I Won't Expect You To Be What I Want You To Be

Some of life’s lessons have taken me quite a while to learn.  Abstract concepts, complex theories, intricate hypotheses?  I typically have no trouble understanding these.  The most practical knowledge often eludes me, though.  But when I do catch on, I can observe my surroundings with beautiful, crystal-clear vision.

This year (with many birthdays behind me), I was able to put in place for myself, something that I have been touting to others for years.

• You can’t really change anyone.  You can influence them, but change has to come from within
• Which ties to somthing much more important:  Appreciate people for who they are.  Others are not here on this planet for your convenience.  (That frame of mind is not only unreal, it’s down-right inconsiderate.)

These realizations did not come like a bolt out of the blue to me this year.  I would imagine that this kind of awareness for other people, as it was for me, comes over a period of time.

This year, a lot of the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.  Maybe the planets were aligned. Maybe Mercury was advancing, instead of retrograding.  Doubtful.  I believe that it's just that I opened my ears and listened to the wisdom being shared with me by those who care for me.  Maybe I opened my mind to the reality of common life experiences.  Maybe I was able to open my heart and understand that while people were going easy on me, helping me to understand the world around me, looking out for my best interests, I was able to go easy on myself.

Among those who taught me were:

• A good friend at work, who always tells me, "Oh...that's just [insert name here]" or “You have to let [insert name here] be [insert same name here].”
• My husband, who always accepts me just the way I am.  The luxury of this treatment is golden to me, especially when I see other couples who constantly have trouble understanding and accepting one another.
• My son, who points out to me when I’m being impatient with or not understanding other people.  He has a practical, yet exceptional, way of taking each person that he encounters exactly as he or she is. 

So I’m still learning:

·        From my friend, to be accepting of others.

·        From my husband, to love unconditionally

·        From my son, to love humanity in general

And in the spirit of an Oscar-winner’s acceptance speech. “Thanks to anyone who also helped me who I didn’t mention. You know who you are.”

I don't think that I would be too far off base if I believed that each of us during some point in life felt that they had to satisfy expectations of others.  I could cite numerous instances in my own life.

We are most comfortable around those people who accept us, who understand us; those who we can be ourselves around.  So, let's all go easy on ourselves and each other.  How about it?
 

Labor Day. Yeah, Well…I Did.

On Labor Day this year, the GOP House Majority Leader, Eric Cantor, posted a statement on Twitter praising entrepreneurs, and downplaying the importance of our United States labor force.  Makes perfect sense to me.  I do not own my own business; therefore, I ended up working all weekend.

With many of my projects at work wrapping up at the beginning of the 4^th quarter, I’ve had competing priorities without a clue on how to decide what takes priority.  So, when many of my gay brothers were spending the weekend partying it up at Southern Decadence in New Orleans or sunning themselves at Last Splash at Hippie Hollow near Austin, I found myself in the office or both Saturday and Sunday.  Additionally, when I left the office on Sunday, I brought my laptop home so I could work Monday as well.

If I’d only taken better notes or paid better attention to my professors in business school, maybe I’d be running my own empire.  And I would imagine that, as a business owner, I still would have worked the weekend.  Running your own business is a tough job.  As a child, I watched as my enterprising father run businesses simultaneously.  Well, I caught sight of him occasionally; the man was busy. 

In addition to doing my day-job work each day of the holiday weekend, I went to my piano lesson (it’s an effort, people, albeit an enjoyable one), I did my yard work (I’m the rare Houstonian who knows how to push a lawnmower around his own parcel of land), I bathed the dogs (you can read what a chore this is here), I cleaned the litter box (yes, I’m a servant to my animals).

If I examine the amount of time that I spent on the activities mentioned in the preceding paragraph, maybe I did have a sufficient holiday. 

·         My piano lesson?  Typically, after practicing for an hour each day, I tend to make the same mistakes over and again at my teacher’s piano, laughing at myself as I play.  But there is that moment of zen, when all falls in place, and I perfectly play a passage that had given me the devil for weeks.  It surprises me, although my teacher says, matter-of-factly and with a smile, “You worked it out.”  Ok, so maybe it’s not work.

·         The yard work?  I watched my grandfather do his own lawn up until the time that his vision prevented him from seeing well enough.  I feel connected to him as I push my mower around the yard.  I plug in my headphone, put some rock music on, and the whole task seems like it’s over in minutes.  (But why does my iPod always offer me “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas?  It’s a pretty, but disheartening song.  I really need to remove it)

·         Bathing the dogs?  They smell so great afterwards.  ‘Nuff said.

·         Cleaning out the litter pan?   Oddly enough, the cats act grateful.  (I mean, who wouldn’t be happy if someone came in to clean your bathroom?)

 

But I am left wondering how Eric spent his weekend?  Given the perks and privileges offered to a high-rolling politician,  I’m guessing that his was not remotely like mine. 

