II

She watched the stars
Through boughs burdened
Low by glistening leaves
Ready to let go

Crystal dagger icicle
heartbeat drops fall on snow
splashing razor thin lines
In circles

2...4...6...8...

Above: Dan (left edge), me, and Richard at the Prop 8/Mormon Church/Equal Rights rally last night in NYC. Thanks to Chris S. for the pics!

Do I look happy? I totally am. The mood was...demanding and festive. It was an odd combination.

There was also some anger, of course, but it wasn't the shrill kind screamed by the few brave souls of ACT-UP. It was the kind of anger that knows its own numbers and knows it will be heard.

What we want is not revolutionary. The revolution has happened. Most people, and certainly most educated and thinking people, understand that equal rights are morally necessary. Equal rights are the true basis of our country, not any re-written ideas of tradition.

We are no longer a small few representing a terrified many. We are many representing ourselves, without fear of retribution. We are also allies who have no personal stake in the outcome, other than seeing justice done.

And we make damn pretty signs.

Below: stealing a kiss from Richard.

Seriously people, it's 2008.

Via Towleroad and various Internet sources:

Prop 8 Protest Against Hate
Mormon Temple, Manhattan
125 Columbus Ave at 65th Street
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
6:30pm to 8:00pm EST


I admit it. I am spoiled.

I entered the adult world in the mid-1990s. By that time the foundations of equal rights for gays were well-laid. Thanks to ACT-UP, NGLTF, HRC, GMHC, and too many others to list, the government was no longer ignoring the AIDS crises. Thanks to a variety of courageous pioneers, gays no longer hid shamefully in the corners. We were beginning to be openly elected to public office. Thanks to superior antiviral treatments we weren't dying left and right. Thanks to the accumulated victories in the many small and large struggles over the previous two plus decades, a huge cultural shift was beginning, affecting everything from prime-time television shows to the gay ghettos, which became less necessary in order to live a safe, mostly discrimination-free life.

The way America's views on queers has changed in the past three decades is wonderful.

And yet.

I have been aware of the various constitutional amendments and legislation that has been passed in states around the country with the intent of "protecting" marriage. These things were irritating but not particularly surprising. The snowball of cultural enlightenment and tolerance was rolling downhill, and despite these bumps, we would continue to inch our way toward equality in all things, without pushing too much.

And then there's California.

I think the marriage equality fight was ill-timed. Had we waited another five or ten years to begin demanding equality in that area, the battle may have already been half-won thanks to the time spent living openly without the world ending. Marriage equality by nature only benefits a small portion of the queer community which is interested in getting married--many queers I know, including myself, have no desire to validate their relationships using this antiquated heteronormative ritual. Fighting for legislation like a trans-inclusive ENDA seems like a far better investment of our resources.

Still, the rights that couples can acquire through marriage are important. Financial considerations, health decision making, and other such civil rights are can be critical things. And the philosophy of separate but equal, i.e., civil unions, chafes my delicate places, to say the least.

So when California's Supreme Court ruled that the citizens of that state could marry, I was very happy. It seemed to be a huge victory. It was a continuation of progress made in Massachusetts and other states. And it seemed to be a solid victory--with 18,000 couples married in California since that ruling, it seemed impossible to think that anyone could still genuinely argue that the world would end if gays are allowed to marry. Years and years of battling discrimination and bigotry couldn't be reversed overnight.

I was wrong. Bigotry won the day.

It feels to me like the snowball came to a screeching halt and then somehow rolled back uphill. It's unfair. I'm angry. Suddenly it doesn't matter to me anymore that I was lukewarm on the marriage equality issue. It doesn't matter that I don't live in California and I don't anticipate ever getting married.

The bigots won this victory for a variety of reasons, but a big one is money. Tens of millions of dollars were spent convincing people who could otherwise care less that it was best for them to vote yes on Prop 8 and constitutionally remove rights which queers had fought hard to earn. This was all accomplished in California, and while it's not my favorite state, it's a place where I believe most people know better than to permit this kind of discrimination. I don't believe that more than 50% of Californians want to take away rights from their queer neighbors. I believe that many were victims of a well-organized and well-funded marketing campaign.

