RIP Mustang Daily
1916 - 2013
Today I received news via Facebook from my former journalism school comrades; our Mustang Daily newspaper is no more: http://mustangdaily.net/coming-soon-mustang-news/
"Mustang Daily embodied a now-dead form of journalism," wrote J.J. Jenkins, a business administration senior and Mustang Daily editor in chief, about the paper's degradation to a twice-weekly print piece.
The paper began on April 26, 1916, just 15 years after Cal Poly opened its doors. Until its final day (yesterday), the paper published five days a week, and was the only daily in the United States produced entirely
by students (from the writing and ad design to the actual printing).
For those of us learning the craft of journalism, we couldn't have had a more comprehensive lab than a real life newsroom experience. The Daily enjoyed a solid readership within the university and also within the greater San Luis Obispo community. Dissemination was guaranteed without prior restraint.
Sure, we made plenty of mistakes. We had occasional spelling and syntax errors. We also had the uber controversial story or opinion which set off a deluge of passionate letters. For a dying breed, we certainly received plenty of lively engagement from the student body and general public.
I have to admit my heart hurt when I read the news our daily student newspaper is no more. As I reflected on my experience on the Daily staff, I realized why it meant so much to me. Among all the wonderful things I found working at the Daily (deadlines, adrenaline rushes, joy, comradery, acceptance), I ultimately found my craft; my voice. Eureka.
They can scrap the paper, or even burn down the graphic arts building for that matter. Our experience at the Daily, which helped shape many of its former staff into the people they are today, will be with us always.
I responded to the Facebook post with a couple of comments:
"I
would be remiss by not acknowledging our time at the Daily as symbolic
of our unique generation; the bridge between past and future at the dawn
of the digital age."
"BTW,
anyone else find it a sobering sign of the times that a business admin
sr. is editor in chief? The parallel being how corporations have
systematically hijacked media and destroyed information for profit. Just
an observation ..."
As we lay to rest nearly 100 years of first amendment daily tradition, it is important to acknowledge all that has changed and all that hasn't. Journalism school lesson numero uno: always question authority ...
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Was it a farewell dream?
Tuesday night I had a strange dream. Three people I've not before seen in my dreams were present; my aunt Gini, my brother and my estranged (adoptive) "dad." Yet the dream actually centered around my dearly departed Grandma.
The setting was someplace like Washington's San Juan Islands. My brother, "dad" and I were awaiting my Grandma's arrival. My aunt was escorting her on the ferry.
As is true with many dreams, the landscape was pretty unusual. For example, there were canals and channels that ran on inclines. The one the ferry was expected to sail up resembled a giant log flue. There were very rounded hills that looked a bit cartoonesque in shape. The village as it were had cute cottages with canals running between rows of them.
We had to be right at the dock for Grandma's arrival as she has mobility issues stemming from a herniated disk in her lower back. The approaching ferry looked more like a very common green fishing boat; this one used exclusively for walk-on passengers. As the boat neared the dock, I saw my aunt standing behind an empty wheelchair and my Grandma standing next to her. My aunt wore a red sweater. My Grandma wore black, semi-light-weight material pants and a gray sweater. This was very unlike her as incarnate she always wore colors, bright colors.
The moment my Grandma and I saw one another, we extended the same hand as though waving at ourselves in the mirror. We both grinned ear to ear. We waved at each other vigorously as joyful tears streamed down our cheeks. A profound feeling of elation washed over me. I had never before been so excited to see another being as I was to see my dearest Grandma.
The boat hadn't yet tied up to the dock, and my Grandma leaped out of the boat at me! She flew right into my arms and I caught her. We embraced and wept joyfully. No sooner had I began to grasp that moment, I awoke.
My feelings and emotions around this connection were so real, they stayed with me well into my awakened consciousness that morning.
I mentioned this dream to my best friend. She had the same sense I did; my Grandma wanted me to know she was crossing over into the eternal afterlife. The ferry is one of the oldest symbols of transition between life and the afterlife; crossing the River Styx. This may seem strange. I also have this sense she wouldn't have crossed over unless she knew I was going to be OK, and I think she was assuring me we are going to reunite. My heart of hearts already knew this. Still, this was an extraordinarily enchanted vision I am so grateful for.
The setting was someplace like Washington's San Juan Islands. My brother, "dad" and I were awaiting my Grandma's arrival. My aunt was escorting her on the ferry.
As is true with many dreams, the landscape was pretty unusual. For example, there were canals and channels that ran on inclines. The one the ferry was expected to sail up resembled a giant log flue. There were very rounded hills that looked a bit cartoonesque in shape. The village as it were had cute cottages with canals running between rows of them.
We had to be right at the dock for Grandma's arrival as she has mobility issues stemming from a herniated disk in her lower back. The approaching ferry looked more like a very common green fishing boat; this one used exclusively for walk-on passengers. As the boat neared the dock, I saw my aunt standing behind an empty wheelchair and my Grandma standing next to her. My aunt wore a red sweater. My Grandma wore black, semi-light-weight material pants and a gray sweater. This was very unlike her as incarnate she always wore colors, bright colors.
The moment my Grandma and I saw one another, we extended the same hand as though waving at ourselves in the mirror. We both grinned ear to ear. We waved at each other vigorously as joyful tears streamed down our cheeks. A profound feeling of elation washed over me. I had never before been so excited to see another being as I was to see my dearest Grandma.
The boat hadn't yet tied up to the dock, and my Grandma leaped out of the boat at me! She flew right into my arms and I caught her. We embraced and wept joyfully. No sooner had I began to grasp that moment, I awoke.
My feelings and emotions around this connection were so real, they stayed with me well into my awakened consciousness that morning.
I mentioned this dream to my best friend. She had the same sense I did; my Grandma wanted me to know she was crossing over into the eternal afterlife. The ferry is one of the oldest symbols of transition between life and the afterlife; crossing the River Styx. This may seem strange. I also have this sense she wouldn't have crossed over unless she knew I was going to be OK, and I think she was assuring me we are going to reunite. My heart of hearts already knew this. Still, this was an extraordinarily enchanted vision I am so grateful for.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
911 This Day In History ...
My 'This Day in History' widget of course paid homage today to the September 11, 2001 US domestic terrorism events. I recall vividly where I was twelve years ago today, trying in vain to get a few more minutes of sleep before embarking on my trans-Lake Washington commute from Downtown Seattle to Downtown Bellevue.
My former partner RC and I had a corded phone line back then; most people still did. That morning the apartment phone kept ringing and ringing. I finally gave in, got up and answered it. On the other end a panicked voice commanded I turn on the TV at once. So I did, and upon doing so saw one of the World Trade Center towers falling straight down into a cloud of dust.
"Terrorists fucking blew up the World Trade Center!" the voice on the other end exclaimed as I still stood before the screen shocked, not yet able to process what had just occurred. Had I mentioned this is what I awoke to, a day following a flight home from Austin, TX where I had for the first time reconnected with members of my biological family? Kind of already had a bit too much to process at the time. My mind was on overload.
Oh, the voice on the other end of the phone line was Kasey Frix, RC's childhood best friend and our neighbor down the block. At the time we lived on Seattle's First Hill.
I expeditiously hung up with Kasey and went to inform RC of what was happening. He too had been inconvenienced by the excessive phone ringing. He too was completely shocked to learn why our phone was ringing to no avail.
Only a couple years prior we were holed up in our top floor apartment while militant helicopters hovered outside our windows. We literally saw a view of our living room on the evening news from the outside perspective while we sat watching TV in our living room. We stayed in off the streets that night for the mobs of people protesting the militia of police in riot gear clearing them from Downtown Seattle streets into our neighborhood during the World Trade Organization shutdown in 1999.
This was different. This was a whole new brand of fuck the people, theft and utter hatred. The message was clear. The result registered as fear.
RC and I both must have looked like utter zombies. We couldn't stop watching what the news media was relaying. It was completely surreal, like a catastrophic disaster. Only this one appeared completely, diabolically premeditated and precisely orchestrated.
We were in disbelief of people jumping from windows, as if the choice to die falling from an incredible height was so much better than being burned to death inside a smoldering skyscraper. Dozens, hundreds, possibly thousands fleeing the scene for their lives with thick clouds of debris rapidly closing in on them. What were we really watching that day, hell on Earth?
Somehow I managed to rip myself away, get myself together and head into work. The downtown streets were abuzz with activity. The transit tunnel was equally busy. I boarded a fairly crowded Sound Transit 550 Express. It would seem to be just an extra heavy volume commute except for the haunting silence. People didn't say much, didn't move much, just sheepishly went about their business of getting from point A to B. A few people were crying.
As we rolled into the Pioneer Square station, the platforms were nearly overflowing with downtown workers who had been evacuated from Seattle's tallest skycraper, the Columbia Tower. From that one stop, the 550 filled to standing room only capacity, perhaps a bit beyond.
My head was still in a fog. So much so I didn't even notice we had already driven across the lake and over Mercer Island. I snapped out of my fog in Bellevue as I watched passengers disembark to loved ones that had come to pick them up at the Eastside Park and Ride. One woman broke into sobbing tears as a man approached and then wrapped his arms around her.
"Did she lose someone, a fellow compatriot, a friend, a loved one? Or like everyone else alive was she just so horrified by what happened and/or fearful of what lie ahead? What am I doing going into work today?" I thought to myself, and then surrendered to the thought a distraction might just be beneficial.
When I reached the office, my colleagues were all tuned into the day's main events. It became uber clear there was no escaping this sinister reality, none whatsoever. Suddenly an alarm sounded in the building followed by a uniformed officer entering our lobby.
"This is an evacuation order. Please exit the building immediately." he said authoritatively.
Evidently someone left an unattended briefcase in the Social Security offices upstairs. No one was taking any chances. Everyone was on high alert. The bomb squad was en route.
We walked out into the bright sunlight, which was brilliantly reflected off the mirrored glass-faced surrounding skyscrapers. Amid the shuffle, the sound of a small aircraft sputtered overhead. Based on my own internal response as well as from those around me, we were all nervously awaiting the proverbial other shoe to drop. Then I decided I wasn't waiting around any longer. It was time to go home.
I kept replaying the building collapses over and over in my mind. Aside from the obvious, why did this look so strangely peculiar to me? Then I recalled the building collapse I was witness to the year before; the Kingdome demolition. A sports arena, which would be completely dwarfed by the twin towers, took weeks if not months of planning for the structure to fall in on itself and directly downward to the ground. At 110 stories, how the hell were those buildings able to fall perfectly downward without toppling over in one direction or another? It really begs deep and thorough questioning.
Few Americans think on this day and recall September 11, 1973. This was the day in history our country backed a coup in Chile, resulting in thousands dead and the assassination of that country's first publicly elected president. This got me thinking about what our government is capable of. Can't balance a budget for shit. Change the political landscape of other nations to benefit our interests, no problemo!
One thing in particular I find odd about our domestic 911. If foreign operatives wanted so badly to boldly send a message to the American people and the people of the world, why didn't they strike the towers after the morning commute had ended? About 50,000 people used to work in the twin towers. Yet most workers were still en route to their jobs when the planes struck. Why not strike a bit later for maximum impact? It almost seems as though there was some intention around minimizing loss of life. Why? What's the difference between a few thousand and tens of thousands? Wouldn't a far greater death toll punctuate the "shock and awe" factor? Maybe with the high degree of expert planning involved in executing this unprecedented operation they just simply overlooked that.
The events of our domestic 911 had a profound, short lived silver lining. For a brief moment in history, we as Americans stood united and the world stood with us. Different from the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Eastern Block which was celebratory, this was more like an unspoken bond. Our collective sense of domestic peace and security as a nation had been unimaginably, totally violated. This wasn't just an attack on America. This was an attack on our society. Unconsciously, I think most everyone had some sense of this, even if they couldn't articulate it. We were kinder to one another, more understanding of our differences, for a time anyway.
One has to wonder if this public solidarity was an unintended consequence the evil-doers hadn't taken into account. In the days following 911, the Bush Administration certainly did a great job of re-polarizing the American public, manipulating the masses with scare tactics and ultimately capitalizing on 911 to usurp our civil liberties through the "Patriot" Act. Sadly, the Obama Administration has maintained the status quo by extending the Patriot Act.
Regardless of your political affiliation, if you're an American still residing domestically, there's no denying the brave new post-911 world we live in. If we're to move forward and prosper as a nation, we must do so as a collective. How soon we forget. United we stand ...