 

"All's Well That..." (well, you know the rest)

Driving to the office this morning, I thought "It's going to be less-than-wonderful day."  I had to fit in my work around four hours of meetings that were scheduled.  My best work-buddy was out on vacation.  I had just been assigned a new project, and the sales manager was, as he expressed, "anxious" to start.  I had a strong feeling that it was going to be a twelve-hour day at the office.

I decided to slow-roll to work; taking the streets, instead of the freeways.  I still arrived just ten minutes past my normal morning ETA.  As I trudged from the parking garage to my building, the weight of my laptop case emphasized that I had also worked from home the night before.

I wasn't bummed at facing the workday; I just wasn't jumping for joy.

But then I stepped out of the elevator and onto my work floor.  And here's what greeted me during the course of the day:

Two sweet-tempered co-workers:

"You made my day yesterday.  Thank you!  You are always so nice.  You know, you were the only one who bothered to talk to me when I was first hired."

"Of course, he's nice.  He's from Louisiana."
 

Reply to "thank-you" e-mails that my lead project manager & I sent to a co-worker, who had went out of her way to rush a request for us:

"It was my pleasure.  You two are a wonderful team to work with."
 

Kind words from a manager when I made a bad assumption, and it blew up in my face.

"Just look at it as a learning experience.  I know it may sound trite.  But don't kick yourself.  Anyone could have made that mistake."
 

During my afternoon break, I was reading from the Shakespeare app on my iPhone.  "All's Well That Ends Well."  Act 4, Scene 3.

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
 

It did end to to be an eleven-hour day at the office.  But I had a good time.  Ken had packed pizza for my lunch.  Some good friends made my day.  I had time to help another friend review a complex document to free up some of her time, so she wouldn't have to work a fourteen-hour day.

What made working late today completely worth it?  On my route home, the timing was perfect to see the luminous full moon rising over the city as I drove east on Pierce-Elevated.

 

And then I was able to see a spectacular sunset as I was driving west on the South Loop.

 

And of course, I arrived home to a smile and a hug.

It was a more-than-wonderful day.

uhm...hey, Father Time. I didn't see you coming.

I've never been much bothered about the aging process.  I have friends that have hit milestones...30, 40, 50 years old, and it was almost devastating for them.  I've never given it much thought.  My indifference to the passing of time probably is:

• Due in part to good genes - My Dad is a bit past 70 and can still pass for a man in his late 50s.  Consequently some people are surprised when I reveal that I'm pushing 50. More than a few guess late-30s
• That I'm still a big kid (and that can work to my advantage, but also can bite me in the butt)
• A reflection of my inability to take myself too seriously

Oh, I've had my "what-the-hell" moments:

• I was listening to the radio when I was in my mid 20s.  A Bob Seger song came on that was released when I was in high school.  The DJ referred to it as an "oldie."
• I caught up on Facebook with a young lady that I used to baby-sit when I was a teen.  She had three children and was in her early 30s. Yikes!
• The high school students that are in our office as part of a work-study program started addressing me as "Mr."

But milestones didn't bother me:  my son graduating high school (just a reason for celebration), my turning 40 (no big deal),  my buying my first house as an adult (it was like a cool one-level tree house with no need for a ladder; a place that I could hang out with my dogs).

And then, age slapped me in the face.

Ken and I were in New York City with our best friends.  We were dining at a popular restaurant in SoHo.  I picked up my menu to see what I could see...and I couldn't.  Huh?  I pushed the menu back to arms-length, and I still couldn't read it.  I said aloud.  "It must be too dark in here.  I can't read the menu."

The Brunette giggled and handed over her reading glasses.  "Here you go."

Stunned, "I don't need these!"

She laughed again.  "Yes, you do"

Crap!

Following that trip to NYC, I kept a close monitor on my eyesight.  My vision was still clear.  Maybe my eyes self-corrected; I kept my hopes up.

And then, my son gifted me a guide for a video game that I love to play.  And all I could do was gripe about the small font.

I checked with my Dad.  "How old were you when you started wearing glasses."

My Dad (in his succient manner):  "Your age."

I checked with my Sister.  "When did you start wearing glasses?"

My Sis:  "Uhm, I started wearing glasses when I was in my 20s.  I switched to contacts a couple of years later.  Do you even know me?"  She stepped back and grinned at me.

So there I was, nothing to do but go to CVS and purchase some $10 cheaters.  Eventually I had to purchase three pair (one for home, one for my truck, one for the office).  I kept losing track of them, probably because I did not want to admit that I needed glasses at all.

But it's ok.  I got a compliment from my "sweetheart" at the office:  a beautiful young lady with long dark hair, a dazzling smile, and ebony-colored eyes.  "You look so intelligent wearing your glasses."

I raised my eyebrows gave her a big smile, and said quietly.  "Good...I'll fool everyone."

And Father Time?  He can go crash somone else's party.

Begin Again...Again. And let's begin on the subject of "Traditional Marriage"

Back in April of this year, I abandoned this blog to start another:  Jason, All Day Long  The reason for the new blog?  I wanted to be more open about my life.