The Mormons were the largest contributors of money to the Yes on Prop 8 campaign. The church gave money directly and incited its members to give even more. This is in direct defiance of one of the oldest tenets of our government, that church and state should remain separate. The separation of church and state is more than a tradition, it is an important axiom of our culture and government. And yet it is regularly flaunted by Christians in the course of trying to constitutionally limit marriage to their traditional interpretation.

I'm sorry folks, you can't have it both ways. If the Constitution and the ideas of our country's founders are really sacred to these conservative religious people, then it is incumbent upon them to first respect the fact that the founders forbade them from allowing religion to dictate personal liberty. In order to ensure the religious freedom which was the goal of the pilgrims, government is a secular institution. And once religion is removed from the argument, there is no legitimate reason to deny gays the right to marry.

There are a ton of religious groups to blame for this injustice. The Mormons become the largest target in this case because they gave the most money.

So I'm going to picket the Mormon temple in Midtown Manhattan this Wednesday. If you're so inclined, come join me. Let's show them that we won't go quietly back into the dark corners.

Leftovers.

I love Cafe Grumpy. It's my favorite coffee shop on the planet. If you're ever in NYC, stop in! Despite the name, they're really quite nice.

Where the wild things are.

Above: Matt, me, Jerry, and Daisy, ready to go out on the town on Halloween evening. Thanks for the pic, Matt!

Matt was a King, I was a spreadsheet (not visible is this awesome Excel icon I made), Jerry was his usual country bumpkin hotness, and Daisy was simply awesome looking (if pressed he would say wizard, but free your minds people, costumes don't have to be literal).

We headed first of all to Snaxx, where we ran into a few friends. Ricardo and Steve were fabulous in their hoop dresses. Gustavo and Rich King always pump out groovy tunes at Snaxx, but unfortunately that's about the only thing I enjoy at the party. It's cramped in the basement of the Westside Tavern and generally full of heatherbears who have no concept of flow in a room and no qualms about squishing anyone smaller than themselves (yeah, that means me).

Afterwards Matt and Jerry headed to the Eagle. They report that it was packed and rockin', with tons of great costumes.

Daisy and I went over to Nowhere for a party there. I have no desire to go back to the Eagle any time soon and Daisy wanted to see friends at the Nowhere party. The party there was okay. We saw some people we knew. Friday night is a tough night to go out, when one is tired from a long week. So we didn't stay very long.

And, though it pains me to say this, I'm not a bar person anymore. I used to make fun of people who said this. I used to cajole them, saying they should support their community institutions.

I guess I'm getting older, or wiser, or more boring. I don't know, but I do know that I don't much enjoy standing around in bars any more.

Still, it was a great night to be out and about in the city. The trains were packed with people in costumes having a rollicking time. It's always fun on those days when New Yorkers let their guards down and interact with each other in public.

Happy Halloween! And to Matt, Happy New Year!

Saints.

This is Matt and myself at the Saint's Halloween party at Roseland this weekend. Thanks for the pic, Peter!

Matt was dressed as an Oracle. Not seen here is a really awesome cape/cloak he hand made from sheer black silk. And you can't really see it above, but he's in this awesome sectioned skirt which he also made. He looked great!

I didn't dress as anything in particular for this party. I used some purple and lime green rope which I bought at IML to make two leg harnesses, which came together at the top. Jerry helped me pull it all together--I needed more than two hands to hold everything! Matt braided the extra ends together in a long plait which went around my back side. Daisy was kind enough to do up my face with some groovy makeup. I have no idea if the whole thing worked, but I certainly felt good. It felt like the best dancing outfit I've ever had.

In fact, the whole party was very enjoyable for me. It feels great to return to a place in my life where I am enjoying stuff like this again. It felt really remarkable to be there with a special person who was on a similar wavelength as me. And as I danced among my friends, some of whom are especially close and important to me, I felt truly happy in a way I have only recently begun to experience.

The last Saint party happened last June over gay pride weekend. I helped decorate for that one also. It had all the ingredients for a good time. Unfortunately, that was the time when I was under attack by other members of NYboL who had petitioned to have me removed from the club. My anxiety, anger, and hurt at that situation kept me from enjoying the party. I left early and went home feeling more dejected and rejected than I had since the debacles with my parents in my late teens.

