Unfabulous.

It's a few days old, but the Westboro Baptist Church, comprised largely of the Phelps family, is at it again, this time in Brooklyn.

I lived in Topeka, Kansas for eight years before moving to NYC. For most of those years I lived near the Phelps's "church," first owning a house in the neighborhood of Westboro, then living with a friend who lived just a couple blocks away.

(As an aside, Westboro is a gorgeous old neighborhood filled with Tudor style homes, many of them on large estate lots. If you're a gay living in Topeka, it's the place to be. The Phelps's "church" is not actually in Westboro--it sits a couple blocks North of the neighborhood boundary.)

Every day, I drove by the Phelps's compound. The family owns nearly all of the houses in the immediate vicinity of their church. There's a high privacy fence around the entire compound. A major East-West road carries a large volume of traffic by the church, so they have hung a 20 foot long banner with the offensive name of their web site on it, which I won't reprint here.

Every day, I saw portions of the Phelps clan picketing along Gage Boulevard or other main roads in town.

Every Sunday, the cult picketed Grace Cathedral, the church where I sang in the choir, yelling slurs at us as we cued up outside on nice days to process in to the sanctuary.

Every performance I attended at the Topeka Performing Arts Center, I had to walk by signs telling me I was going to hell because of who I am.

Every time a concert or event was held at Washburn University, the hate slogans were blared in bright neon and chanted loudly at children and their grandparents.

For the most part, any time a group of people of any size is getting together in Topeka, the Phelps are there to tell us how we're all going to burn in Hell.

No, I'm not afraid of the Phelps. I don't believe anything they're saying. On the other hand, I can't deny that it affected me. Reading and hearing the vitriol every day was demoralizing. And while the Phelps are too smart to physically assault anyone themselves, they are only too happy to incite violence in less visible bigots, and I am quite sure they would rejoice to hear about the countless slurs, threats, and assaults I endured in Topeka.

Unfortunately, many queers think that the Phelps are actually helping the gay liberation movement. (There's a lot more than Joe, but he's where I read it most often.) The argument is that their extreme politics polarizes those who otherwise wouldn't much care about gay rights, and as most people are sensible, they're landing on our side and supporting us.

I couldn't disagree more. First, this belief focuses on the benefits that might arise from the Phelps, while entirely ignoring the negative effects. Second, generally only those polarized to our side are vocal about it, while there is a large and largely silent group of people who go to the Phelps side, believing them to be correct and worthy of support, even if this group is quiet about their agreement.

I know first hand how difficult it is for an out queer teenager to survive high school in Kansas and I've heard a variety of horror stories from queers who attended public school in Topeka. The Phelps clan is large--young queers aren't simply encountering the hate speech on the street. Phelps kids are in their classrooms, and while they may not be carrying picket signs at school, their beliefs that it's OK to bully, antagonize, and basically do anything negative they can get away with to a queer kid, are well-known to everyone and have the effect of emboldening casual bigots and bullies. Imagine trying to learn mathematics when you know the kid next to you will be holding signs calling for your death as soon as the final bell rings and everyone leaves school property. The suicide rate in queer teens is alarming and I firmly believe that this kind of hatred is a big contributing factor.

I'm very glad the students of the Brooklyn high school being picketed took a stand. I imagine they learned an important lesson. The support they show their fellow queer students and the queer equal rights movement is touching and inspiring.

Unfortunately, such a display never happens in Topeka. The Phelps won't be picketing once and then going away--they'll be on the streets of Topeka most days this week, and the next, and the next. The police won't be keeping an eye on them. No one will be counter-protesting.

Queer middle and high school kids in Topeka are and will be on their own.

Many members of the Phelps clan are lawyers. They run a law firm in Topeka. This is part of why they are so successful--they don't mind being sued. They are happy to go to trial, risk judgments and liens, and file appeals ad inifinitum. Given their horrid reputation with all but extreme right-wingers and fundamentalist Christians, you'd think they wouldn't stay in business very long. But they have, for decades.

How? The simple truth is that many people in Topeka and beyond agree with the Phelps, even if they're not willing to be associated with their tactics. They send donations. They hire the Phelps firm. For every bit of money we raise in counter-protest, be sure that there are equal or greater dollars being sent in by wingnuts from all over the country, who happen to see a Phelps story on CNN.

