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Savoring Endorphins With Pride

I remember the first time a girl kissed me. I was a late-bloomer, a junior in high school, able to drive. Danielle was a sophomore, and probably was more interested in me because I had a driver’s license, although I do recall her pointing out that she thought I dressed well.

We had gone on a date to a movie, and were experimenting—or at least I was—with handholding. Upon arriving in her driveway, she leaned over, kissed me on the cheek and ran into the house. To say I was ecstatic would have been an understatement. Driving to my best friend’s house to share the glee, cars approaching me flashed their bright lights. “How could they know?” I thought. It wasn’t until I pulled into Scott’s driveway that I understood I had been driving around town with my bright lights on. I was in such a joyful fog, I hadn’t noticed.

There, sitting on the floor of the bedroom of the boy I loved, I shared the moment. Not only was this girl interested in me, Danielle was bold enough to show it. High on endorphins, I savored the moment looking at shirtless Scott sitting on his bed, wearing nothing but running shorts. “I think I found the right girl,” I told him, convinced finding the right girl was the only thing that stood in my way.

My mother was convinced my dating dry spell that spanned my existence to this point was simply an issue of finding the right girl, as well. It was the late 80s and as I ironed my paisley shirt before I went to pick up Danielle, my mother came in. “So you’re going to a movie with a girl?”

“Yes, Mom,” I said, steaming my shirt.

“A special girl?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you need money?”

“Umm…”

“Here,” she said riffling through her purse, “why don’t you take my ATM card and just take out what you need. I’ll pay for tonight.” Anything to help a late-bloomer, I’m sure.

Four years and no bold girls later, I remember the first time a boy kissed me. I was a late-bloomer, a sophomore in college. Will was a senior, and probably more interested in me because I was young and naive, although I do recall him pointing out he thought I was fun.

We had been doing laundry together, and were experimenting—or at least I was—with sexual innuendo. (It was a liberal arts college, after all.) Upon returning to his room, he closed the door and pinned me up against it. To say I was ecstatic would have been an understatement. I returned to my room across campus. As people passed, I wondered if they could tell a man had just kissed me. “How could they know?” I thought. I was in such a fearful state; every look was a knowing stare. I closed the door to my room, locking it behind me.

There, sitting on the floor of my room, I wanted to share the moment with someone. Not only was this man interested in me, Will was bold enough to show it. But I couldn’t share it. I was too afraid. Ashamed and excited. Guilt-ridden and overjoyed. High on endorphins, the moment boiled inside of me. “I think I found the right guy,” I wanted to say to someone, just anyone who might understand.

My mother never knew about any of my dates with boys. Of course, she knows I live with a man, but she never got to watch me date, either a girl or a boy.

Twelve years later, last week in-fact, the Supreme Court overturned Bowers v. Hardwick, which has been used to criminalize gay and lesbian relationships. The Supreme Court said that gay men and lesbian woman have the right to be in their relationships, and the world ought not to care because it’s a basic human right. A liberty. A freedom guaranteed by the Constitution.

In San Francisco, people gathered in the Castro district last Thursday, where they took down the rainbow flag—they took down the symbol that has represented a community of men and women forced to savor their first kiss alone, behind a closed door—and they replaced it with the American flag. A visual image almost too powerful for words. I bought my first rainbow flag later Thursday night, and came home to put it on the front of my house. On July 3, I will replace it with the American Flag.

I was at the impromptu rally in Atlanta celebrating the decision on Thursday. And I had my camera in hand. There is a certain irony in people who are willing to stand on street corners, holding signs that say “Sodomites Unite”, yelling, “Sodomy Free in 2003” as cars race by honking their horns in jubilation, yet when I raise my camera, aiming the lens at the celebration, many were quick to cover their faces with their posters.

You can change laws, but you can’t change attitudes, I thought. At least overnight.