Little did I realize that those feelings could and would intensify. I learned this shortly thereafter, when, thanks to some fooling around with the procedures, the votes of only two NYboL board members were sufficient to oust me from the club of which I was one of five founders.

In the wake of that vote, and in that moment of utter despair, I decided not to exercise my right to appeal the decision to the entire NYboL membership. I believe that had I appealed, I would not have been removed from the club. Only the fact that most of my detractors were board members allowed the ploy to succeed. If I had the chance to make the decision again, I would do differently. However, Mr. Smartypants that I can be, I wrote a very short appeal time into those very bylaws which were used to kick me out. By the time I came to my senses, it was too late.

However, I have no regrets. While the ouster was one of the most painful, terrible things that has ever happened to me, it also served to broaden my perspective and it taught me some powerful lessons about people, including myself.

Don't get me wrong, I will never thank those who caused it. I can't say for sure if there is such a thing as right and wrong, good and evil, but if there is, I believe that malice of the sort that was directed at me falls in the latter of both those spectra.

As hard as I and the other founders faught to be an inclusive organization, some club members faught to exclude me. Whether I had done anything to deserve this is entirely debateable--after all, the charge was essentially "conduct unbecoming" a brother, which is about as subjective as it gets. I believe the accusers were guilty of conduct equally as unbecoming as mine was alleged to be; they simply benefitted from being the ones to first file a formal complaint.

Regardless, the change of philosophy from inclusion to exclusion is by itself unjust, unfair, and ill considered. I won't even go into the procedural manipulations used and the lack of any understanding of the concept of due process.

To me, "being leather" was first and foremost a rebellion. The leather community, therefore, is a collection of people who share some similar interests, but who are fiercely individual and unique. I believed we were all rebels. Disagreements are to be expected and differing opinions should be embraced.

The decision to exclude me from NYboL represents the antithesis of leather. It is a move toward conformity and politically correct behavior. It demonstrates that in order to be leather and belong to one of the community's organizations, one must repress individuality and conform to the majority. This idea is anathema to me.

Nevertheless, good can come of bad. My singleminded dedication to the leather community for all these years was shortsighted. There is much more to me than can be expressed within the rules and regulations of leather. I am exploring once again the kind of "gayness" which came naturally to me in high school, when I first began to explore my sexuality. I understand much better now the nature of judgment and how it can affect me and the people around me. I am reigning in my constant urge to control. I am beginning to explore some areas of artistic talent which have lain dormant for a very long time.

And, most importantly, I am building friendships with an eye toward quality rather than quantity. I am living a life that is more thought-out and directed. I am taming my demons and asserting control over more of those areas of my life where control is an asset, rather than a deficit.

It has taken me all these months to write about the club situation. It still hurts to think of it. I develop a tightness in my chest which I can't relieve with any amount of deep breathing. But I don't have panic attacks anymore. I no longer feel unworthy of love and friendship. I don't believe I deserved anything like the treatment I received, but neither was I without fault.

I am finally, truly moving on.

In the future, I will treat my friends with compassion at all times. I will refrain from judgment where the topic does not directly affect my life. I will speak less and listen more. I will use more caution in all things, guarding and nourishing my relationships with care and deliberation. I will try to figure out what else should be on this list! When I fail to do these things, I will try to look at myself with ever greater honesty, making apologies and amends without reservation or hesitation.

Wow, how did this post ever go this direction? Weird. I guess it needed to come out. I expect I'm probably wrong about a lot of what I've written. It's so hard to figure out how to "do right" sometimes. Ah well, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again!

This weekend shows that, depite it all, I am a very lucky man. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!

MIX 21 NYC

X Marks the Spot at MIX 21
Friday, October 17th, 10pm
217 Water Street at Beekman
2345JMZ to Fulton, AC to Broadway-Nassau
www.mixnyc.org

MIX 21 is the New York Queer Experimental Film Festival. I would like to tempt you especially to the X Marks the Spot event at 10:00pm on Friday. Filmed and projected on Super8, Punk Fuck Fuck!! is a Qurash Co-Lab film produced and directed primarily by my friends John and Blaise, along with a cooperative of talented, anarchist, Brooklyn-based, super-8 lovin' queers (including me!). All the films in this program look to be boner-inducing and are sure to leave you with lots of new ideas for bedroom fun.

