star Fleet
jumpsuit. If you have anything in your wardrobe that fits this category (of only looking decent with a Star Fleet uniform)
I beg you to either throw it away or join a local chapter of your Star Trek Fanatics club. (Don’t forget to wear your
square toed shoes)
Look, I get it.
Designers create trends to make money. They don’t always have the better interest of society in mind when they’re
designing these things. I also know that we as a society have difficulty with change. (This goes for clothing, life or in
a store when the register isn’t working properly and the person behind the counter has no idea how much change you should
get for your twenty dollar bill for a $13.75 purchase) I know change can be difficult but if you take a small step you’ll
be able to take the next small step and before you know it you’re walking across a restaurant and no longer embarrassing
your spouse, significant other or general public. Come on, take the challenge like a man. You don’t really need a cobra
wrapping around your thumb, now do you? You see how stupid that looks now, don’t you? And while you’re at it here
are the five things guys need to stop wearing – Don’t Get Me Started!
I Thought The Boys Scouts Were Supposed To Teach You How To Use A Compass, Not Lose Your Moral Compass!
I Thought The Boys
Scouts Were Supposed To Teach You How To Use A Compass, Not Lose Your Moral Compass! – Don’t Get Me Started!
To say that I was thrilled that an Oregon jury
decided that the Boy Scouts needed to pay a 38 year old man who was abused by an assistant scout master when he was a youth,
$1.4 million dollars is an understatement. Never mind those of you who would say that I have an axe to grind with the Scouts
after they threw me out for losing my Scout-O-Rama tickets as a youth. I can assure you that my delight in the fact that the
Scouts are having to pay for their crimes is purely from a principle point of view. I thought the Boy Scouts were supposed
to teach you how to use a compass not lose your moral compass! – Don’t Get Me Started!
The appeals have all ready begun in this case and whether or
not the Scouts end up paying is immaterial, the point is that these Christian organizations that spend so much time sitting
upon their high horse spouting their moral superiority, getting underlings to cover up any inappropriate behavior or scandal
are finally being shown for the scum they are and that they do. As I often quote from the old television series Barretta,
“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” And the Scouts along with the Vatican need to begin
to realize that just because it’s something that they don’t want associated with them doesn’t mean that
they can wash their hands clean by a couple of transfers of Scout Masters or priests in a sort of pedophile shell game.
Look, we all know that both the scouts and the
Catholic Church do good work for some but what they want to be is perfect which is not a human condition and when they can’t
be perfect they pray on it and convince themselves that Jesus forgives them for not being perfect which who the hell knows
if Jesus wanted them to be perfect in the first place? But just in case that is what Jesus wants, they choose to strive to
reach their perfection by excommunicating or throwing out those that seem less than perfect to them so as to not “ruin”
their image. So while they are very proud of themselves that they’ve supposedly gotten rid of the “imperfect gays”
in both organizations the truth of the matter is that it has far from solved their problems because gays weren’t the
problem in the first place, they were simply a diversionary tactic. At some point someone among them had to realize that someone
somewhere was going to let them know that they as their own self appointed emperor they had no clothes, right? Wrong. But
at least now the courts are starting to let them know and maybe just maybe these as well as other organizations will begin
to look at the real problems they’re facing and stop playing the gay scapegoat card. Maybe.
Straights and gays alike do great and bad things. It’s
not an exclusive right of either sexual preference to only do good or bad but how long are we going to allow the unenlightened
to base our laws and use their Christian covered hate based beliefs to continue to push non-Christians down like second class
citizens? I don’t care if it’s the Pope acting as if it was some gays who infiltrated their ranks that were the
pedophiles were the problem with the rampant child abuse done at the hands of the Catholic Church when he knows damn well
he was a party to moving priests around to save them from being prosecuted or if it’s Mike Huckabee telling a college
paper that allowing gays to marry is comparable to drug use, polygamy and incest. These irresponsible men hiding behind the
skirts of the church need to stop and/or be stopped.
I had a bit of banter back and forth with someone recently from one of the video blogs I posted on YouTube. She told
me how I was hurting my soul and had no relationship with God. She also told me to remember her words when Judgment Day came
in what I can only assume is the only satisfaction she could get from me not buying what she was selling. I guess she figures
if she gets to give me a big “I told you so” on Judgment Day that it’s payoff enough for her and she’s
done her job so that she can get into heaven. I don’t want anyone worrying about my soul thank you very much I can take
care of myself and my soul. What I want them to do is to worry about the fact that people (mostly kids) are being molested
every day that need their attention much more than my soul. And I want them to understand that their days of irresponsibly
blaming gays is quickly coming to an end. I won’t tolerate anyone who wants to try and compare me with a pedophile or
commits incest and I will continue to fight for my marriage and human rights. You see, I have a moral compass that points
me in the directions of helping out and being kind to my fellow man. Where is the church and the Boy Scout compass pointing?
Always in whatever direction makes it not their fault from what I’ve seen. I thought the Boy Scouts were supposed to
teach you how to use a compass not lose your moral compass! – Don’t Get Me Started!
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Why Zumba Class Cracks Me Up! Forty-Something Gay, ep77
Episode 77 – Why Zumba Class Cracks Me Up! Have you ever taken a fitness class at a gym? I don’t
know how they are anywhere else but where I take Zumba, it’s like 37 Hispanic women and me and to watch the whole dynamic
is hilarious. I hope you’ll think so too.
