Waldorf to your Astoria

To My Gays: Lay Off Tim Tebow

2012-01-15T13:55:00.000-08:00

I've been quiet about all this Tim Tebow talk all season. And that's for a reason: I've had mixed feelings. Do I like that Tebow is associated with Focus on the Family? Definitely not. Do I think he should feel free to wear his religion on his sleeve? I'm not sure. Do I think the hatred aimed at Tim has been fair? Not by a long shot.

It's useless to write an article about Tebow in which I express a murky point of view. And my point of view has been murky. What else can you say about a quarterback who is sometimes incredible and miraculous on the field, but more frequently mediocre? What else can you say about a nice guy who is a spokesperson for an organization that has done great damage to the gay community, and keeps doing so?

But when I saw this article in Instinct Magazine called "Could Tim Tebow Become America's First Openly Gay Athlete?" today, I realized I probably ought to say some things that may or may not be popular with my gay brethren (and sistren).

Stop harping on Tim Tebow, my fellow gays.

Seriously. Stop.

I say this not as a fan of Tebow, but as a person who struggles with the polemical nature of our current society. The way we turn everything into an "Us vs. Them" argument is tearing at our seams. And as it turns out, the reality isn't as clear as us versus them.

The aforementioned article attempts to make a case that perhaps Tebow is gay, because:
A) In a post-game press conference one time, he gesticulated wildly with his hands.
B) He is an Evangelical Christian. Some Evangelical Christians, it turns out, are closeted homosexuals. Hence, he might be one, too.

Seriously? This is the argument?

I want to start by unpacking this first point. It seems to me that calling Tebow gay is nothing short of bullying. No one is saying "Tebow appears to be gay, and that's a GOOD thing." Calling him gay in this light seems to have negative connotations. Aren't we beyond this?

One of my greatest hopes for the younger generations is that boys of today find that they don't need to believe that the only way to be a man is to act like John Wayne. While many people have been instrumental in changing our society in this way, gays have played a huge role in opening up males -- both straight and gay -- to a level of self-expression heretofore untenable. Suddenly sensitive and emotional are not solely the domain of females and weird guys. I hate to use the over-worked term "Metrosexual," but this is in my view a very positive development of the past decade. Suddenly, boys are allowed to be more completely themselves without fear of reprisal. Likewise, the new dialogues of this past decade are allowing females of all sexualities to explore their full selves with less fear of being seen as "butch dykes."

I am greatly dismayed to see these stereotypes used by the very people who were tormented by them. I know I was tormented by other boys as a teen for being too emotive. To see gay people finger pointing and saying that someone who is emotive must be gay seems to me a massive step backwards.

As for the second argument: Hating all Christians because they are homophobic is no more fair than hating all gay people because they are left-wing lunatics.

Perhaps this is a function of living in Arizona, but it has become increasingly clear to me that gay and Christian are not mutually exclusive. Neither is it true that homophobic and Christian are always synonymous. Further, it is not at all true that just because I am a left-wing lunatic that all gay people are.

In fact, a great proportion of our nation is Christian. Some of those people do not like gays. I know this first-hand. Having been kicked out of a Catholic Church where I was supposed to speak in Montana helped me experience exactly what religious intolerance feels like.

But there are a great many Christians -- tens if not hundreds of millions, actually -- who are open-minded about sexual preference. Some are gay themselves. Others have a relative or friend who is gay. They've seen that we're all the same. That's how change is made -- one person at a time. Change is not made by stereotyping and grouping people unfairly. If we gay people worked half as hard as integrating ourselves into the lives of others as we do reviling those who hate us, the world would certainly be a better place.

Now, if Tim Tebow were out there spewing anti-gay rhetoric, I'd have a different opinion. However, I have seen absolutely no evidence that he has EVER made such a statement. The Instinct Magazine piece had to resort to calling the quarterback the "aggressively evangelical and anti-gay organization-associated Tebow."

Yes, he's associated with FOTF. Yes, I think those folks are in general hate mongers. However, there are other issues about which FOTF is vocal besides gay issues. One of them is abortion. Tebow clearly has strong opinions about that issue, as the commercial he was in during last year's Super Bowl attests.

That does not make him a homophobe; that makes him pro-life. These are not at all the same thing. In fact, people who say that all life is precious should be, by definition, pro-gay. Because, of course, gay people have as much of a right to live as all other people, right? If all fetuses have a right to a life of happiness, should we not extend those rights to all people once they are older? Of course this all hinges on whether people think homosexuality is a choice, which it most certainly is not. Anyhow, that's a topic for another time.

The moment Tebow goes on record saying that gays are evil or pedophiles or should not be allowed to raise children, I will change my tone. But for me to castigate him as a homophobe because he is rabidly pro-life is just wrong-headed. I have many Christian friends who are pro-gay and pro-life. Some of those friends are gay themselves. These are facts. Disagree as much as you want, but let's not start generalizing and grouping all Christian people, lest we fall into the very trap those who vilify gays have been falling into for decades.

What if we worked to marginalize those Christians who would strip us of our rights, who would happily see us all in jail because we are gay. They are not the moral majority. The majority of Christians, it seems to me, are wholly open to seeing people for what they are in their hearts. Gay or straight. Those are the people I'm interested in reaching out to, and I hate to see them turned off to my community because of petty name calling of a man who has the gall to openly pray to Jesus Christ.

Dog Attack

2011-12-26T17:48:00.000-08:00

Mabel and I went out for a nice walk today. We went to the park near our house, and we ran and chased birds and romped and generally had a great time.

Until we were attacked by an unleashed dog, that is.

Mabel loves everyone and everything. Every dog is her new best friend. Every person is her buddy. She is full of life. So when this large Golden Retriever came charging toward us, I was a little trepidatious but hopeful that they'd have a sniff and maybe a little play and be done.

This Golden Retriever had other ideas. Before I could even act, his sniff turned into a pinning. He got on top of Mabel and Mabel started to yelp. She is NOT an afraid dog. Or at least she wasn't. She's been socialized and plays beautifully. This was not play. I'd never seen Mabel like this. And the yelping. It was horrible. I'm still hearing it in my head.

I grabbed the dog and got in his face. I screamed at him to "Go Home." He went back after Mabel. I pushed him. I grabbed the scruff of his neck. Nothing deterred him. I kicked him a few times. Each time I did, Mabel got up and started to run away, so I went with her. The dog pursued. We wound up in a sandy volleyball court. There were people all around. I kept yelling, "Whose damn dog is this? Someone help us." I couldn't hold on to Mabel and deter the dog by myself. There were maybe 15 people watching this.

I finally picked Mabel up high so the dog couldn't get to her. The dog went after me. It kept jumping up on me and trying to get to Mabel. I kicked, I shouted and yelled. It was relentless. The dog took down my pants. Seriously. I couldn't keep Mabel lifted and my pants up and he was biting at them.

Finally, a guy who was nearby came over, and he helped. I thanked him, and Mabel and I started to run away. The dog got loose and chased us down. I really didn't know what we were going to have to do, or if this dog was capable of more violent biting. He re-tackled Mabel and it started again. This is maybe eight minutes now.

Finally, this little girl, this fucking little six-year-old girl, comes by to get her dog. I don't know what parent sends a dog out with a six-year-old girl who is smaller than the dog for which she is caring. I'd like to find out who that parent is and fuck them up. Seriously. For taking away any little bit of spirit she may have stolen from my beloved Mabel.

Finally the dog was put on a leash and we ran off.