Some friends expressed their disappointment in the new "vanilla-named" site.  They like the edginess of "The Queer Next Door."  After the switch to the new blog (quite oddly), I took a long hiatus from writing and posting.  I had been somewhat consistent on my "Queer" site.

Now, I could use any number of excuses for not posting on the "Jason" site:

• I've been super-busy with my day job
• I'm taking piano lessons and trying to practice at least an hour a day
• I'm brushing up on my Spanish (with the goal to be a middle school foreign language teacher one day)
• I'm playing a video game that can absorb every minute of my free time (if I'm not careful)

Now, these are all excuses.  And as my mom used to tell me, "That's a good excuse, if you're looking for one."  And I guess these are all nothing but excuses.

But maybe the root cause for my recent silence is that I didn't seem very excited to write as "Jason, All Day Long."  Maybe I wanted to remind people that there is a queer living next door. 

And I wouldn't think that this reminder is necessary (at least with the straight people that I encounter); most people that I know are perfectly all right with homosexuals.  But there is one man in our neighborhood who drives a station wagon with his "Marriage is between a Man and a Woman" bumper-sticker opinion flying free.  Myself, I have a Human Rights Campaign "Equal-Symbol" sticker on the back glass of my truck.  I've had a few straight people ask, "What does that mean?" I smile and explain.  For the people who aren't aware of HRC, the symbol of equality should work its way into their minds at least at a subconscious level, (I would hope).

Then you have those organizations, like the American Family Association whose primary mission appears to be decrying the "Homosexual Agenda" and working toward the assurance that the Defense of Marriage Act is upheld.  They push campaigns, such as the Chick-fil-a "Appreciation Day" to support the CEO's stance on tradition marriage. 

While "traditional marriages" end in divorce 50% percent of the time for first marriages, 67% for second marriages and 74% for third marriages (according to recent studies), I am left with the thought that not only is traditional marriage between a man and a woman, but the same can be said for traditional divorce.

Ken and I will be married for a year in September.  We have been together for six years, our best friends (a lesbian couple) have been together for 20 years, and my gay brother-in-law and his partner have been together for 20 years as well.  Maybe we homos are getting the game right.

I'm not much of an advocate of homosexual rights.  I just live my life, open and honest.  What leads me back to this site today?  I was preparing my lunch in the kitchen area of our work floor.  A person from another department that shares our floor walked up.  She commented on the small container that held my fresh green beans.  "That is so cute.  I couldn't get up early enough in the morning to prepare my lunch.  Does your wife do that for you?"

Without pausing, I said, "I don't have a wife, but my partner does this every morning for me.  He spoils me."

And the usually chatty woman was silenced, although she laughed nervously.

I have a picture of Ken displayed prominently at my desk.  It's the largest photo there (amongst the photos of my son, my sister, my best friend, and my nephews).  If someone comes into my cube for the first time and doesn't know me very well, they often ask, "Who's that?"

I always reply.  "That's my husband."  (and typically with an voiced exclamation point). 

That's what the State of New York says.  And I can say with assurance, we couldn't and wouldn't add to the growing divorce rates.

Lighting the Way

“As we light a path for others, we naturally light our own way”

– Mary Anne Radmacher

It’s easy to get lost.  It’s easy to get turned around and lose direction.  When your world’s been shaken to the core, finding which way is up is sometimes impossible.

I have a family member, a young man, who has found trouble again and again.  To the point of finding himself in jail a couple of times.  As I type this post, he is incarcerated.

The Man has a close friend who has been in-and-out of the prison system over the last fifteen years.  It’s disheartening to know that this pattern (in too many cases) is circular.

I’ve learned from The Man.  He has never given up on his friend.  The Man writes letters to him faithfully.  The Man sends him money orders, so his friend can buy various personal items in the prison commissary (like special soap…yeah, it surprised me too).  Since the only way to make a call from the pokey is collect to a telephone land-line, The Man ensures that we have one so his friend can call and chat once a week.  If truth be told, The Man is the only stable person in this guy’s life.

When my own young man landed in jail the first time, I was upset: “Angry,” to be truthful.  I was angry because I thought that he had not listened to my “words of wisdom.”  His addiction to trouble and drugs was something that we all thought could be overcome outside of the system.  Not so.

 

Where Rule #1 is “Be nice,” I had forgotten Rule #2: 

“Listen, try your best to understand.  And if you can’t understand, just listen.”

When my young man first went to jail, I visited him at the facility.  I talked with him through the cloudy plexiglas divider.  I was able to make it a couple of minutes into the conversation, and then I started crying.  He smiled and quickly changed the subject to ask about a rock concert that he knew I’d recently attended.  Then he proudly showed me his new prison tattoo.  God love him.

It hurt.  Badly.  I couldn’t hug him hello.  I couldn’t hug him good-bye.  I couldn’t good-naturedly knock him on his head and tell him to “Shape up!”