I

She watched the stars
Through boughs burdened
Low by glistening leaves
Ready to let go

Learning curve?

Via James, cutie-pie extraordinaire.

To forgive is divine.

Today Father Tony posted this on Bilerico Project. The entire post is a great read, but I especially like the following:

Do not ditch friends. They are for life so be careful about the ones you acquire.

Friends do not need to measure up to your expectations. They do not need to perform to your standards. They do not need to be perfect. Expect to really hate some of the food they lovingly make for you on a regular basis. Expect them to sometimes lose at love and to need you to side with them even if you think they were the source of the problem in the relationship. Expect to marvel at some of their politics and some of their clothing choices. Expect to see them put on fifty pounds and learn to see them as if they were still skinny. Go out to a gay bar with them even if they visually reduce your status. Treat them with esteem when you are socializing with them in a group. Realize that it is only a matter of time before you are the one with no mate, no money, bad shoes, dumb opinions and an extra fifty pounds.

Do not disclose to others the personal and private things you know about them. This is sometimes a spectacularly difficult thing to do. In recent years, an entire protocol has been unofficially developed about how HIV status is disclosed or nor disclosed among friends and acquaintances. If a friend tells you in confidence that he is HIV+ and swears you to secrecy, saying that only you and the doctor know this, you had better be willing to keep that secret to the grave if required. You should keep that secret even if you think that gay men should always disclose their HIV status. You should keep that secret even when you are drunk. You have no right to dictate this decision to anyone else. Consider it an honor and a privilege and a responsibility to have been told this or any secret.

Expect friends to sometimes be a hell of a lot of work.

I have learned some of these lessons the hard way lately. Others I have always tried to practice. No matter how these rules have come to me, inevitably I have broken them and failed to be a good friend. I have made these mistakes rarely with some friends and often with others. Some have forgiven me and others never will.

Regardless, life goes on. I will do my best, as I always have. I think keeping these rules in mind will raise the bar for what constitutes my "best."

Whirl.

This is chicken enchiladas with salsa verde, with a side of fresh orange and red tomato salsa with corn. Inspired by this recipe, I spent Saturday in the kitchen whipping up some nummers.

Cooking is a kind of therapy for me. I've been practicing lately, trying to reach outside my comfort zone and explore new territory.

But after a week of Asian curries, I felt like returning to comfortable TexMex. Enchiladas were new, however; I usually go for burritos. The salsa verde was a particular surprise--I will definitely be making it again!

I often feel like I don't have much art compared to those around me. My friends are all so creative and have so many fresh ideas and perspectives. I wasn't gifted with much skill for visual or audible artistic expression.

I really enjoy the satisfaction of a meal well made and appreciated by those upon whom I impose my little works of art. I'm going to start thinking of food more as my artistic expression. I think I'll enjoy that and I think I have a lot of room to learn and grow in that area.

Photography, on the other hand, is hard as hell. The Mexican food took so long that I missed the soft evening light. I did my best with the photos above. I'll get better at that, too.

Recipes and Photoshop suggestions are welcome.

Dude! Dude! For reals!

Okay, I know the science is more complicated than this, but still:

If pot will kill MRSA, then sign me up, baby!

I had MRSA two years ago. It was a painful, embarrassing, awful experience. And I was lucky--my doctor diagnosed it immediately and treated it appropriately. I have known many other New Yorkers who have had far worse experiences due to missed and late diagnoses.

Incidentally, at that point in my life I was, shall we say, less "green." It could be that I currently have a lot more defenses against the superbug than back then! Suddenly I'm putting a lot more thought into exploring "herbal" medicine.

Via Towleroad.

It's about that time.

I generally hate the idea of "they don't make 'em like they used to." Usually that just isn't the case. The grass always seems greener on the path behind us. Our world, for all its foibles and flaws, is better now than it has ever been.

However, they just don't make ads like this anymore. Brilliant!

