Move to the Back

My partner and I celebrated our 14th anniversary together the end of May. Since funds were limited for our annual Memorial Day vacation we decided to keep it low-key and revisit a place that was and is very special to us...Ogunquit, Maine.


Ogunquit was our first trip away together when we lived in NYC and started dating. We went their many times over the years we were in New York. It was just a half day's drive from the city but could not have been any different than the cacophony that is Manhattan. The pounding surf against the barren rocky cliffs was music to the ears and the quaint "Murder She Wrote" villages were in stark contrast to the canyon of towers in the city. And the lobster!

Before our recent trip we had been discussing what to do in 2010 for our 15th Anniversary. It is definitely a milestone (more like 100 in gay years) and we would like to do something memorable. As Maine had just enacted Gay Marriage legislation we seriously considered exchanging vows in Ogunquit to mark the occasion. It looks like that isn't going to happen now...

Last night Maine voters decided to repeal the legislation that would have allowed us to celebrate our union in a somewhat legal sense. Like many other states, the majority of its constituents feel that my ability to "marry" my partner is an attack on the sanctity of their unions and/or religion, therefore it should not be allowed.

I could stand on my soapbox till I'm blue in the face trying to convince these bigots and zealots that religion has nothing to do with this issue. If they and their churches do not believe that this should be, they do not have to accept me into their house of worship and perform this rite/right, I will be more than happy to go to my local justice of the peace and leave them and their GOD out of it.

All I ask for is the basic liberties that every other married American citizen is able to enjoy, the majority of whom have no knowledge of these said rights. Why should my partner and I who pay pay all the same taxes as straight couples not be afforded our shared insurance benefits, social security benefits, medical directives & visitation? All men are created equal under our constitution. When will we have the chance to be treated as equals?

Although our ceremony in Maine would not have given us these rights, at least it would have given us some semblance of joy in celebrating our relationship and knowing that our partnership was being recognized for what it is.

Instead of planning a 15th Anniversary celebration, I can now only look forward to what may be for the future.

Meanwhile, if anyone is looking for me, I'll be sitting in the back of the bus...

Suicide...Take Action

We probably all know at least one person who has committed suicide. Whether it has been has been a friend, family member, or someone within your social circle is it has had to touch your life at one time or another...

For me it has crossed throughout my life. I can easily recount at least at least three high school classmates who took their own lives and and an uncle. And these are not the end of the deaths. All are unfortunately unexplained as far as I know. All are equally as tragic and sad.

Last week a newspaper here in Miami, the Miami New Times, published an article called "Legends of the Fall" which recounted the the death of one of my friends by his jumping from his condo balcony, as well as those of fifteen others doing the same. Terry died in January and we have all struggled since then to deal with his death. Why exactly did he do it? Could we have prevented it somehow? He had left a very long letter but it still did not answer all the questions. This invasive article opened wounds which we had all started to heal and opened Terry's death as a showcase to the public. Needless to say those that loved him were very disgusted and angered.

I immediately composed a letter to the editor and the parent corporation. To have such a personal tragedy put on personal display is not acceptable. Being the "fire-starter" I am, I also contacted many of the suicide survivor's groups (locally and nationally) to let them know of the article. They were as appalled as I.

This is what I ask of you...(I know it may be difficult)...please read the "article" in the Miami New Times (http://www.miaminewtimes.com/2009-09-10/news/legends-of-the-fall-suicide-by-jumping-from-miami-condo-buildings/). If you feel as I do and are disgusted by their article please voice your opinion. Now that the issue is off the news stands they have a blog set up at http://blogs.miaminewtimes.com/riptide/2009/09/afsp.php . I urge you all to let your feelings known.


Respectable journalists do not report upon "everyday" suicides so why was this article necessary in such detail? Will they follow up with those that shot themselves, hung themselves, overdosed, or slit their wrists? Doubtful.

Please voice your disgust and pass this post along to your family and friends who may have also been affected by such a tragedy. Publications such as this should not continue to get away with such deplorable practices.