My former partner RC and I had a corded phone line back then; most people still did. That morning the apartment phone kept ringing and ringing. I finally gave in, got up and answered it. On the other end a panicked voice commanded I turn on the TV at once. So I did, and upon doing so saw one of the World Trade Center towers falling straight down into a cloud of dust.
"Terrorists fucking blew up the World Trade Center!" the voice on the other end exclaimed as I still stood before the screen shocked, not yet able to process what had just occurred. Had I mentioned this is what I awoke to, a day following a flight home from Austin, TX where I had for the first time reconnected with members of my biological family? Kind of already had a bit too much to process at the time. My mind was on overload.
Oh, the voice on the other end of the phone line was Kasey Frix, RC's childhood best friend and our neighbor down the block. At the time we lived on Seattle's First Hill.
I expeditiously hung up with Kasey and went to inform RC of what was happening. He too had been inconvenienced by the excessive phone ringing. He too was completely shocked to learn why our phone was ringing to no avail.
Only a couple years prior we were holed up in our top floor apartment while militant helicopters hovered outside our windows. We literally saw a view of our living room on the evening news from the outside perspective while we sat watching TV in our living room. We stayed in off the streets that night for the mobs of people protesting the militia of police in riot gear clearing them from Downtown Seattle streets into our neighborhood during the World Trade Organization shutdown in 1999.
This was different. This was a whole new brand of fuck the people, theft and utter hatred. The message was clear. The result registered as fear.
RC and I both must have looked like utter zombies. We couldn't stop watching what the news media was relaying. It was completely surreal, like a catastrophic disaster. Only this one appeared completely, diabolically premeditated and precisely orchestrated.
We were in disbelief of people jumping from windows, as if the choice to die falling from an incredible height was so much better than being burned to death inside a smoldering skyscraper. Dozens, hundreds, possibly thousands fleeing the scene for their lives with thick clouds of debris rapidly closing in on them. What were we really watching that day, hell on Earth?
Somehow I managed to rip myself away, get myself together and head into work. The downtown streets were abuzz with activity. The transit tunnel was equally busy. I boarded a fairly crowded Sound Transit 550 Express. It would seem to be just an extra heavy volume commute except for the haunting silence. People didn't say much, didn't move much, just sheepishly went about their business of getting from point A to B. A few people were crying.
As we rolled into the Pioneer Square station, the platforms were nearly overflowing with downtown workers who had been evacuated from Seattle's tallest skycraper, the Columbia Tower. From that one stop, the 550 filled to standing room only capacity, perhaps a bit beyond.
My head was still in a fog. So much so I didn't even notice we had already driven across the lake and over Mercer Island. I snapped out of my fog in Bellevue as I watched passengers disembark to loved ones that had come to pick them up at the Eastside Park and Ride. One woman broke into sobbing tears as a man approached and then wrapped his arms around her.
"Did she lose someone, a fellow compatriot, a friend, a loved one? Or like everyone else alive was she just so horrified by what happened and/or fearful of what lie ahead? What am I doing going into work today?" I thought to myself, and then surrendered to the thought a distraction might just be beneficial.
When I reached the office, my colleagues were all tuned into the day's main events. It became uber clear there was no escaping this sinister reality, none whatsoever. Suddenly an alarm sounded in the building followed by a uniformed officer entering our lobby.
"This is an evacuation order. Please exit the building immediately." he said authoritatively.
Evidently someone left an unattended briefcase in the Social Security offices upstairs. No one was taking any chances. Everyone was on high alert. The bomb squad was en route.
We walked out into the bright sunlight, which was brilliantly reflected off the mirrored glass-faced surrounding skyscrapers. Amid the shuffle, the sound of a small aircraft sputtered overhead. Based on my own internal response as well as from those around me, we were all nervously awaiting the proverbial other shoe to drop. Then I decided I wasn't waiting around any longer. It was time to go home.
I kept replaying the building collapses over and over in my mind. Aside from the obvious, why did this look so strangely peculiar to me? Then I recalled the building collapse I was witness to the year before; the Kingdome demolition. A sports arena, which would be completely dwarfed by the twin towers, took weeks if not months of planning for the structure to fall in on itself and directly downward to the ground. At 110 stories, how the hell were those buildings able to fall perfectly downward without toppling over in one direction or another? It really begs deep and thorough questioning.
Few Americans think on this day and recall September 11, 1973. This was the day in history our country backed a coup in Chile, resulting in thousands dead and the assassination of that country's first publicly elected president. This got me thinking about what our government is capable of. Can't balance a budget for shit. Change the political landscape of other nations to benefit our interests, no problemo!
One thing in particular I find odd about our domestic 911. If foreign operatives wanted so badly to boldly send a message to the American people and the people of the world, why didn't they strike the towers after the morning commute had ended? About 50,000 people used to work in the twin towers. Yet most workers were still en route to their jobs when the planes struck. Why not strike a bit later for maximum impact? It almost seems as though there was some intention around minimizing loss of life. Why? What's the difference between a few thousand and tens of thousands? Wouldn't a far greater death toll punctuate the "shock and awe" factor? Maybe with the high degree of expert planning involved in executing this unprecedented operation they just simply overlooked that.
The events of our domestic 911 had a profound, short lived silver lining. For a brief moment in history, we as Americans stood united and the world stood with us. Different from the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Eastern Block which was celebratory, this was more like an unspoken bond. Our collective sense of domestic peace and security as a nation had been unimaginably, totally violated. This wasn't just an attack on America. This was an attack on our society. Unconsciously, I think most everyone had some sense of this, even if they couldn't articulate it. We were kinder to one another, more understanding of our differences, for a time anyway.
One has to wonder if this public solidarity was an unintended consequence the evil-doers hadn't taken into account. In the days following 911, the Bush Administration certainly did a great job of re-polarizing the American public, manipulating the masses with scare tactics and ultimately capitalizing on 911 to usurp our civil liberties through the "Patriot" Act. Sadly, the Obama Administration has maintained the status quo by extending the Patriot Act.
Regardless of your political affiliation, if you're an American still residing domestically, there's no denying the brave new post-911 world we live in. If we're to move forward and prosper as a nation, we must do so as a collective. How soon we forget. United we stand ...
Monday, September 9, 2013
People Power
I find this highly inspiring: http://www.upworthy.com/a-bunch-of-young-geniuses-just-made-a-corrupt-corporation-freak-out-big-time-time-for-round?g=2
The world could use a lot more inspiration ...
The world could use a lot more inspiration ...
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Pride 98
It was my last day in San Luis Obispo (SLO). I remember walking through town that evening for farewell drinks with a few of my buddies. Out of nowhere a car screeches past us and someone shouts "faggot" out the window at me. My friends turned cautiously to gauge my reaction. I smiled, chuckled and said "I've been here for five years, and someone has just now decided to take issue with my sexual orientation?!"
That wasn't entirely true. I once took great issue with my sexual orientation. Forget the first couple decades of my life, feeling like something was wrong with me that needed to be fixed. About a year previous to the drive by faggoting, I was so paranoid of being seen in public with a guy I had previously dated, I kept my distance from him as we walked through the town's Thursday Farmer's Market. It was so obvious how stand offish I was being, he was deeply hurt. My self preservation at the time was seemingly important. I was only 22. He was a more experienced 32. What if I were to run into one of my professors or classmates?! In hindsight how dare I make someone feel like I was ashamed of being with them. What can I say. I was young. It was a different time. We were in a much more conservative, mostly rural area of California. Truly.
Conversely, there was something about being with my first boyfriend Jason that put me at ease and made me immune to caring about what anyone else thought. I loved him, at least I thought I did. No, I did, as much as I was capable of at the time.
On another occasion, I had kissed my first boyfriend Jason goodbye after walking him to work in downtown SLO. Just as we had turned and walked away from each other, a very angry voice emerged from the afternoon crowd.
"Y-you, you FATHEADS!" Yelled a man who was with a woman and two children, a boy and a girl. I can only deduct they were a family. The woman seemed extremely embarrassed by the man's reaction toward us. Clearly as disturbed as the man was by our extremely G-Rated display of affection, he refrained from using the word faggot. Fatheads does sound similar, so it was probably his bigoted intention. My sense is he didn't want his kids to hear the word faggot. Yet they were still witness to his hatefulness toward us. Go figure.
Jason and I just shrugged and continued on our separate ways. The woman actually had to grab the man by his arm to prevent him from pursuing us. Though it appeared they were walking in the same direction I was. I could feel them behind me for about another half block or so before I turned toward my house. A bit awkward, mostly for them. Then again, I wasn't really sure if this hot tempered man might continue his pursuit of me. I was alone on foot.
Of course the SLO County skinheads sent me a few love letters to my university newsroom, suggesting I move somewhere like San Fransissyco. What a novel idea. It was mostly because San Francisco is such an incredible, vibrant city I thought I'd give it a shot after college. After all, SLO is very finite and I knew I'd need a more expansive place if I were going to continue evolving.
My journalism department fostered some professional networking opportunities. This lead to a prospective position with one of the world's largest PR firms, Burson Marsteller. Prior to graduating, I had an interview setup with a manager in the firm's corporate practice.
Finding housing was another saga. It was 1998, and the tech boom was underway. Vacancy rates in The City had plummeted. I found myself on interview after interview with potential roommates. Let me tell you, San Francisco is home to some really freaking living situations. This could warrant a story in of itself.
Alternately, I had taken up residence in a tourist hotel in the "Tenderlean" I used to stay at on weekend trips to The City during college. I had a room on the fifth floor, which was the top floor of this old building, complete with a cage elevator, a fabulous collection of vintage jukeboxes in the lobby and one of the hottest front desk men imaginable. Judging by his accent, I'm pretty sure he was French.
"Monsieur, Davis," he would address me in his thick, very sexy accent. He too had a room on the fifth floor, though he had to use the shared shower as I saw him heading out of it one day with just a towel wrapped around his incredible form. He hurt to look at; flawless. I digress ...
The first week living in The City was overwhelming. Noisy, impersonal, lonely. I spent most of my days looking for a reasonable living situation and work. I was looking very forward to my interview at Burson. At the time it was the only viable prospect I had lined up. I was living off my dad's credit card. Talk about living on borrowed time.
Nights were very lonely. I didn't really know anyone in The City at the time. One night I went out and met a couple really cool Irish gals. I recall cabbing home from the bar that night. As we were driving down Market Street, the Albanian cab driver remarked about the long rainbow banners hanging off all the lampposts as far as the eye could see.
"What are all these flags? A new country?!" he asked.
"You could say that, a more enhanced country." I replied.
Pride weekend was just a week or so away. I cannot recall a time I felt more humbled and insignificant. It had only been two weeks. Even though I had friends from SLO coming into town for Pride weekend, I had to use a lifeline. I phoned a friend, my best friend at the time, Jeff. The best. He was free Pride weekend, so I booked him a ticket, courtesy of my dad's plastic.
The afternoon Jeff arrived I had booked us a spa package at a resort in Calistoga. As luck would have it, my big interview simultaneously landed on that day. It was the only time they had available. In my best navy and pin stripe suit (Dior - which I picked up second hand on a trip home to Seattle a year prior), I dashed to SFO, picked up Jeff for a layover at Burson's Burlingame offices. Jeff sat in the car and read a book.
Meanwhile I sat in the hot seat. The hiring manager is alumni from my alma matter, so we had a great school connection. He seemed very impressed with my portfolio. I studied his office. One of the first things I noticed on his desk was a framed photo of him and Bob Dole. Further into our conversation it was explained the corporate practice serves some of the firm's most important clients, many of which are big oil companies. I wasn't sure how I felt about the information I was gathering. Yet beggers can't be choosers, and I was eager to land this gig. I was certain the starting salary would be substantial enough to set me up decently in The City.
They gave me a written test, part of which contained question and answer. The other part required me to write a news release about scissors. Yes, scissors. This was my opportunity to shine, and I did. In fact, I nailed the interview. They called immediately after I left in follow up, letting me know I would be hearing from them soon and they were looking very forward to working with me.
Jeff was such a great sport. We zipped up to Calistoga, having missed at least half our services. I was really looking forward to a volcanic mud bath. We had a brilliant time catching up during the car ride up. Had great massages and then headed back to The City.
It was our first night out together for quite some time. I thought it would be fun to switch it up a bit. By that I meant that I would wear Jeff's preppy attire and he'd try on some of my vintage, second-hand duds. What an interesting night it was. Of course we ended up at the Cafe in the Castro. And I ended up meeting Jeremy.