Standing at the Pride Parade Sunday, as the Dykes on Bikes led the parade (as they have since its beginnings) I felt a sense of calm I’d never experienced before at a Pride Parade. “It’s okay for those bikes to have dykes,” I thought. “It is really okay.” My mind turned to an image of a teenage boy. Maybe not today’s teenage boy, but in a few years, who might be overjoyed by his first kiss from the boy of his affections, as he rushes to his best friend, either boy or girl, to share that moment—with pride.

Sunday was a warm summer day, harness-clad dykes on bikes, roaring by with power, and with pride. High on endorphins, I savored the moment, and called my Mother.

Meeting Dad

Reading this reminded me of the first time my Dad met a boyfriend of mine after I came out of the closet.

Being the marketing department’s gopher, I had to work on the day my father was to fly into Chicago. Which I knew and thought I had planned around. But a last minute schedule change had him arriving at the exact same time I was to kick off an event. There was no choice, by Mark would have to pick up my Dad at the airport.

Needless to say, this made my Dad a bit nervous. “Well how in the hell am I supposed to pick him out?” he asked me on the phone the day before. “Simple,” I said. “Wear your Lake Forest College sweatshirt. He’ll be hanging out at the gate and will be there to greet you when you get off the airplane.”

Par for the course, the flight was early and Mark was late. Not finding anyone, my Dad sat down and watched the people walk by. A rather feminine man walked by, and my dad wondered if that might be Mark. His blood pressure rose, and he got nervous as he approached. And when he flitted on by, my Dad was relieved.

Then a man comes walking down the concourse. He’s wearing black leather, and chains. He has piercings in his nose and his ears. His ass has a bit of a swish to it. “Oh, Jesus,” my Dad thought. “What the hell has Tim got himself into now?” Reporting the story, Dad talked about getting dizzy, and his palms started sweating. What was he going to say to this guy if he came up to him and said hello? He was even more relieved than before when the man continued on.

When Mark finally got there, he called out, “Mr. State.” Dad had stirred himself into such a frenzy, he had no choice but to rejoice in the fact Mark had no visible piercings, was minus chains, had no leather, and could talk without a lisp.

“Mark!” he said. “It’s good to see you.” My Dad gave Mark a hug. “For a while there, I was really scared you were going to be one of these freaks walking down the concourse.”

Absolutely Awe-Inspiring

I found this new feature in Internet Explorer. Actually, it’s not new, just new to me. It’s called “Subscribe” where you ‘subscribe’ to a website and the browser checks the site as often as you like for changes. It’s made eavesdropping on my favorite web blogs significantly easier.

I’ve now ‘subscribed’ to my favorite weblogs for about two weeks, and I’m absolutely in awe. I’m in awe of the regularity of twisted posts. I’m in awe of the high quality of each post. I’m in awe of the sheer rawness. The courage. The insight told so eloquently. The ability to move readers regularly. The sheer dirtiness of it all. And the fun it all can be.

When I read some of these posts, they seem so profound and from the heart. Deep and eloquent. Reading these bloggers’ posts sometimes makes me feel shallow. I envy these bloggers for what they do. The smiles they put on my face, the giggles they generate inside me. I know the effort and commitment it takes. And I hope that I can churn out the quality that they continue to thrust forward.

Hidden Rainbow

A friend of mine forwarded me an e-mail from a friend of a friend – the author, who was announcing the publishing of his first
book. It was the first I had heard of self-publishing, and the prospect to me was curious. So I thought I would order it. I’m about half-way through reading it now.

It is really bad, and I can’t put it down. It’s so bad, it’s good. With typos on every page, over-used similes that make no sense, and three different spellings of the main character’s name, I was expecting a little more from this self-published book. In a weird sort of way, it’s inspiring to read.

Second Nature

Last night we listened to the sounds of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra in Piedmont Park as the sun dipped behind the Midtown skyline. It was a pleasant evening with my men, relaxing, drinking wine. Cozy in an intimate sort of way. To our surprise, several other friends literally stumbled upon us, and sat down to join us for the evening. We stake out the territory of our little world with blankets. And with it, we create our own family that feels so right. It’s our world and we rule it.