Driven To Distraction

When you get behind the wheel in Miami you are taking your life into your own hands. Miami consistently ranks at the top for worst drivers, worst road rage, and the highest rate of accidents in the nation involving pedestrians. It's a wonder how anyone is able to pass the driving test down here in order to get their license, but somehow the road is chock full of assholes. Those chosen few are apparently smart enough to maneuver a floating pickup truck over open ocean to reach the U.S. but somehow cannot distinguish between red and green.

* * * * *

Since my birthday is late in the summer the majority of my friends had their drivers licences for months by the time I turned sixteen. It changed our lives overnight. No longer did we have to rely on parents or siblings to shuttle us from one location to the next. Living in an almost rural area this was always a hassle for all involved. You could never just pop around the corner to a friends house or to the mall. A trip anywhere always meant a minimum of fifteen minutes of driving each way (this was at 55 mph on two-lane highways on the edge of civilization). We could come and go as we please without incurring the wrath of others for imposing upon their personal time.

Of course there were the usual rules set forth by the parents to follow when in the car: be home on time, no speeding, don't blast the radio. One of the biggies was that we were not to drive "downtown" - downtown meaning into Chicago. With the popularity of Ferris Bueller and the wealth of diversions offered downtown, it was obviously a constant draw for us. Smart-asses that we were we quickly found a way around this dilemma. Chicago is a large city that has a large mass transit system reaching beyond the city's borders, so instead of actually driving into city limits we would park at the closest "el" station outside the city and hitch a ride in. Mission accomplished! Upon arriving home with shopping bags from Water Tower Place we would always be met with an onslaught of accusatory questions, but as we did not break the cardinal rule we always won out in the end.

Along with the ability to drive was the ability to get a job! This meant our own money to spend as we pleased on our road trips. No more begging parents for money to go Six Flags...we could no buy our own season passes and go every weekend if we wanted. Since it was a rural area the choice of jobs was very slim unless you wanted to drive twenty mile to the nearest mall. If you decided to stay close to home there was the Safari Market (with it dusty and decaying stuffed African game animals in the aisles), the two-plex (only $2 on Tuesdays), or the usual choice of fast food service (our three choices were KFC, Pizza Hut & McD's). In the summer you had the additional exciting choices of de-tasselling corn or applying to be a lifeguard at the local Lions Club pool. This was a very coveted job as you had to have a connection to even be considered and it meant you would return to school with an awesome tan.

This was major stepping stone stone in our lives where we felt we were actually growing up and becoming closer to being considered actual adults instead of teenagers. By being handed that drivers license and a set of keys it meant that our elders felt we were responsible enough to be trusted with this major piece of equipment and the Independence it brought. Such a rush it was at sixteen!

These days I would rather walk until my feet are bloody stumps than have to get behind the wheel and deal with the hell that is driving. The biggest distraction we had as teenagers was if the cassette single of "Push It" fell between the seats or if Jamie dropped her Shamrock Shake on the floor. They might as well train drivers today to operate the steering wheel with their knees while only using the peripheral vision of their left eye. With all the gadgets high-jacking the attention of otherwise inept people I would feel more comfortable if vehicles were operated by epileptic chimps on crystal meth.

If only I had the money to hire a nice, responsible teenager to drive me around. He may get some pleasure and excitement out of it...

My First Day

I had my first day of Kindergarten yesterday. Mom bought me brand new clothes to wear so I couldn't wait to have all the other kids see my new outfit. My pants are a lot like what I already have (brown corduroy) but I got a brand new pair of Buster Brown shoes to go with them and a cool new shirt too. The shirt is what I like the best. It has a picture of all the characters from Sesame Street on the front - Big Bird, Oscar the Grouch, Bert & Ernie - all of them! All the other kids couldn't stop looking at at.

Mom walked with me from our house to the corner. I walked the rest of the way (three whole blocks!) by myself. I had learned all the lessons on how not to talk to strangers and looking both ways at Safety Town earlier in the summer, so I was fine on my own. And we had walked the way together a couple of times so I knew exactly which door to go to and wait. My sister was walking ahead with her friend Cindy so it's not like I was really alone. (She is in Second Grade so she didn't want to walk right next to me anyway).