Jeremy was a tall ginger, ex marine Stanford grad. We danced, drank and by the end of the night were gratuitously making out. Jeff was a great sport. At some point after last call, Jeff ran into my ex Jason in the bathroom. Leave it to Jeff to rub it in Jason's face that I was there and also very "preoccupied." Oh, I hadn't mentioned that Jason had broken up with me months prior. I was devastated. Of course I eventually got over it. Jeff wasn't so sure whether Jason had based on his reaction to seeing me with this Jeremy fellow.
So Jeremy makes plans to meet up the following afternoon at Cafe Flora. This time Jeff is back to his preppy self and I'm back to my retro wears. And Jeremy is totally into Jeff. The two just chatted it up as if they had been long time friends. Great that they were hitting it off so well. As we moved into the evening, it became very apparent I was the third wheel. I suppose perhaps this is how Jeff was feeling the night before? This is crap!
Jeremy excuses himself. I'm sitting silent, fuming. Jeff picks up what I'm puttin' down.
"Is everything OK, Brad?"
"If it were you wouldn't be asking. I thought this was supposed to be our weekend."
"Say no more. Do you still have that ecstasy?"
"Yes."
Before I know it, Jeff and I dose a tab each. It's all we had. Then he assures me he's going to handle this. Jeremy returns.
"Welcome back, Jeremy," Jeff said. "Look, I came here to spend time with my best friend. We just took some ecstasy. Unfortunately we don't have anymore to share. We're planning to hit Club Universe tonight. If you are OK with chaperoning, you're welcome to come with us."
The look on Jeremy's face was priceless, just kind of expressionless because it was a lot to take in. Once he processed, he said OK, that he wanted to join us.
We make a plan to head back to our hotel first to change, prefunk (really?), etc. I drive us in my Explorer. We get about a block from the parking garage and suddenly the ecstasy kicks in full tilt boogie. It was amazing and frightening at the same time because suddenly driving became a very arduous task and the streets in the center of town are complicated. Somehow I managed to park the car safely and was so incredibly relieved to not have to do anymore driving for the evening. We'd take the rest of the night via cab.
So we pass the hot front desk man and get back up to my fifth floor room. Jeremy lays back and sprawls out on the bed. Jeff and I begin fussing around for a change of clothes, trying to decide who we wanted to be for our big night out at Club Universe. Especially for the Saturday of Pride weekend in San Francisco, this was the promised land of places to be. I couldn't have been more thrilled! Yeah, it was probably the ecstasy.
I put on some music. Jeff and I bantered and fussed and bantered some more. We sang along to songs while still trying different things on. Out of nowhere I decide it would be a great idea to play with shaving cream. Anyone who has ever been on ecstasy will understand. The sensation of everything is so utterly enhanced. Some friends I had dosed with months prior in SLO introduced me to playing with shaving cream while rolling on e. It's mesmerizing, oddly enough.
So Jeff and I are sitting on my hotel room floor Indian style facing one another playing with shaving cream between our entangled hands. At this point we're also completely lost in great conversation. We were all smiles with sparkles in our eyes. Suddenly a song comes on, and it seems to completely encapsulate the moment we're in. The last few verses repeat the words "I love you." During this time we're completely silent yet still conversing with our eyes, like telepathy. We were experiencing pure love in that moment, completely requited. The moment lingered for some time. Neither one of us wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else doing anything else. We were completely content, in a state of total, utter bliss.
Then I spoke the words, and when I did, I meant them, wholeheartedly: "I love you."
At one point I remember we made our way out onto the fire escape to have a cigarette. Jeff told me he had feelings for me for quite some time, and to ask our mutual friend Kathy if I didn't believe him.
We were both all smiles, giddy. We shared so many feelings and thoughts under a clear early summer night sky in The City. After what was probably a long while, even though it felt like no time at all, we climbed back in through the window and noticed there was a man sprawled out across the bed snoring.
We looked at each other and began laughing, knowing we were simultaneously thinking, "What are we going to do with this guy."
I guess the good news is all three of us got to experience what it was like being the proverbial third wheel. I forget which famous psychologist (or was it as sociologist) opined the perfect grouping is always two people because any more than that and someone always feels left out at some point.
This time I assure Jeff I'll handle this one. I rifled through some of my graduation cards and gathered up some cash into an envelope. I called a cab. Then I woke Jeremy up, and broke the news to him.
"My best friend and I have fallen in love. We're going to stay in tonight, and we want to make sure you still have a great Pride. Here's some cash. Your cab is waiting for you downstairs. Please have a great time."
Everything just flowed, and I didn't even pause to consider how Jeremy might react to this information, especially after having been suddenly awaken out of a deep sleep. He smiled and said he was truly happy for us. Well, he was a bit puzzled at first, only because he was still waking up. Ultimately he was very congratulatory. He gathered himself and showed himself out.
The next morning we woke up rather late. It seemed the night before we had a whole lifetime to catch up on. In fact, it was a phone call from Jeremy that stirred us. He called to let us know what happened to him on his way to the cab in front of the hotel. Three guys jumped him. Long story short, he got his marine on and kicked their asses. They managed to get away with some money, a whole dollar bill.
We were to meet some of my dear SLO friends downtown for the big parade. With this new discovery, suddenly all that mattered was that incredible feeling of home. I wanted to go home. My home had for so long been in Seattle.
"Jeff, what would you say if I asked you to help me pack my car, forego your flight and drive home with me?"
"Are you asking me?"
"Yes."
Beaming, he agreed and asked if I was sure. I told him I hadn't been more sure of anything in my life to date.
I put a call into my friends, letting them know I was heading home and why. It didn't seem to register.
"But you'll miss the parade." said the voice on the other end of the line.
It took us about an hour to load my car with all of my wordly possessions. I decided we were going to take the scenic route up Highway 101. To get there from the Tenderlean we literally drove through the center of the parade. It was an incredible moment, almost like our own special bon voyage celebration.
As soon as we rolled onto the Golden Gate Bridge, Jeff turned on the radio. Supertramp's Goodbye Stranger stated playing. I had surrendered myself for five years to California, forged some incredible friendships, experienced so much and really started coming into my own during this time. Suddenly I was leaving, not knowing when I would be back, whether I would be back, if I would ever see my dear friends again. I felt a tear roll down my face. My body knew my sadness before I was even mentally aware I had anything to be sad about. I had for hours previous been so wrapped up in love I couldn't consider anything other possibility.
Jeff flashed me an understanding look. We didn't speak. We just let the music play. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies. Puffy white clouds. Reflections of the sun sparkling across the bay. Clearly we were still just a smidge high. Even so, this was a beautiful moment full of mixed emotions and no regrets.
Our second to last stop in California is worth a mention. We were running low on fuel as we rolled into Crescent City in my bright red Explorer with a long, horizontal rainbow pride sticker plastered across the top of my rear window glass. I'm at the pump about to begin fueling when I hear "FAGGOT!" shouted at me from the station attendant. I looked at him, dropped the pump on the ground and told him to pick it up. I casually returned to my car, drove off and filled up at the next station down the street.
Our last stop in California was deep in the redwood forest along the cross over highway between 101 and I-5. Twilight was rapidly descending into nightfall. The trees were silhouettes against a purple backdrop. No sign of civilization present, except a faint light up ahead at a bend in the road. It was a phone booth, in the middle of wilderness. Weird. I pulled off the road, thinking it would be a good idea to call my family and let them know I was heading home. There were a couple of what appeared to be abandoned cabins behind the phone booth. Jeff was sound asleep
I quietly stopped the car and slipped out into the booth. Just as I began dialing a terrifying impact was made on the side of the booth. There was a large, black boot laying on the ground a ways from where the impact was made. I looked up and saw one of the cabin's had the front door wide open, but it was pitch black inside. I've seen way too many horror flicks to stick around. Without putting anymore thought toward it, I booked back to the car and drove away as fast as I possibly could. Of course this woke Jeff out of his sound slumber.
"What's going on?!" he asked.
I explained what had just occurred. By the expression on my face, which had gone completely pale, he didn't question any further. We drove on into the night and once we reached Medford, Oregon, I pulled into civilization and made my call home.
Oh, speaking of calls. I followed up with the hiring manager at Burson Marsteller upon arriving home, letting them know I had relocated to Seattle. He was very disappointed, mentioning they didn't have any offices in Seattle. Looking back, I know that whole situation turned out for the very best.
In some way it would be great to share that Jeff and I lived happily ever after. Perhaps both of us have. I can only speak for myself and acknowledge for all life's struggles I am living happily ever after. I've not spoken with Jeff in many years, yet my hope of course is that he is truly happy.
Perhaps this is a good time to mention Jeff was living with his fiance during that Pride weekend in 1998. Honestly I think Jeff was more in love with the idea of being in love with his fiance than he was truly in love with his fiance. Perhaps what he and I experienced together was just a byproduct of an illicit substance. Perhaps there were true feelings there that ran deep because we had such a solid history. It doesn't really matter, especially now. Our lives ebbed and flowed exactly the way they did.
Maybe I shouldn't share this last bit. I might as well. So Jeff did inform his fiance about us. Of course he didn't take it too well, and of course he was going to need some time to find a place of his own. Translation: "I don't want this to end, so I'm not in any hurry to leave."
Jeff and I had our first official date shortly after our return to Seattle. Our friends were quite stunned by our news. Happy yet stunned. I picked him up one evening out front of his place. He looked so cute in his khakis and bright polo. So he gets in the car and says he has something he needs to discuss with me.
"So you know Craig is still looking for a place to live."
"Yes, I know."
"And while he is, we're still sharing a bed together."
"OK."
"And, well, we're probably still going to, you know, have sex."
"So what are you really asking me? Whether you can have your cake and eat it, too?! I think I'm finally really clear. You can go now, this date is over."
Oddly Jeff looked shocked. He wanted to know if I was serious, which of course I was. It's not what I wanted. I knew how much he fooled around on Craig. I would be the fool to think he could ever change, and as much as I adored him, I loved myself, too.
Days following on the fourth of July, just as the fireworks began igniting over Seattle, Jeff and I had a huge blowout of our own. I don't even recall the exact circumstances or the he said, he said. Just that we both had a lot of pent up anger to vent, and we did so at one another. I'm not sure whether we ever fully resolved our differences. Perhaps if we had things might be different. I don't mean that we would have pursued a romantic relationship together. I simply mean perhaps we might have ended up as we had began, as friends.
A year later to the day, Jeff introduced me to my partner of seven years in his front yard. That's a whole other ball of wax, and this is more than plenty for one post.
That wasn't entirely true. I once took great issue with my sexual orientation. Forget the first couple decades of my life, feeling like something was wrong with me that needed to be fixed. About a year previous to the drive by faggoting, I was so paranoid of being seen in public with a guy I had previously dated, I kept my distance from him as we walked through the town's Thursday Farmer's Market. It was so obvious how stand offish I was being, he was deeply hurt. My self preservation at the time was seemingly important. I was only 22. He was a more experienced 32. What if I were to run into one of my professors or classmates?! In hindsight how dare I make someone feel like I was ashamed of being with them. What can I say. I was young. It was a different time. We were in a much more conservative, mostly rural area of California. Truly.
Conversely, there was something about being with my first boyfriend Jason that put me at ease and made me immune to caring about what anyone else thought. I loved him, at least I thought I did. No, I did, as much as I was capable of at the time.
On another occasion, I had kissed my first boyfriend Jason goodbye after walking him to work in downtown SLO. Just as we had turned and walked away from each other, a very angry voice emerged from the afternoon crowd.
"Y-you, you FATHEADS!" Yelled a man who was with a woman and two children, a boy and a girl. I can only deduct they were a family. The woman seemed extremely embarrassed by the man's reaction toward us. Clearly as disturbed as the man was by our extremely G-Rated display of affection, he refrained from using the word faggot. Fatheads does sound similar, so it was probably his bigoted intention. My sense is he didn't want his kids to hear the word faggot. Yet they were still witness to his hatefulness toward us. Go figure.
Jason and I just shrugged and continued on our separate ways. The woman actually had to grab the man by his arm to prevent him from pursuing us. Though it appeared they were walking in the same direction I was. I could feel them behind me for about another half block or so before I turned toward my house. A bit awkward, mostly for them. Then again, I wasn't really sure if this hot tempered man might continue his pursuit of me. I was alone on foot.
