Parading Around

It was Gay Pride in NYC this whole past week and as part of the festivities, I opted to skip going up to the house to lounge around the deck and weed through my burgeoning garden and flowerbeds for staying in the city to have some fun.  I participated in the 5-mile Pride Run through Central Park on Saturday morning with about 3000 other runners through the sunny, warm morning.  We  wound our way from the Upper East Side over and down the West Side, cresting at the bottom of the park where the Essex House and the Plaza rear up into the New York skyline and then back up the East side.

I’ve mentioned before that I find the run in Central Park to be a particularly difficult one though I can’t figure out the reason.  The hills aren’t close to what I’m running back at home and I’ve conquered the distance some time ago but never the less, I’m really working to finish a circuit through the park and yesterday was no different.  I managed to almost live up to my stated pace that placed me in the first third of the running heat and finished with an overall pace of 8:30 per mile.  I was trying to be in high geek fashion by running in my all cotton “Rage of the Red Lanterns” t-shirt rather than my usual running gear of wicking this and moisture barrier that but as a novice, I am quickly learning fashion doesn’t really fly and it’s all about comfort.  I was thoroughly drenched by the end of the run and almost over-heated.  More importantly though completely unsurprising, not a single person noticed or commented on the shirt and so I am now that much smarter in leaving my Geek at home and sticking with the routine…unless Nike starts making comic-inspired running gear.   And then I’m all over it.

Today I’m marching in the Pride Parade, having been invited by some pretty esteemed bloggers to join their blogging group.  Even though I’ve inadvertently evolved over to micro-blogging through Twitter more than actual blogging these days, it’s still great to be invited into a group who I’ve respected and been reading for years so I’m pretty excited.  We’re in section 8 behind Club Atlantis (so I’m assuming lots of loud music and go-go boys on a float which will be fun), carrying a huge sign of the New York City Gay Bloggers & Digital Activists with the logo above and all wearing similar white t-shirts with logo and our names on them.  I’ve only ever attended the parade and never marched after all these years so I think this is going to be a fun day though I can imagine after hauling our asses down from 54th street to the Village, there are going to be some tired dogs.  But then that is what the Pier Dance after is for, to dance some life back into them so I might pop up there.

And to think that all this came out of a bunch of pissed off, abused, and feed up queens who took to the streets 40 years ago this month at the Stonewall Riots and ushered in the Gay Rights movement.  Sometimes I think 40 years seems such a short time ago and then I think about it and realize there has been so much work done to provide rights and protections and we’re still not there yet.  Closer, for sure, but not there yet.  So we march and we stay visible and we hopefully change one mind at a time by being our authentic selves, taking pride that as a group, the GLBT community is a diverse mix of great individuals that doesnt’ have to go mainstream or gentrify to fit in if we don’t want to.  We were born out of a sexual variation that created and followed it’s own organic growth to where we are today and the colors and people and attitudes and life styles on display at the parade testify to that.  So I’m taking pride today and reminding myself that these are all my brothers and sisters and we’re people of the world that count and make a difference, in big and little ways alike.

Happy Pride!

Passing

I’ve spent the weekend thinking of friend who lost his mother to cancer this week and who is sitting at the funeral right now next to his partner and the rest of the family.  His partner lost his mother several years ago to cancer also.  When I think back now, I now have a spate of six years, really since my own mother died, where a friend has lost a parent each year and while I initially thought “how strange” to myself, now that I’ve really looked at it, I guess maybe it isn’t so much strange as just part of our lives as we’re getting older.

I don’t know if there is a right or expected time to start losing our parents.  I would have said in my early to mid thirties that I would have expected people to start losing their grandparents.  I lost two and have my very last grandmother still around and kicking which I know I’ve been lucky to be able to say and appreciate each conversation and time I spend with her.  But now that I’m on the countdown to 40, I know I have to be more expecting of eventual life events.  I was even telling Jeff the other day that on my run I was thinking about the next ten years of our lives together and how, statistically speaking, this will be the decade when things start breaking and falling off of us.  I could realistically expect one of us to have a heart scare if not an outright cath and stent for a blocked artery.  I think we’re now in the window for certain kinds of leukemia and more uncommon organ-based cancers.  On the plus side, I feel more and more confident that I’m finally out of the woods for testicular cancer which I was at a higher risk for and had been expecting anytime after I turned 25, since I’m a black cloud kinda guy.