When I got there I remembered where I was supposed to stand in line and wait for the bell to ring. There were about twenty other kids in line (I think I was able to count that high) and everyone was very quiet. When the bell finally rang all the older kids went inside knowing exactly what to do. We stood there for a few seconds looking at each other for a possible answer and our teacher appeared to lead us to our classroom. Our teacher, Mrs. Wallo, lives across the street from me so I already know her. My sister had her for Kindergarten too so I wasn't nervous at all once I saw her face.

I had heard about the class from from sister but once I got in there it was beyond what I had imagined. It was very long with several different areas in it. On the end which we entered from there is a small closet area with hooks to hang our coats when the weather gets colder, on the other side of the closet is a piano, then a playhouse(!), and on the far side of the room is the blackboard and all the "learning" stuff.

Mrs. Wallo had us all sit down by the piano and the first thing we learned was our "Good Morning" song. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to remember it, but it is to the same music as "Happy Birthday" so it is pretty easy. She told us we will start each day with this song followed by our "weather report." For this, she will choose one of us to come up to the big paper calendar she has next to the piano. We are then to take the big crayons and draw in the space for the day what kind of weather we have. (I much prefer my Crayolas at home. They are much easier to hold and I have many more colors to use.) I don't yet know the boy's name who got picked but he drew a big yellow sun because it was very hot and bright outside.

So far it seemed like school was going to be great fun, but then she moved us over to the "learning" side of the room. Here she explained that we would soon begin to start doing all the things that the big kids do in their classes: read, write, do math. I don't know if upset some of the other kids or if it was because we had been sitting there for so long but a couple of them were suddenly sitting in puddles of their own pee! Luckily my mom had made me go before I left home. Mrs. Wallo thought this was a good time for a break so she took us all into the hall to show us where the bathrooms are. The girls went into their bathroom and we went into ours. The boys room is really neat because it has lockers for when the older kids play sports. Some of the other boys needed help going using the toilet but I didn't.

When we got back to the classroom we were told it was rest time for ten minutes and after that we would be able to have play time until it was time to go home. For play time she said she was going to divide us up into groups as to whether we would play with toys from the shelves or use the playhouse. (Of course everyone was hoping to play in the playhouse!) We spaced ourselves out on the floor to lie down for our rest. The kids who wet themselves had to lie on paper towels so nobody wanted to be near them.

The ten minutes lasted forever. When Mrs. Wallo turned the lights back up she called out our names and told us where we were to play. When she called my name she said I can go to the playhouse! It was so neat. It has a kitchen with an oven and a sink. There is a big trunk with clothes and hats and wigs. The doors and windows even open and close. Me and the other kids who got to play in it were very excited and you could see the others were jealous, but they will get their chance tomorrow or the next day. I think she chose me on the first day because she knows my mom and sister.

After a while Mrs. Wallo told us to put our things away because it was soon time to go home. All the big kids would be going to the lunch room across the hall but we are younger so we get to go home. Next year I can buy a lunch box and eat with all the other kids. We got into a line by the door once more and when the bell rang my mom was waiting outside with the rest of the kids' parents. Some of them ran to their moms and dads crying but I was fine. I had been to pre-school so I was used to being away from my parents for already.

I couldn't wait to tell mom all that we did today and that some of the kids had peed on the floor! I wonder if they did this in my sister's class too? This school thing is going to be interesting...

Fellowship & Flatulence

My grandfather's birthday (we have always called him Bumpa) is the day before
mine. He just turned 87 years old. He is the youngest of five children, four of which are still alive. Aunt Faye is now 99 years old.

Thank God my mother held her legs together for that extra two and a half hours to make into the early hours of August 1st to deliver me. If she had not I would have had the misfortune of being named Francis after Bumpa. He's kinda happy for that too.

Since our birthdays are only one day apart they were always celebrated in tandem when I was a small child. Sometimes the party would be at my parents' house, other times at my grandparents' when they still lived in Illinois. In order to keep it fair we both had our separate cakes.

