That Bad Eartha!

On Christmas day when I reached over to hit “snooze” on the Blackberry, I squinted at my messages. Everything was OK with work, then I checked my Gmail. Harold Pinter had died while I was sleeping. While I’m familiar with and admire Pinter, if I were even to attempt to try to write anything lamenting the passing of the Nobel prize-winning writer, poet, actor and humanist, I’d come across like a fake and a turd. More than usual. And sadly that might not really be as entertaining as it sounds.

The next alert I received a couple of hours later hit closer to home. Eartha Kitt, “the most exciting woman in the world” according to Orson Welles, had just died at age 81. The singer, actress, dancer, and activist who gave the world “Santa Baby”, was blacklisted  by LBJ for speaking out against Vietnam, had a CIA dossier, sang in half a dozen languages, played Catwoman and was an icon to gay men in every galaxy, including the undiscovered ones, checked out on Christmas Day. Ugh. Really?

My mom was a fan because Eartha sang one of her favorite songs in Spanish, “Angelitos Negros”, about the lack of black angels in paintings and churches (but not Heaven). My mom sang it to me as a lullaby, my aunt played it on the guitar. Mixed race people often have multi-hued families, and mine was no exception. Neither was Eartha’s. All three of them sang it from a deep place in their souls. (Cat Power did as well.)

Later, in keeping with the homosexual agenda, I “got” Eartha on a whole new level. I learned more about innuendo from one Eartha Kitt album than a million drag shows. Suddenly, the word “Fierce” had real meaning. Exotic, purring, globe-trotting, award-winning, show-stopping gold-digger – and she made Lady Bird Johnson cry? Talk about Kitten with a Whip!  For two years, fresh out of High School, I lived with my first lover and his best friend. We drank way too much wine and had too many sing alongs – including “Uska Dara”, though we had no idea what we were singing, and of course the Italo-disco classic “Where is My Man“. The phrase “cette petite sensation” from “C’est Si Bon” still tickles when I hear it.

Recently, while living in New York, I kept threatening to drag my best friend to Cafe Carlyle for her cabaret show. Sadly, we never made it. I like to pretend I don’t believe in regret, but if I weren’t me, I’d take away my own gay card. Fortunately, Eartha belonged to the world, so no card is required. All you need to appreciate Eartha Kitt, appropriately enough, is a taste for the better things in life.

The dark side of the rainbow

I’ve spent the last couple of days in a funk.

First, Obama’s selection of Rick Warren to deliver the inaugural invocation hit me like a kick to the stomach. Intellectually, I appreciate and applaud the “team of rivals” strategy. I’ve been through the NA 12-step program, practiced Zen with HIV positive men, NSA Buddhism with pushy actors, endured my first lover’s fascination with the Course in Miracles, my second lover’s fling with Est/the Forum, and I often list Alan Watts as one of my heroes. I’ve been accused of smiling and laughing too much. I know better than to be upset.

Emotionally, intuitively, however, I feel like a fox has been let loose in the hen house. Like a deranged chicken, my reaction is not an enlightened one; it’s a passionate one. It’s a reaction rooted deep in the darkness of my brain, the part attuned by years of dealing with bigotry and prejudice as a gay, dark-skinned Latino in USA, Inc. It’s rooted in the blood and flesh I inherited from my lesbian mother who lived with her partner for 30 years but still can’t marry her. It’s my reaction, and it is valid, legitimate, cathartic and a vital part of my conversation and how I experience the world and arrive at insight. Do not dismiss me because I haven’t earned my wings or halo yet. I’m trying; but please, in the meantime, do not ask me to “calm down”, repress my gut-feelings, or take a shortcut. Engaging one’s rivals can and should be visceral, messy, heated. In that fiery discourse, ideas break down and are reconstituted.  As long as there are bigots out there, we will need that fire for protection, warmth and light. Otherwise, I could go up to the next straight stranger I see and kiss them on lips without fear. But, I know better. I know there are people out there who look upon me like a punching bag. My brother, the former gang member, and his friends were people like that.