As I’m big on clich´s, “I guess if it’s not one thing it’s another” suits me just as well as anything else. Pithy, for sure, but true, none the less.

And yet my thought still go back to Jay and the passing of his Mom. This one a steep and quick decline from pancreatic cancer that took her so quick I’m still not sure anyone can make sense of it. Jeff’s dad was that way too…three weeks from diagnosis of lung cancer to being gone. In some ways, I can’t even fathom what it takes for someone to gird themselves to that kind of decline because unlike a sudden accident, I think people probably tell themselves and hold out for improvement or at least more time. I thought it was amazing to watch Jeff with his dad the day after the diagnosis go in and settle up the account, making sure his Dad knew exactly where he stood in Jeff’s life. Jeff had a clear idea that there was no time to wait, even with a long-term diagnosis and that days are lived as days. I was luckier, some would say, I had six months with my Mom before she passed away and five and a half of them were really good months and so, in my typical fashion, I stammered and hemmed-n-hawed over the months, dribbling out the same truing of accounts with her, never denying we had limited time but in some kind of denial that there would always be a tomorrow to say and do more.

And so we’re here today. More sorrow and loss and now, rather than an aberration, it seems like maybe more of a right of passage for those of us getting a little bit older and moving from our young adult hood into whatever this next phase is (Early middle age? Certainly not!).

MoBlogging

I was accused last night of faking my way into marching with the gay blogger group for gay pride in a few weeks.

“A video of a bear in your yard doesn’t really qualify as blogging,” I was told.

As I thought about it, he was sort of right but also getting his drunk on so I dismissed it out of hand. But with the wisdom of sleep, I understand and agree.

What the hell am I doing around here?

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My

I’m on a conference call this morning and Jeff rushes in and is pointing outside.  I get up, head still connected to my douchy headset and see Jeff pointing out the window at the bear who has lumbered out of the woods and over to our tree that has a bird-feeder in it.  I’m wildly throwing things at Jeff like: the CAMERA and the VIDEO CAMERA.  I believe, however, that Jeff is actually wanting me to “take care of it”.

Gardening by the square-foot

I’ve been gardening just about every year since Jeff and I bought the house upstate eight years ago. When we first bought the house, the garden was actually already established by the previous owners and was some huge thing full of rows and rows as well as just about every cast-off piece of everything on God’s green earth. Additionally, there was a barrel of something that was foul and evil which I later came to find out was monkey poo which he had been getting from some research lab in New Jersey and using as manure. I’m pretty sure simian dookie isn’t supposed to be used as compost. I got rid of it right away.

When we enlarged our property footprint and, serendipitously, the above ground pool in the back yard collapsed, we moved the garden to the back yard, fencing in a nice plot that was a perfectly manageable size for me. It was at that time I discovered the Square Foot Gardening method which I’ve embraced whole-heartedly and had great success with.

I was out composting and mulching everything around the house this weekend, including the garden and really have it set up to start taking the plants next weekend. Cucumbers and tomatoes seem to be my two main priorities though I’m throwing in some beans, peppers, peas, lettuces, and try a few root veggies like beets, onions, and carrots.

But then again, I never really know. I’ve been known to stick in various extra flowers and just a bit of whatever I have laying around left over. There is some kind of vine with berries that has sprung up in the corner which I’ve let go these last few years and it adds a nice touch. Also, the 14-foot anaconda garter snake living somewhere in the rock pile in one of the corners let me know it was around while I was cleaning up debris left over from the winter on Saturday. Jeff and I are still debating whether I screamed like a girl or yelled like a startled, terrified man.

But it’s coming along and I’m all excited to have the season start.

Getting on a Jet Plane

My travel schedule this week:

NYC to Las Vegas to Minneapolis to NYC to Houston to NYC.

Running again

Dookie

As I’ve beaten this horse to death weeks ago to anyone who will give me three seconds, I’ve was easily arm-twisted into putting my name in the lottery for running the NYC Marathon this coming November. I’ve been running on and off now for just a year and had no desire to run a marathon at all…not with all the stories of scabbed over nipples, lost toe-nails, and the very real-not-an-urban-legend about marathoners pooping themselves during the actual race. I am clear that having to pull off to the side to puke is one thing I can accept but making a dookie mid-stride for me is a big ol’ un-un. Just sayin.