A few short months later, he was released.  He kept his nose clean for a while.  And then found trouble once more.  And to the facility again, about two months ago.

I wrote him a letter back in early January.  My communication was sharp and forceful.  I had to write and rewrite the letter four times over before it became a bit more pleasant and compassionate.  I wasn’t sure I’d get a response. 

Just a couple of days later, I received a letter from him.  He had been very excited to get my letter, comparing it to a Christmas present.

Like The Man with his close friend, I will always be there for my own young man. 

I remember taking him to New Orleans when he was four.  At night, we rode the ferry from Canal Street over to Algiers with him holding my hand as we stood at the rail;  I recall that he stared down at the dark water swirling alongside the boat and back at the lights of the French Quarter.  He looked up to me and smiled. “This is so cool.”

I'll always be there for him.  If just to hold the light to help guide the way.  After all, he is part of my own blood, part of my heart, part of my soul.

Squeezing the Tedium - Lemonheads-Style

Incredibly bored.  That’s how I woke this morning.  At five a.m. on a Sunday morning, insomnia jerking my chance to sleep-in from under my feet.  I played a computer game for a while; that didn’t relieve the monotony.  I thought about going to smoke a cigarette.  Problem.  I quit a couple of months back.  So I surfed the net awhile, came across an article by Jocelyn Anne on ProBlogger entitled “What to Do When You’re so Boring You’re Boring Yourself,” and laughed.  My mind jumped to Evan Dando.

Evan Dando, the leader of The Lemonheads, released a solo album back in 2003 called Baby I’m Bored.  I don’t own this … yet.  But I immediately wanted to listen to some Lemonheads.

I got turned on to the Lemonheads by a co-worker, when I worked at a record store back in my early 30s.  This co-worker was a long-haired intense rocker named Darren, who volunteered to make me a mix tape by a group that he thought I would like.  I cringed inwardly but said “Sure!” politely.  I imagined death metal with screaming satanic vocals and wailing guitars.  To squash my prejudice, Darren was incredibly insightful and sensitive.  The Lemonheads, with their mix of alternative rock and pop punk sounds turned out to be one of my favorite bands. 

The mix tape included the bouncy “Down about It,” the edgy “Alison’s Starting to Happen,” and a punky cover of Suzanne Vega’s “Luka.” Plus a totally different kind of song.  Although Evan Dando is straight, he wrote a song named “Big Gay Heart,” included on the CD Come on Feel the Lemonheads.  The song is a country-styled song, tenderly crooned from the point of view of a resigned gay guy directed at a hostile homophobe.

  

The steel guitar, weary singing and overly earnest lyrics make the song seem sincere to the point of being almost tongue in check, until the end of the first verse eases in and drops:

I don't need you to suck my (whoa!)
Or to help me feel good about myself

Well, all right…


"Big Gay Heart"  The Lemonheads



The bridge of the song goes like this:

Why can't you look after yourself
And not down on me

Just a few simple words, in the vein of "take care of your own business," that many can recognize.

I ended up listening to The Lemonheads for the remainder of the morning, enjoying the wry lyrics, the poppy rhythms and the odd surprises (what other group would cover “Frank Mills,” sung by the Chrissy character in the musical Hair?). I didn't need a cigarette, a game or the internet. The boredom had been squeezed out of me.

Failure to Understand

File this under:  “One of the Laziest Posts Ever Written” or “Inciting a Family Feud.”

This past Friday morning before the decision on the New York gay marriage issue, I posted on my regular “non-queer” Facebook page:  

Listening to George Michael on way to work for all my gay/lesbian brothers & sisters working for marriage equality in NY “Gotta have faith”

To that post, I received a few supporting comments from friends, far and near.  And then I got (I won’t correct his spelling, punctuation or grammar):

This is not natural and against the one and true God that we are made in His image and one day everyone will stand in front of Him and give account to a Holy God

This from a heterosexual cousin, who is now a preacher in a very rural part of northwest Louisiana.  He and I were quite close back when we were kids.  Even though he was about four years older than I, he used to let me hang out with him and would take me with him when he “cruised the Strip.”

I have not seen him in over ten years.

This post from him provoked many of my friends, and the three comments multiplied to 12. 

I removed him from my Facebook friends.

Then I sent him a message:

You and I have not spoken in years, so I do not understand why you posted on my wall with your opinion on gay marriage. My beliefs and yours are vastly different on this matter.I left the Baptist church long ago, because I was repeatedly told that I was going to Hell. However, I was also told by my immediate family that there was no way that I was going to Hell. I am not sure either way, nor is it important to me.You and I used to be close. I miss those days. But I have removed you from my friends list on Facebook. You and I are kin, but I believe that we are no longer friends.

He replied with:

I'm sorry that you feel that way but if i didnt love you i would kept silent and you chose not to keep me as a friend thats fine but do something read Romans 1 I just give the truth of Gods Holy word what you do with it is your choice.