I Can’t Help
It, I’m A Short Story Kind Of Guy – Don’t Get Me Started!
Sometimes I wonder if I have ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) but then I realize
that I’m probably just looking for a modern day explanation to a problem that I’ve had all my life. My tap teacher
when I was six years old and went to my first tap class put it quite succinctly. I was all excited about being Fred Astaire
when I begged my mother and father to let me go to tap class. They willingly obliged so there I went with my shiny new patent
leather tap shoes to my first tap class. I thought I was doing great. Imagine my surprise when the teacher asked to speak
to my mother and I after class. She said, “His mind is going faster than his feet and his feet are never going to catch
up.” Quite damaging for a kid who wanted to go into the show biz but my mother thanked her and I never went back to
tap class. (On a side note, it wasn’t until the summer before my senior year in high school when I went to a theatre
camp at Northwestern University that I took tap as an elective – as it was one of the only ones left with room –
and the teacher immediately gushed that I had natural talent, put me in front of the class and years later I would go on to
play “Cosmo Brown” the Donald O’Connor role from Singin’ In The Rain where there was much tapping
to be done.) So while I’ve cursed that original teacher for robbing me of all the years I could have been tapping and
could have become a tapping contender, I find that more and more in life there was some truth to what she said that fateful
day. I can’t help it, I’m a short story kind of guy – Don’t Get Me Started!
If I’m really being honest, I’m good for about 1,000
words total. This is if I’m reading or listening to someone. You see, I walk fast, talk fast and yes my mind often goes
faster than the words on the page or conversation I’m having in front of me. While some may find it a curse, I’ve
learned to live with it sort of like I think people live with being color blind or something. You learn to work around it.
I’m also someone who always finishes what they start. I remember when everyone was reading the Anne Rice vampire books.
I picked them up and began to read and couldn’t believe that she could go on and on for what seemed like three pages
describing the drapes. Sure I knew everything there was to know about the burgundy, worn thin velvet, tinged with dirt and
tied back with a golden cord drapes but as you can see, I was able to describe it in one sentence and not go on and on about
it. Still somehow I managed to finish the book but as I grow older my patience has worn as thin as the velvet drapes.
When I first started doing theatre I worked with
directors who when they thought the pace of a show was going too slow they would simply snap their fingers in a rhythm getting
faster and faster to let the actors know that they needed to pick up the pace. When I worked in film and the director wanted
you to speed up they would furiously circle their hands one over the other to let you know in silent form that they wanted
you to pick things up. But the problem is that when someone is telling me a story and feels the need to go into every miniscule
detail I can hear that snapping of fingers in my head and I have to nail my arms to my side to not make the “speed it
up” signal from my days in television and film.
It’s not that I’m not interested it’s that I’m not interested in every single thing that
happened. If you want to tell me about someone cutting you off in a parking lot, I don’t need to know what you ate for
breakfast. Just start the story at “I’m driving and I pull into the parking lot when…” Believe me
I can figure out the rest of the story without knowing that you had eggs that morning. I’m not going to be testifying
to what you did or didn’t do (and I think it would be hearsay anyway) so just get to the point people, okay??
Look, I’ve never been a “stop and
smell the roses” kind of guy, I’ve always been a “get the best looking roses you can at the best price,
put them in a great vase arranged beautifully and when they start to die get them out into the garbage before the dead petals
land on the carpet” kind of guy. Maybe in my twilight years I’ll discover a gentler life pace but I don’t
see it happening any time soon and that’s okay with me. I can’t help it, I’m a short story kind of guy –
Don’t Get Me Started!
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Every Time I Open My Mailbox I Find Out I’m Even Gayer Than I Thought I Was
Every Time I Open
My Mailbox I Find Out I’m Even Gayer Than I Thought I Was – Don’t Get Me Started!
Try as I might to put up a good front, my mailman
knows better. My mailman sees everything, the dozen or so charities asking me to give them money like the Men’s Health
Crisis to the almost completely bare boys wearing thongs and whatnot against their tan toned bodies on the covers of the underwear
catalogs. Let’s just say that I’m sure by this point my mailman knows I’m gay from these various items and
the red ribbon return address labels I use that I get from the charities looking for my money on all my outbound mail. But
the other day something arrived in a small note card sized ecru envelope that would have gone unnoticed by everyone including
my mailman and myself. It wasn’t until I opened this envelope that I realized something I guess I should have all ready
known. Every time I open my mailbox I find out I’m even gayer than I thought I was – Don’t Get Me Started!
The note card had my name and address handwritten
on it but I flipped over to the back of the envelope and it revealed what I had suspected, just one word appeared on the back
of the envelope in a font that I recognized immediately, “NORDSTROM” was all it said and yet somehow I knew at
once exactly who it was from, Nordstrom of course but I had a suspicion that it was from someone in the men’s fragrance
department. You see, I had spent one long afternoonin this department sniffing this and that, all complete
with two salespeople helping me shoving coffee beans under my nose between sniffs to clear my palate or whatever it is that
needs to be cleared when you’re smelling colognes. I have very specific ideas when it comes to how I want to smell and
more importantly I realize that every scent smells different on different people due to your own body chemistry. Add all of
this together and you find that I am a bit high maintenance in this department and therefore I spent at least an hour one
day with everyone in the department trying to talk me into the latest or the classic scent that would become my smell to the
face of the world around me. It was exhausting and at the same time stupid, I knew it was stupid to agonize over colognes
but there I was trying to smell the citrus high that became more woodsy as the sandalwood under tones began to take over until
finally it had settled into what it might really smell like on me once it found it’s true voice on my wrist according
to the scent sales professionals.