I'm looking forward to the day when I earn my cane and daily dose of thorazine. I swear I'm going to forget to take those pills as often as possible, so I can run through the nursing home swinging at visitors and staff.

And you'll be able to hear my cackle all the way in China when they threaten to put a straightjacket on me!

Weirdomatic via Consumerist.

Grammarocide

These two men plead guilty of conspiracy to vandalize government property after a cross-country spree during which they defaced public signs by correcting typos. The men are members of the Typo Eradication Advancement League.

I'm awed and inspired by their temerity. Bravo boys! May your probation pass quickly.

Via Apostrophe Abuse.

Long Time Gone

Above: Jerry, me, and Matti at Coney Island yesterday.

We rode the Cyclone and the Wonder Wheel, which you can see in the background above. It's truly remarkable how excellent the rides were back in the day, before there was the technology to understand how dangerous they were!

Wow, what a Summer.

I have started several update posts. Eventually one may be wrapped up enough to be delivered to you with a little yellow bow.

Until then, I hope you are enjoying yours!

And in other news...

From the weekly newsletter at the law firm where I work:

Ron Smith and his assistant Jan Cooper will be joining our firm--moving date is Friday, June 27th....

Also, on Friday we will be acquiring a new fridge and dishwasher.

For some reason the Summer associate who sits next to me and I find this extraordinarily funny. (Names were changed to protect the guilty.)

Never forget you.

My apologies for the blog silence. To make up for it, here's a pic of me at IML this Memorial Day weekend. Maybe I'll actually report on it at some point.

There are tons of events going on in NYC this Summer, starting especially next weekend with Leather Pride.

And mark your calendars, the July NYboL party is TOGA, a frat party. Fun!

This one goes out...

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

This one goes out to everyone who uses smilies and terms like "lol" in the place of actual phrases with words while instant messaging.

Smilies are spice, not substance! If you respond to an IM of mine with only a smiley, you haven't said anything or moved the conversation forward in any way. Say something else.

The same thing goes for "lol" and its ilk.

Use your words, people!

End of rant.

NYC AIDS Walk 2008

Above: the St. Mary the Virgin 2007 AIDS Walk team. I'm on the far left.

This is my second year participating in NYC's AIDS Walk. This year the Walk is on Sunday, May 15th. As you can see, I'm rather late sending this fund raising email, so I hope you'll log on and donate right now!

Again this year I am part of the team at my church (St. Mary the Virgin, Times Square) and our team goal is to raise $20,000. My personal goal is $1,000. My hope is that you will help me and my team far surpass our goals.

If you do, you'll be helping the Gay Men's Health Clinic and various other organizations which serve those with HIV/AIDS. I can't emphasize enough the importance of supporting these organizations, especially given our current administration's reduction of funding for...well...everything other than war.

I greatly appreciate even the smallest donation. $5 is great, and if each of you receiving this email gives just that amount, I will be well on my way to reaching my goal. Of course, greater amounts are fantastic.

You can donate by going to my personal fundraising web page at the AIDS Walk web site.

Or, if the above link doesn't work, go to http://aidswalknewyork2008.kintera.org/riotpuprex

This year the St. Mary's team will be walking early, on Saturday, May 14th, just after the noon Mass, because we'd all like to be in church on Sunday morning for Trinity Sunday. If you'd like to join us, just let me know via email or comment nd I'll send you all the details.

Thank you very much.

Gratuitous male beauty!!!

Above: the fantastically-named Brandon Hancock, who plays some sport, though I really can't be bothered to figure out which.

Brought to you by Hot Jock of the Day, a blog run by a friend of mine, which is celebrating its first year anniversary today. They've gone from 900 hits per month to 123,000 in just a year. Congrats guys!

Go check them out and drool.

Ritual.

Above: The Most Reverend Katharine Jefferts Schori, Presiding Bishop and Primate of the Episcopal Church of America, celebrating Mass at St. Mary the Virgin - Times Square during the Feast of Annunciation (transferred). I am a torch bearer, the baldy in the foreground, third from the left.