I returned:

I've read Romans before. But find me anywhere in the Bible where Jesus talked about homosexuality. What you are quoting is the words of Paul, not Jesus. Jesus did not speak through Paul, as much as Paul wanted that. One of my favorite songs is "Fly from Heaven" by Toad the Wet Sprocket. The song wonderfully sums up Paul. (excuse me while I insert a video for you that I did not include for his viewing pleasure).

Regardless, as I said, I have left the church. I still believe in Jesus, but not the way that conservative Christians do. Using the word of God to judge others is not in the spirit of Christ.The only reason that I did not keep you as a friend on Facebook was that I did not appreciate your writing your beliefs on my wall, when they go completely against my own beliefs. I would never do the same thing to you. 

I may have said that I believe that we are no longer friends, but I will always remember you in a good light. When we were young, you were always kind to me. I really do appreciate that, [insert name here].

He came back with:

I have my dougts if you want except Pauls word as he was chose by God then you have turn your back on all because its all Inspired word of God we cant pick and choose what we want to and ingnore the rest. you know i can not stand by and see you split hell wide open and not say anything but you choose the path that your on and all i can do is Pray for your salvation And that The True Jesus will come back into your life and When Jesus talk about Marrage it was between a man and a woman because thats His standards not mine or even yours.

I summed up with:

ok [insert name here]... I don't tell you how to live.

You are not remotely interested in my happiness. So you can say that you "love" me, but I have my doubts about that.

I think we are through on this subject. We'll never agree.

My best to you in the future. Hopefully one day we can see one another and laugh about this whole exchange. Probably not, according to you I'm Hell-bound. I'll not see you at all.

Amazingly it ended there.  To be honest, it hurt.  I thought that I could make him understand.  Maybe were we face-to-face, I could have.  But to not fool myself, it would have been a lost cause.  (Besides, the Toad the Wet Sprocket was completely lost on him).  So he didn't understand me; I don't think that I did a good job of understanding him either.

After my final transmission, I expected him to get the last word.  I’ll keep you posted.

“The Prize Is Always Worth the Rocky Ride”

My muse punked out on me.  So, I decided to visit oneword.com to see if could get a bit of inspiration.  This site offers up a random word.  In theory, you are to write for 60 seconds about the word, and then submit it to the site where others can view your writing.  When grasping for straws, I’d rather post my work to a smaller audience:  my blog.

The word that appeared on the site tonight was “Acoustic.”   So off to my iTunes library I ran for additional motivation.  I found an acoustic rendering of “The Wood Song” by the Indigo Girls and set that bad boy on repeat.

I’d seen the Indigo Girls twice on the Swamp Ophelia tour:  in the Woodlands north of Houston and at Texas A&M.  I worked with four Indigo Girls fans at the time:  a straight couple and two lesbians.  We all caravanned (along with the girlfriend of one of the lesbians) to College Station for the A&M show.  It was a weird wonderful trip: 

§  We drank lots of Shiner beer and ate lots of Whataburger taquitos

§  We passed time before the concert at an apartment shared by four guy students:  the features of the residence included a drum kit, a mountain of empty toilet paper rolls in the bathroom and pin-ups of half-dressed skatepunk girls on the walls.

§  We played a lot of Frisbee

§  The single lesbian put the moves on the girlfriend of our co-worker and successfully stole her away, unbeknownst to us.  (You can imagine the drama that followed).

Back to the song.  “The Wood Song” is a civil rights tune.  You can use the theme of song for any cause you’d like.  Of course, since I am gay and since the Indigo Girls are lesbians, let’s just say that this one is for equal rights.  The lyrics do not come out and say that.  Nor do they need to.  Any good inspiring song should be universal.

“We'll make it fine if the weather holds

But if the weather holds

Then we'll have missed the point

That's where I need to go”

We’re not quite to the point, but we will make it eventually, through storms or shine … with bock beer and greasy fast food, with a snare and a high hat, with a stolen girlfriend … with or without my muse.

"The Wood Song"  Indigo Girls

"Let Us Strive to Find a Way to Make All Hatred Cease"

In the wake of the Kobe Bryant incident earlier this week where the basketball player yelled a gay slur at an NBA referee, I wrote a brief post here on the blog that said something along the lines of 

“Kobe, I’m not directing any of these comments toward you; I really wasn’t offended.  But this is how you could have done it.  In retrospect, I think you’ll agree that your insult was a bit weak.”

I then included a 10-minute clip from YouTube of a 100 Great Movie Insults (not one of these including any type of gay slur).  I put in a disclaimer above the video, because you can imagine that the language was a bit rough.

I published the post.

I tweeted the link to the post on Twitter as I always do.

Then I stopped…

I deleted the tweet.

I deleted the post.

The video that I had included in the post did not fit the style of my site.  I’m not a prude, but some of the language made even me cringe a bit.  But the real reason that I deleted the post was that I had lied:  I was offended by Kobe’s action.

