I decided this weekend to take a trip to visit my hometown this weekend. See my family in a non-holiday setting. Hang out with them as people in a somewhat less stressful environment.
I always had assumed that the reason I didn’t like going home was because of the hustle and bustle. I love my family dearly but having moved away when I was 21, I’ve lived in a different state than them since. Sometimes with 600 miles between us, sometimes 3,000. Still, I did my due diligence and would come home for all the major holidays and visit. Them coming to visit me – well, let’s just say that with one person it is much easier to travel to them. And I didn’t really mind.
The last time I was here was 4th of July. Always a big barbecue with lots of family members and friends. Good food and fun fireworks. The least-stressful of all the holidays. The time before that was Christmas.
Oh, Christmas. My most favorite part of the year. And yet, when I’m around my family, I can’t wait for it to end fast enough.
I’m the oldest of four, and with all of the nephews and nieces and children of our own, spouses and granchildren, you would think we were trying to invade a small country. There are so many people. Then you add into the mix the fact that there are always several orphans–family friends who have nowhere else to go and probably use our family for fodder or amusing stories at their AA meetings — and the population grows exponentially.
Then you take all of those people and cram them into a room designed for 5, 6 at the most –and it becomes CHAOS. By this isn’t a post about Christmas, which I can share with you another day. This is actually a post about just a normal run-of-the-mill family visit. I’ll save the Christmas horror stories for another day.
No, this visit was to get out of Seattle, spend some quality time with my siblings and reconnect as adults.
I arrived off the plane and my brother instantly went into offend or defense mode -I’m not 100% sure. He’s always called me the favorite. I don’t see it that way. But I do see myself as the one who got out. Anyway, he started making some off-color comments about Caitlin Jenner out of the blue, with no real segue. When I was home for the 4th he did it as well. I bit my tongue and moved on.
The next thing was getting home and going to breakfast with my mom and my stepdad. We went out, and after being told that my brother wouldn’t be joining us, my brother decided to because hey free food and let me show up and try to compete Ina competition that doesn’t exist.
Not that I minded him being there, but I was looking forward to seeing my folks and having real-life conversations with them about things, vacations, life. My sister showed up as well and it was a fine conversation.
Then my brother left without a word and was gone. Okay, so maybe his mechanism to deal with the fact that I’m in town is to pretend I’m not in town and go on. Not that my brother and I really have anything to talk about.
I don’t really consider myself that smart. The app on my phone said I’ve got a higher IQ than most people and what does that have to do with the tea in China? Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m realistic enough to know that while I have gotten out of the rut that everyone else seems to be, there’s still so much to be learned.
And maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the curiosity factor of my life– the wanderlust, the desire to continue to try new things, to not be stuck in the same old thing day in and day out. To stimulate my brain.
Here, it feels as though time has stood still. As though if there were a jug of moonshine and a telegraph machine sitting in the corner, everyone would be perfectly content, with the only thing to talk about is each other.
I love my family. I really do. But I think this blog post is coming out of the fact that I don’t really relate to them. I’m pleasant and everything but I don’t have anything to contribute to their gabbing about who got drunk and who slept with who and this is how you should raise your child and so on and so forth.
They are all in each other’s business so much that it’s unhealthy. My mom’s phone rang 13 times on a short seven minute drive. Why? Why is that so necessary?
Sometimes I wish we were closer, that I didn’t feel something that I’m having a hard time describing—because I don’t want to write the word. Ashamed maybe? Wishing they could set their sights on something better? Set their sights for the stars and even if they don’t make it at least they have the moon and all of the new, wonderful possibilities that opportunity presents.
And yet — I’m grateful to go back home to my life. My bed. My things. My world view where we talk about things and dream about ideas instead of the day-to-day minutiae of what someone said or what a spouse said.
This home for me is never really relaxing. I always feel as though I’m on guard, needing to be ready to defend myself at a moment’s notice. I don’t agree with some of their more conservative views – and it’s not even conservative for church’s sake. No, no, no. We were not brought up religious at all.