Mabel seemed basically fine. She didn't seem injured and she wasn't bleeding. I, on the other hand, felt attacked. It reminded me of the time when I was 21 and two guys jumped me on the streets of Manhattan, and I tried to fight them off and was screaming help. There were maybe 20 onlookers. No one helped.

Chuck says I did everything right and I did the best I could do. He thanked me for protecting our dog. Yet there's a big part of me that feels like I didn't do it right, that I could have done better or more. It hurts.

It's hard being a dad. This is my first experience of it. You want to protect your baby from harm and you want to harm anyone who is a threat to your baby. I get that now.

On the positive side, this seems to have bonded Mabel to me in a new way. She just about won't leave my side tonight. I'm glad about that. I want her to feel like she is loved and protected and that nothing will harm her.

I just wish that I could make that always the case. I don't know if I can. Especially if stupid people continue to allow their untrained dogs off leash to wander around, looking for trouble.

Misheard Lyrics - Lady Gaga edition

2011-12-21T15:37:00.000-08:00

We've all been there. We're driving down the highway, singing at the top of our lungs, totally oblivious (or perhaps not caring) about the fact that we look insane to all other drivers. It's a song we've known all our lives, and we know the lyrics by heart. Or do we? We listen to ourselves for a moment, and we hear ourselves sing, "Doesn't matter what they say, in the Dallas games people play, ay ay ay! Alex the Seal!"

In a way, this could make sense. Perhaps you're a football fan, and you relate "Dallas Games" to Cowboys football games. It could be... And surely somewhere there is a weirder character than Alex the Seal. You kind of know it's not right, but you're set in your ways, and you like your lyrics better than whatever the real ones are, anyway.

These are called Mondegreens. It would take too long to explain the derivation of this word, but if you're interested, go to the site and check them out. You'll probably recognize a ton of them.
"Excuse me while I kiss this guy."
"Just like the one-winged dove..."

I happen to be really good with lyrics. If I hear a song I haven't heard in two or three decades, I somehow still know the words. I wouldn't call it a useful skill, but it's something. Chuck, on the other hand, is not so good at this. He thought 'til Tuesday's "Voices Carry" was about "Precious Carry," he believed Olivia Newton John was proclaiming, "Let's Get Visigoths" to her minions, and he constantly sings along to Adam Lambert: "Yeah, I'm a creep" rather than "Yeah, I'm a freak."

He has a lot of great qualities, but singing lyrics that make sense is not one of them. It's not important to him. Bless him. It gives me something to cackle about on the highways.

Anyhow. I'm writing because yesterday I was singing along with Dame Gaga in the car. I'm not a huge fan, but I like her. I was singing along with her anthem "Born This Way," and as I sang, I realized that even though I get the general message, I actually have less than no idea what she's saying in most of the song. Some singers (Stevie Nicks, Michael Stipe, Natalie Merchant) are famous for garbling lyrics. I guess Gaga is that way, too. Maybe she was born that way.

I decided to listen to her song and transpose her lyrics without looking them up. I wanted to do my absolute best to guess what they actually are.

Here's my guess. I'll put in italics the parts that I'm sure are wrong:

Born This Way - Lyrics?

It doesn’t matter if you love him, or capital H.I.M.

Just put your paws up,

Because you were born this way, Baby.

My mama told me when I was young, “We’re all superstars.”

She rolled my hair, put my lipstick on,

In the glass of cover-drop.

“There’s nothing wrong with loving who you are,” she said,

“Cause he made you perfect, Babe.

So hold your head up girl and you’ll go far,

There’s a lonely Alice stay.

Chorus:

I’m beautiful in my way

‘Cause God makes no mistakes

I’m on the right track, Baby, I was born this way.

Don’t hold yourself in regrets,

Just love yourself and be set

I’m on the right track, Baby, I was born this way.

Ooh there ain’t no other way,

Baby, I was born this way

Baby, I was born this way.

(repeat last three lines)

I’m on the right track, Baby, I was born this way.

Don’t be a drag just be a queen (repeat)

Give you some prudence, and love your friends,

Subway carries joys of truth

In the religion of the insecure

I must be myself, respect my youth.

Butter-free gnaw is not a sin,

But be capital H.I.M.

I won the lotto, love this record, and,

Me llamo me (unintelligible)

Chorus.

Spoken/Rapped: Don’t be a drag, just be a queen

Whether you’re broke or evergreen

You’re black white beige Cho ledgi-scent

You’re Lebanese, You’re Orient.

Whether your disabilities left you outcast or leader-teased

Rejoice and love yourself today

‘Cause baby, you were born this way.

No matter gay, straight or bi,

Lesbian, transgender life

I’m on the right track baby

I was born to survive

No matter black, white or beige,

Don’t like to orient me,

I’m on the right track baby

I was born to be brave

----

In my youth, I would have had to wait until the lyrics were printed, either along with the album, or in one of those magazines that came out with lyrics. Now, with the internet, it's much easier. Still, I refuse to look. I like my lyrics. Anyone more clear about them than I am? Without cheating?

The Muppets are Back! (Mah na mah na)

2011-11-25T08:14:00.001-08:00

I'll be honest with you. I can be snarky. All it takes is a quick perusal of my blog or Facebook page to see that I am not immune to snarkiness.

But also I'm sick of it. Really. I'm so tired of how everything in our culture seems to be based on irony and sarcasm and nastiness. I think we've gotten immune to it, it's so pervasive. Ever since 9/11, our culture has become far more cynical. Television comedy is a perfect example. Pre-snark shows like The Brady Bunch or even Three's Company (watch an episode; it's terrible, but at least it's optimistic) would simply not play to current audiences. We'd just get, well, snarky about how cheesy and optimistic those shows are.

For what it's worth, this may be changing a bit. I think the television comedy "Modern Family" has a sweetness to it that is a little different than what we've been seeing in the last decade. The main way that show is different than "Arrested Development" (the best comedy in TV history) is that harmony and kindness seem to win out in almost every episode. That didn't happen with The Bluths. You won't see that in "Two and a Half Men" (A terrible show) or "The Sarah Silverman Program" (an uneven show).

So unfettered sweetness is not exactly a proven money maker in 2011.

At least that's what I thought. But then, last night, we went to see the new Disney movie "The Muppets." What a wonderful experience that was.

I was actually jarred by the movie when it started. I'm so used to irony and cynicism that when the cast started singing "Life's a Happy Song," I kept waiting for the characters to get their comeuppance. Surely no character in a movie today, even a kid's movie, can be purely joyful. There had to be a catch.

There was no catch. It was simply sweet. The characters were kind to each other. With the exception of the villain, there was a lot of love in this movie, and not a lot of snark. And yet the movie managed to be funny anyway. Also, it was the first movie appearance in more than a decade for this blog's namesake, Waldorf, with his buddy Statler.

Yep, they are curmudgeons, much like me and my Chuck. But they are sweet, lovable curmudgeons. Also like Chuck.

I left the theater happy. Truly joyful. And hoping that there will be more unfettered sweetness and optimism in movies in the future.

"Hurt Feelings Report"

2011-11-15T07:17:00.001-08:00

File this under "Bad ways to motivate young men."

Buffalo, Wyoming high school football coach Pat Lynch was forced to resign last week after a questionnaire he distributed to his players was made public. Suffice it to say his "Hurt Feelings Report," which included reasons for "hurt feelings" such as "I am a queer," "I am a little bitch," and "I have woman like hormones," did not go over well with the public.

Here's the full questionnaire.

Ignore for a moment that an educator distributed a form in which he used woman-like as an adjective without the requisite dash. To me, that's enough of an issue. Let's focus instead on the message.