In the heat of the moment, Kobe Bryant had used the worst word in his measure to sling at the ref.  This tells me a lot about Kobe and about society in general.  Not to whine or take a victim stance, but just when I think that we gays and lesbians are making strides in equality …

Kobe apologized for his words, albeit in an offhanded manner.  But this morning, I read a piece about how Kobe is appealing the fine that was imposed for the outburst.    

Which is it, Kobe?  “I’m sorry” or “It was no big deal”?

I know that I refer to myself as “The Queer” on this site.  After having that word thrown at me so much in my youth, I decided to grab it and make it mine.  I would guess that this self-reference can make some people uncomfortable.  I know that I intend no malice toward myself or any lesbian or gay man.  What's more, I would never call a straight friend “breeder,” refer to a child as a “rugrat” or ridicule a mom for driving a “sproggenwagon.”  At least not without love in my voice.

Stuck in the Gridlock

I used to road rage ... a LOT.  I moved to Houston from a small Louisiana town, population 5,000.  The gridlock of Houston was overwhelming for me.  When I first arrived in the city, I worked in one of the busiest districts and had to commute a simple four or five miles home.  I say simple.  Most days it took me 45 minutes to an hour to get home.  In Louisiana, I was used to a 10-minute commute with the same distance between home and work.
So I'd grind my teeth, get red in the face, and generally raise my blood pressure all the way home in Houston.
Then I got a new job where I was able to take the bus.  It took a bit longer than the drive, but I saved on parking fees plus I got to read and listen to my MP3 player to and from work.
My next move was to Los Angeles, and some may think "Oh, My God!"  But I did not have that experience.  I found the drivers there to be more aware and more courteous that those in Houston.  Certainly there were certain freeways to avoid:  the 405, the 110 South (the Harbor Freeway).  But my commute was beautiful.  I lived in West Hollywood and worked in Pasadena.  I would take the 101 South to the 110 North, drive through a big tunnel in a hill and BAM...there were the San Miguel Mountains shining in the distance.  I started thinking that Angelenos were more chilled out on the road just because so many of the surroundings were pleasing.
I did return to Houston (my life called me back from La-La Land) and what did I observe comparing Houston to Los Angeles?  More aggressive drivers.  More vehicles with body damage.  More accidents.  I laughed when one of my co-workers told me over morning coffee that she had seen a bumper sticker on the way in to work that said "Howdy, DAMMIT!"  And that about sums it up.  Cowboy drivers in our big beautiful Bayou City.

I finally took a different point of view and it's been recent that I came to this revelation.  There is nothing that I can do about traffic.  I just have to go with the flow.  And maybe that's just what the people in Los Angeles have been doing for years.  They've had more practice being a big city than Houston.
I just need to remember what I would always tell my son while navigating traffic: "The only vehicle that I can drive right now is this one."
Above all, whether it's to pick up your kid from soccer practice, meet your friends for happy hour, or just  head home to your loved ones; we are all just trying to get to where we really want or need to be.

Defending the FB

Much has been said recently about the privacy concerns for Facebook users.  Worries over identity theft, scams, and invasion of privacy.  Horror stories of stalkers, hateful creeps and just people that you really didn't want to talk with again.  I mean, with all the technology today, it's difficult to keep a single move concealed.

Even as recently as last night, in my "Live Feed" where all the updates from my friends are published, I surprisingly saw on one of my friend's updates "John Doe likes The Man with The Biggest Dick in the World."  Well, that's very nice of you to share, John, I thought.  But my curiosity got the best of me, So I "clicked" on it, and was brought to, not a typical Facebook group page like I expected, but to an entirely different separate webpage outside of Facebook.  On this page was a picture of a man sitting on a chair against a bright red background.  He was dressed in tight leather, which was clinging so closely to reveal his claim to fame.  His face was obscured.  You could "click" on the picture, but the first thing I thought was "virus."
A little later in the evening, I saw one of the co-workers of The Man come up with the same "like" in her live feed.  Might be a bit more embarrassing for a young lady than an old Queer like me.  Had this happened to me instead of my friend or The Man's co-worker, I would have probably laughed myself stupid.  (It still was kinda funny when it happened to my friend).

Now, this is a very bad beginning for my essay.  Because I'm going to tell you how Facebook has enriched my life.  Simple things.  I can see that my sister had a great day out at the lake with her family, when she posts new pictures on Facebook.  And she's 250 miles away.  I can "Like" an everyday observation from a friend who is on assignment at a university in north Africa.  And he can, in turn, comment on my relishing watermelon on these days when the temperature is rising.  I can be knocked for a loop at the discovery of an old friend that I haven't seen in person or even talked with in 20 years, who may have been removed from my life by distance, conflicting priorities, divorce ... well, just life.  And wonderful memories come back.

Sometimes, it's fun when you have a twisted sense of humor.  And especially with a confidant that shares this. The brunette and I are constantly "de-friending" one another.  That's simply done by either of us removing the other from their friends list.  When the other discovers it, we send a new friend request.  So it shows up in any of our friends' "Live Feed"s as "The Queer and The Brunette are now friends."  I'm sure some of the friends we have in common think "what the hell?" seeing this message pop up every couple of weeks.