No, it’s more that they are conservative because they are uninformed. The world is a big place and there’s a lot goin on but they wouldn’t know it because it feels like this is the biggest place in the world where only the happenings here are of importance.
All of this sounds rather elitist. And it’s really not meant to. I love my family with all my heart and only want them to be happy. I wish they could see past the ends of their noses to everything that is happening out there — but in the end, if they are happy being cocooned into their own secluded world, then I hope they are fulfilled. Perhaps I need to get over myself and just let them be. And maybe it’s all right that we have nothing to talk about. That we have nothing in common. That our worldand life experiences are vastly different except for that shared experience of growing up together.
I wanted out. They never wanted to leave.
In the end, nothing will change, except a few small things: I will set different boundaries for my own sanity, and hopefully continue to practice patience. I’m not going to change them, and they are not going to change me.
Static electricity. That’s the best way to describe this functionally dysfunctional family of mine.
Today, the Supreme Court of the United States made history and allowed America to overturn the gay marriage bans that had infiltrated state constitutions and laws for far too long.
Today the Supreme Court of the United States issued an order that said if I choose to marry a man, my partner, that I could, that it was effectively the law of the land.
This morning, I stood in my shower and just beamed from ear to ear, for I thought that this day would come but much, much, much further into the future, when I was old and gray, and perhaps had 15 cats and was living a life of solitude.
Instead, I am in my thirties, and see what so many people had fought for come to fruition.
I’ve always lived my life as an openly gay man, but still there was something missing.
Today, the Supreme Court says that my love is valid, and must be recognized as such.
No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization’s oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right. The judgment of the Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit is reversed. It is so ordered. –Supreme Court Majority Opinion, Justice Anthony Kennedy
I never needed their validation to love the men I’ve loved, to be a gay man, but it’s nice to know that now there are laws that protect me as opposed to laws that try to squelch and oppress me.
This is truly an historic day, and I am so pleased and proud to be a part of this monumental decision, if only cursory and supporting from the sidelines.
I had no direct impact in the outcome of this case, as many of us didn’t — save for living our lives as authentically and truthfully as we could as proud gay and lesbian, trans and cis-gendered men and women.
Thank you to all who have given so much more so incredibly selflessly to fight for our rights. As President Obama said, this decision has… “made our union a little more perfect.”
So, the title of this is based on a Carpenters’ song, “Rainy Days and Mondays.” It is not raining. It is Monday. The preceding line is “hanging around, nothing to do but frown.” And only half of that sentence is true. I’m not frowning — life is pretty good. Though I am just hanging around.
I sat down at my computer tonight and tried to write. Okay — I didn’t try. I did write. I actually produced 902 words of something that had been percolating in my brain. But I didn’t feel it. It didn’t feel right. I don’t know why.
Now, after browsing the book of Face, I’m here, writing a blog post for the world (let’s be honest, there are two readers out there who occasionally check in and see what I’m blathering about…though to be fair, I don’t post that often) to see.
I think the feeling I’m experiencing is loneliness. I mean, I’m 38, don’t have a ton of friends, and seem to become more and more antisocial as time goes on. Not sure what that is. Do I take solace in my alone-ness? Not really. I prefer to be doing things, honestly. But it seems like everyone has gone on. So, I’m trying to find things to do, things to occupy my time.
Like I said, I don’t have anything to complain about, really. I have a job, and although it’s not my dream job, I’m content enough there. I have a boyfriend whom I love very much. I have a roof over my head, I have a bed to sleep, I have a car, I have things, I have friends, although the numbers are not great. I just feel like there’s more inside of me that I have to get out, that I have to express — and yet, I don’t know how to do it.
Damn it. Did I peak already? Was my golden age at 30? Yikes. that makes for a very lonely and sad rest of my life, however long it should be.