Anywho, I’m in full force training, gleaning tips and advice from better men than myself and trying to figure out how this is actually going to happen and how I’m going to divert/trick/talk myself through those miles when I want to quit which right now is about mile one, three, and five.

Additionally, because it was such a hit last year, I’ve taken out my new video cam with me on a run this morning. Nice to see nothing has changed…I’m still running the same hills and still so out of breath you’d think I had emphysema and an impending heart attack. On the other hand, I have some new running threads that I think work for me.

Please do enjoy: Early Morning April Run..with hills! (Quicktime, 15.5MB / 3.5 min / music: “Running Up That Hill (Street 45 edit)” by Levy 9)

Ding Kitty Speaks

You would think that we didn’t keep a bowl of fresh water out for the cats at all times.  I did this about eight times today or every time I went into the bathroom.  It’s a good thing we don’t have kids…they would be such spoiled ruffians.

Ding Kitty Wants a Drink NOW!!! (Quicktime, 15MB)

It’s ivory this year

Today is our anniversary.  It is our tradition, about the only one we have, really, that we start our day together by reciting The Meeting and it goes something like this:

Jeff: “On this day, [insert number of years], there I was, attending Ms. Stephen Hayes’ pre-Black Party Party when in you walked, all fresh chicken.  I walked over to Stephen and asked, ‘who’s that‘ to which he replied, ‘Oh her?  She’s such a mess.”

“When we got to the Black Party, we spent the evening dancing together and every time one of my friends started getting up onto you, I tapped them on the shoulder and wagged my finger at them, letting them know you were mine.”

“When we got up to the backroom, it was dark and I was scared so I walked behind you and that’s when you put your hand on my crotch and had your way with me and we’ve been together ever since.”

Beau: “On this day, [insert number of years], I had just moved from St. Louis as a traveling nurse.  I dropped my clothes off in Morristown that very day and drove into New York City to stay with a friend’s cousin who invited me to go to the Black Party as an welcome to NYC.  He mentioned we’d be going to a friend’s pre-party so I was all nervous.  I was so fresh and green I wore jeans and a blue-button up shirt because I had no style.  We got to the pre-Black Party Party and as soon as I walked into the tiny apartment, some crazy, scary Filipino dressed in a pair of tight black silk underwear and wearing a long black overcoat came running over to me, flapping his coat like huge bat wings.  I peed my pants right there. ”

Later on in the evening, I got stuck in a conversation with Michael Mitchell who was describing how he likes to spit on a trick’s chest during sex.  I’d still not been able to speak a word since I arrived. ”

After we all cabbed over to the Black Party, we spent the evening dancing and all the men I’d met at the pre-Party were dancing around me being friendly.  You finally asked if I wanted to go upstairs ‘to see what was going on‘.  Upstairs it was very dark and I was scared so you stood behind me and pushed me forward into the masses of sweaty, undulating people.  Then you reached around and grabbed my crotch.  We’ve been together ever since.”

Basically the truth of the story lies somewhere in between, depending on who you talk to.  I had just moved to NYC that very day and Jeff and I did meet at Ms. Stephen Hayes’ pre-Black Party Party and Stephen did call me a mess to Jeff although he’d never met me before and I’d never been to New York to be able to establish that kind of reputation (although that was the point and purpose of me coming to New York in the first place).  Jorge, the animated Filipino, was wearing nothing but underwear and a big black overcoat and he did scare the piss out of me when I first walked into the pre-Party.  We went to the Black Party as described and then details get foggy…Jeff and I have come to an agreement that he was standing behind me but who ever made the first move on the other is lost forever in the clammy, gropy, sweaty memory of whatever was happening in the dark, upper room that night.

When we finally walked out into the sunlight the following Sunday morning, Jeff, against his better judgment actually gave me his phone number to call sometime.  I, being completely introverted and phone-phobic, had no intention of calling him but later that day, I thought that the least I could do after a fizzy night of dancing and hand-jobs would be to give him a call.  My plan was to call while he was out on a date he’d said he’d be on that evening, thereby doing my friendly duty but avoid having to actually talk to him.  Best made plans diverted!  He was home when I called and put up with me hemming-n-hawing about how I’d just wanted to leave him a message about meeting him last night.  Eventually we somehow made a date and then that was that.