I've even used Facebook to settle an old hurt.   One of my high school classmates called me "Queer" at a party back when we were teens.  She was right.  But nobody was supposed to know!  She saw me for what I was.  It got pretty ugly with my friends defending me.  We left.
I kept that inside for years.  Anytime this woman's name was mentioned, I would snarl.  And then one day last year, my sister said, "You know that picture of you and me that I posted yesterday on Facebook?  Jane Doe
said he thought that you look great."
"Jane Doe!"  I was shocked.  "Are you friends with her?  Don't you remember that party..."
"T.Q." she sighed.  "That was thirty years ago.  Don't you think she's forgotten that...?  Maybe you should, too."
I didn't say anything.  But I was thinking alot.
I kept my eyes open.  And then one day, Jane Doe commented on a post from one of our childhood friends.  I commented something along the lines of "I agree with Jane!"
Jane responded something like "Thanks, T.Q., I'm right about 50% of the time."
I sent her a friend request.  She accepted.
We now comment regularly on each other's lives, trivialities, and achievements.  I provide words of support when her husband is about to head out on the road for work.  She comments on the nice flowers I get from the perfect man I have.

Privacy?  I've got nothing to hide.  Facebook?  This stuff is worth it's weight in gold.

(Lock photo by Walknboston;  Pot of Gold photo by Jonas B)

On Being Blue

I’m blue.  One of my good friends says, at least once a week, “Queer, you are SO blue!”  I reckon she’s right.

She and I work together.  We were brought into the company almost three years ago now, along with about 30 other men and women.  The department was in a sort of totally screwed-up shape, had become known as a people-mill (sucking in and spitting out employees at rapid speeds), and had finally got the approval for a mass-hire to help stop the bleeding.  

So my friend and I were part of a large grueling training regimen.  This started with a full week of nothing but specifications training that made me want to cut myself by class end on Wednesday.  The next two weeks were mainly training on our sister departments in the company and customer-service skills.  

But the three-week training nightmare was brought to a close with a little team building activity.  The final class was a type of personality study that divided people into three different color categories:   Red, Green, and Blue.  The Red folks were the leaders, who took charge, didn’t mind hurting feelings and, above all, got things done.  The Green segment was the worker bees, those dedicated to the details, wanting to find solutions and solve problems.  The Blue group were composed of those who were all about feelings, making sure people around them were “all right,” and maintaining a social workplace.

Yes, my friend was exactly right.  The Queer is Blue.  Archetypically Blue.  No surprise to me.  I had taken similar personality tests.  One at a former employer was all about colors as well.  I was Yellow for that test, not Blue.  But for that test, the “yellows” were the “people-people.”  (and man … do I hate to hear someone refer to himself as a “people-person.” Ugh.)

I had taken the Myers-Briggs test.  ENFP.  Yep, classic.  From the Wikipedia description of ENFPs:

ENFPs are initiators of change, keenly perceptive of possibilities. They energize and stimulate others through their contagious enthusiasm. They prefer the start-up phase of a project or relationship, and are tireless in the pursuit of new-found interests. ENFPs are able to anticipate the needs of others and to offer them needed help and appreciation. They bring zest, joy, liveliness, and fun to all aspects of their lives. They are at their best in situations that are fluid and changing, and that allow them to express their creativity and use their charisma. They tend to idealize people, and can be disappointed when reality fails to fulfill their expectations. They are easily frustrated if a project requires a great deal of follow-up or attention to detail.

And that is why I surprise many people.  In my writing, I may come across more laid back that I actually appear in person.  I’ve stunned a couple of guys, who I communicated with on-line over a long period of time before meeting.  When the face-to-face happened, I often got quite puzzled looks.  I’m a bit more energetic and animated in the flesh.

But I always express.  Expressions of amusement at some mishap that I may have been in the middle of, usually manifested in laughter and kidding those who are in the boat with me.  Expressions of outrage when the odds are insurmountable, marked by my outbursts on the department floor and my stating to my co-workers that my resignation letter is already typed on my hard-drive.  Expressions of concern when one of my team is in over her head.

This concern showed itself tonight.  There are five women who I check on each night before I leave the floor.  Tonight one of the women was in the cubicle of one of the others.  When I stuck my head in and asked like always “Let’s go.” (I guess that’s not a question), she sighed and said that she had too much work.  

The three of us (along with another of my daily “check-ees”) tackled the outstanding issues in minutes, dissecting the problems, tearing them apart and solving them deftly.  We "greened" it up.

As we four exited the building on the way to the parking garage, one of the women (our de-facto "red" leader) suggested that I send a text message to my final “check-ee” (who is visiting family in the Middle East) and let her know not to bring her lunch tomorrow.  We were planning to eat at the nearby Asian restaurant.  So I did, and we laughed.