I have the want and the need to create, to inspire, to do something — and yet I don’t know what that is. I feel so much on the precipice of something big, something monumental — but what could that be? Art? Language? Curing cancer? Battling androids in a galaxy a million miles away? Maybe. Though not today.
It’s 9:17 on a Monday night, and I have my tea in front of me, I’m staring into a computer screen, and I’m allowing myself this time to just be — to get my thoughts out of my head so I can sleep restfully. I could exercise, though I did that tonight already. I could watch TV, but I did that also. Wow, I have a lot of free time on my hands.
Maybe I should write a play? About what? I don’t know. Maybe some experimental art piece about a napkin that gets used by a lady, and suddenly, jazz hands are everywhere! No…no…mostly because that’s a horrible idea.
Damn it, I need a hobby. I need something. Maybe I continue to journal nightly, to meditate, to do something with my time other than turn into a vegetable? Perhaps.
I’ve never been one to be idle — I like having activities, doing things, creating and shaping the world. I don’t think I used to realize how much alone time I had because before, I was always doing theatre. I was in rehearsal, and then performing — it would occupy my time. Now — it seems as though those projects are few and far between, and as a result, the friends that I made in the theatre are just simply not there. Gypsies — moving from one friendship to the next. Of course, everyone says “Let’s get together and have coffee,” but they never do. It’s all lip service, really. And the ones that do want to get together only do it if they think you can offer them something.
I just need a good, solid connection with a group of people — some friends that I can hang out with — that aren’t afraid of me, warts and all. But I might be too set in my way for that now.
And here we go — this blog post is almost as long as the garbage I wrote earlier tonight. I mean — it’s a little bit more scatterbrained, but it’s just as long, and isn’t that what matters? Size? No?? Damn….
It’s all good, really. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow, once I get up, go back to my desk, sit there for hours on end, and then come home. And once I’m home, then I’m sure I’ll be happy to just be home, and doing nothing. And hey, my boyfriend gets home tomorrow night. Though maybe I’ll have already had a drink.
Maybe THAT’s what I need! Maybe I should become an alcoholic, and drink my sorrows away, whatever those sorrows may be. No? Sheesh. You, Mister Internet Reader, are no fun.
So, instead, I’ll go back to playing Words with Friends, Bubble Witch Saga, and dream of the Great.American.Novel — the one that I haven’t finished.
Do you know, I have several stories that I’ve written, that have never become anything at all? Lots of starts. LOTS of starts. No endings. I did finish a musical once. So, that’s something. I’d like to have a body of work — something that I can say to people — hey, yes, I completed this. Heck, maybe i’ll do the November Novel writing month thing — though, that would require finishing a story. And I don’t know that I have the wherewithal for that. I’m sure I do — but it seems epic.
I don’t know — I like collaborating. I like being able to bounce ideas off of each other, and say, “Yes, and…” It feeds my soul to work in that sort of atmosphere. I try not to take it personally when people say that they want to collaborate but they are too busy. I have too much time, they have too little time. It’s a conundrum.
That’s actually how I started writing my musical. I wanted to collaborate with people, and they were too busy, so I just did it. The book, the lyrics, the music, the idea — everything. And it’s sitting not produced in my computer. I’ve had a few readings, but nothing beyond that. I’d love an angel investor to say, “Hey, we love the arts! Put on a show!” And that would be amazing. Maybe someday. Or I could try to write something new, something exciting, something fresh and original. I don’t know what that looks like yet, but maybe something will come. At least this blog has helped to get the juices flowing somewhat. I mean, this combined with the baloney I wrote earlier puts me over 2,000 words. That’s pretty impressive — considering half of it was a stream of consciousness and the other half bordered on horrible YA fiction. But hey, it worked for that Twilight lady.
All right — that’s the end of my saga for tonight. Thanks for reading, Bill.