Even though I was only in the area temporarily for work, we ended up dating (even while he was dating someone else for the first eight weeks we were seeing one another…I eventually found out I had the M, W, Saturday fuck schedule while Robert, the crucifix-loving other guy who Jeff’s friends liked better had T and Th.).  When I re-upped my nursing contract for another three months to stick around, things got a little more serious, or at least they did to Jeff because I still had no intention of staying or settling down.  I flirted with a long-term nursing engagement in Nowhere Alaska, keeping Jeff in the dark as to whether I was staying or going up until the last minute and ultimately ended up staying.  We moved in together at six months as a way to save money since my housing stipend would pay his rent and soon enough, the months together turned into years.

We’re fourteen years in now.  As I described it to friends on vacation a while back, “…very difficult years” which came out wrong in how it initially sounds but which is true, never the less.  What I was trying to say is, relationships are difficult;  personalities are personalities and compromise can be hard.  Jeff and I never had one of those rocket-ship, exploding super-nova relationships, one with fire and so much incendiary inclinations when we’re together…it has always been a slow, steady climb that puts a better day ahead of the next one.  Trust me when I say the ache when we’re apart, physically, emotionally, and mentally is very real and very deep.  Each year, our anniversary cards read  something to the effect of, “…another year together, each year better than the last” and that is true and that is the hallmark of our days together…we are together because each day is better than he last.  We continue to grow and find our way with one another.  Of course we know each other’s buttons and know how and when to press them but that’s all just noise, really.  We make our way each day, trying to be kind and be better to one another, loving each other in the small ways that are significant to us and we’ve built a life on that very simple thing.

This past fall we went to California and got married.  Not because either of us felt any overwhelming need or desire to be married; neither of us actually believe in it.  We got married because we felt it was important to stand and be counted so that others, to whom marriage is important, might have the opportunity to do it some day.  For us, it was a great weekend together with our friends and I got a little Folsom eye candy in the mix…it has also confused the whole ‘what is our anniversary’ question.  While I’m more apt to remember our wedding date more so than our Domestic Registration date, for me The Anniversary will always be March 18th, 1995 when I walked into a stranger’s party where no one knew me and I didn’t know them and met Jeff, my lover, my friend, my partner, and now my husband all these many years later.

Happy Anniversary, babe. (See, it’s funny ’cause he doesn’t read the blog. )

UPDATE: Even though ivory is the traditional gift for 14 years together, Jeff decided to fully embrace our old, boring marriage schtick and bought us matching Snuggies® of which, I’m loathe to admit, we will actually  use frequently and in good health….just not to some fuck-ass sports outing with other people like on the commercials.  We have standards.

Always one late to the party

I actually believe I emailed Shel when he was ringing the bell for Twitter before just about anyone else to ask, “what is the point?”

Who knew that was the point?

I’m still Twittering, though, am I not? Yes, yes I am. Anyone can know more useless and uninteresting things about me than could have ever been mined out of my blog.

My latest obsession that I just discovered last night (thanks guys from 619 Bearcast) and to which I fully acknowledge that I’m again, late to the party, is the Photoswap app for the iPhone. The basic idea is take a picture and send it out randomly to the universe. It goes out to a random person and you get one back from another random person. You can reply to a received picture or choose not too but unless the person has a small profile with contact information or posts a picture with their information, there is no way to get a hold of them. It’s so weirdly random and almost unnerving at how temporary and fleeting the images are. No way to save them and once you choose to not reply to someone, they’re gone forever.

It’s so fascinating I wasted an entire battery charge playing with it last night. I walked around the house shooting dust bunnies, trays of drying paint, and my feet along with various angles, corners and reflected surfaces that didn’t make me look fat. I got back shots of pets, shelves of books, a large breast, a French military officer, a cock shot, and a few grinning bear cubs…so all in all, a pretty good evening. As those tricksy hipster smarties with too much time on their hands tend to do, someone actually came up with a game for it and developed a scavenger hunt where they take a picture of a list items/body parts looked for and received and you can choose to play along if you have something they’re looking for. My two item requests from two separate games last night were a flexed bicep and a jock. The Gays, apparently, have adapted and made this our own.