That message is: "Don't have feelings. And if you have 'em, bottle 'em up. Man up."

I am so tired of adults passing on sickness to children. This idea that boys should not have emotions at any cost is the reason our prisons are filled with men. It's the reason 12-step programs are filled with men. It is not normal to expect men not to feel stuff. The healthiest men I know, gay and straight, know how to cry and how to laugh. I have never met a man in real life who could match up to the John Wayne standard that adults like Lynch seem to set, and if I did, I'd run the fuck away from them, fast.

I'm guessing that ironically Lynch has hurt feelings after this occurrence, and I hope he is figuring out how to feel them. That's my hope for him, anyway.

Anyway, there's more. Lynch was forced to resign, but will still be a guidance counselor at the school.

Right. Let me say that again. He'll be a guidance counselor.

No. I'm not shitting you.

It seems to my logic that the high school would do better to keep him as a football coach and have him relinquish his role as THE PERSON TO WHOM KIDS GO WHEN THEY ARE SEEKING GUIDANCE than the other way around. But what do I know? Apparently the kids at that school are going to get a lot of advice that sounds a lot like "buck up" and "stop your whining."

When will we learn? When will we stop torturing young people with insane ideas about who they ought to be? Please. Make it stop.

Thoughts about Penn State

2011-11-11T05:38:00.001-08:00

1. As a society, it would be nice if we spent a little more time focusing on the alleged victims of Jerry Sandusky, and a little less thinking about the Nittany Lions. I get that Joe Paterno was a living legend and that he's been fired. I think it's terribly sad that this will be his legacy, and I don't feel comfortable judging exactly what happened since I wasn't there. But I do think it's a little absurd that the media and fans and apparently Penn State supporters have focused so much on football and so little on what happened to at least eight young boys. This will be impact them the rest of their lives, and it isn't their fault. And instead of working to heal those boys, we're arguing whether the people who passed the buck should coach this Saturday. Societies should be judged on how we treat our children and our animals. In this case, we show that our priority remains a game rather than the well-being of the kids who were hurt.

2. Where there's smoke, there's fire. As I said, I don't know exactly what happened there. But having read the Grand Jury report, it is clear that multiple somethings happened. That Sandusky maintains his innocence in the face of so much fire tells me he has no shame. I'm sure he'll get what he deserves and that emotionally he is already getting that and so much more. We create our own hell, and he's in it.

3. That also means that there's fire in terms of what those in power did NOT do. While it is unclear in many cases who knew how much when, it is quite clear from the entire picture that a very well thought of coach suddenly retired a year after a major event happened. And he never was rumored for any other jobs anywhere. People knew. And no one, it seems, did the right thing. The right thing in this case is to expose a pedophile and protect other children from acts of sexual violence against them.

4. From reading the report, what emerges is a picture of not just a pedophile, but a bully. Sandusky was extremely aggressive in his pursuit of those boys, and used physical dominance in the form of play to get them to do what he wanted them to do. I sometimes feel the smallest bit of sadness for pedophiles, people who feel drawn to these despicable acts. I feel none of that for this bully. He knew what he was doing, and he was blatant and cunning about it, going so far as to form a charity to help at-risk youth that appears to have been no more than a feeding ground for his pedophilia.

5. Never allow your children to sleep over at the home of a grown man you don't know EXTREMELY well. It's just too risky. I don't have children of my own, but I have nephews and nieces. It is quite clear to me that I would not permit any of them to sleep anywhere where there weren't other children and at least one parent I fully trusted.

6. This should go without saying, but as the guy who writes about gays in football, this is NOT a situation about gays in football. Jerry Sandusky was not gay; he's a pedophile. Sex with children or either gender is outside the bounds of homosexuality or heterosexuality. So even though he's married, I will not call him heterosexual. He's a child molester. End of story.

My thoughts and prayers are with the victims. Sometimes the therapy called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprogramming) can be helpful for those suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I hope that Penn State will help in making sure that these boys get all the help they need so that they can live normal or close-to-normal lives. The pain that we don't deal with is what kills us inside.

Bullying for Jesus

2011-11-09T06:59:00.000-08:00

Given the general insanity of our current political scene, it's always dangerous to say that some new law or ruling is "the most ridiculous piece of legislation" ever passed. But it is hard to top what Senate Republicans recently did to alter an anti-bullying law.

Michael's Safe School Law, recently passed by the state Senate, was intended to keep kids safe from bullying. It was named after Matt Epling, a teen who committed suicide in 2002 after a gay-bullying episode.

Unfortunately, Senate Republicans decided that it was important to include a clause that exempts bullying based on a "sincerely held religious belief or moral conviction."

Think about that for a mere moment. Think for a second about what loopholes that creates, specifically for LGBT youth. Essentially, Republican leaders in Michigan have just offered a blueprint to bullies about how to get away with bullying.

"But I only called him a fag because the Bible said gays are evil!"

Essentially, this law would protect all bullied students EXCEPT gays, lesbians, bisexual and transgender youth, since any such bullying could be said to be based on religious belief or moral conviction.

It's a legal bashing of LGBT youth. Matt's father, Kevin, told the Detroit Free-Press that this was "Government-sanctioned bigotry."

Well stated.

It allows anyone to use religion as a weapon, which runs counter to what religion ought to be. Whether it runs counter to what religion actually is used for much of the time is up for debate.

Fortunately, after a wave of criticism from just about everyone, House leaders have accepted a compromise on the bill before it goes into debate.

A small victory over insanity, I'd say.

Perhaps a day will come when mainstream organized religion gets back to being about living a better life, rather than ensuring that those who are different lead a worse one. Maybe one day love will prevail over fear.

Maybe.

Billy Wonka

2011-11-06T07:50:00.000-08:00

I cannot overstate what an odd turn of events this is. While I have always enjoyed eating candy, I have never been one to enjoy kitchen-related hobbies. And yet here I am these days, learning to make fondant from scratch.

Here it is, my first batch of chocolates!

From left to right, that would be orange, peppermint, raspberry, and banana creams. And I'm clearly a biased source, but I have to say they are delicious! I especially like the banana creams. I've always enjoyed the flavors of chocolate and banana together. Which is one reason why I enjoy visiting the Bluth Banana Stand any chance I get.

But seriously. I am really enjoying this new hobby and my hope is to take some classes starting in January at ABC Cake Decorating Supplies. They have all sorts of candy making classes.

I am sending off some chocolates to friends and relatives. I am finding that it's very important for me to enjoy this hobby as a means to give to others rather than to be selfish with it. Also, I am trying not to become diabetic. So it all makes sense.

I guess we'll have to see how chocolate travels!

The Candy Man Can

2011-10-30T17:27:00.000-07:00

For those of you who know me, you know that cooking has never been my forte. To wit:

-Chuck has on more than one occasion officially banished me from our kitchen.

-I once made stir fry, and complained that the lettuce didn't cook that well.

-On a first date in my late 20s, I prepared shake-n-bake pork chops. That relationship did not last.

So it may surprise you to know that I have taken up a new hobby: Candy Making.

While I have weaknesses vis-a-vis cooking and following instructions in general, I have relative strengths in terms of liking the taste of sugar and enjoying making people happy. Or at least trying. And I've been seeking out new endeavors of late. After a quick foray into glassblowing last week, this one seems more palatable. And less hot. And less expensive.

So here are my first two successful batches of candy:

Banana and Bubble Gum flavored lollipops

I started with hard candy, which is relatively easy but can does involve extremely high temperatures. Bubble gum was my third attempt. Banana was my fourth. Both came out perfect!