I’m just returning from two days at Disney World. A little vacation. It was lovely, as I got to spend time with my boyfriend and we had a great time. But a couple of observations about my trip:
- Flying standby is stressful. I mean it’s actually a lot like gambling. You roll the dice and hopefully are lucky enough to get on the plane. We were lucky both times. But it was very very close.
- We were upgraded at Disney to a suite. It was awesome. Thank you Disney!
- The magic seems to be gone. Once upon a Time, there were characters walking around and spreading magic unexpectedly/. Now, everything feels so regimented and organized, there don’t seem to be any unexpected surprises. Meeting Mickey Mouse on Main Street? No. Peter Pan in Fantasyland just hanging out? Uh-uh. I. Get why they have to cordon off the characters but it just feels so…empty.
- It feels as though the world loses their brain when in a theme park environment. Like suddenly manners and grace go out the window.
- This next point is tied in and I may get some hate mail for this thought … But it seems as though you need to wear steel-toes boots when at the park. Not because children are running over your feet, which they do, but for all the rascals and scooters that permeate the park. Yes. The ones that children are in too. Maybe I’m a grumpy old man, but just because you’re driving a vehicle that is supposed to aid you doesn’t mean you have to be so completely rude and inconsiderate. I always say excuse me and thank you when passing someone. And I’m highly aware of my surroundings when walking forward. But if you’re traveling in a scooter from behind and you are approaching me three times as fast as I’m walking, perhaps a kind excuse me or some sort of warning could be sounded. A bell? A nice horn? Something? It’s crowded and I will gladly get out of your way. However I don’t have eyes in the back of my head and I cannot see you behind me. So don’t hit me. And while we are at it, if your child is “too exhausted” to walk the length of the park, mayb they shouldn’t be pushed in a stroller eating hot dogs, chips and ice cream. Those kids didn’t get fat on their own. Figure it out. Same goes for the Rascal Flatts crowd. No one is fooled by your disability in a scooter when you’re eating three hot dogs. Yesx that happened. Yes you have diabetes. Walk and rest on a bench instead of thinking the sidewalks are your own personal autobahn.
- When I see magical moments, I still get a little teary-eyed. The mirror in Belle’s Cottage was amazing. And the little boy dancing with her was awesome.
- Looking forward to going back but two days is just simply not enough.
- The new FastPass+ system is pretty cool. I was apprehensive of it at first but really enjoyed the experience overall.
That’s all for now.
Wow, two posts in the course of four days? What’s going on?!? Who am I?
I had a few things that were on my mind and one of them is the imminent departure of my cat. His name is Buddy.
No, he’s not sick. He’s not dying. Nothing like that.
But he’s lonely. And it’s all my fault.
A little history: When I first got Buddy, I was working from home. Self-employed. I was there all the time. And he was there all the time. My partner at the time was also home during the day, and there was another cat to play with. But then, if you read through these blog posts, you’ll discover that there was a rather sudden breakup, leaving me having to downgrade and figure out what to do next. I was left with two cats in an apartment really designed for none. I did my best to make it work, but there just simply wasn’t enough space. Add to that a roommate who is not really cat-friendly, and it cuts the space down even more. Sprinkle in a new job that keeps me gone for extended periods of time, and it just came down to the only decision that I could make: I would have to re-home my cats.
I made it work for a long time. I didn’t want to give my cats away. They had been my friends, my confidantes, my pals on days when I sat and wondered why I didn’t have as many friends as I would like. There was something refreshing about seeing them at the front door when I would come home, hearing their meows when I’d open up a can of food for them, hearing their affectionate purrs as I stroked their head.
I admit that I am mostly a cat person. Dogs are great, but they’re a lot of work. And cats are independent, self-sufficient. And, I truly believe this, much smarter than we give them credit for. Yes, they’re an animal — but they seem to be so incredibly perceptive.
My other cat, who now has a new home, seemed to feel sadness when the first cat I owned had expired from cancer. She moped, she would look in the box for her friend, she seemed to be absolutely miserable. Which is how Buddy came into the picture. He was only eight weeks old, and I adopted him from the New York Human Society. Well, he adopted me.