Of course the SLO County skinheads sent me a few love letters to my university newsroom, suggesting I move somewhere like San Fransissyco. What a novel idea. It was mostly because San Francisco is such an incredible, vibrant city I thought I'd give it a shot after college. After all, SLO is very finite and I knew I'd need a more expansive place if I were going to continue evolving.
My journalism department fostered some professional networking opportunities. This lead to a prospective position with one of the world's largest PR firms, Burson Marsteller. Prior to graduating, I had an interview setup with a manager in the firm's corporate practice.
Finding housing was another saga. It was 1998, and the tech boom was underway. Vacancy rates in The City had plummeted. I found myself on interview after interview with potential roommates. Let me tell you, San Francisco is home to some really freaking living situations. This could warrant a story in of itself.
Alternately, I had taken up residence in a tourist hotel in the "Tenderlean" I used to stay at on weekend trips to The City during college. I had a room on the fifth floor, which was the top floor of this old building, complete with a cage elevator, a fabulous collection of vintage jukeboxes in the lobby and one of the hottest front desk men imaginable. Judging by his accent, I'm pretty sure he was French.
"Monsieur, Davis," he would address me in his thick, very sexy accent. He too had a room on the fifth floor, though he had to use the shared shower as I saw him heading out of it one day with just a towel wrapped around his incredible form. He hurt to look at; flawless. I digress ...
The first week living in The City was overwhelming. Noisy, impersonal, lonely. I spent most of my days looking for a reasonable living situation and work. I was looking very forward to my interview at Burson. At the time it was the only viable prospect I had lined up. I was living off my dad's credit card. Talk about living on borrowed time.
Nights were very lonely. I didn't really know anyone in The City at the time. One night I went out and met a couple really cool Irish gals. I recall cabbing home from the bar that night. As we were driving down Market Street, the Albanian cab driver remarked about the long rainbow banners hanging off all the lampposts as far as the eye could see.
"What are all these flags? A new country?!" he asked.
"You could say that, a more enhanced country." I replied.
Pride weekend was just a week or so away. I cannot recall a time I felt more humbled and insignificant. It had only been two weeks. Even though I had friends from SLO coming into town for Pride weekend, I had to use a lifeline. I phoned a friend, my best friend at the time, Jeff. The best. He was free Pride weekend, so I booked him a ticket, courtesy of my dad's plastic.
The afternoon Jeff arrived I had booked us a spa package at a resort in Calistoga. As luck would have it, my big interview simultaneously landed on that day. It was the only time they had available. In my best navy and pin stripe suit (Dior - which I picked up second hand on a trip home to Seattle a year prior), I dashed to SFO, picked up Jeff for a layover at Burson's Burlingame offices. Jeff sat in the car and read a book.
Meanwhile I sat in the hot seat. The hiring manager is alumni from my alma matter, so we had a great school connection. He seemed very impressed with my portfolio. I studied his office. One of the first things I noticed on his desk was a framed photo of him and Bob Dole. Further into our conversation it was explained the corporate practice serves some of the firm's most important clients, many of which are big oil companies. I wasn't sure how I felt about the information I was gathering. Yet beggers can't be choosers, and I was eager to land this gig. I was certain the starting salary would be substantial enough to set me up decently in The City.
They gave me a written test, part of which contained question and answer. The other part required me to write a news release about scissors. Yes, scissors. This was my opportunity to shine, and I did. In fact, I nailed the interview. They called immediately after I left in follow up, letting me know I would be hearing from them soon and they were looking very forward to working with me.
Jeff was such a great sport. We zipped up to Calistoga, having missed at least half our services. I was really looking forward to a volcanic mud bath. We had a brilliant time catching up during the car ride up. Had great massages and then headed back to The City.
It was our first night out together for quite some time. I thought it would be fun to switch it up a bit. By that I meant that I would wear Jeff's preppy attire and he'd try on some of my vintage, second-hand duds. What an interesting night it was. Of course we ended up at the Cafe in the Castro. And I ended up meeting Jeremy.
Jeremy was a tall ginger, ex marine Stanford grad. We danced, drank and by the end of the night were gratuitously making out. Jeff was a great sport. At some point after last call, Jeff ran into my ex Jason in the bathroom. Leave it to Jeff to rub it in Jason's face that I was there and also very "preoccupied." Oh, I hadn't mentioned that Jason had broken up with me months prior. I was devastated. Of course I eventually got over it. Jeff wasn't so sure whether Jason had based on his reaction to seeing me with this Jeremy fellow.
So Jeremy makes plans to meet up the following afternoon at Cafe Flora. This time Jeff is back to his preppy self and I'm back to my retro wears. And Jeremy is totally into Jeff. The two just chatted it up as if they had been long time friends. Great that they were hitting it off so well. As we moved into the evening, it became very apparent I was the third wheel. I suppose perhaps this is how Jeff was feeling the night before? This is crap!
Jeremy excuses himself. I'm sitting silent, fuming. Jeff picks up what I'm puttin' down.
"Is everything OK, Brad?"
"If it were you wouldn't be asking. I thought this was supposed to be our weekend."
"Say no more. Do you still have that ecstasy?"
"Yes."
Before I know it, Jeff and I dose a tab each. It's all we had. Then he assures me he's going to handle this. Jeremy returns.
"Welcome back, Jeremy," Jeff said. "Look, I came here to spend time with my best friend. We just took some ecstasy. Unfortunately we don't have anymore to share. We're planning to hit Club Universe tonight. If you are OK with chaperoning, you're welcome to come with us."
The look on Jeremy's face was priceless, just kind of expressionless because it was a lot to take in. Once he processed, he said OK, that he wanted to join us.
We make a plan to head back to our hotel first to change, prefunk (really?), etc. I drive us in my Explorer. We get about a block from the parking garage and suddenly the ecstasy kicks in full tilt boogie. It was amazing and frightening at the same time because suddenly driving became a very arduous task and the streets in the center of town are complicated. Somehow I managed to park the car safely and was so incredibly relieved to not have to do anymore driving for the evening. We'd take the rest of the night via cab.
So we pass the hot front desk man and get back up to my fifth floor room. Jeremy lays back and sprawls out on the bed. Jeff and I begin fussing around for a change of clothes, trying to decide who we wanted to be for our big night out at Club Universe. Especially for the Saturday of Pride weekend in San Francisco, this was the promised land of places to be. I couldn't have been more thrilled! Yeah, it was probably the ecstasy.
I put on some music. Jeff and I bantered and fussed and bantered some more. We sang along to songs while still trying different things on. Out of nowhere I decide it would be a great idea to play with shaving cream. Anyone who has ever been on ecstasy will understand. The sensation of everything is so utterly enhanced. Some friends I had dosed with months prior in SLO introduced me to playing with shaving cream while rolling on e. It's mesmerizing, oddly enough.
So Jeff and I are sitting on my hotel room floor Indian style facing one another playing with shaving cream between our entangled hands. At this point we're also completely lost in great conversation. We were all smiles with sparkles in our eyes. Suddenly a song comes on, and it seems to completely encapsulate the moment we're in. The last few verses repeat the words "I love you." During this time we're completely silent yet still conversing with our eyes, like telepathy. We were experiencing pure love in that moment, completely requited. The moment lingered for some time. Neither one of us wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else doing anything else. We were completely content, in a state of total, utter bliss.
Then I spoke the words, and when I did, I meant them, wholeheartedly: "I love you."
At one point I remember we made our way out onto the fire escape to have a cigarette. Jeff told me he had feelings for me for quite some time, and to ask our mutual friend Kathy if I didn't believe him.
We were both all smiles, giddy. We shared so many feelings and thoughts under a clear early summer night sky in The City. After what was probably a long while, even though it felt like no time at all, we climbed back in through the window and noticed there was a man sprawled out across the bed snoring.
We looked at each other and began laughing, knowing we were simultaneously thinking, "What are we going to do with this guy."
I guess the good news is all three of us got to experience what it was like being the proverbial third wheel. I forget which famous psychologist (or was it as sociologist) opined the perfect grouping is always two people because any more than that and someone always feels left out at some point.
This time I assure Jeff I'll handle this one. I rifled through some of my graduation cards and gathered up some cash into an envelope. I called a cab. Then I woke Jeremy up, and broke the news to him.
"My best friend and I have fallen in love. We're going to stay in tonight, and we want to make sure you still have a great Pride. Here's some cash. Your cab is waiting for you downstairs. Please have a great time."
Everything just flowed, and I didn't even pause to consider how Jeremy might react to this information, especially after having been suddenly awaken out of a deep sleep. He smiled and said he was truly happy for us. Well, he was a bit puzzled at first, only because he was still waking up. Ultimately he was very congratulatory. He gathered himself and showed himself out.
The next morning we woke up rather late. It seemed the night before we had a whole lifetime to catch up on. In fact, it was a phone call from Jeremy that stirred us. He called to let us know what happened to him on his way to the cab in front of the hotel. Three guys jumped him. Long story short, he got his marine on and kicked their asses. They managed to get away with some money, a whole dollar bill.
We were to meet some of my dear SLO friends downtown for the big parade. With this new discovery, suddenly all that mattered was that incredible feeling of home. I wanted to go home. My home had for so long been in Seattle.
"Jeff, what would you say if I asked you to help me pack my car, forego your flight and drive home with me?"
"Are you asking me?"
"Yes."
Beaming, he agreed and asked if I was sure. I told him I hadn't been more sure of anything in my life to date.
I put a call into my friends, letting them know I was heading home and why. It didn't seem to register.
"But you'll miss the parade." said the voice on the other end of the line.
It took us about an hour to load my car with all of my wordly possessions. I decided we were going to take the scenic route up Highway 101. To get there from the Tenderlean we literally drove through the center of the parade. It was an incredible moment, almost like our own special bon voyage celebration.
As soon as we rolled onto the Golden Gate Bridge, Jeff turned on the radio. Supertramp's Goodbye Stranger stated playing. I had surrendered myself for five years to California, forged some incredible friendships, experienced so much and really started coming into my own during this time. Suddenly I was leaving, not knowing when I would be back, whether I would be back, if I would ever see my dear friends again. I felt a tear roll down my face. My body knew my sadness before I was even mentally aware I had anything to be sad about. I had for hours previous been so wrapped up in love I couldn't consider anything other possibility.
Jeff flashed me an understanding look. We didn't speak. We just let the music play. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies. Puffy white clouds. Reflections of the sun sparkling across the bay. Clearly we were still just a smidge high. Even so, this was a beautiful moment full of mixed emotions and no regrets.
Our second to last stop in California is worth a mention. We were running low on fuel as we rolled into Crescent City in my bright red Explorer with a long, horizontal rainbow pride sticker plastered across the top of my rear window glass. I'm at the pump about to begin fueling when I hear "FAGGOT!" shouted at me from the station attendant. I looked at him, dropped the pump on the ground and told him to pick it up. I casually returned to my car, drove off and filled up at the next station down the street.
Our last stop in California was deep in the redwood forest along the cross over highway between 101 and I-5. Twilight was rapidly descending into nightfall. The trees were silhouettes against a purple backdrop. No sign of civilization present, except a faint light up ahead at a bend in the road. It was a phone booth, in the middle of wilderness. Weird. I pulled off the road, thinking it would be a good idea to call my family and let them know I was heading home. There were a couple of what appeared to be abandoned cabins behind the phone booth. Jeff was sound asleep
I quietly stopped the car and slipped out into the booth. Just as I began dialing a terrifying impact was made on the side of the booth. There was a large, black boot laying on the ground a ways from where the impact was made. I looked up and saw one of the cabin's had the front door wide open, but it was pitch black inside. I've seen way too many horror flicks to stick around. Without putting anymore thought toward it, I booked back to the car and drove away as fast as I possibly could. Of course this woke Jeff out of his sound slumber.
"What's going on?!" he asked.
I explained what had just occurred. By the expression on my face, which had gone completely pale, he didn't question any further. We drove on into the night and once we reached Medford, Oregon, I pulled into civilization and made my call home.
Oh, speaking of calls. I followed up with the hiring manager at Burson Marsteller upon arriving home, letting them know I had relocated to Seattle. He was very disappointed, mentioning they didn't have any offices in Seattle. Looking back, I know that whole situation turned out for the very best.
In some way it would be great to share that Jeff and I lived happily ever after. Perhaps both of us have. I can only speak for myself and acknowledge for all life's struggles I am living happily ever after. I've not spoken with Jeff in many years, yet my hope of course is that he is truly happy.