The key is to boil the sugar up to 300 degrees, and without a good candy thermometer, that can go awry. Also, the key is not to touch 300-degree sugar.

My first three attempts were less successful. I did a batch of apricot and made some pretty terracotta roses out of them first. However, they probably never got higher than about 250 degrees, and they wound up with the consistency of pine brothers lozenges, if you recall those. I didn't lose any teeth, and thankfully neither did my test subjects. But I threw most of those away since they tended to take any porcelain they touched.

My second attempt was melon flavored, but I only did half a batch. As you might imagine, doing half a batch meant that it was all much closer to the flame. The sugar burnt. Burnt sugar has a bitter smell. I also for no particular reason doubled the amount of flavoring. That flavoring is super strong, and smells of alcohol when you overdo it. Chuck came home and it smelled like a bunch of drunk sugar addicts had hurled the contents of their stomach in our kitchen. He did not love this.

Banana and Bubble Gum flavored hard candies

My third attempt at melon was better. No burning, and the taste of the candy was perfect. However, I took them off the heat at 290 out of fear I'd burn the sugar again. They are tasty but could still take your teeth out. I cost four friends a few hundred in dental bills each. But hey, they're friends, you know! No major damage.

But this batch I'll get to take out and test on some friends at a pot luck gathering tonight. I'm excited, because I cannot remember the last time I baked something and anyone ate it. I hope people enjoy consuming these hard candies as much as I enjoyed making them.

Oh yeah, the instructions on how to make these lollipops and/or hard candies:

1 cup of light corn syrup
1 cup of water
2 cups of sugar

Mix them in a two quart stainless steel boiler. Stir until they boil. Cook the sugar up to 300 degrees. When they reach that temperature, take them off the heat and mix in 1/4 teaspoon of flavoring extract and a few drops of coloring of your choice. Stir until mixed. Pour them into candy molds of your choice. Make sure the candy molds are of a material that can take scalding hot sugar.

Final tip: pour the remnants into a Pyrex container filled with cold water. Immediately fill your sink with sudsy water and throw any and all materials that have touched the syrup into this water and soak it. You will be glad you did this, because this candy will cool down and get too hard to clean off otherwise.

Starting a New Novel

2011-10-27T07:46:00.000-07:00

There's nothing quite like the paralysis one can feel when starting a new novel.

So many choices! And these choices are about your new baby. People generally don't get to choose what their baby will be, but for authors, we have an element of control. Some use it more than others.

Just like with a human birth, we can decide to go natural, or say, "I want to feel as little as possible, thank you very much!"

In my MFA program, I learned much more about writing as a form of exploration. Sure, I learned a bit about story maps, but what I mostly learned was that a good literary story or novel was about finding out who a character was, and what happened to them. Sometimes we started with a clue of what was coming, and other times, we really had no idea. Often, the best stories we wrote were in this latter category.

In that realm, writing becomes a spiritually journey. At least to me. We have to have faith that there's a path and we just need to stay on it, and something will unfurl.

But since leaving my program six years ago, I've learned a lot more about the real world, particularly the real world of publishing. High concept. Meaning: a book with a concept that is highly marketable. You may wrinkle your nose at this, but hey, some of us would like to eat. Out of the Pocket was probably Low-to-Medium Concept. It had a marketable idea for sure, but for a niche market.

For what it's worth, I wrote OOTP as my MFA program would have me write it. I didn't know exactly where I was going, and I often surprised myself when I sat down to write. It was an exhilarating process.

Would I enjoy doing that again? You bet your ass I would. But a big part of me right now wishes to embark on a High Concept novel. Something that could allow me to make writing more profitable. The kind of book that doesn't only appeal to a certain audience, if you know what I mean.

I'm torn. My gay fans are truly important to me, and moreover, there is still a real need for LGBT YA books. At the same time, I'd like to break out of this mold. It is a bit confining. And I do have a few finished novels that are very publishable that fit that mold. I am really right now embarking on my fifth novel.

I have a bunch of ideas. Some of them are more "niche" and some are more "universal." Some involve futuristic worlds and even a little magic, the kind that people, you know, LIKE reading about. Some involve worlds that I was a part of. My soul yearns to write a novel about New York City in the 1980s, when AIDS was just beginning to decimate our society. I am fascinated by this period, probably because I lived through it but only peripherally, as a kid.

Yeah, not so High Concept there.

So what am I going to do? I don't know yet. Today is the start of a new journey for me. I have a few things I could go back to, one of which I was really enjoying. But that was an adult novel. I mean to write another one for teens.

Stay tuned. Should be an interesting month or so of exploration for me as a writer.

Obedience School Dropout

2011-10-26T07:45:00.000-07:00

At our puppy obedience school, there's this four-year-old Peekapoo named Toby who has, for the first three sessions, been the class dunce. He's older than the other puppies, but just can't seem to stop barking at this Chocolate Lab. Toby's mom has to take Toby to the bathroom as a time out. Frequently. She spent the first classes shuttling him in and out of there.

I was embarrassed for her. Poor thing, I'd keep thinking. She's clearly an unfit mother. She doesn't care for her pooch like we do.

After our fourth class, I am not so embarrassed for her anymore.

Our sweet Mabel was the class dunce this week. The uncontrollable crazy pup. She'd bark and yelp, lunge and jump. She just wanted to play, and every bad habit she's ever exhibited came out in a 90-minute period.

It was interesting to be the parent of the trouble maker. Neither Chuck nor I were particularly troublesome as kids. As adults, we don't break a lot of rules. Well, not any rules that shouldn't be broken, anyway. So to be looked at by the other parents as I was looking at Toby's mom felt, well, odd.

I don't think it's a serious problem with Mabel. She is typically quite obedient and painfully sweet. But she is also extremely spirited. She loves everything and everyone. Every person and dog she meets is her new best friend, and she wants to experience them, and she wants them to experience her. I don't think that's a bad thing. I look at some of the other dogs who are so calm and sweet and while I am partially envious, I also think that I'd prefer Mabel, who is truly excited for life. These dogs seem passive to new experiences. I'm glad our little hellion wants to experience it all.

Funny/awful moment from last night. At the play portion, Mabel was relentless and put on a leash because she wouldn't leave the other, quieter dogs alone. We were talking about raw food diets, and I mentioned that we were doing that. We'd tried kibble, I said. It was fine, but this was better.

"Not to be too graphic," I said, as Mabel strained on her leash, which was being held by the guy who runs the class. "But her poo is much better on the raw diet. Much less, and no odor."

Mabel took this as an opportunity to show the entire class what I meant. She squatted and poo-ed. Like that was a perfectly normal thing to do in the middle of the room. Even though she's been trained for weeks and hasn't gone number two inside in five weeks.

We think it might be because she was on the leash and couldn't communicate, amid all the excitement, that she needed to go outside.

We hope so, anyway.

Dog Door, or Magical Treat Apparatus?

2011-10-23T09:03:00.000-07:00

Mabel is basically house trained. So long as you don't get fancy with things like wall-to-wall carpet in unfamiliar rooms that feels a little bit like the artificial turf in our backyard, she's golden.

For a couple weeks now, we've been keeping the door open all day from the family room to the backyard. This way, she can come and go as she pleases, should she need to relieve herself, or dig around the tree, or eat one of the floating Styrofoam noodle things we used to keep on the side of the house. This worked out fine, except that it is still about 150 degrees in Arizona during the day. So the house would get rather toasty. Also, it is not the greatest plan to keep your door open when you leave home for a few hours. Even in the suburbs.

So we've finally gotten our girl a dog door.

It's in the family room and leads out to the side yard.