I went in to pick out a new cat for Daisy (the other cat) to have a friend, and this little orange ball of fur came up and loved me instantly. Jumped on my shoulder, and started nuzzling right away. And he would follow me around the house, so he quickly became my buddy…and then it became his name. It was supposed to be something regal and awesome — Shere Khan, Lionel — but Buddy stuck.
The two did NOT get along. Daisy hated Buddy, Buddy terrorized Daisy.
Now imagine that reign of terror in a small apartment. It was enough. They were fighting anywhere and everywhere. On the floor, in the hall, on my bed, on my face. I got scratched a few times from their scuffles in the middle of the night.
I had to make the decision that I did, and gave Daisy a new home. It just so happened that a friend was looking for a mature cat, and she adopted her. And I’ve seen all the pictures of Daisy. She’s so incredibly happy. Peaceful, loved, and completely at home in her new digs. It makes me happy to know she’s okay, that she didn’t go back to a shelter, possibly to be never adopted.
And now, with Buddy, he’s going to my ex-partner. So, I guess everything comes full circle. But yet, I can’t help but feel some melancholy around the situation.
He’s a good cat, and full of personality. But with me being gone all day long, and him having no one to play with, him left alone from morning until night, it’s just not fair to him. It feels like he’s in a large 800 square foot prison. He can’t go out and hunt (we’re city dwellers) and he has no one else to play with.
Before you eviscerate me, readers, please know that I gave this a lot of thought. I knew that I had to find a new home for Buddy, but it was for Buddy’s well-being. Not my own. I love having the cat around. I just didn’t think it was fair for him to be alone all the time. And work situations aren’t going to be changing anytime soon, as much as I would like them to.
I reached out to my former partner, as he loved these animals as much as I do, and I asked him if he was interested in taking Buddy. I didn’t want to have to re-home him, but was going to, and wanted to give him first crack at it. He said he would take him.
I felt relieved. At least Buddy would be going to someone who cared for him — not being left to a cage somewhere where he might or might not be adopted. That was the part that was the most difficult; I couldn’t fathom the idea of Buddy not being adopted and loved. And it hurt me so to think that I couldn’t give him the attention that he needed and deserved.
I remember when I moved across the country with Buddy. He was terrified and he hid under the bed at a friend’s. And nothing would coax him out. I leaned down next to the bed, and saw his huge eyes, looking at me, recognized, but terrified.
Buddy had been a great duet partner when I would sing around the house, or even a captive audience member. I would be singing to myself, and before I knew it, I had this cat sitting at my side who was watching intently. I’d finish my song, and he would come and rub up against me, giving his approval. I’d start singing again, and he’d lay down, that peaceful content look on his face.
Trying to coax him out, I thought that maybe he might respond to my voice, so I started to sing to him. It was a little made up song — something along the lines, “Buddy, Buddy, it’s okay, Buddy, Buddy, come out and play.” After a few minutes – his head popped out from under the bed, and he was nuzzling up against me again. He felt safe.
So, tonight will be Buddy’s last night in my apartment. Gosh, I’m a sentimental old fool. I write that sentence and tears come to my eyes.
Tonight, he’ll get the most treats he can stomach, he’ll get all the playing with he can get, and he’ll get his coat brushed – a new pastime of his that he absolutely loves. I’ll stroke his head. I’ll sing him a little song, and tell him what a handsome boy he is, and how lucky I was to have had him in my life. And how I’m going to miss him, but I know that he’ll be much happier being in a place where he can be played with all the time, loved all the time, and given the attention that such a wonderful cat deserves.
I don’t really expect people to give me sympathy over this. This is a choice that I’m making of my own volition, and with a heavy heart. But it’s because of that heart that I have to make this choice. I can’t see him suffer anymore at home — alone, by himself for almost 12 hours a day, with no interaction.