Perhaps this is a good time to mention Jeff was living with his fiance during that Pride weekend in 1998. Honestly I think Jeff was more in love with the idea of being in love with his fiance than he was truly in love with his fiance. Perhaps what he and I experienced together was just a byproduct of an illicit substance. Perhaps there were true feelings there that ran deep because we had such a solid history. It doesn't really matter, especially now. Our lives ebbed and flowed exactly the way they did.
Maybe I shouldn't share this last bit. I might as well. So Jeff did inform his fiance about us. Of course he didn't take it too well, and of course he was going to need some time to find a place of his own. Translation: "I don't want this to end, so I'm not in any hurry to leave."
Jeff and I had our first official date shortly after our return to Seattle. Our friends were quite stunned by our news. Happy yet stunned. I picked him up one evening out front of his place. He looked so cute in his khakis and bright polo. So he gets in the car and says he has something he needs to discuss with me.
"So you know Craig is still looking for a place to live."
"Yes, I know."
"And while he is, we're still sharing a bed together."
"OK."
"And, well, we're probably still going to, you know, have sex."
"So what are you really asking me? Whether you can have your cake and eat it, too?! I think I'm finally really clear. You can go now, this date is over."
Oddly Jeff looked shocked. He wanted to know if I was serious, which of course I was. It's not what I wanted. I knew how much he fooled around on Craig. I would be the fool to think he could ever change, and as much as I adored him, I loved myself, too.
Days following on the fourth of July, just as the fireworks began igniting over Seattle, Jeff and I had a huge blowout of our own. I don't even recall the exact circumstances or the he said, he said. Just that we both had a lot of pent up anger to vent, and we did so at one another. I'm not sure whether we ever fully resolved our differences. Perhaps if we had things might be different. I don't mean that we would have pursued a romantic relationship together. I simply mean perhaps we might have ended up as we had began, as friends.
A year later to the day, Jeff introduced me to my partner of seven years in his front yard. That's a whole other ball of wax, and this is more than plenty for one post.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
The Atomic Age & Devolution
My blog has a "this day in history" widget at the top, which automatically posts daily events of importance that have occurred on that day. Today is the anniversary of the U.S. dropping atomic bombs on Japan: http://encyclopedia.tfd.com/Atomic+bombings+of+Hiroshima+and+Nagasaki
For all of our intelligence as mere mammals, our "advancements," our "achievements" are in so many ways devolved. We humans are reckless, selfish and ignorant creatures.
Here's what I find fascinating. The latest scientific research indicates primitive humans began eight million years ago. Then suddenly 50 thousand years ago, we humans mysteriously make a giant leap in our evolution. What changed?
Regardless of what changed, it is clear where we are headed. Man vs. man in the ultimate conflict over sustainability. Will it be survival of the fittest? Survival of the wealthiest? Or mass extinction?
I ran across this documentary while searching online for clues to humankind's sudden evolutionary advancement. Not like this is groundbreaking or even "news," it's just well done and gives pause for thought about our collective human fate: http://youtu.be/dN06tLRE4WE
For all of our intelligence as mere mammals, our "advancements," our "achievements" are in so many ways devolved. We humans are reckless, selfish and ignorant creatures.
Here's what I find fascinating. The latest scientific research indicates primitive humans began eight million years ago. Then suddenly 50 thousand years ago, we humans mysteriously make a giant leap in our evolution. What changed?
Regardless of what changed, it is clear where we are headed. Man vs. man in the ultimate conflict over sustainability. Will it be survival of the fittest? Survival of the wealthiest? Or mass extinction?
I ran across this documentary while searching online for clues to humankind's sudden evolutionary advancement. Not like this is groundbreaking or even "news," it's just well done and gives pause for thought about our collective human fate: http://youtu.be/dN06tLRE4WE
California Dreamin'
In early 1992, at the ripe ignorant age of 17, I had semi "flown the
coop" from my folks' nest. My Grandma
and Aunt had taken me in to finish my second semester of high
school at my hometown alma mater Issaquah. According to Wikipedia,
"Issaquah" is an anglicized word for a local Native American name,
meaning either "the sound of birds," "snake," or "little stream." I had
once heard from a friend who heard from some descendant of a native
tribe from our region that if someone acted silly or a little crazy, one
would say, "they must be from Issaquah." The latter meaning really
resonates with me.
I graduated with the class I grew up with. Still not sure how I managed to make it out, alive. Stated junior college. Moved into a house with some roomies. Threw a shitload of parties. Went to a shitload of parties. Dropped out of junior college. Really was going nowhere fast. This just wouldn't do. I wanted more for myself. I'm sure my folks, at the time, wanted more for me, too.
Spent a spring break down in Lake Havasu, Arizona. One night, I almost literally drank my weight in booze. I just lost complete control of my sense and sensibility. The last thing I remember; throwing back a jug of vodka. Then I recall waking up on a cold, stainless steel table under horrible florescent lighting in a medical room. A nurse came in, and the first thing I ask her is if I'm in trouble. She assured me as far as she was concerned I wasn't. Not too much time passed before I was released from the hospital, which had treated me for alcohol poisoning. I was told I had a .38 blood alcohol content. I was also told .4 is certain death. This was a wake up call.
Speaking of calls, it was my brother who heroically called 911. For someone to be in that bad of shape for my brother to think there was an urgent medical emergency is saying something. Truly. Well, you don't know my brother.
So the following night, my brother, and I were to have dinner with our folks. They were visiting him in San Luis Obispo where he attended junior college. So relieved I hadn't died, they were surprisingly lenient with me. Completely disappointed, albeit lenient.
Upon my return to Seattle, I did quite a bit of soul searching. I engaged in my first internship with a local video production company. They were working on a really cool project, documenting the story of our nation's most prolific serial arsonist Paul Keller. The work was really unglamorous, sometimes boring and tedious. I was also schlepping at an Italian restaurant bussing tables. This was at least my third restaurant gig, and I was still bussing, not waiting. In hindsight, it might have been to my advantage to acknowledge my Hispanic appearance and avoid working in restaurants altogether. Oh well, live and learn.
Sometime at the beginning of my third quarter in community college I dropped my classes and withdrew. While in the registrar's office, I recall overhearing a gal talking to another staffer about the college dropout statistics. Apparently the percentage of people who drop out of college and return to graduate with a degree is astronomically low. This really got to me. What kid grows up dreaming of being a loser statistic!?
For once I actually intentionally followed my brother's lead. I applied and was accepted to his college in little San Luis Obispo. So that summer I wrapped up my video production internship, quit my schlepping gig, said farewell to lifelong friends and moved to California's Central Coast.
The night before I left I had the oddest dream. I was in a large, green vehicle. It was a boat of a car, kind of like an old Lincoln. Actually I couldn't tell whether it was a car or SUV. It was really large and full of passengers; family. I don't recall if the car was full of actual relatives or people who felt close to me like family. That part was ambiguous, probably the latter as I have a very loose knit family at best.
We were driving on a major freeway through the heart of a major downtown. It could've been I-5 through Downtown Seattle under the Washington State Convention Center. It could've been the Hollywood Freeway through Downtown Los Angeles. I'm not really sure. Again, ambiguous.
I was sitting in a middle seat, and for some reason there was no working safety belt. We were cruising at a good clip, about 75 miles per hour. Then it was as if someone flipped a switch on traffic, and the cars ahead of us appeared to suddenly be at a stand-still. The driver hit the brakes. It was too late. We slammed into the back of the car ahead of us. I slammed through the windshield and into the pavement.
The next thing I know, I'm standing there watching all these people get out of their cars and rush over to the pileup. I stood up on my tippy toes to get a look at the motionless body lying in the road. The person was face down into the pavement, it wasn't pretty. Upon closer examination, I notice they're wearing the same clothes as I was. Then it hit me. That was me lying there, motionless.
In denial, I begin trying to get people's attention. No one acknowledged me. More and more I try to get in people's faces. It's clear no one sees or hears me, or so I thought.
There was a lighted escalator to the side of the freeway, like at a transit or subway stop. The people riding up it waved to me, motioning for me to follow them. So I did. I began my ascent. Suddenly I'm in a hospital room. My nearest and dearest are gathered around a table. They were grieving over my white draped remains.
A man came through the wall. He was dressed handsomely in full white tie tuxedo. In the most loving of manners he asked me if I had any regrets. I searched myself and honestly I didn't, so I said no. He asked me if I was ready to go. I searched myself again, and while I felt the loss of the life I had known, I felt unimpeded to move on. The mysterious man extended his hand toward me. I reached out and he grasped my hand tenderly. He then led me through the wall he had just moments before walked through.
On the other side, we're in a beautiful red rock canyon environment, like you see in Southern Utah. I look over at the mysterious man. He is now dressed in a sheriff's uniform and there's a squad car just ahead of us. We get in and drive around a bend. As we clear the bend, I see this magnificent city stretch out before us. It's beautiful, strange and seemingly multi-pastel colored.
The mysterious man drops me off at a park. There's a news kiosk, so I take it upon myself to learn more. There are multi-colored leaflets being distributed to passers by. They look like blank pages from a variety pack of construction paper.
A younger man around my age approaches me. He says I must be new, and not to worry, that over time I'll be able to see the words. Then he invites me to follow him to a pay phone. I oblige. He picks up the receiver and makes a call. Then he says your turn and hands me the phone. My mom is on the line, calling my name as if she's wondering whether it's me on the other end. I say, yes, mom, it's me. I'm here. She continues to call my name. She doesn't hear me and hangs up. My new acquaintance explains to me we can sometimes contact our earthbound loved ones. He also informs me we're to have dinner with the creator that evening.
Next thing I know, we're at the creator's home. He's the same mysterious man who first came to me through a wall. He and a woman are preparing dinner in a very nice, yet modest, completely wooden kitchen. This is inside a completely wooden house. There is a feast of food spread out on a long, wooden table. We begin to sit down at the table together, and I can't remember anything more about the dream beyond this.
The next morning I was on the road to start my new life and finish my college degree in California ...
I graduated with the class I grew up with. Still not sure how I managed to make it out, alive. Stated junior college. Moved into a house with some roomies. Threw a shitload of parties. Went to a shitload of parties. Dropped out of junior college. Really was going nowhere fast. This just wouldn't do. I wanted more for myself. I'm sure my folks, at the time, wanted more for me, too.
Spent a spring break down in Lake Havasu, Arizona. One night, I almost literally drank my weight in booze. I just lost complete control of my sense and sensibility. The last thing I remember; throwing back a jug of vodka. Then I recall waking up on a cold, stainless steel table under horrible florescent lighting in a medical room. A nurse came in, and the first thing I ask her is if I'm in trouble. She assured me as far as she was concerned I wasn't. Not too much time passed before I was released from the hospital, which had treated me for alcohol poisoning. I was told I had a .38 blood alcohol content. I was also told .4 is certain death. This was a wake up call.
Speaking of calls, it was my brother who heroically called 911. For someone to be in that bad of shape for my brother to think there was an urgent medical emergency is saying something. Truly. Well, you don't know my brother.
So the following night, my brother, and I were to have dinner with our folks. They were visiting him in San Luis Obispo where he attended junior college. So relieved I hadn't died, they were surprisingly lenient with me. Completely disappointed, albeit lenient.
Upon my return to Seattle, I did quite a bit of soul searching. I engaged in my first internship with a local video production company. They were working on a really cool project, documenting the story of our nation's most prolific serial arsonist Paul Keller. The work was really unglamorous, sometimes boring and tedious. I was also schlepping at an Italian restaurant bussing tables. This was at least my third restaurant gig, and I was still bussing, not waiting. In hindsight, it might have been to my advantage to acknowledge my Hispanic appearance and avoid working in restaurants altogether. Oh well, live and learn.
Sometime at the beginning of my third quarter in community college I dropped my classes and withdrew. While in the registrar's office, I recall overhearing a gal talking to another staffer about the college dropout statistics. Apparently the percentage of people who drop out of college and return to graduate with a degree is astronomically low. This really got to me. What kid grows up dreaming of being a loser statistic!?
For once I actually intentionally followed my brother's lead. I applied and was accepted to his college in little San Luis Obispo. So that summer I wrapped up my video production internship, quit my schlepping gig, said farewell to lifelong friends and moved to California's Central Coast.