++Schori preached an excellent sermon which even pushed the boundaries of gender, at one point saying we should all be pregnant with God, as Mary was. I personally interacted with her almost not at all, but from what I observed I found her to be a very gracious, poised lady. Mass certainly went off without a hitch--something that is not so easily achieved at St. Mary's. The liturgy demands more of the celebrant than any other church of which I'm aware.

Liturgical trivia: the torches at Solemn Mass are normally balanced with three at the rails on either side of the altar. For only two people in the world, the Bishop of New York and the Presiding Bishop, we use a seventh torch, which always goes on the Gospel (left) side, as seen above. For every Solemn Mass at St. Mary's, the seventh torch is lit, so that when it is used it is the same height as the other six.

Below: the Invitation to the table.

XYZ

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

One of these things is not like the others.

This quote is from a blog which I like and it sums up my feelings on Spitzer very well:

"[I]t's how Americans pick politicians. We want charismatic, ambitious, driven men . . . who happily go back home to their wives every night.

Riiight. Tell you what -- you find a guy who fits that order, and I'll go open up the tuna.

There are certain combinations that just don't go together, and it's stupid to pretend they do. We elect egotistical control freaks -- Bill Clinton, Michael Bloomberg, Rudy Giuliani -- and then freak out when they act egotistical and start controlling things. What, you thought guys like this actually waited for old ladies to cross the road? You thought they only slept with the chicks they're married to? Where's the challenge in bedding a woman who got a pillow embroidered with "Tonight's the night!" for a wedding gift?

We're breeding Rottweilers, and then we freak out when we find pawprints on our chintz."

Via World Class Stupid.

To thine own self be true.

Today I read an essay about Bishop Paul Moore, who was Bishop of New York for many years. It's quite long, but very good, and I recommend that you read it if you're at all interested in these types of things--or even if you're not. If your eyes are dry by the end, then I'm not sure what planet you're from.

Most powerful to me is not the fact that he was gay and his daughter has told the whole world about it. That's not terribly surprising, though I do commend her bravery.

What affects me is that I have known this man. Not Bishop Moore himself, but men like him.

Priests, monks, judges, doctors, lawyers, accountants, politicians...I have known them all. (No, not biblically, get your mind out of the gutter just this once, even if I can't.) They are all amazing men who exert influence over the world more strongly than your average guy. They make things happen. They heal. They give. They walk through the world surrounded by a n irresistible sphere of influence.

For the most part, these men use their power for good.

And yet they lived their lives in secret.

I have felt, all my life, that being out and proud--being all of who I am on all occasions--is critical to my mental health. Sure, I omit certain details on certain occasions. The biggest exceptions are my grandparents and my job, though the latter is arguably a simple matter of professionalism, as I'm not closeted, I just tone the personality down a lot.

These special men probably went further in society than I could because they hid their sexuality. In the process they attained positions where their unique ability to inspire was felt widely. They changed the world, if only just a little.

I'm not sure what my point is, if there is one. As I grow older and more of my dear friends leave this world, I grow less and less sure how to honor a life. I do, however, know for sure that these lives need to be honored and respected.

I did not get anything I have because of, or even mostly thanks to, my own merit.

I've seen it happen. Not to me, of course.

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

It is not the critic who counts.

I don't get into politics much. Sure, I listen to NPR, I understand the broad strokes of most issues, I vote (usually for Democrats as the lesser of evils), and I occasionally raise funds or donate money to activist organizations. I don't spend much time reading about the details of the issues, debating all of it with my friends, or writing about it on my blog.

However, if you start dissing Matt Foreman, you're making it personal. I've been feeling a rant building up in my esophagus.

You see, Matt is a personal hero of mine. He is both brilliant and extraordinarily compassionate and kind, in my experience a rare combination. In the past year or two he has become a friend to me and to NYboL, which never ceases to amaze me, because he travels with great ease through the A-list scene of NYC gays. Most of those guys are perfectly content to stay entirely within their own strata. And he's not merely slumming it with us--Matt and his partner Frank instead have included me and my brothers in events which we'd otherwise never see. His focus on full inclusion of all types of queer people in our struggle for equal rights is incredibly courageous; the assimilationists at HRC have never had such balls.