She is not generally a girl who gets frightened or put off by much, but I suppose I can't blame her for freaking out about the fact that suddenly, there's a hole in the wall. Imagine waking up one day, and walking into your living room, and you see a small portal to the outside world where none had been before.

"Come on, put your head through there," your spouse tells you, a menacing grin on their face.

You'd be like, "Um, maybe I'll pass. I think I read a book about this once. Doesn't that take me to Narnia or something?"

So anyway, she freaked. So we took out the big guns: Steak.

Chuck went outside, and beckoned her, opening one of the flaps and holding a piece of steak. My planned lunch for the next day, as it turned out. Or didn't turn out. It took her a few minutes and a bunch of frightened whines, but she made it across.

Then I held one, and she came back. We then baited the area between the flaps with sausage a bunch of times and she had to figure out how to get it.

We've done this for several days, and she's improving. However, there are a few problems.

-She now thinks that this is a magical treat apparatus. Several times a day, she goes sprinting over to see if a piece of steak or sausage has grown inside the door. It is disappointing when it has not.

-She also spends a fair amount of time staring at it like it's a TV. Not much happens in our side yard, and let me tell you: if something does happen there, it's not a good thing. We're not expecting lots of side yard visitors. So her staring at it tends to exacerbate my own anxiety. Which needs no exacerbation, if that's a word.

The Funniest Konigsberg

2011-10-20T09:44:00.000-07:00

My brother made the horrible mistake of sending me this picture via Skype last week.

See, it's a bad decision because, even though it's a fantastic picture of Dan and Bethany from their wedding back in late August, it is also ammunition.

It proves that I, Bill Konigsberg, am the funniest Konigsberg. OK. Maybe it does not PROVE this, but we can surely call it evidence.

This was during my best man toast. See? He's laughing. Because? I'm HILARIOUS. That's why.

My brother and I had this great conversation this summer about the fact that he and I, along with our father, have the same character flaw: we are all certain we are the funniest Konigsberg. Nothing makes us happier than making people laugh, because it helps reconcile our vision of ourselves as the funniest. We don't talk about it openly, but it's so obvious that we all believe this to be true.

Sadly, the truth is that my brother is surely the funniest. He clinched the title the time he dressed as the hamburglar and stole someone's burger at McDonalds. Somewhere there's video of this. This is beyond what I would do for a laugh. He does a great Borat imitation. People would probably drift toward him at a party, rather than away, which is more my territory.

Second funniest is probably my dad. You may recall his speech from his 75th birthday party. It'll either make you chuckle or it'll make you want to pull your hair out. Not sure which. Maybe both.

I used to be kinda funny. Now I think I'm more funny strange than funny ha ha. I make myself laugh often, Chuck laugh sometimes, and most of the rest of the world just seems to scratch their head when I try to be amusing. I could point to evidence that I used to be funny (my Christian Rock anthem, "Give Me a Hand, Job" is a good start), but I cannot recall the last real belly laugh I elicited from someone other than, well, me.

Alas. I am the tallest Konigsberg at this point. That's something.

"Walking to Mesa"

2011-10-09T07:57:00.000-07:00

I just read the fascinating article about Spalding Gray's diaries in the New York Times and it filled me with an odd nostalgia.

For those of you who are not familiar, Spalding Gray was an actor and performer, perhaps best known for one-man play "Swimming to Cambodia," which I saw him perform in New York at a teenager, back when I wanted to be an actor. Gray, who struggled most of his life with emotional issues, apparently committed suicide in 2004 by jumping from the Staten Island Ferry.

I say odd nostalgia because it is odd to be wistful about a troubled past. And that's what Gray's diaries reminded me: of how in my life - especially my teens and 20s - I was so filled with emotion and powerful feelings. Any day, any experience might have sent me reeling toward immaculate despair. I was always searching for a relationship to complete me, and, failing that, company of a person or people who would approximate that completion. I was ravaged with poetic emotions and always looking for ways to express them. Songs. Monologues. Fiction. Journaling.

This is something that many people who know me today (especially those who didn't know me back then) would not know about me. That I was dramatic and openly emotional. Always.

My life is very different today. In some ways, my life today is what I fantasized it might one day become, way back then. Solid. Happy. Staid and comfortable. Filled with love and kindness and calm.

How I got here is too long a story and not particularly the kind of thing I feel like sharing in a blog. But the truth is I got here. Today my life is far more conventional and even-keeled. My Cambodia is Mesa, Arizona, and the desert has a certain surprising beauty, though it is barren of foliage and water. The greatest heights in this area can be scaled with some effort. The valleys are not so low anymore, even though this area is called The Valley.

Yet I sometimes wonder what might have become of me, had I stayed in the theater as had been my plan through my first year of college. Had I continued to surround myself with creative, manic-depressive types who fueled my own belief that self-expression, at any cost, was paramount.

I also fear that my writing has been impacted by this change. I firmly recall in my early 30s, while still in the insanity of my "before" life, typing and sobbing. I remember writing scenes for OUT OF THE POCKET that made me shiver as I wrote, and I have similar memories for each of my novels written at that time. I was in that white-hot place of unresolved issues where emotions felt raw and were easily accessible.

Today it is much more rare for me to feel deeply. That pains me to write, but it is true. I feel joy far more frequently than I did 10-to-20 years ago, and I occasionally feel sadness and pain. But the feelings don't jump out at me anymore. They don't steal my breath. I don't cry watching commercials anymore. I used to cry watching commercials all the time.

I guess this is life in suburbia, isn't it? I've been insulated. And it was my choice to be insulated. I firmly believe that had I stayed in New York, one of two things would have happened to me: I'd have become famous as a performer or writer, or I'd be dead. Perhaps both. That was truly the road I was carving out for myself as a young person.

It remains to be seen if this happy version of Bill can still find the former, minus the bone-crushing lows and jaw-dropping highs of "being an artist."

Gremlin.

2011-10-08T07:41:00.000-07:00

Our little Gremlin at play

Our new puppy is extremely hard to photograph. Not only does she tend not to stay in the same position for more than one or two seconds, tops, but she also has beautiful, dark eyes that are deep set in dark chocolate fur. Most pictures of her fail to depict her general charm. In fact, when I knew her only through photographs from her breeder, I worried she might be a bit of an "old soul." Serious. Dark.

Not exactly.

Mabel is spirited, to say the least. In fact, this has been a fabulous week for our Australian Labradoodle. Today she turns 13 weeks, and yesterday she got her rabies shot and her second parvo shot. This will allow her to have at least a little bit more freedom from her house arrest here at Bill/Chuck manor. Beyond that, she seemingly has achieved housebroken status, and this week we have begun to give her more freedom in the house. She has not yet let us down, and during the day I've been allowing her first the entire kitchen, then the kitchen and the family room, and finally, when I'm nearby, we've left the door to the yard open.

Mabel getting a tummy rub

She has done beautifully, quite a testament given that she is by nature quite willful and intelligent. She enjoys roaming our yard and playing on the artificial turf. The pool scares her a bit, so she avoids it. That's probably from the two times she fell in during her first and second week. I helped her doggie paddle to the side the second time, so we know she could find the stairs if she did fall in. But I'm quite sure that won't happen at this point.

She's truly a great dog. It has taken me about four weeks to appreciate that. I think it was just such a shock to my system to be in charge of another living being. I rebelled at first, at least emotionally. Now I am seeing how great it is to have her by my side almost always. I think she's amazing.