The night before I left I had the oddest dream. I was in a large, green vehicle. It was a boat of a car, kind of like an old Lincoln. Actually I couldn't tell whether it was a car or SUV. It was really large and full of passengers; family. I don't recall if the car was full of actual relatives or people who felt close to me like family. That part was ambiguous, probably the latter as I have a very loose knit family at best.
We were driving on a major freeway through the heart of a major downtown. It could've been I-5 through Downtown Seattle under the Washington State Convention Center. It could've been the Hollywood Freeway through Downtown Los Angeles. I'm not really sure. Again, ambiguous.
I was sitting in a middle seat, and for some reason there was no working safety belt. We were cruising at a good clip, about 75 miles per hour. Then it was as if someone flipped a switch on traffic, and the cars ahead of us appeared to suddenly be at a stand-still. The driver hit the brakes. It was too late. We slammed into the back of the car ahead of us. I slammed through the windshield and into the pavement.
The next thing I know, I'm standing there watching all these people get out of their cars and rush over to the pileup. I stood up on my tippy toes to get a look at the motionless body lying in the road. The person was face down into the pavement, it wasn't pretty. Upon closer examination, I notice they're wearing the same clothes as I was. Then it hit me. That was me lying there, motionless.
In denial, I begin trying to get people's attention. No one acknowledged me. More and more I try to get in people's faces. It's clear no one sees or hears me, or so I thought.
There was a lighted escalator to the side of the freeway, like at a transit or subway stop. The people riding up it waved to me, motioning for me to follow them. So I did. I began my ascent. Suddenly I'm in a hospital room. My nearest and dearest are gathered around a table. They were grieving over my white draped remains.
A man came through the wall. He was dressed handsomely in full white tie tuxedo. In the most loving of manners he asked me if I had any regrets. I searched myself and honestly I didn't, so I said no. He asked me if I was ready to go. I searched myself again, and while I felt the loss of the life I had known, I felt unimpeded to move on. The mysterious man extended his hand toward me. I reached out and he grasped my hand tenderly. He then led me through the wall he had just moments before walked through.
On the other side, we're in a beautiful red rock canyon environment, like you see in Southern Utah. I look over at the mysterious man. He is now dressed in a sheriff's uniform and there's a squad car just ahead of us. We get in and drive around a bend. As we clear the bend, I see this magnificent city stretch out before us. It's beautiful, strange and seemingly multi-pastel colored.
The mysterious man drops me off at a park. There's a news kiosk, so I take it upon myself to learn more. There are multi-colored leaflets being distributed to passers by. They look like blank pages from a variety pack of construction paper.
A younger man around my age approaches me. He says I must be new, and not to worry, that over time I'll be able to see the words. Then he invites me to follow him to a pay phone. I oblige. He picks up the receiver and makes a call. Then he says your turn and hands me the phone. My mom is on the line, calling my name as if she's wondering whether it's me on the other end. I say, yes, mom, it's me. I'm here. She continues to call my name. She doesn't hear me and hangs up. My new acquaintance explains to me we can sometimes contact our earthbound loved ones. He also informs me we're to have dinner with the creator that evening.
Next thing I know, we're at the creator's home. He's the same mysterious man who first came to me through a wall. He and a woman are preparing dinner in a very nice, yet modest, completely wooden kitchen. This is inside a completely wooden house. There is a feast of food spread out on a long, wooden table. We begin to sit down at the table together, and I can't remember anything more about the dream beyond this.
The next morning I was on the road to start my new life and finish my college degree in California ...
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Dream Revelations
Someone seemingly out of nowhere handed me a baby. They fled. I'm holding this cute baby in my arms. I wasn't sure what to do. Was I to keep it? I start to walk forward. Suddenly I realize I just stepped on something. It was another baby, a really, really small baby; a preemie. I was horrified! The preemie was burrowed face down on the ground. I picked it up. There was no sign of life. I was completely shock-stricken. I'm pretty sure this was the point when I awoke as I don't remember anything beyond this.
Of course I had to consult my dream book on this one. Here's the revelation I have so far:
"To see a train in your dream represents conformity. You are going along with what everyone else is doing. Or you have a need to do things in an orderly and sequential manner. If you see a passenger train, then it relates to mental work. Alternatively, your dream of trains may be a metaphor that you are "in training" for some event, job or goal. To dream you are on a train symbolizes your life's journey. It suggests that you are on the right track in life and headed in the right direction. Alternatively, you have a tendency to worry needlessly over a situation that will prove to work out in the end."
Well that's reassuring.
"To see a city in your dreams, signifies a sense of community. To dream you are in a deserted city indicates that you feel rejected by those around you."
Wow, that's pretty fucking accurate. I'll get back to that in a minute.
"To see a baby in your dreams signifies innocence, warmth and new beginnings. Babies symbolize something in your own inner nature that is pure, vulnerable, helpless and/or uncorrupted. If you find a baby in your dream, then it suggests that you have acknowledged your hidden potential. If you dream that a baby is neglected, then it suggests you are not paying enough attention to yourself. You are not utilizing your full potential. To dream of an extremely small baby symbolizes your helplessness and your fears of letting others become aware of your vulnerabilities and incompetence. To see a dead baby in your dream symbolizes the ending of something that is part of you."
OK, that went a bit below the surface right to the core. I'm really intrigued by that very last sentence, almost as if I know the answer. It just eludes me now.
I've been chronically ill for the past nine months. This has been the most traumatizing journey I have ventured to date. While I have a sense I am just beginning to really heal and restore my wellness, there have been many moments I thought I might possibly keel over dead.
This has also been a very isolating journey few can relate to in my sphere. I have friends who I am pretty sure don't really know how to support me in what I've been going through. Some don't really acknowledge or even check in to see how I'm doing.
The flip side of that isolation coin is having withdrawn quite a bit because I just haven't had the wherewithal to do much more than work through my health issues, perform my job functions (when I've been well enough to) and do what I can to keep the status quo at home (which has symptomatically been fairly improbable).
Here's hoping the part of me that's ending is the illness that has altered the course of my life and made me for a time a stranger to myself.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Another year, another reality ...
Before I started writing about equality, I noticed my last post before it was almost exactly a year old! Shit. What's up with me reconnecting with my blog perennially in June? Where does the time go?
Speaking of time, a friend of mine made this remark at a mountain cabin getaway last weekend: "We invented time so we can construct reality."
Yesterday I was driving through Seattle's Beacon Hill neighborhood. When I reached the top of the hill by the light rail station, I saw a large mural of Frida Kahlo with a quote: "I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality." I found these words profoundly inspiring.
My friend's comment and this quote caught my attention this week. On the heels of this I received a very emotionally moving email from another friend as he prepares to journey into his next life (I feel like "afterlife" is so void of life and possibility of a magical existence beyond this place).
There is such truth and beauty (in some instances obscure) in my friend's closest friend's words. So I will share some excerpts with attribution:
"Now, it’s time to be a bit more transparent. Although we had a great day, it was very taxing for him. He now has difficulty with the simplest things. Getting in and out of the car. Walking up stairs. Balance, dexterity – opening and closing things, handling utensils. It’s not easy just having a normal day. It takes a lot of energy for him to go out and about and just do normal things and it requires a lot of patience for those who are caring for him. His speech is slurred much of the time and confusion is a constant companion – which frustrates him to no end. There are other issues that make him very uncomfortable that I will not describe here, but have a big impact on his life. Fortunately, hospice care is providing relief for those issues, so his comfort is maximized and his pain is minimized.
Today, Erika, John and I met with his wonderful hospice nurse – Lisa – and came to a number of conclusions and decisions about his care and the time he has left. The focus now is on making him as comfortable as
possible so he can enjoy the time he has remaining. I can tell you that emotionally and spiritually, Johnny is in a good place – he has his difficult days – but he remains the wonderful, balanced human being we all love and draw strength from.
By mutual agreement with hospice, his family, myself, and John – we respectfully ask: That he receive no more visitors, phone calls, or requests for meetings. He is simply not physically able to accommodate this. It
really breaks his heart to do this, as we all know how social he is, but he physically cannot do it anymore and hospice has strongly recommended this course.
I will close this message with a thought about my best friend and my brother. When I think about what I would do for him and what he would do for me…a favorite scripture from the Bible comes to mind. It’s from
John 15:13…and it goes like this “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends”. If I could…I would. And he would too. I love you Johnny." - Kerry M.
John and I met through our local LGBT business chamber before I became contract staff there. He immediately did everything he could to support my copy writing craft. He was an established and successful ad man who came out late in life. Honest, hard working, passionate, very compassionate and generous. He was always upbeat and a pleasure to converse with. He's one of those spirits who's equal parts sagely wise and playful.
My last opportunity to see him was several weeks ago on April 21st (isn't that Earth day?). John's nearest and dearest threw him a grand celebratory party at a beautiful highrise apartment building in Downtown Seattle. I knew I had to go see him one last time.
What a turnout! No surprise, John is an extremely amiable guy. Of course he's loved by so many. His dream was to retire in Bali, which he had done for some time until he became very ill. His purpose for returning to Seattle was to receive the best possible cancer treatment and of course be surrounded by those who know and love him.
Unfortunately the treatment course was unsuccessful. John has subsequently accepted his fate, chose to allow the disease to run its course and live out the rest of his days with his family in Southern California. So this celebration was to be his final farewell to those of us he's leaving here in the Emerald City.
I waded through countless people in the great common gathering area on the second level of the Olivian lobby until I reached what appeared to be clearing. John was seated in the middle of this vast room, which felt cozy by all counts thanks to it being filled to near capacity with those like me who wanted to see John one last time.
He was bald, thin as a rail and dressed smart for a day in the tropics with a linen scarf draped losely about his neck. We caught eyes and suddenly he lit up, exclaiming, "Brad! You don't know how much it means to me that you made it!" He began to weep, and I found myself overcome with a mix of joy and heart-wrenching emotion.
It was clear he was comfortably seated, so I knelt down and we took one another's hands. I told him how wonderful it was to see him, and it was. His eyes sparkled like fine gems. We smiled at one another. He wanted to know how I was doing. Despite months of illness, I told him I was doing well and that life is good. While in some ways it felt as if we were able to connect for quite a while, I know it was in reality just a blink of an eye. He invited me to see him if I ever made it down to Southern California. I think this was a way of letting me know we may meet again on the other side or perhaps in another life. Or maybe he simply meant exactly what he said.
I could feel a presence at my back, so I turned to see what appeared to be a really long receiving line that stretched clear across the great room. I acknowledged how many other people who loved him were longing to see him, so I vowed I would look him up if I'm ever planning to head his way. He reiterated how much it meant to have me there, and I could feel his truth in his words inside my bones. Choked up, he brought his fist up to his chest, knocked gently a couple times and told me I would always be in his heart.
While I haven't known John terribly long, and I haven't known him well in the conventional sense, I feel I knew him profoundly.
A few days after the party, John sent me the following private message via Facebook:
"dear brad...i cannot tell you how much your visit meant to me on Sunday. your spirit and enthusiasm inspire me. always has and always will. if you are ever in the Newport Beach area, let me know. would love you to meet the rest of my wonderful and whacky family. give my best to Matt when you see him. tell him i understand that he will always remain a special person in my heart--just like you are. much love and many blessings, amigo..."
I was so touched and moved by his message, I wasn't sure whether I had a worthy enough response. I didn't reply.
The email I received updating me on his condition was my call to action. While I may have missed an opportunity to respond digitally, I sure as hell wasn't going to miss an opportunity to create a tangible, loving thought for him to enjoy as he transitions out of this life. I began pondering some thoughts last night. This morning I sat down and began to write, and this is what I expressed to him:
"The joy you filled me with at your Seattle celebration overwhelmed me, John. Much like an outstanding note in an enchanting melody, it is those gilded moments which contain life’s very meaning. The space in between is so we can clearly hear when those notes are struck, appreciate them for the light they bring into our realities and reflect upon them fondly. It is my sincerest wish you have been savoring much more than the world’s fair share of precious moments. May love always light your way as you have so warmly lit others’. With much love, Brad"
The cover of the card was blank, so I thought a simple quote on its cover would be ideal:
"Everything you can imagine is real." - Pablo Picasso
Equality & Myths of Unicorns
equal·i·ty: the quality or state of being equal
 |
| I like to think of this as the "uniquality" symbol. |
Take marriage equality for example. The sanctity of marriage under state and federal laws bestows a bundle of some 1,400 rights and/or immunities, until now not afforded to same gender couples.