Which brings me to the second thing that’s upset me. As I was kicking myself for being so radical, so reactionary, so “un-progressive”, cynical, paranoid, so “intolerant”, I came across an article about a lesbian that was repeatedly, brutally gang raped and left robbed and naked outside an apartment building. In San Francisco. Because she had a rainbow sticker on her car.

I’m not a flag-waver, and I know an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. But if this is what we have to look to forward to, is the view really worth seeing? And if it’s not, is it not our duty to say and do something until a better world comes into focus? Are we to achieve this by biting our tongues as our brothers and sisters are beaten senseless for simply being themselves? I could prize civilized discourse above a human life, but that’s not me. Sometimes, I need a heated argument to let my rage burn off. That’s just how Jesus made me. And Jesus don’t make no mess.

So, I will not boycott, censor, avoid or ignore the inauguration or invocation. I’m not even arguing that Warren shouldn’t deliver the invocation. I’m saying that it is in poor taste, a cheap appeal to the hard right. It’s politics, I get that. Rights and privileges are negotiated, bartered and compromised every day. When push came to shove, Clinton backed “Dont’ ask, don’t tell” and the Defense of Marriage Act. When pressed on Prop 8, Obama could have said “Marriage should be between two people who love each other”. But tellingly, he didn’t. Did he not have faith in his base?  I would like to believe that including an avowed exclusionist in a highly didactic moment implies a surplus of faith. But how productive will this super-charged gesture be? Is the hard right going to convert by invocation’s end? Will they be inspired to comfort the queers with bus tire tracks across their faces? Or, will it embolden them to continue committing more brazen hate crimes as statistics indicate?

I do not know. But I will be watching. And listening. And venting. And if that upsets you, let’s talk about it.

gObamarama!

Did ya hear, the USA has its first black president. And not just any black president, a potentially great president. This subtle distinction was often dismissed in the heated dialogues over his nomination and election. But it’s a distinction that stuck in my craw. To say that the only reason he won is because he’s black, is no better than dismissing his chances at winning for the same reason. Since this is not a political blog, I’m keeping this post light and breezy.

Here’s why I think “Gobama” won. Obama uses his big ears to listen. Obama likes tacos and makes sly, poignant references to Jay-Z. Obama uses Twitter, Flickr! and Youtube. (Although he has been slacking on his Twitter; and he may have to surrender his Blackberry on January 19th.) Even Rupert Murdoch’s rabid right-wing tabloid the NY Post dubbed him “President 2.0″ and summed up his victory and pending presidency this way: Obama is digital; McCain/Bush are analog. Michelle looks dashing, and their daughters’ “aww” factor is undeniable. I’m sure the haters in the McCain/Palin camp will look upon the search for a hypoalllergenic White House puppy as yet another example of the urban elite thrusting “Amurica” fast and furiously into the multiculti, liberal, pits of hell. And rightfully so. If I were on “that” side of the slavery narrative in America, I would look upon the coalition from “non-real” America with fear as well. Before the election, hate crimes increased; shortly after the election, gun sales soared. But all the fears of, and prayers for, race riots so far have gone unanswered.

As they did at so many other points in this election, mainstream media and the majority of conservative white America completely misread what was at the heart of this election. It was not revenge we were seeking and driven by; it was not a divine comeuppance. It was simply a chance to try doing things differently, a chance to acknowledge that the world was changing at such an accelerated pace, that falling back into the old school ways was not a viable option. By all accounts, Obama was the only candidate serving up fresh options at every turn.

This is not a new battle cry. This siren has been sounded before. So what was different this time? Simply stated, this time there was a truly worthy candidate to match our will and purpose. What made him worthy? Obama kept his eye on the prize and took the high road – and stuck to it. In doing so, he inspired everyone to do the same. A lesser candidate would have been dragged into the muck, and many were. The tenor of all other campaigns, including Clinton’s, at some point resorted to old-fashioned mudslinging, oblivious to the fact that their mainstream messages were being drowned out by the incessant chatter online. There is no marketing tool more effective than word of mouth.