Anyhow, as I said, she's tough to photograph. So in these shots, I asked Chuck to play with her and rub her tummy because that's when she's most animated. They aren't great photos, granted, but they certainly give a sense of who she is. I'll start, though, with her at the vet. Because the other great part of her appeal is how she looks "at attention." She is a sweet puppy and she wants to please. Note: that person is NOT coming out of Chuck's nose. Enjoy, and since I'm an obnoxious dog owner now, you can surely assume there are more of these to come!

Pondering how she'll annex Poland

Gremlin comes to life!

Yep, we're working on it, but she still will bite.

Who, Sweet Little Me?

Billy Bean vs. Billy Beane

2011-10-03T08:02:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine called me a couple weeks ago, confused.

He'd seen the movie "Moneyball," and wasn't quite sure how he didn't know that the only man alive who played Major League Baseball to acknowledge he’s gay was also the general manager of the Oakland Athletics.

This article, by my friend Billy Bean, should help clear it all up. See, there's Billy Bean, my buddy, who made history by coming out after he played parts of six seasons with three different major league teams. There's also Billy Beane, who also played parts of six seasons with four teams, and went on to redefine the prevailing strategy of how to build a winning baseball team.

Brad Pitt plays Beane, not Bean.

This here is Billy Bean, my buddy, who currently lives in Miami, Fla. He has been a strong advocate for gay people, especially dealing with the issue of gays in sports. He's a great guy.

This here is Billy Beane. They made a movie about him. I never met him. I did cry watching the movie though. Good film!

The two crossed paths while playing for the Triple-A Toledo Mud Hens. They were both top prospects and they played in the outfield together. They were also both from Southern California. One thing I didn't know: they had a teammate named Pete Rice who played the outfield with them, and they were known as "Rice and Beans."

That's about where the similarities end, although it probably makes sense to look at a statistical comparison, given Beane's predilection for baseball stats. A shall do it as I might have done it back when I created those "Inside the Numbers" graphics as a researcher for ESPN.

TWO MR. BEAN(E)S:

Name	Billy Bean	Billy Beane
At-Bats	478	301
Batting Average	.226	.219
On-Base Percentage	.266	.246
Slugging Percentage	.308	.296
Current Age	47	49
California High School	Santa Ana	Rancho Bernardo
Football position in HS	Quarterback	Quarterback
Sexual Orientation	Gay	Straight
Political Party	Democrat	Republican

So while Billy and Billy have lots in common, they are not, in fact, the same person. Oh yeah, one other thing: they both changed the world of baseball for the better.

Our Sweet Little Piranha

2011-09-21T13:55:00.000-07:00

Oh, our sweet little Mabel.

She's been with us for 10 days now. They have been full days, that's for sure. Anyone who has had a puppy knows that it's basically like having a kid. There may be some differences (rare is the parent who sends her human baby out to pee in the grass) but from my standpoint, suffice it to say these have been extremely full days.

What can I tell you about Mabel? Well, she's extremely sweet, except when she's lunging at your nose with her teeth. Or biting your ankle. Or your arm. You get the picture.

Yep, she's a biter. I get that she's teething, but it's challenging raising a sweet, little piranha like Mabel. She culls you in with her cute "what, me?" expression, then goes for the kill.

I think we are actually doing a pretty good job at establishing who is in charge. We have broken her habit of whining and crying when she goes into her crate, and even now when we leave her alone in a room with her crate, she has adjusted to the fact that we don't coddle her when she whines. She sits down before we put her feed bowl down, and she does all sorts of other things that are mighty impressive for a young pup. I just wish I could get her to stop thinking of me as a chew toy.

Chuck likes to do the Cesar Millan thing where he makes his hand like a claw and goes at her neck with it. For me, that's a little too much like punching, and I'm not comfortable with it. Unfortunately, that leaves me vulnerable to piranha attack, and when she lunged for and bit my nose this morning, I exploded at her. I grabbed her and forced her onto the ground out of anger and yelled at her. Then I slammed the door and went inside, leaving her alone outside.

This is not what the books tell us to do.

I can tell you that I regret this behavior now. I don't want my dog to be afraid of me. When I took her out for her next potty/play break, I was especially gentle with her, which was good because she was especially careful around me. I also gave her an extra 10 minutes of sit and cuddle time. I guess this is that sort of "sorry, baby" behavior that abusive parents get in trouble for. Believe me, I'm embarrassed about my behavior.

It remains to be seen how this raising Miss Mabel thing goes for me. I'm afraid I suck at it. I look at Chuck, who is so much better, and it shames me.

I guess I'll just keep trying.

Daddyhood

2011-09-11T08:41:00.000-07:00

In year's past, this post may have been about a make-believe neighborhood with nothing but handsome older men.

Today, it's about an entirely different subject: my new title in the Cahoy-Konigsberg household.

I am the proud daddy of Mabel, our nine-week old Australian Labradoodle puppy. She came home with us yesterday, a daunting six-plus hour drive that she handled like a champion, thanks to a big assist from Papa Chuck, who, predictably, is better at this than I am.

What can I tell you about Mabel?

She is a rambunctious, full-of-life force of nature. In the first day she ever spent outside the home where she was bred, she took a 400-mile car trip in which she cried or whined only a couple times; she saw not just the outside, but several different ecosystems (LA, high desert, valley desert); threw up peanut butter on her Daddy Bill's lap after eating a little bit for the first time; explored her new home, her new backyard, experienced thunder and lightning and about 30 minutes of pouring rain; fell in the deep end of our pool at 9pm when we could barely see; was inexplicably stopped from peeing inside by two crazed men who picked her up and carried her outside where it was cold and dark to finish the act; went into her crate without too much fuss a couple times; played a lot; jumped around like a little lamb; and finally she found a way to sleep in her crate by our bedside, waking up to cry and whine maybe ever two hours or so.

This morning she woke up ready to go! She just wants to experience everything, but at the same time, she went into her crate for her nap (when I put her there) with basically no crying or whining. She just needs one of us to stay nearby or she does start to cry. She clearly misses her litter-mates; we can tell because she sleeps pressed up against the wall of the crate as if it's the body of one of her sisters.

I am exhausted, and within a day, truly changed. I feel a bit panicked because my life feels on hold while we help her adjust to hers. Thank God for Chuck, rock of my world, because he is helping hold me together. Had one major snit last night when she bit my private parts through my shorts. Start ranting about how I was gonna throw her out the window. It took me about two minutes to laugh and realize she didn't mean any harm. I won't throw her out the window. Just a little male bravado that happens to this guy, when his penis gets bit.

So I'm Daddy Bill now. I'm the daddy more likely to throw a ball and lie down in the grass and play, but probably less likely to know what the heck to do when dinner time comes, or bed time comes, or really just about anytime. I'm excited to watch her grow, and already exhausted watching her grow.

A New Authorial Beginning

2011-09-07T07:06:00.000-07:00

This is certainly the longest I've gone without a new blog post since I started blogging. I apologize. I meant to write a nice blog post about my brother's wonderful wedding, but it didn't happen. I apologize to him for that, too.

So this is what's been going on: for the first time in six years, I am without literary agent.

I don't want to go into detail about that. Suffice it to say that it was an amicable split that I initiated. I hope my former agent goes on to great things, but I felt the need to go in a different direction.

So I have no representation, and it feels ... good. Surprisingly, I feel pretty good right now.

I'm taking this as a new beginning, and it's the first time in a bunch of years that I feel like I have a chance for a new start. I have three novels, each of which has been praised by at least one agent or editor. In fact, each has received extensive praise and has been through several drafts. All deserve publication, and I believe in my heart that all will be published. All in good time.