Once upon a time Thomas Jefferson introduced The American concept of equality, "all men are created equal," in 1776. Since then, we have enslaved African men and women. We have disenfranchised women, mixed-ethnicity couples and homosexuals. Struggles, clashes, full blown movements and civil war have ensued over this simple, little word; equality.
Is it so profound our U.S. Supreme Court ruled to uphold a basic human right and principle clearly intended by those geniuses who founded this nation in the first place? I don't mean to downplay the far-reaching implications of this amazing, historic ruling. I'm just merely pondering how far we have to veer off course until the wheels fall off and then we find ourselves back at square one. Why must we lose sight of what was important to our forefathers to begin with? Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Almost sounds like a classic tagline for the travel industry. Well it's not. It's the promise America made to its citizens. How many of you out there are happy? Looking for happiness? Resigned you'll never be happy another day in your life?
The truth is, no one can intrinsically be equal. Not even Siamese twins. Russia discovered this through its little social experiment. Remember the U.S.S.R.? Even in a communist system there's a hierarchy, which is a complete paradox.
Look around the environment. All natural systems have a hierarchy, too. Top of the food chain. Bottom of the food chain. Things that feed on the bottom of the food chain. So how do we elevate ourselves from survival of the fittest? Equality? Maybe.
Do I as a homosexual male American feel more equal in the eyes of the law today? Maybe. I definitely feel like unicorns are more accepted as real. I know, you're thinking what is up with this guy. Why is he looking a gift horse in the mouth?
Is it really a gift? Or is equality very similar in proxy to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; a promise from America? You take away my promise and then reaffirm the promise. It's a little bit like cutting open my chest, ripping out my still-beating heart and then returning it to me wrapped up with a bow. That's not a gift. I was born with it. It was mine to begin with, so fuck you!
The reality is, these social issues are a complete smoke screen masking the more sinister issues plaguing our world. One of the nastiest is Corporate Sociopathism. I've touched on this in my last couple posts 'You Can't Handle The Truth I & II.'
Equality, like unicorns, is a beautiful concept in theory. In reality, the average American spends a quarter of their life working to support our federal government and the world's wealthiest banking families that lease every dollar to us. What do you call this? Indentured servitude comes to mind.
Just like unicorns, equality is still the stuff myths and legends are made of ...
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
You Can't Handle the Truth PART II
This question around the goal of Capitalism is a poignant one. Without a goal, aim or mission, there are no measurable results nor a course to chart. And pray tell what course would that be exactly? Does anyone know? Do you know? Here's what Wikipedia has on the subject: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capitalism. The one criticism notated in this encyclopedic definition; unpredictability. Really, is that all?
The point Timothy Killian makes about Capitalism; it's purely socially and morally irresponsible to:
1) Have any public system without a measurable result
2) Have a system established in any way contrary to serving the best interests of the greater good
Capitalism as a whole is indifferent, focused on one primary outcome; profit.
Then there's good old fashioned Democracy. As Killian states, this political system is purported to be the best known to mankind. Really? What exactly is Democracy the best at doing?
What is humankind doing here on Earth? What's our greater purpose? To live behind a veil of lies and corruption? To absolve ourselves from the truth by winding ourselves up so tightly in popular culture that our lives are so meaningless no one cares anymore? To destroy one another and take the planet we're feeding on with it? Well if those aren't the reasons we as humankind are here, why in God's name are we acting like these are?
I just became aware of a new HBO television program called The Newsroom. The first episode starts with a political forum on a college campus. A young woman asks the question: "Why is America the greatest country in the world?"
The most quiet of the three panel speakers, a news anchor, who is pushed into giving an answer by the moderator, ends up going into a very articulate and well-informed rant. He basically says there is no evidence to suggest America is the greatest country in the world. Though he did say America is number one in the world for three things:
1) The number of our citizens incarcerated per capita
2) The number of adults who believe in angels
3) Defense spending (more than the next 26 nations combined)
The full episode is available for streaming here: http://www.hbo.com/index.html#/the-newsroom/episodes/1/01-we-just-decided-to/video/full-episode.html/eNrjcmbOYM5nLlTPz0lxzEvMqSzJTA5ITE-1S8xN1SzLTEnNh4k65+eVpFaUcDIyskknlpbkF+QkVtqWFJWmsjGyMQIAUKwXOA==
Capitalism feeds on money. What is money? According to Wikipedia it's a system based on fiat money, nothing more than a government declaration on a note which must legally be accepted for all debts public and private. The intrinsic value of fiat money is zero, like trying to create something out of nothing. Certainly only God can accomplish such a task, thus likely why each U.S. monetary note reads the words, "In God We Trust." Well, one can certainly trust money as much as one can something that's completely fabricated and inauthentic.
"In God we trust" was adopted as the official motto of the United States in 1956 as an alternative or replacement to the unofficial motto of E pluribus unum, adopted when the Great Seal of the United States was created and adopted in 1782. E pluribus unum means out of or from many, one. What a novel idea; a collective or a collaboration. Certainly not the brand of unifying dogma our government and the powers that be feed us today. It's us vs. them; them against us. United we stand. Divide and conquer ...
The point Timothy Killian makes about Capitalism; it's purely socially and morally irresponsible to:
1) Have any public system without a measurable result
2) Have a system established in any way contrary to serving the best interests of the greater good
Capitalism as a whole is indifferent, focused on one primary outcome; profit.
Then there's good old fashioned Democracy. As Killian states, this political system is purported to be the best known to mankind. Really? What exactly is Democracy the best at doing?
What is humankind doing here on Earth? What's our greater purpose? To live behind a veil of lies and corruption? To absolve ourselves from the truth by winding ourselves up so tightly in popular culture that our lives are so meaningless no one cares anymore? To destroy one another and take the planet we're feeding on with it? Well if those aren't the reasons we as humankind are here, why in God's name are we acting like these are?
I just became aware of a new HBO television program called The Newsroom. The first episode starts with a political forum on a college campus. A young woman asks the question: "Why is America the greatest country in the world?"
The most quiet of the three panel speakers, a news anchor, who is pushed into giving an answer by the moderator, ends up going into a very articulate and well-informed rant. He basically says there is no evidence to suggest America is the greatest country in the world. Though he did say America is number one in the world for three things:
1) The number of our citizens incarcerated per capita
2) The number of adults who believe in angels
3) Defense spending (more than the next 26 nations combined)
The full episode is available for streaming here: http://www.hbo.com/index.html#/the-newsroom/episodes/1/01-we-just-decided-to/video/full-episode.html/eNrjcmbOYM5nLlTPz0lxzEvMqSzJTA5ITE-1S8xN1SzLTEnNh4k65+eVpFaUcDIyskknlpbkF+QkVtqWFJWmsjGyMQIAUKwXOA==
Capitalism feeds on money. What is money? According to Wikipedia it's a system based on fiat money, nothing more than a government declaration on a note which must legally be accepted for all debts public and private. The intrinsic value of fiat money is zero, like trying to create something out of nothing. Certainly only God can accomplish such a task, thus likely why each U.S. monetary note reads the words, "In God We Trust." Well, one can certainly trust money as much as one can something that's completely fabricated and inauthentic.
"In God we trust" was adopted as the official motto of the United States in 1956 as an alternative or replacement to the unofficial motto of E pluribus unum, adopted when the Great Seal of the United States was created and adopted in 1782. E pluribus unum means out of or from many, one. What a novel idea; a collective or a collaboration. Certainly not the brand of unifying dogma our government and the powers that be feed us today. It's us vs. them; them against us. United we stand. Divide and conquer ...
Monday, June 25, 2012
You Can't Handle the Truth PART I
Ignorance truly is bliss. Unfortunately for me I've always been drawn to the truth, no matter how wonderful or how horrible.
On June 13th, 2012, one simple question Timothy Killian posted to his FB wall has since turned my world upside down. He wrote, "What is the goal of capitalism?" Suffice to say he received dozens of comments.
This last weekend, I was thumbing through Netflix looking for a good film or documentary to watch, this Capitalism question still burning in my subconscious. There it was, an award-winning documentary, Zeitgeist. Apparently this film was released in 2007. How have I not seen this until now?!
Zeitgeist examines the foundation upon which our "modern" society has been constructed, revealing hard-to-swallow truths that everything we've been taught to believe all our lives is a lie, including the notion we are in some way free.
If you've not seen this documentary, I highly recommend it (unless you can't handle the truth). The Federal Reserve, rather those behind it, are an invisible government comprised of the eight wealthiest families on Earth. American democracy is just an illusion to appease the masses. The federal income tax is illegal, and all the income tax collected is the amount needed to cover the interest payments on money the U.S. government borrows from the Federal Reserve. Each of us spends about three months working to pay this interest. We are all indentured to the uber elite. The system, no surprise here, is on the verge of collapse. That is, of course, unless we can chart a better evolutionary course to a future that works for everyone on the planet.
The veil has been lifted. Welcome to the age of revelations.
On June 13th, 2012, one simple question Timothy Killian posted to his FB wall has since turned my world upside down. He wrote, "What is the goal of capitalism?" Suffice to say he received dozens of comments.
This last weekend, I was thumbing through Netflix looking for a good film or documentary to watch, this Capitalism question still burning in my subconscious. There it was, an award-winning documentary, Zeitgeist. Apparently this film was released in 2007. How have I not seen this until now?!
Zeitgeist examines the foundation upon which our "modern" society has been constructed, revealing hard-to-swallow truths that everything we've been taught to believe all our lives is a lie, including the notion we are in some way free.
If you've not seen this documentary, I highly recommend it (unless you can't handle the truth). The Federal Reserve, rather those behind it, are an invisible government comprised of the eight wealthiest families on Earth. American democracy is just an illusion to appease the masses. The federal income tax is illegal, and all the income tax collected is the amount needed to cover the interest payments on money the U.S. government borrows from the Federal Reserve. Each of us spends about three months working to pay this interest. We are all indentured to the uber elite. The system, no surprise here, is on the verge of collapse. That is, of course, unless we can chart a better evolutionary course to a future that works for everyone on the planet.
The veil has been lifted. Welcome to the age of revelations.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
What does that even mean?
The day after my Grandma's funeral, I went to lunch with my mom, her life partner, aunt, cousin and her two little girls. In the middle of lunch, my cousin says to me, "I don't know how you got through what you read."
Wow, a little acknowledgement, I thought to myself. And from Lisa? "Honestly, I don't either. I asked Grandma for her strength during the prayer and I re-read what I wrote dozens of times to numb myself to my words," I revealed.
"You could be an actor," she added.
Really?! What does that even mean? A part of me still thinks I should have asked, and I had for a split second considered insisting on clarification were it not for the emotional fragility of our bereaved mothers.
What crossed my mind was, "Lisa, you’re so the epitome of authentic, thoughtful and selfless. Now that was acting. Thank you."
Honestly, in hindsight, what would have been ripe for the occasion is to acknowledge how utterly sad a statement she made. If the purpose of her statement was to question my authenticity, all she really did was declare her own. I regard this in the only way her "sentiment" exists in reality; a revelation of self.
Admittedly, I stepped outside myself the day of the funeral, that week, possibly even since the time of my dear Grandma's passing. I am uber sensitive and vulnerable to my core. I know the delivery of my eulogy was stoic. It began with an emotional connection. Suddenly becoming stoic by the end of the first page was a defense mechanism necessary so I could deliver my thoughtfully crafted words without completely falling apart; so my voice, my truth about my Grandma, could in some way, shape or form be expressed to those dearest to her.
I had one of the heaviest of hands planning and coordinating my Grandma's final life celebration. To me, at the time, having a creative outlet I thought to be helpful. In hindsight, it was a distraction which seemed to have benefitted me the least. I didn't allow myself to grieve her. Yet I don't know that I would have done anything differently for this was truly my final opportunity to do something for my Grandma, and I wanted to do all I could to ensure she had a perfect day of remembrance.
I began writing my Grandma's eulogy about a month before she died, just as she was starting hospice care. I know myself well enough if I had waited until the day arrived, I wouldn't have had the wherewithal (a word my ex of seven years introduced to my diction) to construct anything worthy of how this wonderful woman touched my life so profoundly. My Grandma was one of the truest and purest sources of love my soul has ever known incarnate.
My heart goes out to Lisa. Only someone void of love could be so insensitive and heartless ...
Wow, a little acknowledgement, I thought to myself. And from Lisa? "Honestly, I don't either. I asked Grandma for her strength during the prayer and I re-read what I wrote dozens of times to numb myself to my words," I revealed.