I
was right, the card contained an invitation to a “Fragrance Event.” Now I’ve been invited to fundraisers,
I’ve been invited to get a low annual rate credit card but this was the first time I was invited to a fragrance event.
A men’s fragrance event. Could there be anything gayer than this? I tried and tried to think of something gayer in my
mind. Surely there were things, like… I don’t know, a butt plug event at a sex shop or something like that but
a fragrance event for men has to be right up there doesn’t it? I wondered how they still did things like this with the
down economy (then I read they were charging $10 for entry which would go toward your purchase). I mean are there people who
are still willing to spend $300 for a small bottle of something that wears off a few hours after you put it on revealing you
for your true scent you’re trying to cover up? And don’t we attract people with our own personal pheromones so
shouldn’t we be trying to just enhance our own God given stink instead of letting people like Gucci to Sean John decide
what we should smell like?
I like
to smell clean. You know, like a good bar of soap, really. Not the smell of Mennen Speed Stick that every boy in high school
smelled of during my high school days or me who reeked of Aramis the original scent of the gay man, moving onto exotic smells
such as Drakkar, classic Calvin Klein scents and eventually in my forties settling on what I’m currently wearing, Hermes.
Truly I know a lot about men’s cologne, probably more than I should but still, do I want to go to a party for a bunch
of bottles on a shelf in a department store? A normal person probably would have just thrown the invite in the trash but I
have to admit that I put it on a pile on my desk wondering if at some point I might not RSVP and/or attend. Most likely it
will end up in the trash but for now it’s just a reminder to me that every time I open my mailbox I find out I’m
even gayer than I thought I was – Don’t Get Me Started!
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Why Isn’t Everyone Talking About Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution?
Why Isn’t Everyone
Talking About Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution? – Don’t Get Me Started!
I didn’t want to watch yet another reality show and as
my spouse does all the cooking at home there was certainly nothing I could get out of a reality show about a cook (though
I must admit I’m addicted to the cake building shows and the competition cooking shows much to the dismay of my spouse
who constantly says to me, “You watch all these cooking shows, does it ever inspire you to try anything you’ve
seen?” My answer is always “No” and though I don’t know why I don’t get inspired to get in that
kitchen and make magic, I just don’t.) But one Friday evening I switched on Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution and
I was hooked. What I can’t figure out is why isn’t everyone talking about Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution?
– Don’t Get Me Started!
A
few days after watching the initial two hours of the show I had an update come across the AP application on my iPhone that
said that Jamie Oliver was unsuccessful in his changing the school food programs. No real details but I was suddenly enraged.
I think it has something to do with the fact that I worked as an Artist In Residence for over ten years at my old high school.
For three to four months each year, I worked with a dear friend of mine who is an amazing woman and dance teacher to put on
a major dance production each year which had 10% of the school’s population in it. And every year that I was there I
was always amazed at just how broken our education system is in this country.
I get that we’re all creatures of habit and I get that we don’t like anyone telling us
that we’re not doing something right but the people on this show who are such adversaries of what this man is trying
to do reach a level that is staggering. As they stand there arguing with him about the fact that a pasta dish he made with
vegetables doesn’t have enough vegetables to meet the standards or that he doesn’t have two breads for his meal,
all of which are dictated by some sort of rule book, they sit there with shit eating grins on their faces full of delight
and some weird sense of superiority that the over processed chicken roll on a bun and French fries or the pizza they serve
the students for breakfast meets all of the government requirements. What?!? Are you kidding me?
I’m not a big conspiracy theory person but I have to believe
that someone somewhere is getting paid off to have contracts where frozen processed chemicals have taken the place of real
food for our children and they’re making millions from it. As you watch the kids eating their pizza for breakfast with
their sugary strawberry or chocolate milk (not a regular milk or water in sight) and you watch not only the cafeteria cooks
and the district grand highness of nutrition shrug saying the kids like it so it’s okay for them to be eating this crap
you have the urge to shake your television to try and shake some sense into these morons.
Look, I don’t think (like the local radio guy and several
other citizens) that Jamie Oliver came to Huntington, West Virginia to prove that everyone there is a nutritional idiot or
is setting them up in anyway other than to try and get them to eat better. Why the man isn’t being thanked and lauded
for not only trying to get better nutrition in the kids at school, for the families of Huntington and change some kids lives
is beyond me. He took a group of kids who volunteered to cook with him and hearing their stories of fathers dying of obesity
or struggling with weight and health issues themselves simply tore me apart. It also reminded me how much I miss teaching
and seeing a kid’s face when they get what you’re teaching them.
So while some may care to watch the least talented season of contestants ever on American Idol I can
tell you that I will take the time I used to watch Idol and watch Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution as he tries and tries
again to make a difference. My only question is why isn’t everyone talking about Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution?
– Don’t Get Me Started!