The collapse of the economy didn’t help his opponents either. Obama’s numbers took a significant upswing as Wall Street’s numbers plummeted. The blame for the meltdown rests as much with Democrats as Republicans; but America and the world were suffering from Bush fatigue. Obama’s policies may need polishing, and he is not a superhero, or messiah that will save us overnight. But he is ready, willing and able to assemble a group of progressive thinkers that, given time, can at least abate the bloodletting, and give us a chance to heal. It’s a process that will take at least four years, and most likely eight. Considering we were willing to let the Republicans take and steal the previous eight years, barring any epic fumbles, I see no reason why Obama, America and the world, shouldn’t be allowed our fair shake at the next eight. Hopefully, we can refrain from picking at the scabs in the process.

Buzz Kill

First the cows go mad. Then amphibians sprout abnormal limbs. Now, the bees are dying off. Pesticides designed to destroy immune systems, genetically modified seeds and crops, suburban sprawl, stress and even cell phone frequencies could be to blame. Honeybees with AIDS? WTF? (Kind of makes you wonder about the origins of the human strain.)
On 60 Minutes, one farmer breaks it down. Things have gotten so bad that in order to pollinate crops some farmers have taken to renting bees for double their normal rate because they are in such high demand. And the problem is international. In Paris, one expert believes bees might be safer in cities, away from the pesticides; but with all the cell phone towers dotting urban skylines their welfare is questionable.
A few years ago there were rumors of killer bees swarming toward America. Now, they are suffering from “colony collapse disorder”, leaving ghost town hives in their wake. Considering they help produce a third of the food our expanding population consumes, their demise cannot be good news for anyone – especially those unable to afford safer, more expensive organic products. It’s hard not to imagine a bleak futurist scenario where clean apples and oranges irrigated by privatized water sources become contraband smuggled by vigilantes desperate to save their malnourished children from the fast-food/ghetto conspiracy. In the U.S. hunger and race are related. In 1991 46% of African-American children were chronically hungry, and 40% of Latino children were chronically hungry compared to 16% of white children.

Good thing this didn’t happen during Sylvia Plath’s lifetime; just imagine what this would’ve done to English Lit 101 had her daddy had time for her instead of his winged friends. Talk about a major buzz kill.

Scary Kerry: With Question, Free Taser

Democracy in action. A justifiably curious student demands clarity from his government, on a University Campus no less, and as soon as the phrase Skull and Bones is mentioned, the mic is cut, the cops swoop in and take him down. His peers answer his cries for help by calling him an idiot, until the taser starts zapping and finally someone screams that the cops leave him alone. Even then, you can see a cop smiling and in the background you can hear Kerry babbling on in his usual monotone. This is how institutions of higher learning and elected officials reward inquisitive, engaged minds in the largest democracy on the planet. Lovely.

Larry Hearts Men, Larry Hearts Men!

Public I-da-ho-an gets some Minnesota Nice!
Flip it any way you wanna – another politico, aflame betwixt his blue balls and red neck, done gone and freed a big willy, almost right into his Neo-con pie hole. As everyone knows, Republican Senator Larry “quite contrary” Craig pulled a George Michael, not just soliciting – but getting stung by a tea-room squad. (Really, this is where my tax dollars are going?) Busted allegedly slipping twin-ply valentines and playing footsies between toilet stalls, the Senator has been flailing in the same same-sex sea of sin he was so hot and bothered to pull the plug on. Pardon my dangling preposition.
Tea room trade, while inevitably the result of (all) men being dogs (“sooner or later, they all start barkin” quoth Venus Extravaganza), is also the product of a negating culture that forces men who love men (or just No-Strings-Attached quickies) into tunnels, parks, alleys and restrooms to speak in their native tongues. Not that priapic opportunists wouldn’t have found their way there anyway, but still. Practicing and professional homo-sensual bush buddies alike inevitably compensated for the dark, developing a unique night-vision that pierced into the fluid truth about the human libido. With typically camp elan – what other elan is there? – we called it Gaydar.
While this Greco-Romanesque tradition can occasionally have unsavory consequences, frequently it can, as it has for countless generations, provide a valuable coming-of-age experience for many precocious, curious, adventurous and – gasp, egad – horny young queers. Whether under-stall groping and partitioned coitus should be illegal – I don’t know. It can be unsanitary, and in mixed company “un peu plus que gauche” but unless junior’s splashing around in the baby gravy, there’s not much threat, at least not to the body. I mean, some heteros freely indulge not-so-immaculate conception in broad daylight, before god and country without fear of retribution. So, clearly our dubious, transgressive shenanigans are an affront to some other sense – a moral one.
That moral superiority has been at the core of the right wing is a given; everyone knows how the Leviticus-lovers love to hate love in the name of, uh, love. It doesn’t take a million-dollar talk-show host to see how that poison riddle is the root of homo-hating evil: the harder you push down on something, the harder it pushes back. Until one day you find yourself debating the finer points of tea-room etiquette on CNN under a phalanx of K-lights. In case you missed it, then, here are the more sensational tidbits from an otherwise humdrum police interrogation. Considering how dull the transcript is, does this queen really deserve to be called Mary?