I think this blog is really more to work through these feelings, as I feel so on the fence about this. I KNOW in my heart that I’m making the right decision. And yet, i can’t help but feel sad about the whole thing. Like I’m abandoning a child. Like I’m a horrible person because I’m giving up on something, an animal, who has only known me for his entire life, and has only shown unconditional love. Being beside me through the worst breakup of my life, traveled, sat by my side when the nights were lonely, kept me company on weekends, and was just another presence in a life that seems to be so permeated by solitude. His beautiful eyes looking at me, whether for approval or just to say, “Hey, I’m here.”
Okay, I have to pull it together before I completely embarrass myself with these tears..
If there’s any silver lining in all of this, it’s that he’s going to someone Buddy knows, who Buddy also loves and who loves Buddy right back. He’s not going to a shelter, he’s going to a safe, warm environment.
So, thank you, Buddy, for everything. For the last seven years of being faithful, of being not only a good pet, but a good friend. I wish I could only have been half the friend that you have been. Please know how incredibly difficult this is for me, and I’m only doing it because I know you deserve better than I’m able to give you.
Take care, Buddy.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had some time to sit down at my computer and craft a well-thought-out blog post. But let’s be honest…my posts have never been well thought out. Nor have they been what anyone could consider crafted. Usually it’s a random blathering of thoughts expunged through my fingertips through the processor, appearing magically before my eyes on the screen like some sort of new age wizardry. And I accept and embrace that wholeheartedly.
I could take to these pages to tell you about last weekend, after grocery shopping and feeling ravenous, that instead of waiting for my dinner to be cooked (a mere 45) minutes, I went to the store, bought a bag of Doritos, promptly ate half of the bag, and then went to McDonald’s, and ate a double-quarter pounder with cheese, and THEN ate my entire dinner — a medium-sized pizza. I could tell you about that, but then the guilt starts. But let me tell you now…I.am.not.even.the.least.bit.ashamed. A boy’s gotta eat.
I could tell you about the problems I’m having at work — feeling bored, unchallenged, all of those things. But in the larger scheme of things, it’s all sort of moot because I have a job.
I could wax poetically about how this Wednesday, my cat is going to live in a new home. And honestly, I’m a little torn by it, as I’ve been the only parent kitty has ever had. He’s been my buddy through thick and thin…and he’s really a good cat. I just am not home anymore due to work and other responsibilities I have that I don’t feel it’s fair to him to be stuck at home all day by himself. He’s going to a family that will have a lot more time to be able to care for him. But that will make me weep — so I won’t talk about that. Maybe in another post — about two years from now, when I finally get the desire to post again.
No, today I’m writing about my recent Facebook free month I self-imposed.
A little history:
I’ve been on Facebook since I think 2006? 2007? I don’t remember. It’s been so long. I’ve submitted my photos, I shared whimsical updates, I shared statuses and the like…but I found that all these years later, a few election cycles later, and constant click-baiting by other websites, it just got to be too much. People with whom I was acquainted in real life and then Facebook friends would post things that showed their true colors more than anything. I suppose bravo to them for being so incredibly brave to say those things…but I was always taught that sometimes it’s better to be seen and not heard, and if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Plus EVERYONE has an opinion on everything.
An innocuous type post, one designed to be positive and happy, could be completely tainted because Joe Schmoe in PoDunk, PoDunkia decides they either don’t like what you’re saying or don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, but feel the need to respond. Why? I don’t know.
Case in point. I had posted an article on Facebook talking about a recent breakthrough in a disease and the promising signs of research. I posted the link, and simply wrote above it : Progress. Encouraging news!
Well, Suzy Shithead came along five seconds later and posted something to the effects of “Don’t get too excited. This disease is hard to beat, and no one has done it yet. There’s probably a reason it’s here to stay.”