So when some dude named Jamie Kirchick writes a disparaging essay about Matt, claiming that during his tenure leading the NGLTF he didn't really focus on advancing gay rights, I get mighty pissed. The man sat down in the middle of Broadway and was arrested there while protesting Don't Ask Don't Tell!!! Who among us has gone so far in recent times?

I'm glad to find that there are others out there who also find Kirchick's words to be ridiculous. To save me a rant, I'll refer you to Alex Blaze. I haven't a clue who this person is, but I am completely on board with his support of Matt and his criticism of Kirchick. Go and read it his piece.

I am sure that Matt is used to this type of thing and his thick skin is serving him well. Still, I am going to make an extra effort to thank him for all he has done, in the hopes of offsetting this dimwit conservative gay who some misguided media person decided to give a platform to spew erroneous negativity. I hope you will consider doing the same.

It is not the critic who counts
Not the one who points out how the strong man stumbled
Or how the doer of deeds might have done better.
The credit belongs to the man
Who is actually in the arena,
Whose face is marred with sweat and dust and blood;
Who strives valiantly;
Who errs and comes short again and again;
Who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions,
And spends himself in a worthy cause;
Who, if he wins, knows the triumph of high achievement;
And who, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly,
So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls
Who know neither victory or defeat.

-Theodore Roosevelt (1910)

Smells like infatuation.

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

I admit it. This has totally been me on more than one occasion. I know, I know. But don't act all shocked! There's a reason this blog is called Couch Stalker. You knew what you were getting into.

MALicious.

Above: Scott and I at MAL 2008.

Ah, MAL. It's one of the bookends for my year. I've attended every year since 2002. I know so many people there that I can't keep track of them all and have no hope whatsoever of remembering all the names. I generally eschew comparisons of the leather community to family, because it's a bit treacly and not really appropriate given my dysfunctional biological family. However, calling MAL a family reunion is not very far off base. It's a bucket full of fun.

This weekend I stayed with Scott, who lives only two blocks from the host hotel. Scott is my oldest friend who I still see regularly. We founded the KC boys of Leather, one of the first few boy clubs in existence, and I'm proud to say it's still going strong. We've traveled the country causing all kinds of scandal and havoc. We've laughed and cried together, succeeded and failed. We've fought like cats and dogs at times. We've always pulled through and were stronger for it. When we get together, it's like we never spent any time apart.

When I think of what it means to have a brother, I think of Scott.

Years ago, during a trip to Wichita, Kansas for a leather event, we got all dolled up in our matching Navy Dress Blues for an evening on the town. Naturally we couldn't pass up the opportunity to document the occasion. After a few appropriately stoic photos, Scott kicked his leg up in the air, I deftly caught it, and, grinning like idiots, we were rewarded with one of the cutest, gayest photos either of us has ever taken.

Last Friday during MAL we attended an invitation-only party at a gorgeous private home in Arlington, Virginia. Our hosts had a room set up with a professional photographer so all their guests could remember the occasion. After a couple oh-so-appropriate shots, Scott proved that he still has his high kick. It was fab.

MAL, IML, and alphabet soup.

A NYboL associate whose blog I read and admire inspired me to write this post. It began as a comment on his recent post regarding MAL. Ultimately I didn't feel it was appropriate as a comment, however, as I am sure he is well aware of everything I have to say. My thoughts are more for the many others who I have heard express disdain or disappointment with the alphabet soup of leather gatherings.

Expectations are the worst part of leather events, if you ask me. When did it stop being extraordinary to see so many like-minded people, who spend most of their lives exercising severe discretion in exhibiting the particular nature of their individuality and personality, instead exalting and enjoying large volumes of those beautiful qualities which make them peers? Every time I begin to feel disappointed by MAL, IML, or the rest, I remind myself of the many years of my life during which I felt no kinship to any such group, no chance to meet a man with so many important qualities understood before the first exchange of words, and no understanding of those subtle yet powerful forces of my personality which have decided the direction of almost every part of my life. That I have the health and means to live a life which provides such opportunities is good fortune and success which many would envy.

I will be in DC for MAL. I cannot possibly be disappointed. The simple fact that such a gathering exists and I can be there is enough to make me happy, and as Drew says, everything else is gravy. I hope to see you there.

I do so love sacrilege.

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net