Although it is eight hours later where she is, my friend texted back:

Enjoy :-)  I’ll won’t bring my lunch tomorrow :-)

We’ll see her in two weeks.

Hell, I’ll be as Blue as you want me to be.

Narrow-Minded As They Want to Be

You see...I got this story filtered through the BBC and then through the Advocate, so the details may be a bit watered-down. A relationship counselor in Great Britain lost a court case against his former employer, who had fired the counselor for refusing to provide sex therapy to gay couples. The gentleman's stance was the agency that employed him had “refused to accommodate his Christian beliefs.” Well, the British High Court disagreed with the gent.

And my opinion on the case may perplex you. I think I'm siding with the Christian.

Now … I know that I am only getting a portion of the story. I’m just too lazy to investigate further. I hate the news. To me, most of what passes as “news-worthy” is just depressing. If I want to catch up on current events, I’ll listen to “Wait, Wait … Don’t Tell Me” on NPR or watch “The Daily Show” and “The Colbert Report” on Comedy Central. And I do none of this with any regularity.

Back to the story:  I suspect there were more issues than this refusal to provide service that led to the counselor's dismissal (I mean ... the man was expected to provide sex therapy to gay couples?! - I would imagine this assignment would confuse and/or disgust most any straight guy). But, whatever … I believe everyone involved missed the boat on this true issue. Let me lay the blame on the agency (I try not to point fingers, but sometimes it’s fun). Did the agency not have enough straight couples that the fella could counsel? I mean, I know straight couples, and they typically have way more issues than homo couples. Just sayin’. I always write that off to the fact that men and women sometimes have difficultly understanding (or caring) where the other is coming from. Gay couples have gender-uniformity on their sides. The agency must have had enough non-gay couples to keep this man busy; I'm guessing that heterosexuals provide the bulk of the client base.

Look, High Court … you didn’t change this man’s mind. Nor did you change the minds of any of the people who supported his stand. And while the grander scheme here is not about changing anyone’s mind, the decision probably just rooted him further into his narrow-minded reasoning.

So, everyone settle down. I’m all for gay rights. I am gay. But let’s allow people to be as dumb as they want to be. The smart people already see the truth. And both the smart people and the dumb people are producing a new generation who can think for themselves and see the truth, in spite of familial influence. The dumb people are a dying breed. Let them dinosaur themselves right off the planet…

I deal with people who support my rights and beliefs (and the majority of my straight friends do support me). I ignore the others. Like my mom always said, “If someone is pestering you, they are either envious of you or they have a crush on you.” 

Uhm...the thought of Fred Phelps and/or Shirley Phelps-Roper crushing on me just totally made me vomit in my own mouth … eww.

Together We're Invincible

Anthems. Great things, those. You can think of our National Anthem (a pretty angry song if you care to analyze it) or songs like "Song 2" by Blur (which has a completely nonsense lyric but a driving beat, power chords and a sing-along chorus) or "We Will Rock You" by Queen (where everyone, at least the coordinated ones, can do the stomp-stomp-clap action).
I recently discovered the British group, Muse. I believe that they are the new owners of the rock anthem mantle. When I am at the gym, you can bet that my iPod is set to them: good driving rockers, dramatic choruses, wailing guitars. Thursday while I was on the treadmill, "Invincible" from "Black Holes and Revelations" came on. I almost skipped it, because it is a mid-tempo song and I thought it might slow my workout pace. But I let it play.
Sometimes the most inconsequential actions in my life can make the biggest impact. I ended up putting the song on repeat and listening to it over and over. I don't mean to put too much of the song quote here, but it's an excellent lyric:

During the struggle
They will pull us down
But please, please
Let's use this chance
To turn things around

My partner and I had already kinda adopted "Invincible" as "our" song, but listening to it while I was working out that evening my mind went elsewhere. I began to think of all my gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered brothers and sisters. Sometimes our strife with each other holds us down. The song says:

Do it on your own,
It makes no difference to me.

But, people ... we have to do it. Even something as simple as tax day approaching and realizing that my partner and I do not get the option of filing a joint tax return. Even realizing that unless we get our legal matters airtight, if something happens to either one of us ... either of our families could come in and divide the life we have together. Even knowing that we cannot get married here in Texas, where it would be easy for our friends and family to attend the ceremony. These things do slowly eat at my heart ... maybe in just small ways (because I certainly know the validity of our bond).

Change should come, hopefully sooner than later. I'd like to think that I'm a patient man, but I'm afraid that even I have a limit. Canada is looking good.
And I love Houston.

Leaving the gym, I had a small sense of satisfaction at working out at the local all-gay gym. Here, things could be a little racy, sordid and steamy. Where else can you watch "Absolutely Fabulous" and porn at the same time while pumping iron. I was at least supporting a gay business.

You should make a stand,
Stand up for what you believe
And tonight we can truly say
Together we're invincible

And I truly appreciate all the straight people who have our back