Investigative Sgt. Dave Karsnia #4211 and Detective Noel Nelson of the Minneapolis Police Department intert 1162
(NN) INTERVIEW WITH Larry Craig (LC) Case 07002008

DK: Okay. I don’t want to get into a pissing match here.
LC: We’re not going to.
DK: Good. Urn,
LC: I don’t, ah, I am not gay, I don’t do these kinds of things and…
…
DK: All right, so let’s start from the beginning. You went in the bathroom.
LC: I went in the bathroom.
DK: And what did you do when you…
LC: I stood beside the wall, waiting for a stall to open. I got in the stall, sat down, and I started to go to the bathroom. Ah, did our feet come together, apparently they did bump. Well, I won’t dispute that.
DK: Okay. When I got out of the stall, I noticed other other stalls were open.

LC: They were at the time. At the time I entered, at the time I entered, I stood and waited.
DK: Were you (inaudible) out here while you were waiting? I could see your eyes. I saw you playing with your fingers and then look up. Play with your fingers and then look up.
LC: Did I glance at your stall? I was glancing at a stall right beside yours waiting for a fella to empty it. I saw him stand up and therefore I thought it was going to empty.

DK: Okay. And when you went in the stalls, then what?
LC: Sat down.
DK: Okay. Did you do anything with your feet?
LC: Positioned them, I don’t know. I don’t know at the time. I’m a fairly wide guy.
DK: I understand.
LC: I had to spread my legs.
DK: Okay.
LC: When I lower my pants so they won’t slide.
DK: Okay.
LC: Did I slide them too close to yours? Did I, I looked down once, your foot was close to mine.
DK Yes.
…
DK: I saw, I saw
LC: I don’t do those things.
DK: I saw your left hand and I could see the gold wedding ring when it when it went across. I could see that. On your left hand, I could see that.

DK: Okay. You, you travel through here frequently correct?
LC: I do
DK: Um,
LC: Almost weekly.
DK: Have you been successful in these bathrooms here before?
LC: I go to that bathroom regularly
DK: I mean for any type of other activities.
LC: No. Absolutely not. I don’t seek activity in bathrooms.
DK: It’s embarrassing.
…
DK: I am trained in this and I know what I am doing. And I say you put your hand under there and you’re going to sit there and…
LC: I admit I put my hand down.
DK: You put your hand and rubbed it on the bottom of the stall with your left hand
LC: No. Wait a moment.

DK: it’s not that hard for me to reach. (inaudible) it’s not that hard. I see it happen everyday out here now.
LC: (inaudible) you do. All right.
DK: I just, I just, I guess, I guess I’m gonna say I’m just disappointed in you sir. I’m just really am. I expect this from the guy that we get out of the hood. I mean, people vote for you.
LC: Yes, they do. (inaudible)
…
DK: Was your gold ring on your right hand at anytime today.
LC: Of course not, try to get it off, look at it.
DK: Okay. Then it was your left hand, I saw it with my own eyes.
LC: All right, you saw something that didn’t happen.
…
DK: Embarrassing. Date is 6/11/07 at 1236 interview is done.