Right now, I am taking OPENLY STRAIGHT through one more revision because I want it to jump off the page. I have my sights set on an agent, and we'll just see how that connection goes.

I think that I have something to offer as an author that is unique, and I think there's much more to come. The result, what happens as a result of my efforts, is entirely beyond my control. For now, I'll focus on my two-hour morning writing/editing sessions, and let the chips fall as they may.

Oh, Logo.

2011-08-24T09:45:00.000-07:00

I was so thrilled when I heard, six years ago, that there was going to be a television station by and for LGBT people.

Surely with all the creative talent in the LGBT community, this LOGO TV would be a channel I'd turn to, again and again. Be it classic gay movies, independent gay movies, intriguing reality shows or new scripting programming, this was an untapped market. I was breathless with anticipation.

Oh, Logo.

I hate to be a codger, and I hate to say things that have already been said to death, but what is going on with LOGO TV?

Clearly the "gem" of the new offerings on LOGO is The A-List New York. An offshoot, The A-List Dallas, is forthcoming.

The New York show is riveting in the way a train wreck is riveting. For me, I just get transfixed thinking about all that is wretched in this show in terms of everything from the values it stands for, to how obviously fake the situations are, to why am I watching five people I don't know or care about argue while getting ready to do a fashion show?

I get that by TV standards I'm ancient. I'm not in their preferred demographic anymore. But all that aside, is this the best we can do as a community?

Hey, I like RuPaul. I'll watch his Drag Race show once in a while. The University show seems a bit weird to me, but whatever the show, I like his message about love and self-respect. But what else have you got? Noah's Arc had some good writing and memorable moments. Rick and Steve was a good idea and had very good episodes before going away. The Big Gay Sketch Show, ditto. All comedy shows are hit and miss, and this one was no exception. Let's try some stuff! Will ratings be great right away? No. Not on a channel that has produced nothing but junk for the better part of six years. But build it, and believe me: viewers will come.

I'm not looking for more serious programming, or programming that pushes an agenda. That's fine in small doses. What I'm thinking is, how can there possibly not be a single "funny" sitcom on a network that caters to a people who are historically funny?

We can't find six hilarious recent graduates from Harvard and Yale and Brown to sit in a room and drink coffee and bang out even an adequate script for a new pilot? With all the thousands of situations untapped in the LGBT world?

Just off the top of my head, literally without any pre-thought:
-Four older gay men who room together in Palm Springs navigate retirement in a gay wonderland.
-A young transgendered lesbian takes care of a hilarious old queen.
-Four 30-something friends, some gay, some bi, some not, in (you pick it, NY, LA, SF) try to find love and happiness.
-Two women, one a cop and one a hairdresser, raise their child together in the suburbs.
-It's 1979 and five gay male friends in San Francisco enjoy a fabulous and funny life in San Francisco in the last days before the plague.
-It's 1969, in the days after Stonewall, and a coffee house near Chirstopher Street is frequented by a bunch of funny and interesting people, sort of like Cheers but with a historical bent.
-An interracial gay couple in Harlem blah blah blah
-A closeted married guy and his oblivious wife blah blah blah

I could go on forever. There are only a million and one ideas to be had, and I'd watch any of these shows listed above. The bottom line is that there is a thirst for well-crafted, interesting entertainment that is by and about LGBT people. Is there room for A-List New York? Sure. People love crap! Sometimes I do, too. But give me something more. Don't give us crap at the exclusion of quality programming.

"The Guys Who Do Things"

2011-08-23T07:38:00.000-07:00

Chuck and I have an affinity for lying on the couch and watching television. It's really comfortable there. Safe. In our life of nearly eight years together, we have spent a lot of time lying on various couches in our various homes. We have dubbed out living room areas in each of those homes "The Natural Habitat."

Wander into any of those abodes on a given weekday night, and you'd wonder if there had been a carbon monoxide leak, what with the two bodies draped across leather couches and love seats, arms and legs flayed in various directions. Sometimes this seeps into a Saturday afternoon as well, and we can all agree that's more sloth than is necessary for two able-bodies persons.

About a month back, we took stock of our collective life and realized that perhaps we spend a little too much time cocooned in our little love nest, safe from the world but also isolated from its pleasures.

We decided to become... The Guys Who Do things.

In the last month, we have:
-Bowled
-Karaoked
-Yoga-ed
-Attempted Couples Yoga
-Water Parked
-Hosted a dinner party
-Gone to Jerome to the art walk
-Fixed up our garage
-Gone multiple times to the gym for workouts and racquetball with our friends Terry and Greg
-Had meals out with many different friends
-Hosted a "Tea" with a new friend
-Taken several trips to buy puppy supplies
-Spent several evenings at the luxury movie theater in Scottsdale

Yes, I am well aware that this last entry simply moves our sloth to a new location, but hey, it's out of the house, around other people. And best, since it is dark and there is a movie playing, we can't see or hear those people. It's fabulous.

Taking stock of this list, I recognize that we haven't actually become "The Guys Who Do Things." We have become The Guys Who Occasionally Do Things. But hey, gimme a break. It's August in Phoenix. You go take a walk and let me know how that goes. Yesterday, a guy spontaneously combusted on Warner Road while waiting for the bus. That may or may not have happened, but just thinking about that fabrication makes me want to curl up on the couch for a day.

Progress, not perfection, right?

Artificial Libertarian Island? Sign Me Up!

2011-08-17T07:58:00.000-07:00

I am so excited that Pay Pal founder and early Facebook investor Peter Thiel has given $1.25 million to an initiative to create artificial libertarian islands in international waters.

Talk about a utopia away from government interference! This sounds like an extremely well-thought out idea.

Some of the benefits include no minimum wage, looser building codes, and few restrictions on weapons.

It sounds like a terrific place to raise a child!

While it might be hard to find service professionals at first, since the millionaires who live here don't need to adhere to a minimum wage, sooner or later some poor folks will undoubtedly show up. They always do, right? And while they might only make five cents an hour, the good news is that they can have guns! So that ought to help them make some extra pocket change, what with all those millionaires and billionaires nearby.

And why wouldn't you want few restrictions on weapons? Artificial islands are often teeming with animals to shoot. I mean, those deer will probably have beautiful ecosystems to graze on, while dodging bullets. The Parks Department folks, aided by that government money ... oh wait. I'm sure it'll be fine. Billionaires love picking up their own trash. That's good news, because they'll also have to privatize trash service. And garbage men love living in buildings that are not up to code and making less than they make in, say, the states.

I'm very excited about the looser building codes. Looser building codes mean bigger profits for builders, and almost never lead to large-scale disasters, especially when built up by people making a buck an hour! And the police and fire services ... oh wait. Not a good place for government services. Never mind. I'm sure the billionaires will find solid under-minimum-wage workers to fix those buildings right up.

You know what would be awesome? If marauding Somali pirates showed up! I hope the billionaire libertarians are good shots.

Yeah. Governments are stupid.

Hey Bert! Hey Bert! Err-neee....

2011-08-15T08:12:00.000-07:00

I am fascinated by the debate going on as to whether Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street should get married.

I'm fascinated because I'm always fascinated when puppets or other objects that aren't actually people are ascribed sexual preferences, as my own extensive research in the field showed a decade ago, when I wrote about the fact that the Montreal Expos mascot Youppi! is gay.

Joking aside, I enjoyed author Nick Burd's take on the situation. His basic point was that the people pushing for this should "give it a rest."