"You could be an actor," she added.
Really?! What does that even mean? A part of me still thinks I should have asked, and I had for a split second considered insisting on clarification were it not for the emotional fragility of our bereaved mothers.
What crossed my mind was, "Lisa, you’re so the epitome of authentic, thoughtful and selfless. Now that was acting. Thank you."
Honestly, in hindsight, what would have been ripe for the occasion is to acknowledge how utterly sad a statement she made. If the purpose of her statement was to question my authenticity, all she really did was declare her own. I regard this in the only way her "sentiment" exists in reality; a revelation of self.
Admittedly, I stepped outside myself the day of the funeral, that week, possibly even since the time of my dear Grandma's passing. I am uber sensitive and vulnerable to my core. I know the delivery of my eulogy was stoic. It began with an emotional connection. Suddenly becoming stoic by the end of the first page was a defense mechanism necessary so I could deliver my thoughtfully crafted words without completely falling apart; so my voice, my truth about my Grandma, could in some way, shape or form be expressed to those dearest to her.
I had one of the heaviest of hands planning and coordinating my Grandma's final life celebration. To me, at the time, having a creative outlet I thought to be helpful. In hindsight, it was a distraction which seemed to have benefitted me the least. I didn't allow myself to grieve her. Yet I don't know that I would have done anything differently for this was truly my final opportunity to do something for my Grandma, and I wanted to do all I could to ensure she had a perfect day of remembrance.
I began writing my Grandma's eulogy about a month before she died, just as she was starting hospice care. I know myself well enough if I had waited until the day arrived, I wouldn't have had the wherewithal (a word my ex of seven years introduced to my diction) to construct anything worthy of how this wonderful woman touched my life so profoundly. My Grandma was one of the truest and purest sources of love my soul has ever known incarnate.
My heart goes out to Lisa. Only someone void of love could be so insensitive and heartless ...
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Our Perfect Day
Peggy Manning (a.k.a. Grandma)
December 17, 1915 - April 10, 2012
Grandma took me on a special outing one
day when I was 10. We didn’t necessarily go anyplace exotic. Then again, we
could be almost anywhere and have such a wonderful time. As I’m sure you all
know any time spent with her was very special. But this particular instance I
remember fondly as our prefect day.
I probably shouldn’t confess this, but
Grandma and I could have entire conversations just exchanging glances back and
forth across a room. It was almost as if we had a little joke going between us,
which we never let anyone in on. Of course, that seemed to make the game even
that much funnier to us both, and we’d laugh despite ourselves. I’d like to
think of us in that way as kindred spirits, kind of rascally ones who just got
such a kick out of one another, as she would’ve put it.
Anyway, it wasn’t until 27 years later,
during this profound time of remembrance, that I even thought to give special prominence
to our perfect day, a few magical moments in time we stole together, just the
two of us. This was a rare occurrence considering how many adoring people
Grandma had in her life to spend time with each and every day.
Certainly at 10 years old I scarcely had
a thought in the world about the eventual finality of life. I regarded that
time with her, as special as it always was, also as granted, and felt entitled
to always have my Grandma near me.
Though I’m sure it was late summer, the
day of our special outing felt much like spring, which may explain why the
memory of it recently came rushing back to me. The weather was pleasantly warm,
well for Western Washington anyway, with crystal blue skies and big, puffy
clouds sailing overhead.
Grandma took me to Kirkland’s Park Place
Cinema where we saw Places in the Heart. This was by no means a light-hearted
story, but it was real, an honest portrayal, and it moved us both nevertheless.
We squeezed each others’ hand through the sad parts and smiled at each other
through the joyful parts. Such is a wonderful life surrounded by those who
care.
The film takes place during the depression
era. The main character, a widow, struggles to keep her home and family with
the help of a disparate group of friends. Even at the time it dawned on me how
much Grandma must have related to this film. Perhaps in some context, parts of
her life, or better yet her dear mother’s life, were playing out on the silver
screen right before her very, beautiful blue eyes.
Every person faces certain life
struggles. Albeit, life isn’t about the challenges as much as it is about how
we overcome them.
Grandma overcame her many life
challenges, the least of which were financial in nature, with a strong sense of
dignity and self worth. Arguably, her greatest challenges were her body’s
eventual physical limitations, which she gallantly battled for several decades. Even when she lost her skilled knack for conversation, she would look at you with profound adoration and just say, "I love you."
Like the graceful trooper she always was, she persevered so long for all of us as much as we wanted her to remain here and be with us all for as long as possible. I am certain she knew this. She was our matriarch, who for so long kept our family together. I’m sure she felt she had so much to keep fighting for.
Like the graceful trooper she always was, she persevered so long for all of us as much as we wanted her to remain here and be with us all for as long as possible. I am certain she knew this. She was our matriarch, who for so long kept our family together. I’m sure she felt she had so much to keep fighting for.
During my own life challenges to accept
and love myself for who I am and who I am not, she would always say to me, “I
just want you to be happy.” If only everyone could model Grandma’s way of
being, what an extraordinary world we could all aspire to enjoy in full self
expression.
Even more important than overcoming our
life challenges is acknowledging that which enables us to rise to the occasion,
so-to-speak. In a word, it’s love. Simple as that. It’s just pure, 100 percent,
honest-to-goodness, unconditional love free of judgment. Love is patient and
kind. Love is forgiving. Love is essential. Love is never-ending.
On our perfect day, Grandma took me by a
hobby shop and bought me a small model jet fighter, the kind requiring a bit of
assembly. We then took my new toy and our lunch to a waterfront park on Lake
Washington Boulevard. We sat together at a small, square picnic table by the
shore and ate our sandwiches. The water was a solid, true blue on that day, as
was the sky, as were her loving eyes. I pieced together my model while we
chatted, smiling fondly at one another. Both of us were so happy and perfectly
content. Honestly, I could’ve easily lived in that moment for a lifetime.
Throughout her lifetime, Grandma
continued to evolve and nurture. Through what I had once thought of as some of
my life’s greatest failures, even when she was well into her 90’s, she would
say to me, “Only time will tell …”
I learned two important lessons from her
wise words. The first is to just live in the moment. The second is to never
curse your bad luck until you’re certain it’s not good luck.
During our last visit, which also was on
a day much like our perfect day, I pointed out to her we were both wearing my
favorite color, orange. She smiled in an approving manner and let out a little
chuckle. I knew it was time for us to be complete with one another in this life.
This was my intention for this visit.
I was fortunate enough to share with her
my sincere happiness with my life; just the way it is and just the way it isn’t.
Even bed-ridden, her whole face lit up as if she had just had her own,
heart-felt epiphany. After all, this is what she told me she had always wanted
for me. I know she wanted this for all her beloved. Such a selfless, giving and
dare I say feisty soul.
Incidentally, I had also thought to ask
her if she was comfortable. She nodded and very audibly repeated the word
comfortable. I thought you would all want to know this.
About a month ago I saw my Grandma in a
dream. I called my mom the next day to share this with her. In my dream she and
I were blowing out candles together. Suddenly I was trying to help her navigate
through an awkward house, which wasn’t at all right for her. I told my mom I knew
Grandma didn’t have much time. Mom agreed.
I believe it was divinely guided Grandma
passed on my birthday at just about the same time of day I came into the world.
I had also planned to see her at that very time on Tuesday. Strangely ironic as
it may seem, life delayed me.
Symbolism from my dream in hindsight
appears to me now much more like foresight. Maybe there is some mystical design,
and our company in life is somehow cosmically preassigned. Either way, I
always expressed to her how lucky I was to have her as my Grandma, including at
our last visit, despite feeling so entitled to her most of my life. Looking
back, I’ve been an especially blessed person for such a long time to have had
her with me all these years.
While I would do just about anything to have one
more perfect day with my Grandma here on Earth, my heart knows we’re on the
same path and we shall meet again. Until then, I willfully and respectfully let
her go in peace to journey on with me in spirit. I will also from here forward honor
April 10th as just one of many of our perfect days together.
Grandma, I love you with all my heart and soul; always, now and forever more …
Sunday, December 27, 2009
A year of silence
Wow, a year has already passed since my last post, which truly wasn't much of a post. What it was was a regurgitation of global media pop culture. Since the advent of new media, I believe the world has experienced a very noticable dilution of traditional culture. Is this phenominon part of mankind's natural evolution? Who's to say?
Well, I'm not writing today to opine on our cultural anthropology. Rather, I want to briefly reflect on this year past before diving into it with more vigor in a series of posts to follow.
Last January, I reconnected with HIM, the man of my dreams, after we had allowed our lives to continue separately for two years without uttering as much as a single word to one another. For two people who were so much in love, two years is quite a long time to go without verbal acknowledgement.
So much can change in a year, let alone two. Suffice to say I couldn't be more pleased with the present, the path to get here and the amazing journey ahead ...
Well, I'm not writing today to opine on our cultural anthropology. Rather, I want to briefly reflect on this year past before diving into it with more vigor in a series of posts to follow.
Last January, I reconnected with HIM, the man of my dreams, after we had allowed our lives to continue separately for two years without uttering as much as a single word to one another. For two people who were so much in love, two years is quite a long time to go without verbal acknowledgement.
So much can change in a year, let alone two. Suffice to say I couldn't be more pleased with the present, the path to get here and the amazing journey ahead ...
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Recession Proof Dining in Seattle
If you're too spoiled to eat at home or a hopeless bachelor who can't boil water, then these out-on-the-town splurges are guilt free:
Monday - Friday
McCormick & Schmick's
Downtown or Lake Union
(4:00 - 6:00 pm)
$1.95 1/2 lb. Cheeseburger or Salmonburger & Fries
Talarico's
West Seattle
(4:00 - 6:00 pm)
$3.50 14" Personal Pizza Slices
Mondays
Dragonfish
Downtown
(3:00 pm - 1:00 am)
$1.95 Sushi
Ohana
Belltown
(5:00 - 11:30 pm)
$3 Appetizers
$3-$4 Drinks
Two Bells Bar & Grill
Belltown
(after 6:00 pm)
$6.75 ALL YOU CAN EAT PASTA NIGHT (until they run out)
Spaghetti with red or pesto sauce, served with garlic bread
Tuesdays @ Chez Gaudy
Capitol Hill
(6:30 pm & 8:30 pm - reservations required!)
$5 Tapas
$8 Bottles of Wine
Wednesdays @ South Lake Grill
South Lake Union
(after 6:00 pm)
$5 Steak & Fries
Saturdays & Sundays @ Galerias
Capitol Hill
(Sat. 11:00 am - 2:00 pm Sun. 10:00 am - 2:00 pm)
$8 Brunch (1 Entree w/Selection of Fruit, Yogurt & Pastries)
Monday - Friday
McCormick & Schmick's
Downtown or Lake Union
(4:00 - 6:00 pm)
$1.95 1/2 lb. Cheeseburger or Salmonburger & Fries
Talarico's
West Seattle
(4:00 - 6:00 pm)
$3.50 14" Personal Pizza Slices
Mondays
Dragonfish
Downtown
(3:00 pm - 1:00 am)
$1.95 Sushi
Ohana
Belltown
(5:00 - 11:30 pm)
$3 Appetizers
$3-$4 Drinks
Two Bells Bar & Grill
Belltown
(after 6:00 pm)
$6.75 ALL YOU CAN EAT PASTA NIGHT (until they run out)
Spaghetti with red or pesto sauce, served with garlic bread
Tuesdays @ Chez Gaudy
Capitol Hill
(6:30 pm & 8:30 pm - reservations required!)
$5 Tapas
$8 Bottles of Wine
Wednesdays @ South Lake Grill
South Lake Union
(after 6:00 pm)
$5 Steak & Fries
Saturdays & Sundays @ Galerias
Capitol Hill
(Sat. 11:00 am - 2:00 pm Sun. 10:00 am - 2:00 pm)
$8 Brunch (1 Entree w/Selection of Fruit, Yogurt & Pastries)
Monday, October 13, 2008
Observing 'Destruction of the Western Hemisphere Day' (a.k.a. Columbus Day)
Oh my, this image is more than a metaphor for the Spanish conquest on the Americas. European settlers to the New World thought they were so civilized when in actuality they were the savages who've raped, pillaged and plundered since long before 1492. Today, our modern society, shaped primairly by European descendants such as myself, is responsible for the ill state of our planet and its once vast resources. My, haven't we done well ...
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
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