Mississippi Lesbian Teen Sent To Fake Prom – And People Wonder Why We Gays Go On And On About Discrimination
Mississippi Lesbian
Teen Sent To Fake Prom – And People Wonder Why We Gays Go On And On About Discrimination – Don’t Get Me
Started!
Constance McMillen,
the Mississippi teen that went to court when she was told that she couldn’t bring her girlfriend to prom (or wear a
tuxedo, as it was deemed disruptive by school officials) saw that when people really want to discriminate against you, they
find a way. Even though a judge ruled in her favor, the original prom was cancelled and she was told she could attend a prom
created by parents. All good, right? Not so much, when she arrived at the prom which took place at a country club she discovered
that there were only about seven students invited to this so-called prom (two with learning disabilities) and the rest of
her classmates were all partying at a different prom somewhere else that night to which she had not been invited. Nice parenting,
folks. To understand the deceit that had to go into this is staggering. Think of all the lies that school officials and parents
had to tell, the lies their kids told to keep the “real” prom a secret from McMillen. Think about it and then
ask yourself if this was really all worth it, to keep two kids from attending an event together. Ask yourself what you would
do in this event. Would you speak up or would you like so many have done throughout history just sit back silently doing nothing?
If you chose to do nothing, you’re no better than the hate mongers who came up with the scheme, you’re no better
(wait for it, here it comes) than the many Germans who were and weren’t Nazis who sat by and watched while innocent
people were killed, burned, starved and worse at the hands of an irrational leader filled with fear. Mississippi lesbian teen
sent to fake prom – and people wonder why we gays go on and on about discrimination – Don’t Get Me Started!
To read the full story, here’s a link to
the Huffington Post article - http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/04/05/constance-mcmillen-fake-p_n_525856.html - I myself had to read it a few times before I could even believe that this had happened. It
seems so diabolical that at first I couldn’t comprehend how anyone could be a party to something so disgusting. Then
I thought about my spouse who is a black man who in his lifetime has been met with discrimination over and over again. The
thought that in his lifetime he saw the damning stupidity of white leaders and citizens who forced blacks to drink from separate
fountains or not be allowed to swim in public pools never ceases to make my heart ache. I know a little bit about discrimination
too. From being a Jew and from being a kid who knew he was gay all his life and never spending one day at school without hearing
the word, “fag” hurled at me or being beaten up. I don’t know that the white, straight, ruling class in
America understand how good they have it or why they don’t use their power for good. Like it or not, white men still
run our country and as long as they cling to their bibles as a way of “blessing” the injustices they do to minorities,
women (and please someone explain to me why you women don’t rise up – there are more of you, you have a longer
life expectancy than us men and yet you still seem to allow these white Christian men to make the rules of you getting paid
less for doing the same job a man does and allowing them to legislate everything from what you do with your body to who you
can marry, I don’t get it, ladies) these white supposed Christian men dominate over everyone, making rules out of the
fear of anyone who thinks or looks differently than them or who may be smarter than them. Kill what you don’t know or
fear and then you’ll be able to maintain the status quo I guess is their motto but it’s time for a real change
and I can only hope that Obama is a start to it. However when you read stories like the one about Constance McMillen, you
can’t help but wonder if we’ll ever see the changes we really need.
Here’s something I know some of you will not believe but being white
and Christian doesn’t make you a good person or parent. I read in the papers every day about children who are abused
or killed at the hands of their mother or their mother’s current boyfriend (there’s a case here in Vegas going
on right now where a man killed a year old little girl under these circumstances). I read about children molested by priests
and the Pope knowing about it while the religious followers blame the children or turn a deaf ear. And yet you’re still
going to tell me that homosexuality is wrong, that gays can’t be parents and that we’re not allowed to go to prom
together? There’s a story of a male student who won the right to go to prom with his boyfriend only to find himself
thrown out on the street by his parents when they found out about it. Again I say, nice parenting.
Understanding is supposed to begin at home. And while I do blame
ignorant administrative leaders at school districts who are struggling to keep their jobs by keeping the most vocal (white
Christians) parents happy I also blame the other parents who know better. Where the hell are they? Where are you “real”
Christians who are supposed to be turning the other cheek, teaching kindness and doing what Jesus would do? Where the hell
are you and what are you teaching your children when you sit by and allow such injustices to go by without teaching your children
how wrong they are and showing them how wrong they are by standing up and letting your voice to be heard? And don’t
tell me that one voice can’t make a difference. One voice, even an anonymous one could have stopped Constance McMillen
from showing up to that fake prom and being humiliated once more (as well as the other kids who were deemed, “not wanted”
and were told only about the fake prom). Where are you people and if it were your kid, you tell me you wouldn’t have
wanted someone to step up and let you know? I’d like to see us gays be given equal rights in my lifetime but with each
one of these monstrous acts that take place the further I realize we have to go before we’ll truly see equality and
the more I’m convinced that we gays can’t stop talking about things like this and making everyone within earshot
aware. Mississippi lesbian teen sent to fake prom – and people wonder why we gays go on and on about discrimination
– Don’t Get Me Started!