I agree, and here is why:

We need to pick our battles. There is a lot of hate in this world. There is a lot of ignorance in this world. All you have to do is go to the comments on Burd's Wall Street Journal article to see how much people seem to misunderstand (on purpose, or because they don't know any better) what it means to be LGBT in this world. But one place the hatred has NEVER come from is Sesame Street. We're talking about a show that has helped open up the minds to different types of people for MORE THAN FORTY YEARS! When I was six and watching the show, I got to know Gordon and Susan, who were African American, and Mr. Hooper, who was Jewish, and a Latina named Rosita. These characters living in a diverse and friendly society helped me understand what it meant to be different, for myself and others. I can understand the desire for an LGBT character on the show, but I believe these things need to be organic, and not pushed upon a show or entity.

Sesame Street's response to the petition is characteristically lovely:

"Bert and Ernie are best friends. They were created to teach preschoolers that people can be good friends with those who are very different from themselves. Even though they are identified as male characters and possess many human traits and characteristics (as most Sesame Street Muppets™ do), they remain puppets, and do not have a sexual orientation."

I think that's plenty. It's that sort of help to preschoolers that allow them, as older people, to love themselves and love others who are different.

One last thing: we live in a society where it is increasingly impossible to have a thoughtful discussion. Everything is a polemic. Uncomfortable with what's being said? Well, then it should be shrugged off because it's an idea that came from the "Liberal Media Elite." Or, conversely, "It's those judgmental Bible thumpers."

All you have to do is take a look at those WSJ comments to see how both sides jump into yelling mode. I think this is a bad thing. This Bert and Ernie conversation is actually interesting. In the best of all possible worlds, we'd come together and talk about why we agree or disagree, without the name calling.

The only exception is for Michelle Bachmann. That bitch is crazy.

So yeah, maybe I am part of the problem.

The Help

2011-08-11T08:03:00.001-07:00

We saw The Help last night and found it to be utterly moving. Rarely do I get to see a movie that takes me to the emotional places to which that movie took me.

I'll spare you too much of a summary, since I actually went in a little bit blind and I don't think that's such a bad thing. I had never read the book, though I probably will now. Basically, this movie depicts Mississippi in 1963, and it shows the life of black women who were charged with raising white children while simultaneously being treated like sub-humans by their employers. These employers felt - and perhaps rightfully so, given the lack of opportunities in other lines of work - that they "owned" these helpers. It depicts a complex relationship between a southern white woman who was raised by "the help" but has come to feel that there's something terribly unjust about the system, and two black women who were born into this situation and feel trapped by it.

I cried for about the last 30 minutes of it. The movie lasts more than two hours, and I didn't notice.

Here's what I was thinking as I watched: every young person in America needs to see this movie. I hate to generalize based on my experience at Arizona State University, but I have to say that I was surprised, time and time again, by the strong feeling this generation of college students seems to have about how "over" race we are.

We have a black president now, some explained. And this generation is a lot more comfortable just making fun of everything and everyone. So yeah, there are racial jokes, but everyone is in on them and none of it is serious.

I'd press on, occasionally. And anytime the subject of race came up, the faces in my classroom -- of all races and creeds -- tended to go blank. I sometimes felt as if what was being communicated to me was that, as an older person, I didn't understand the way race is no longer an issue in a world where many of the last bunch of Disney princesses have been non-white.

I am glad for this turnaround in cartoon depiction, and it does matter. That said, I got the feeling many people in this generation had no idea about the history of race in our country. When I talked about the Middle Passage, I was sure that many kids were hearing it for the first - or maybe second - time. One of my smarter students, in giving a presentation, spoke of the 60s, when we abolished slavery.

I had to stop the conversation. "Wait. Hold up. The 60s? Do you mean the 1860s, or the 1960s?"

This happened. I'd like to think this student was making a political point about how different sorts of systemic slavery survived abolition, nearly 150 years ago. But I'm pretty sure this student wasn't making that point.

It was an awkward moment, because if a room of students doesn't know - or think it particularly matters - that slavery may have ended 50 years or 150 years ago, give or take, and doesn't get the nuance that other forms of slavery existed in the years since, how do we possibly have real conversations about race?

I'd like to think that seeing a movie about something that took place within the past 50 years might really open up some thinking about what's going on in our country today. Are we really done with race? Has it really all been "talked to death?" Is black-on-white racism really the same as white-on-black, or is there a history to consider? Is the anger aimed at Barack Obama commensurate with what he's done as president, or is there something else behind it?

I'm an optimist. I like to believe that art can lead to change. That's my hope, a day after seeing The Help.

My Moment in Gay Sports History

2011-08-04T06:38:00.000-07:00

So I found out yesterday that my coming out at ESPN just over 10 years ago is the No. 64 moment in gay sports history, according to Outsports.com.

Wow. It feels pretty cool to write that.

First of all, thanks to Outsports.com for the mention. Outsports is a ground-breaking, terrific site and I've known those guys and considered Jim Buzinski and Cyd Zeigler to be friends for about a decade now.

And what a decade it has been! This is me, 10 years ago to the month. Notice I had hair! This picture was taken by my friend Michael Abracham in Central Park, a month before the terrorist attacks of 9/11. How the world has changed in 10 years! It's also changed a ton for gay people, and personally, the things that have happened in a decade are so much beyond what I could have dreamed back when Michael clicked that picture.

I have a wonderful partner, who completes my life in a way I could not have imagined back then. I own a home, and a puppy is on the way. I've published a book that has changed my life and helped many people. On the inside, I've grown stronger in ways I could not have imagined, especially since at that time, I did not perceive the weaknesses that I have now been working on for many years.

Coming out publicly didn't cause all of those things, but I firmly believe that I could not have what I have today, had I not done what I needed to do back then.

Here are some of the things I have learned about and through coming out:
1) Coming out is a life-long experience. The first time I opened up to someone about who I was, I thought I was done. I had barely begun. Every day, I am challenged to be me in a world that makes being me a challenge. It's all about being authentic. Some days I excel at this; other days, I fall short. Occasionally, I fall off the map.

2) The people who think they have it all figured out, who say to me that it's fine to be that way but I should keep quiet about it, don't know what they're talking about. They may mean well, but they don't understand that I'm not trying to tell them about my private life. I am trying to share who I am. I am trying to be known, in the way that all human beings want to be known.

3) Gay shit and straight shit is the same shit. That means a lot of things.
--For one, it means that we all have shit that stinks and we all have to deal with feelings about that. Gay or straight, we all have scars and frailties and moments of pure pleasure and moments of agony. The more I think that the things I experience are only experienced by me, the more I fall away from reality.
--For another, and along those lines: we truly are all one. We inhabit the same world, and that world is fraught with the same physical and mental impediments to happiness. We all navigate the same territory. In fact, the one gift I seem to have is putting into words things that many people -- gay and straight -- feel. That has always been true. And it wouldn't be true if I were truly different. I am not different; I am the same.
--And finally, it means that no one belongs on a pedestal. How long did I put straight guys on some pedestal, as if they weren't exactly the same flawed people I grew up with, who were both good and bad and everything in between? How much time have I spent putting so-called "gay gurus" -- those who have it all figured out, whom I should follow because they know things -- on pedestals, only to watch them fall off when it is revealed that they are just like me? Everyone is just trying to figure things out, just like I am, just like you are. It's rare to find someone wiser than the rest of us, really. The more I put my shit above or below anyone else's, the more I turn away from what is true.

This is where I'm at today. I'm glad that scared kid decided to write that essay one day in May, 10 years ago. Just like many of the truly life-changing experiences I've had, it happened in a flash, without a lot of thinking. There's probably a lesson in there. Think less, react more?

Who the heck knows? God willing, we'll see what I've learned a decade from now.