The walk home with my man was nice. Pleasant conversation, holding hands strolling through Midtown, lovers enjoying the night. And when we happen upon a stranger, our hands automatically fall apart, and we step away from each other. Two buds just walking down the street. It’s so second nature; we don’t even think twice about the distance between us.

At least, that is until this morning, when I read the powerful stuff written by CyberKenny today. It's so easy to forget how much fear there is out there. Fear of people who don't look like you, or think like you. Fear of what people might say. What they might do. What they might think. Sad, it is. Not just for us, but for the children we're collectively raising in our community. When will we begin teaching our children to be better than ourselves? When will we teach them not to be afraid?

So we are hanging out with Atlanta's theatre crowd last night during the intermission of "Bat Boy: The Musical" at Dad's Garage (more on that later), when we bump into a director for another theatre,
Synchronicity Performance Group. She says hello to Andrew and then turns to me and says, "Oh my gosh, you were at the reading of 'Be Aggressive.'"

"I was," I said. "I see you added it to your 2003 series."

"We did," she says, "and I have to tell you, we decided to go with it after we heard your feedback on the reading."

"Be Aggressive" is this wonderful little black comedy about the darker sides of cheerleading with still trying to find the perfect cheer. It's 'Bring It On' and 'Six Feet Under' rolled into one, and executed properly, it's got the makings of a cult classic that could make a theatre company. It's fun, with characters who are ironically deep for a cheerleading play, and it's got all the girls you love to hate. So we start talking about the potential for the play, and all the great qualities from 'Bring It On' and 'Drop Dead Gorgeous,', and she says, "I'm going to need to call you for consulting when we get into production planning."

"What does this mean, Corky?" you ask.

"It means, we may be going to Broadway!" I'll let you know.

So, changing subjects - "Bat Boy: The Musical"

In 1992, the Weekly World News uncovered the story of Bat Boy. Since that time, they have been providing updates on his life. "Bat Boy: The Musical" brings this touching tale to life on stage through song and dance. Portrayed in compelling Guffman-esque style, "Bat Boy" manages to mimic bad community theatre without actually being bad.

Bat Boy, played by the incredibly cute Clifton Guterman (Actor's Express, "A Beautiful Thing"), is discovered in a bat cave in Hope
Falls, West Virginia. As the town seeks the truth behind a mysterious cow plague, Bat Boy searches to find himself in a world forcing his assimilation. With hope, he finds his way to a Southern Revival, seeking salvation. In an amazing production number, he asks the New Fallians, "Let me walk among you," through a compelling tune that weaves together themes of pride, prejudice, forgiveness and acceptance into a nicely-wrapped chorus.

The catchy tunes, campy costumes, and insightful themes create a musical parody of the Broadway musical genre. And, along the way, Bat Boy teaches us all about love, happiness, and raising cows on hillsides.

"Bat Boy: The Musical" is playing across the country and around the world. To see if it's playing near you, visit the official Bat Boy Musical website.

It will change your mind. It will change your life. Cats will never be the same again. Go see it today!

The Ideal Mollie

It's funny how you connect with a person on the other side of the world at the same time without even knowing. While Dogpoet was on the other side of the world suffering in bed and being soothed by the plots of John Hughes, I, too, was in bed watching the same TNT movie-thon. And I, too, was touched by his movie making in a similar way.

It's funny how movies shape our world. As a teen, I watched all his movies. There was nothing about them not to love. They hit close to home for me, and I always remember walking away from a John Hughes movie knowing how I wanted to dress, who I wanted to hang out with, and how I wanted to behave. I had, in my mind, an idea of what life should be like for a teenager in America. It was a John Hughes movie, and of course, my life didn't live up to it. I remember wrestling with my own emotions watching those movies, always identifying with Mollie Ringwald as she gets stomped on by the heart-throb. This weekend, watching Pretty in Pink, Andie's (Molly's) best friend is so clearly gay to me today. Why didn't I see it then? His heart gets ripped out as Andie falls for the popular guy, Blaine. And what he's really wanting to say is, "Andie, you should be in love with me." And what Andie really should be saying, "I love you, but I can't love you, because you're gay, and I won't get what I need and deserve." Why didn't they show that scene? Why didn't they act out what was really going on, because it would have made my struggles so much less of a struggle.