And
now something I never do – here’s some info from the other side of this issue, a posting by one of Constance’s
Classmates…I’ll let you decide…
**Open Minded Readers Only**I am a senior at IAHS, and I’ve known Constance for the last 6 years. Please hear our side of the story before
you decide on our fate.The party
we had in Evergreen (the county neighborhood I live in) is 30 mins away from the school. we rented out the community center,
hired vendors, decorated, and our parents ran the security/chaperone staff- but it wasn’t prom. Prom was at the country
club where constance and 7 other students were. The reason the senior class boycotted the actual prom was not because we hate
gays. We wanted a drama-free gathering to celebrate 3 great years and 1 lousy one together, and we wanted to lay low. We also
wanted to do it without the main cause of the lousy. What people are failing to realize is that much of the fault of this
whole stink lies with Constance, not her mistreatment by the school district, but her crazy-reckless need for attention. It
sounds mean and horrible and like we planned it all specifically to embarrass Constance, but we didn’t. We let her have
her prom with her girlfriend and her tuxedo and we went to party it up in the “boondocks” not because we wanted
her rights violated, but so we could salvage what has turned into a total fiasco. As a whole we didn’t support her decision
to throw the district under the bus, or her insinuations that we’re all just a bunch ‘a hicks driving around in
beater pick up trucks spitting tobacco and burning crosses. IAHS is one of the top schools in the state and I’m proud
of that, and I’m proud that we took a stand and just said you know what? forget it, we have just as much right as you
do to have a party for ourselves. So we did, and now we’re getting flack because poor Connie’s ego got a bit of
bruising. She’s playing the lesbian card to prove she ALWAYS gets what she wants. This time, we didn’t just let
her.Take it as you will, because
I’m sure it sounds like we faked her out, but understand this- the decision NOT to attend prom had nothing to do with
the school or with Constance’s sexual preferences; it had everything to do with proving we weren’t going to let
her and the ACLU steamroll us into doing what Constance wanted. We flexed the muscle of the majority and we’ll suffer
the consequences.Soon
after, she posted this…Thanks to everyone
who has responded to my post from earlier this evening. First want to apologize for the misrepresentation of the motives behind
our decision. Secondly, I want to apologize for any discomfort I must have caused all you revolutionaries who are working
so hard to bring change to such a small minded place as Itawamba- but do me one favor. Please, do not assume that every graduate
from IAHS is stupid, incompetent as I seem to all of you. I ask that you forgive my very emotional attempt at defending my
home. I personally believe that the whole thing has turned into a tempest in a teacup, so to speak, and I wish now that things
could have been changed. Again, I ask you though please do not sterotype my school, county, state, or region based on what
I have said. Thanks again. Lindsey
After Watching Rod Blagojevich On Celebrity Apprentice I Want All Politicians To Appear On A Reality Competition Show!
After Watching Rod
Blagojevich On Celebrity Apprentice I Want All Politicians To Appear On A Reality Competition Show! – Don’t Get
Me Started!
Why am I the only one thinking of this or have politicians been approached and
been too afraid to participate in a reality show where we get to see if they really possess any of the skills or attributes
we actually want in our leaders? One of the things that always has boggled (but not surprised) my mind is the fact that when
you look at most major and not so major political campaigns, the one with the most money (or who has friends, lobbyists and
industries with the most money behind them) wins. It’s a simple fact folks. People can talk all they want about “By
the people for the people” but there should be an asterisk over it with small print below that states “for those
who have all the money.” Hey, it’s just the way it is or was until I watched the first four episodes of Celebrity
Apprentice and hatched my plan. Now I get it, now I get that instead of the campaigners “tweeting” to show how
hip they are or shouting “Baby Killer” on the Senate floor to get attention, we need to get them where we can
really see them. After watching Rod Blagojevich on Celebrity Apprentice I want ALL politicians to appear on a reality competition
show! – Don’t Get Me Started!
The train wreck that was and is Blagojevich started long before Celebrity Apprentice but the beauty of that show
is that these people are given tasks and you see just how good (or awful) they are not only about organizing the task and
working with their teams but you see just how good or bad they are at doing even the most simple of tasks. Take Blagojevich
for example, had no idea how to turn on a computer, use it, type or even answer a cell phone. Think I’m making this
shit up? Watch some of the episodes and then write in your hateful comments to me. What you see is someone who is so good
at waving to crowds, shaking babies and kissing hands but has no substance or intelligence. If I didn’t know better
and was more of a conspiracy theorist I’d be convinced that this is what most politicians are, they are simple minded
folks with decent hair who act as Pinocchio while somewhere some company or political organizer plays Geppetto, pulling the
strings telling them exactly what to say and how to vote. All the while surrounding them with sycophants who tell them how
wonderful they are while doing everything from sending emails for them to tying their shoes for them so that no one will ever
pay attention to the man behind the curtain pulling the strings.
I really want to believe that Rod Blogojevich is the exception but I know in my gut and heart that
he is the norm. Here I think that our politicians are all smarter than me and that they understand these farchacta laws they
pass with tons of big words and hidden subsidies to the lobbyist groups that fund their campaigns when in actuality they can’t
even answer the phone or a question that isn’t having to do with their target demographic or has been drummed into them
by their puppet masters.