Okay, okay, okay…stop the train. WHY must she be so negative? I mean — I was excited. As someone who suffers from said disease, I couldn’t fathom why she needed to be so cruel. Is it because she has the safety of her computer to hide behind? Most likely. I mean, it seems like more and more people are willing to say absolutely bat-shit bonker things when they can hide behind their computer screen. They don’t have to put a human face on anything — tragedy or otherwise.
I guess the point here is that I do my best to radiate light — random mumbo jumbo stuff. You know, support people, build them up, help them succeed…that it’s hard for me to understand why people feel the need to project negativity and anger out in the world.
That’s just one instance — but it was enough that I was like, you know what? I need to take a step back and disconnect. So I put up an unplugged message, changed my cover photo, and said goodbye to Facebook. I gave my contact information on my cover image in case anyone needed to get a hold of me. And then — my month-long sabbatical began.
At first it was difficult. At first, I would find myself out of habit typing in the URL on my computer when things were slow. I would never log in…I’d get as far as the log in screen and go, “Oh, yeah, I’m not doing that!” And over time, it just got easier and easier. I found myself occupying my time with other things — Japanese class, writing, spending quality time with my boyfriend and friends, working out (so I can have double quarter pounders with cheese and pizzas on the same night) and just not being tied to my computer all the time.
It was liberating. It is liberating in a way. I find myself not really caring what’s going on in the world of Facebook. I consider myself well-informed enough that if a story happens that is important, I’ll catch it on a news site, through conversation, et cetera. But Facebook seemed to just be a huge time waster. I didn’t really need to be there for my life to continue to happen. Unplugging wasn’t really unplugging at all…it was just removing an obstacle from the things that I actually enjoy.
Interesting side note – I have over 1,200 friends on Facebook. Out of the 1,200 that I have and am not in regular contact with, guess how many actually took the time to reach out to me and say something? If you said zero, you would be correct. I found that to be interesting, honestly. Not one single person felt the need to reach out outside of the book of Face in order to see if I was alive or dead. Perspective.
My self-imposed sabbatical is up on Tuesday. Will I return to Facebook? Maybe. I’m sure my Farmville crops are dead (just kidding, I don’t play Farmville…Bubble Witch Saga 2 is the way to go!). I’m sure there are a few messages I may need to respond to, or invites…but the thing is…I don’t really care or need it. I mean, if I have it, great. If not, great. It feels good to be able to get back to what it is I like to do — which is live my life, and not be glued to watching other people’s prepackaged presentations of how wonderful their life is or could be.
Mine is pretty great without all of those distractions, and 9183013091098 likes.
Thanks for reading! I’ll chat with you soon.
Hello world! I’m writing with the hopes that you have a generous heart.
I’m participating in the Seattle HIV AIDS walk to raise money for those living with those diseases. We are on the precipice of some major breakthroughs but money is still necessary to help those in need.
This is not a scam. It’s a very real thing.
I recognize this is a long shot but I’m accepting donation for this cause at the link at the bottom of this page. It’s only a minimum of $5 donation and completely tax deductible within the US.
I hope you’ll be kind and donate. Every dollar starts a ripple effect for those in need. I know. I am a recipient myself. Thank you.
I’m getting ready to start a new adventure, directing a show that is very near and dear to my heart. The meeting I had on Friday, however, left me feeling somewhat disheartened.
The theatre company, due to some incompetence on their former executive director’s part, has been forced to cut the budgets for all the shows by 50%.
Whoa. That’s a lot. I don’t profess to understand the inner workings of the theatre, but one thing is clear: perhaps producing five extravagant shows on a shoestring budget doesn’t make as much sense.
But there’s the rub. Which show do you cut, if any? And if there are no thoughts for fundraising in place, how can you guarantee that the show/theatre/et cetera is going to be in place by the time my show, the fifth in the series, can be produced?
It is a conundrum.
I just have to hope that the theatre gods will somehow smile down and everything will work out.
Praying, praying, praying, praying….
“Are you going to pride?”
Every year this question comes up, and I can’t help but feel conflicted.