I had to be only four or five when one of our family friends goaded me to call Bumpa "Fart Face". I didn't know why I was supposed to do this, but seeing as I thought it was funny and I was so young I did so. Of course this little innocent remark from me brought down the house. I don't remember it at all myself but I have never been able to forget it through the retelling of it by everyone else. To this day many family members and friends will refer to Bumpa as Fart Face.

* * * * * * * * *

I went over to the west coast of Florida this weekend to visit Bumpa & Maggie. It was in the spring when I visited them last and they hardly ever seem to change much from one visit to the next. The hair may get a little whiter or they move a half a step slower, but everything else seems to stay status quo. I have some strong genes flowing in my blood! The most surprising (and encouraging) thing is that Bumpa is still as sharp as a tack. When observing him it is quite apparent where I inherit my sarcasm and mental acuity. Maggie can attest to the fact that he can recall the most minute details of past events - a trait that can drive her crazy when trying to tell a story from years past. Bumpa will correct her on names, dates, what they were eating...the most trivial detail of a story, if it does not fit his recollection of the event. This same thing also drives my partner Scott insane.

In the course of the visit Maggie started talking about the trips her and Bumpa used to take out West when they were first married thirty years ago. They would get a car and drive around the western states for a few weeks exploring the different cities and states, sometimes stopping at any one place for a several days at a time. Maggie began to tell a story of how one time during a trip through one of the Sierra ranges they became trapped in a snowstorm when Bumpa yelled out "Fart Face! That's where Fart Face came from!"

We looked at each other with almost disbelief. Fart Face had of course become a part of the family vernacular in the past thirty years and we all remembered that I had called Bumpa it, but no one could remember exactly how it had come into being. The Lost Ark had been uncovered thanks to Bumpa's elephant-like memory...

It was the beginning of summer and they were on the tail end of their trip in the Sierras when they ran into a surprisingly heavy snowfall for that time of the year. There was a small town in the mountains so they decided to stop at a hotel and stay the night. The next morning was a Sunday, so when they awoke they asked a man at the hotel if there was a church in town. He pointed up a nearby hill and said that there was a church within walking distance. As dutiful Catholics they cleaned up and went to Sunday mass.

It was a very small church, so when it came time for communion they had to sit in the pew until they could get into line in the aisle. The man in their row nearest the aisle was already standing ready to get into line (with Bumpa sitting directly behind him) when he let out out a very inconspicuous rip of gas into Bumpa's face. Maggie both saw and heard what had just occurred and immediately began laughing so hard she was almost sobbing. Instead of getting in line for communion they had to leave the church immediately and return to the hotel in order to not make a further spectacle.

Nevertheless, later that day Bumpa saw another guest of the hotel who happened to be in church that morning. She politely said hello and questioned if Maggie was feeling better as she had seen her leave the service sobbing that morning....

And so the legend of Fart Face shall live on....

A Kid at Soul

Here I am thirty-eight years old, unemployed, and not sure which direction to go. This isn't the first time this has happened but this time it is different.

It's not that it is because I am nearing the big 4-0 and I in the starting throes of a mid-life crisis; I haven't the slightest desire to go out and buy a sports car or hire a cute Latin houseboy (although that's never really a bad idea). At this point I am torn between what is expected of me as an adult and that pull of youth that I still feel inside myself.

We all have met those people in our lives who seem to have been born old. To picture them as a child playing in the snow or as a teenager sneaking beer is almost impossible. Everything about them conforms to what our society labels as the perfect adult: responsible, mature, professional...BORING! These are people we deal with on a daily basis: our co-workers, our doctors, even our friends and relatives. Were they born this way or at some point did they reach some invisible crossroads in their lives that put them on this path? I certainly missed the road sign if there was one. Therein lies the issue.

As I begin this new chapter in my life I question if I am where I should be in terms of my "adultness". Am I too stubborn to move along with society? Am I just immature? I will continue to embrace that youthfulness that gives me my spark..without it I would not be me. But is it is possible to truly be an adult with being a kid in your soul, not just "at heart"? Lets see where my road signs lead me...