I think
the militia groups in this country who are unemployed boys playing with guns and want to go to the White House to take over
the government from the “black man” should be tried for treason but I gotta tell you, when I watched what a moron
Blogojevich was and is it made me really angry. Not angry enough to do something stupid like the militia boys or create a
bunch of fear and hate speech to create a whole new party for Sarah Palin to lead like those morons the Tea Baggers (who should
know that “tea bagging” in the gay community means squatting over someone else’s face and “dunking”
your balls in and out of someone’s mouth - makes me happy every time I see one of those red neck losers screaming, “We’re
Tea Baggers And We’re Not Going To Take It” – no, technically if you’re the tea bagger you’re
NOT going to be taking it, you’re going to be giving it but I guess that’s just too technical for you simple folk)
it doesn’t make me angry enough to do something crazy but it certainly confirms what so many of us in this country think
which is that by in large our Congress is filled with morons who have some big business folks pulling their strings.
So, here’s the solution kids. We need to
get everyone from local politicians to the Grand Poobahs who get to go to Washington, DC and ride around in long limousines
and give them one task to complete with the use of all of their aides that they’ll be taking with them if they get into
office. I don’t want to hear any more speeches or see ads on television telling me how their competitor is a crook and
that they approve of the ad campaign. I want to watch them in action and then make my own decision about whether or not I
approve of them. I want to see who they plan to take with them to create their speeches; I want to see them in meetings with
lobbyists and the rich folk who give them money for their campaigns, I want to see it all for a twenty four hour period while
they try to create a program to help the homeless or put better nutrition into our school system. I want us all to see it
because what we’re missing in this technologically advanced age is some reality programming that will assist us in creating
a better reality for ourselves and our country. Are you listening Mark Burnett? After watching Rod Blagojevich on Celebrity
Apprentice I want ALL politicians to appear on a reality competition show! – Don’t Get Me Started!
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How Starbucks Ruined
Coffee For Me – Don’t Get Me Started!
I remember as a kid my father always had coffee with his dinner when we would go out to a restaurant.
While more times than not, we would go to a more casual restaurant, there were times when we went to a nicer restaurant and
I remember the waiter coming to the table with the china cup and saucer pouring the mysterious and wonderfully smelling emollient
into the cup from a silver pot. As I got older I would order coffee sometimes in restaurants and although sometimes it wasn’t
that great, it never ceased to enchant me when I was in good restaurant and I’d see the china cup coming and smell that
undeniable smell of really good coffee. Try as I might through coffee presses and Starbucks I just never get that taste that
made me love coffee in the first place. Yet, I find that almost every morning I go to Starbucks and get my coffee thinking
that the concoction I ask for on that day will give me that rich coffee taste I long for so much, it never happens. How Starbucks
Ruined Coffee For Me – Don’t Get Me Started!
Okay, maybe Starbucks didn’t ruin coffee for me but it hasn’t helped me either. The reason
I started drinking coffee in the first place was not because I needed a caffeine rush or that I needed it’s diuretic
properties for my internal system, it was because I not only loved the smell of coffee but I loved the taste of it. What I’ve
discovered over the years of going to Starbucks each morning is that it’s really more of a habit than it is something
I need, want or tastes like I want it to. I’m a habit guy. If it were up to me I’d end up eating the same thing
for each meal every day just because as a practicing control freak and a slave to my habits, it somehow gives my life order
that I think I need. You would think this might translate to things like going to the gym on a regular basis but alas, such
is not the case. My point is that I’ve stopped going to Starbucks everyday because I’ve realized that I don’t
crave the stuff and the stuff is a big disappointment to me. Rarely have I ever had a cup of coffee from Starbucks that made
me feel like those cups of coffee from a fine restaurant. Maybe it’s the waiter or his white gloves or the fact that
someone is actually waiting on me and deserving of my tip but if I had to give Starbucks some advice this would be what I
would tell them, better coffee, better experience.
I know some people are going to tell me that I’m crazy, that Starbucks is the best thing in the world and that
we should all love them for the coffee house approach they’ve created in a zillion stores on every street corner but
for me it’s just a habit that I’m going to change (even though it wasn’t part of my New Year’s resolutions
which I don’t make anyway). I’ll admit that I think the Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks works on my system like
an anti-depressant for reasons I can’t explain and am afraid to discover the truth about but that’s an occasion
8,000 calories I’ll put into my system as needed, not on a daily basis.
I just want coffee to be more special and sometimes it is but what I’ve discovered is that more
often than not, it doesn’t reach that special quality while waiting on line in a Starbucks watching the heavy set woman
in front of me order a huge whipped creamed frappawhatever for her nine year old and a pastry for breakfast. So while I’m
not turning in my gold personalized Starbucks card, it will be swiped less often. How Starbucks Ruined Coffee For Me –
Don’t Get Me Started!
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Just Like My Grandmother Used To Say About Gays, Jesus Is Everywhere (Including Facebook)!
Just Like My Grandmother
Used To Say About Gays, Jesus Is Everywhere (Including Facebook)! – Don’t Get Me Started!