On the one hand, the answer is, yes, I would like to go. I think it’s important to show solidarity, to embrace the community, to say we’re here, we’re queer, get used to it, march in a parade, enjoy the spectacle and pageantry of all that gay pride has to offer.
On the other hand, the idea of sitting with a bunch of strangers in a completely crowded place where most of the people are partaking in alcohol and other delights has no real appeal for me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m jaded. Maybe I need to get over myself?
I try to rationalize it by saying that instead of celebrating pride one day of the year, or weekend, I’ll celebrate it every day. I make no qualms about who I am, what I am, or where I’ve been. I’m open and honest if people ask me questions about my orientation. I have no problem introducing people to the person I am with as my partner, boyfriend, et cetera. In fact, I take great pride in that, if you will.
But as I sit here and wonder about whether or not I need to be out there supporting the parade, rather than just living my life, and being who I am on a daily basis, and feeling conflicted about the whole thing, there’s a sense of urgency to be with the community.
But what is the community anymore?
When I first moved to the Emerald City, there was definitely a gay district. Capitol Hill, Broadway, with all of its splendor had no less than five shops that catered to a specifically homosexual clientele. Over time, and as the years marched on, those shops gave way to a generic neighborhood found in any city, USA. Still known as the gay district, gay bars pop up every now and then, and last for a few years, but it doesn’t seem to have that same sense of taboo that it once did.
We’ve come a long way. The other day I heard on the radio an advertisement on the radio stating that to “kick off pride weekend, celebrate with us!” Wow. That’s progress, my friends. Ten years ago, that would have never happened.
With the recent passing of DOMA and the Prop 8 decision, I felt something inside of myself that reminded me while I sit at home, typing on a computer, there are very real people out there with very real struggles. I felt something that made me feel grateful to be who I am, to be what I am, and to know that even though we have a long way to go, we have won a very important victory.
Ten years ago, the idea of getting married was a far-fetched notion. Something that I thought would only come to pass if I was in my 50’s, and no one would want me anyhow. (Gay death is 35, by the way) But now, I see couples I’ve known, couples I haven’t known, the images on websites like the Huffington Post, Seattle Times, et cetera, of these people who are celebrating themselves and the person they love, and I sit and recognize that I want that too.
That desire to feel something, for someone, and to be desired by someone…that need to express my love because, damn it, we can. It’s been a long, arduous journey, and we’re nowhere near the end.
This post is all sorts of jumbled, so thank you if you’ve made it to this point. It’s actually helped me realize that while the crowds may be overwhelming. the alcohol maybe be overdone, the parades may lack a certain choreography (that I could totally help with), that I do have something to feel proud of, and that this is a celebration that I should attend.
This feeling of conflict that I feel when someone asks me if I’m going to Pride will be something I deal with next year, but mostly for superficial reasons. I don’t care for the crowds, and I don’t care for the heat. But I am absolutely 100% proud of myself and my fellow brothers and sisters who have fought long and hard to achieve what we have achieve, to simply be who we are, and to continue to march on.
Wow, what a lot has happened since I’ve last written. Okay, okay, not since yesterday, and the post before that, but since let’s say the middle of February.
Remember how I was lamenting about my job?
Poof. It’s gone. Not in an you’re-fired-pack-your-bags sort of way, but in a hey-we-like-you-come-and-work-for-us sort of way. Yep. I have rejoined the rat race, the corporate climb, the cube farm. In short, I got a new job!!!
I’m so happy, that when I found out, it was like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. And I’m enjoying learning about a new industry. My brain hurts at night, but still, I’m in a pretty good place.
As for life, I’ve opened TWO shows at the same time, both to success, as well as continued seeing someone. It’s still in its infancy, but I like him. He likes me. I can’t really complain. It’s a pretty great place to be in.
So far, 2013 is shaping up to be pretty fantastic. We’re a third of the way through, and hopefully it’s all up from here.
More writing when I have a free moment. Hope you all are doing well.