Adbusted: Sao Palo No Logo

In Sao Paolo, Brazil, they’ve recently banned most outdoor advertising. As a result, its multicultural citizens are seeing their city “for the first time.”
Even though some things they’re seeing aren’t all pretty, the measure’s received an impressive 70% approval rating in most surveys.
Hmm… What would Times Square look like?
Strangely, the Flickr link to a photo set of the city is not working, but here’s a working link with a peek and an interview on the subject.

Stacks of Life

Just in time for the latest STH (#66) party, this bit of news from Andy.

Speaking with Fox Spinmeister B.O’Reilly, Ft. Lauderdale Mayor Jim Naugle “claimed a new library opening plans to have a special section for gay pornography right next to the children’s section. He then corrected himself saying it wasn’t all porn, just some of it. O’Reilly didn’t ask for a better explanation of the so called porn.”
Throwing support in their corner was, of course a concerned Christian.

“I thank God for this mayor who is sticking up for children who, after playing a game of soccer, may wander 50 feet into the library to ask the following questions:

Q: “Mommy?” Why is that part of our library closed off?
A: Well, Johnny, Fort Lauderdale Commissioners Cindi Hutchinson, Charlotte E. Rodstrom, and Carlton B. Moore voted to take out the books that everybody can read and replace them with homosexual pornography.
Q: Mommy? What’s homosexual pornography?
A: It’s what you saw in the public restroom earlier.
Q: Mommy? Why are those people so angry at the nice mayor?
A: Because he wants to protect you from all of it. “

Well, I can only speak for myself, but first I will say – how does she know what’s going on in men’s rooms and on boys’ fields? Then, I will say “Thanks” indeed – but not to anyone in Florida. No, my gratitude is reserved for the tiny public library that sat on the other side of the Hollywood Freeway, connected to Echo Park by a short tunnel. It was in this library that I freely explored books like “Numbers”, and “City of Night” by John Rechy, “Forbidden Colors” by Yukio Mishima, and of course, all the Anais Nin and Oscar Wilde a sensitive, alienated, restless, budding young perv egghead could absorb. One of my book reports in Jr. High was on “Story of O”.
Weeknights after school and weekend afternoons, I spent hours in the stacks, on the floor, back to a wall, reading and finally checking out these blueprints for my coming of age. I studied the books as primers for all the spot quizzes that I was sure awaited me as I grew from precocious young slut to jaded middle-aged monk.
Eventually I moved on to the “Different Light” bookstore at the Sunset Junction and their racier content – including STH, Nambla, that odd series of gay “Romance” Novels that were popular in the mid-80’s. For better or worse, many of those narratives informed my instinct, my internal road map. They may have piqued my curiosity for risky business, but they essentially tutored me through an adolescence that otherwise would’ve been doubly, and unnecessarily clumsy – and possibly more dangerous because of the very naivete these concerned citizens seek to protect. When we deny kids a chance to explore their identities and exercise their imaginations in a safe, sanctioned environment, we may as well just ship them off to the next Straight to Hell party.

Wait – come to think of it….

STH
WEDNESDAY, AUG. 29th
we SLURP
@ The COCK (29 Second Ave.)
HO-sted by Linda Simpson
music by Michael Magnan & Telfar
w/Special Guests & Surprizes!
10pm – ?

America: Love it…and Leave it anyway….

Wife of Missing Latino Soldier in Iraq Faces Deportation
Proving yet again that no good deed goes unpunished, Yaderlin Jimenez, the wife of a missing in action soldier stationed in Iraq faces deportation. Spc. Alex R. Jimenez has been missing since May 12 when there was an attack on his unit in Iraq. He petitioned for his wife’s green card but a judge put a stop on those proceedings since he went missing. If Yaderlin were deported to her native Dominican Republic she would have to wait 10 years before she could reapply to enter the U.S.

Via / ABC News

(Post-Election) Paris Is Burning

Fire is in the air….from the foothills of LA to the streets of France…

No More Limbo

Pope: No more limbo, it’s heaven or hell

While the words of the Pope have long gone unchallenged in Latin America and other countries with large Catholic communities, even the staunchest supporters of the Vatican’s doctrines must be scratching their heads at this: after 800 years, Pope Benedict XVI has done away with the concept of “limbo”:

The decision was taken after Benedict XVI was presented with Vatican studies that said there were “serious” grounds that such souls could go to heaven, rather than exist between heaven and hell as they have done for almost 800 years.