My grandmother would often say to us, “You know the gays,
they’re everywhere.” At the time she didn’t know (or maybe she did as I lip synced to a Barbra Streisand
record after dinner on most nights) that she was living with one too. Well, as Easter came and went I noticed that just like
my grandmother used to say about gays, Jesus is everywhere (including Facebook)! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Although some would
say that I’m just being overly sensitive or that I’m resisting taking Jesus into my heart because I do the ultimate
Jesus no-no sin of being a homosexual, I can assure you that I’m fine with those who believe in, walk with and wonder
what would Jesus do. My problem comes in when they tell me that I’m somehow wrong and going to an unairconditioned room
where they prod you with pitch forks as they refuse to let you hydrate for eternity. (I don’t believe in hell but if
I were to believe in it, I think it would look something like those SHAG paintings I adore ever so much.) Believe whatever
you want to believe but don’t think for a minute that I have to believe what you believe or that I expect you to believe
what I believe, thus the freedom of religion and speech here in America kids. So while you may think you’re doing a
great job as a lobbyist for Jesus, I have to tell you that for the most part you’re numbers aren’t polling as
good as you think they are for converting people. I’ve got an idea, why don’t you just keep your personal Jesus
locked inside your heart, sing his glories at your church and leave those of us who don’t believe in his magical powers
alone. Some of us worship his Dad and some of us don’t worship at all but it doesn’t make us second class citizens
because George Bush who supposedly spoke to God a lot and he supposedly answered (I have my doubts) is no longer in office.
I know, I know, you’re supposed to shout
God’s glory from the mountaintops but be careful because it’s annoying to a lot of us and we just might be behind
you getting ready to push you down that mountain. What I found interesting as Easter grew near were all the people who on
Facebook suddenly became quite the spreaders of Jesus (I’ll take mine on a nice cracker please with a nice red wine).
Suddenly everyone seemed to have something to say on Jesus’ behalf on their status. I read one that simply amazed me.
After going on for several lines it talked about the fact that Jesus was thinking about all of us as he was on the cross.
Now I don’t know about you but I have a strong feeling that Jesus, while he may have been a great man, probably had
other things on his mind while on the cross. After all, he was a Jew, right? I think he was thinking, “Oy, this sun
is so hot it’s like Florida in August, they couldn’t have picked a nicer day? Who is that on the cross next to
me? Ach, I never liked him and now I have to listen to him moan on his cross like I’m not on one too and mine let me
tell you has so many splinters I feel like a porcupine! And what’s with this crown of thorns, it doesn’t go with
anything I’m wearing and it’s digging into my forehead like nobody’s business.” Maybe he wasn’t
thinking all those things but I don’t know that he was thinking of me or you or anyone other than the people who had
put him there or the pain he was experiencing. Along with the status someone posted that I mentioned above, a lot of people
chose to quote sections of the bible on their status or take the plus sign usually associated with math and use it as a keyboard
cross on their postings.
I guess
it was bound to happen. I guess Jesus is too big a celebrity not to hit the Internet. After all, there are Facebook pages
dedicated to Marilyn Monroe, James Dean and a host of other celebs who died too soon. And I suppose that Jesus falls into
that category. But somehow after reading all these people go on and on about Jesus on their Facebook status it made me long
for the days when they just posted stupid crap about their kids, what they were eating or the fact that they needed a new
tractor in Farmville. Just like my grandmother used to say about gays, Jesus is everywhere (including Facebook)! – Don’t
Get Me Started!
Dissecting The Disheveled
Man – Don’t Get Me Started!
I’ve always wanted to be one of those men who just tumble out of bed with my tousled hair, throw on my jeans
with no underwear underneath, a wrinkled t-shirt and some flip flops and then off for the day. But I’ve never been that
guy. It’s probably because I’m too prissy or care too much what people think I look like or a thousand other reasons
I can think of which include that when I wake up in the morning I look more like the bride of Frankenstein than some devil
may care dude so at the risk of not wanting to frighten children and adults alike, I go through the process of showering,
shaving and placing every hair left on my remaining head just so. But when you run into one of the disheveled you just can’t
help but be a little jealous that either they don’t care how they look or that they can pull that look off. Dissecting
the disheveled man – Don’t Get Me Started!
I don’t know what it is about a five o’clock shadow but I’ve always been jealous of guys who get
one and who work it. I remember as a kid thinking that Barney Rubble was hot. As I got older it shifted to the likes of George
Michael and well, the list goes on and on. Having never been one of those men blessed with those kinds of beards, I get stubble
but not in that dark way that helps make you look as though you’ve got great cheekbones and chiseled features that can
normally only be achieved by cosmetic surgery or a great makeup artist. My five o’clock shadow is just some unsightly
stubble looking something akin to a woman’s underarms that haven’t been shaved in a week.
It was at a Starbucks (where else) that I noticed him. I had
all ready ordered my beverage and was waiting for it to be concocted when I noticed him step up to the counter. He ran a Columbo-type
hand through his curly black and thinning in the front hair. You could tell by the way the hair was jutting into several different
directions that he had woken up and thought that by just wetting it down that it would look presentable enough. It may have
been okay from the front but he had obviously not checked out the back which gave the appearance of something between someone
with wet bed head or what we used to lovingly refer to as the “just fucked look.” As he lifted his arm to pay
for his coffee I noticed that the unbuttoned cuff of his shirt stuck out a good six or more inches from his suit jacket sleeve.
A scan of his clothes proved that not only did the black of the jacket not exactly match the black of his pants (either because
the pants had been washed or cleaned more than the jacket or that he had never really cared that they weren’t the same
blacks to begin with, something I can’t even imagine but I guess good for him). His pants were also “pooling”
over his unpolished black shoes, almost covering them so no need to have them polished I guess. As he struggled to order (he
seemed to be ordering for someone else because he kept asking, “Is that even a drink?” after he gave each drink
order) I couldn’t help but be a little jealous of this guy. He had none of the hang-ups I have of being accepted, presentable
or crisp. He seemed completely comfortable in his wrinkled state and guess what? It worked for him. Now I’m not sure
how well it would work if he had a big presentation that day but from a spotting him at Starbucks standpoint it worked.