When I went to look at Lake Forest College, I felt I had arrived. Landed in the American Ideal. At the time, I wasn't sure why I felt so comfortable. Of course now, looking back, its because of those John Hughes movies, which all happened to be filmed on the suburbs north of Chicago -- where Lake Forest College is at.

So while I never achieved that ideal portrayed by Mollie Ringwald in a John Hughes movie, at least I have come to learn to live by my own ideal.

Screen on the Green

Tony had a fabulous spread last night at Screen on the Green, which featured "2001: A Space Odyssey."

Just as HAL 9000 was beginning to take over the mission to Jupiter from Dave, Tony blurts out (his voice carrying across the park), "Control - ALT - Delete, Dave. Control - ALT - Delete!" Laughter-burst!

Annoyed as Hell

Finally, someone who captures and pokes fun of forwarded e-mails at Annoyed as Hell.

Overheard at Mary's

"My first gay erotic dream was in forth grade. I remember waking up and being disgusted, but kind of turned on at the same time as I had dreamed the stare baseball player had just urinated all over me."

Swish!

It's not often that you find a gaggle of straight people with enough fabulousness to rival the gays. Check out S.W.i.S.H Pride! They have a few ideas I may just have to borrow.

Where doe the money go?

Interesting article on the cost of the war in Iraq.

Nicely Done

You go, girl! Just have to wonder if this would be happening if it were a man or if a democrat were in the White House.

Turning the Tide

I had a fabulous lunch with a friend today at the Silver Skillet. I was a
few minutes late, and my friend, thinking something had come up placed a
to-go order. We sat down, she changed her to-go to dine-in, and caught up.

It always amazes me how you cross paths with a person, and develop a great
respect for each other working together on a problem. In the moment you
don't see the bigger picture, understanding how much you rely on each other
to accomplish your goals.

Then, as life changes course, you bump into each other again. The
situations is much the same, however the roles and players in those roles
have changed. That's when the respect really begins to grow. You begin to
see and understand the importance of your relationship, and how your
connection helps you help the world.

It was great to sit down with her and have no real agenda. To catch up and
discuss our struggles that exist within our own worlds. To understand the
challenges that we each face, yet to bring such a fresh, outside
perspective. That's when you grow, as individuals struggling through a
world of uncertainty. When you gain new insight.

It was great fun. She expressed how she felt trapped in the world of higher
education, and people are reluctant to work together to achieve success.
Sure they'll support an initiative, but when the rubber meets the road,
they've gone home. I asked her if this was more a product of higher
education, or a regional idiosyncrasy that is uniquely Southern.

Her eyebrows raised, and I pondered further. Could it be there is a
connection between one department not making sacrifices for the good of the
whole has it's roots buried in the 225-year-old historical argument over
State Rights vs. Federal Rights? Could it be simply this is a case of
You-don't-tell-me-what-to-do-with-my-plot-of-land-and-I-won't-tell-you-what-
to-do-with-yours?

The Civil War is long gone, but did the War of Northern Aggression really
change attitudes that had been established centuries before a shot was
fired? Probably not. In fact, it may have exacerbated those feelings.

We see similar approaches to the challenges of life today. Just take a peek
at the tenuous relationship between the Atlanta-area county governments. On
the one hand, they all agree we must have an extensive mass transit. On the
other, they all want it to be their own. They all agree we can't have huge
arenas in every county, yet they each work to build their own.

Battle rarely changes attitudes. If it did, we would be out of Iraq. We'd
let down our guard again, having brought down the Axis of Evil. But battle
rarely changes attitudes, and the anti-American sentiment is strong as ever.
Even our long-allies are beginning to ponder our aggressive actions.

"At some point, there must be a happy medium," my friend said.

"Yes," I replied.

"But how do your find that?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know either."

I took a bight from my BLT, and she sliced off a wedge of her open-faced
roast beef sandwich as we pondered. We had no answer. No ideas for turning
the tide engrained by centuries.