Boy, Oh Boyd…

Seth Boyd, everyone’s favorite new “Naked Gay Friend” appeared in the Sunday NY Post.. among a million other places, by now I’m sure. If more of our Govenors spent their money like Jim McGreevey, I might not mind paying taxes so much. It’s clearly art.

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McG’S GAY POSTER BOY
By ELIZABETH WOLFF

April 22, 2007 — This is the full-frontal nude photograph that hung in the bedroom of New Jersey’s disgraced love gov, Jim McGreevey, when his 5-year-old daughter came for sleepovers – and the source of his estranged wife’s claims that he’s an unfit parent.
The 50-by-60-inch print in the master bedroom of the Plainfield, N.J., home of McGreevey and partner Mark O’Donnell is part of a series called “Naked Gay Friends” by Manhattan photographer Richard Renaldi, and was featured in Blue, a gay men’s magazine.

###

Pack the Betsy, We’re Goin to Beijing!

Miss Daisy’s life is an endless stream of demi-pliés and dipthongs.
Not content to simply self-exile herself to a million-dollar jungle hut on the Big Island, the self-proclaimed “thousand-eiress” has now taken up diplomacy through ballet. At least, that’s her goal.
The divine N, on hiatus from Manhattan so she can “heal” and “recover” from our debaucherous winter of 04′ -still?- has added international relations, specifically China/U.S., to her agenda.
Judging from the Grad school essay I edited for her tonight, it might not be long until Miss Daisy brings Video Ho 101 to the land a million Ho’s.
Visions of her octogenerian oxygenated mumsy clutching the pearls and packing the furs dashed through our “theatre of the mind” skit.
“Ho Chi Min, Here We Come!
“That’s Vietnam!”
“My bad – back on the plane, Betsy!”
Actually, it’s a helicopter N hops around the islands with, but why split propellers? The point is that the philanthropic loot is being well-spent on an education. A liberal arts mind (and a trust fund) is a terrible thing to waste. Even in your early 40’s.
It was a solid essay that tied together her theatre experience-”Angels in America” anyone?-with her academic activist father’s influence. From marching with Cesar Chavez to twirling for Mao – it’s not that far of a “stretch”, really. Let’s hope the fine folks in Admissions agree!

###

Live from New York….You’re Fired

Mercury retrograde is no joke. It always kicks my tender Gemini ass, but this round feels especially wicked. Somewhere I read that Geminis rank in the top percentile for shrinks and breakdowns; something to do with our hypersensitive nervous systems over-absorbing everything around us.
For weeks now, I’ve been pacing internally to burn off the excess anxiety. To little avail. I felt something was coming to an end. I thought it was about me. Turns out, it’s just work. In one week, I’m hit with the announcement that my fearless leader (and subject of an adolescent straight boy crush) is quitting and that we’re “re-branding” our text chat and psychic products – i.e., firing about 100 people in 3 countries. All this just weeks before the holidays. As a spic and homo, I’m overly sensitive to evil corporate shenanigans and these changes are wreaking havoc on my well-being. It’s distracting me from writing and socializing. It’s as if all the anxiety from everyone I’m responsible for is seeping into my consciousness through the endless IMs, emails, texts and phone calls. It also has me wondering about the larger picture and my place in it. When shoved against a rock and a hard place, solipsistic intellectual masturbation makes for a cozy blanket. On days like these, with the shorter days and waning light, the winds and rains and cold, it can drive a sensible Po-Mo Homo to curl up and drink and drink and drink and smoke and smoke and…..stare in bittersweet conflicted envy at the faux castle outside his window and the people cocooned in its luxury condos. *Sigh*

Botero’s Abu Ghraib

While we’re on the theme of horrors and torture and such – an oldie but goody: Botero’s Abu Ghraib.

The Art of Abu Ghrai

All photo credits: AP Photo/Francois Mori

Photo: Revista Diners