The thing about the disheveled look is that for
me, it’s only attractive, sexy, what have you if it comes in the form of the guy at Starbucks, it’s happening
on its own, not because some stylist created it on some celebrity or some celebrity is doing it just to look cool or hot.
Then it’s anything but cool or hot to me. No, if you’re using Bed Head products in your hair to created the unkempt
day old hair look on your freshly washed hair placing every clump of hair just so or you’re purposely and purposefully
tucking part of your t-shirt in your pants and letting the rest of it hang out then you won’t warrant anything but an
eye roll from me. The disheveled look only works when like Barney Rubble, you don’t try to make it happen, it happens
all on its own. The true disheveled look works in other ways too, by making gay men and straight women want to do one thing,
take the guy home, clean him up, get him clothes that fit and take him under their wing like a Mama bird. The only problem
with that is that sometimes when you clean them up you strip them of the original charm and hotness. On the other hand, if
you don’t clean them up you can’t take them to any weddings or dressy functions. Maybe that’s why disheveled
guys are a life accessory best worn in bed and for weekends, not for holiday dinners and corporate functions. But alas, like
a good sunrise they’re beautiful to look at. Dissecting the disheveled man – Don’t Get Me Started!
began years
ago when I was at dinner with a producer from a dinner theater where I worked for eleven years. (It's what I refer to
as My Dazzling Dinner Theater Days)
I was riled up about something and this producer
said, "You should have a radio show where people call and get you fired up and you just go off." As I had a reputation
for going on a tirade the likes of Dixie Carter on Designing Women (remember this was years ago) and as I was constantly starting
my sentences with the phrase above; when I started blogging I decided that this might be a way to get my rants out to the
public at large.
I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing
them.
Scott
Forty-Something Gay
Since the site began in August of 2006, people have been writing in (okay, mostly my Mother) telling me that
I needed to do a video blog (or “vblog”) like Rosie and everyone else in the world. Writing the “Don’t
Get Me Started” blog five times a week is daunting enough without adding video production on top of it. Plus, what would
be different about the video blog from the written blog? After the huge response from my blog about being a Forty-Something
Gay during Pride week, it hit me that my video blog would feature topics for us garden variety Forty-Something Gays! I hope
you enjoy them as well as the rest of the Some Like It Scott site!
Some Music While You Read?
At the request of Some Like It Scott reader you can now read
or listen or read AND listen when on the "Don't Get Me Started" page. Click below to turn the music on and
scroll to the bottom to find out what you're listening to!
That's right, Don't Get Me Started! I have no
idea what I was thinking. Well, not true, I thought it looked fabulous. The hair was sufficiently “palmed” out
to give it height and that’s not a shadow you see behind my head, it’s the true bi-level cut of the 80’s
going on, not a mullet, my friends, an honest to goodness Duran Duran inspired bi-level! I had purchased this Gulden's
mustard colored all silk suit at Bloomingdale's with the collarless purple silk shirt and just knew I looked fabulous.
(What a difference a decade or so makes, huh?)
Anyway, I was simply overwhelmed by how many people wrote in telling
me about their hair and fashion disasters, everything from a "Super Freak" outfit to get into a Rick James concert
to a swell guy who wrote about his perm that gave him that “greatest star” Streisand “Star Is Born”
look, or so he thought until he reflected back on it “with one more look at you.”
What's your fashion disaster that was caught on film?
According to The Advocate magazine, a burned rainbow flag was left outside the
LGBT Community Center in New York. While many have weighed in and they do have video footage of the perpetrator, no arrests
have been made yet. They are calling it a hate crime and I guess that’s a good thing, or is it? The flag apparently
didn’t belong to the Center which means that whoever did it really had to think about it. They either had to steal or
buy a rainbow flag, burn it and then drop it off at the Center. Lots of planning for what ultimately to this gay means nothing
because you see I’m an American and I believe in the whole flag burning thing being our right as a way of showing our
freedom (and burning I guess). So while some may be upset to know that I’m not upset I have to wonder, “Am I the
only gay who didn’t mind the burning of the rainbow flag?” – Don’t Get Me Started!
Why am I the only one thinking of this or have politicians been approached and
been too afraid to participate in a reality show where we get to see if they really possess any of the skills or attributes
we actually want in our leaders? One of the things that always has boggled (but not surprised) my mind is the fact that when
you look at most major and not so major political campaigns, the one with the most money (or who has friends, lobbyists and
industries with the most money behind them) wins. It’s a simple fact folks. People can talk all they want about “By
the people for the people” but there should be an asterisk over it with small print below that states “for those
who have all the money.” Hey, it’s just the way it is or was until I watched the first four episodes of Celebrity
Apprentice and hatched my plan. Now I get it, now I get that instead of the campaigners “tweeting” to show how
hip they are or shouting “Baby Killer” on the Senate floor to get attention, we need to get them where we can
really see them. After watching Rod Blagojevich on Celebrity Apprentice I want ALL politicians to appear on a reality competition
show! – Don’t Get Me Started!