Other members of the Phelps clan work everywhere in Topeka, including some high levels of state government, bringing some version of this kind of oppression to workplaces, grocery stores, churches, bars--basically all parts of daily life. Adults may be better equipped to deal with the oppression and less likely to kill themselves because of it, but they still feel the negative effects--many queers in Kansas are closeted to a great degree and suffer from the resultant depression, self-hatred, substance abuse, and other problems associated with compartmentalized, oppressed lives.

This is the part that non-Kansans easily forget: the nebulous and arguable benefits of polarization caused by the Phelps come at the price of daily, concrete, and I'd argue deadly levels of oppression for the queers of Topeka.

The needs of the many do not outweigh the needs of the few. It is not acceptable to sacrifice Kansas to daily oppression in order to gain progress on the coasts. It is not appropriate to thank the Phelpses for anything!

Please, put yourself in the shoes of those who don't have the luxury of living in NYC. Decry oppression everywhere it is found. Don't pretend that hate has any up side, or that the despicable behavior of this cult is actually a net benefit to our community. It is not.

Wow.

Last night I finally met Father Tony in the flesh. For once I was hardly nervous about meeting a new person, because I've known Tony through online interactions and I've had the sense that we'd get along famously. I think my instincts were correct; I certainly had a lovely time. Tony is one of those amazing people who excite by proximity and potential. Around him I felt carefully attentive, like a miner panning for gold, bending my senses to catch flashes of new insight and perspective. When will casual conversation suddenly lead to a story of the Vatican, or a new angle on politics, or some elusive artistic concept? With Tony, I felt as though every haphazard tangent could lead to a vein of wisdom and humor.

The cherry on top was also meeting David, who immediately impressed with his perfectly balanced fashion sense, and charmed his way right into my heart with stories that ranged back to when he was only four years old. Beauty will save us, indeed! I look forward to reading his blog and getting to know him better.

The impetus for our meeting was Tony's next project, the upcoming Bilerico-NYC blog, salon, and online magazine. I'm in a bit of shock that I have been asked to contribute to this project. The group of writers Tony is assembling is intimidating and humbling. If I stop to think about it closely, I get very nervous and begin to doubt myself. So instead, I've decided to simply be thankful for the opportunity, and forge ahead as fearlessly as I can manage.

Tony currently contributes to The Bilerico Project's national blog, as well as his own blog, linked above. I recommend checking them both out, and of course you should be waiting with baited breath for Bilerico-NYC!

In which I disagree with a luminary.

A big brouhaha has been going through the leather world and for the first time in a very long time, I feel compelled to comment.

Chuck Renslow, President of IML, has declared that nothing will be allowed in the vendor mart that tends to promote or advocate barebacking, i.e., bareback porn.

For this Mr. Renslow has been widely and loudly lauded. The sycophants of political correctness are shouting a loud "AMEN" at the sermon. So caught up are they in self-righteousness that they don't see the insidious destruction of a fundamental principle of democracy and a turn to the dark side of conservatism.

To begin the discussion, I refer you to a Merriam-Webster's definition. Liberalism is: (c) a political philosophy based on belief in progress, the essential goodness of the human race, and the autonomy of the individual and standing for the protection of political and civil liberties; specifically: such a philosophy that considers government as a crucial instrument for amelioration of social inequities (as those involving race, gender, or class).

Queers and liberals are usually outraged when conservative Christians attempt to ban books with "gay themes" in order to protect their children from making what they believe is an unhealthy choice. We call this censorship--a constraint on civil liberties and freedom of expression--something we usually abhor.

The situation is somewhat different with STIs and HIV, of course, as the consequences of the choice to bareback are more scientifically concrete and less about culture. But the idea behind the comparison is the same--one group is deciding what is best for others to read, see, or know.

This edict that bareback porn will not be allowed at IML is an admission of defeat. The powers that be have failed to educate the community at large into making the healthier choice. Having failed to persuade, despite piles of money and decades of work, the freedom to choose is now taken away.

This action is not progressive or liberal, it is the essence of conservatism. By stooping to censorship, we have become what we most decry. We have violated a principle to which we expect others to adhere.

Yes, sometimes the results of the principle of free speech are hard to swallow. Sometimes the consequences are sickness and death. The principle of freedom of expression--our civil liberties--were bought with the lives and blood of thousands. It's an American principle, generally believed to be worth dying for.

I have heard the argument that IML is a private event and can set whatever policy they choose, which is true. However, in his letter, Mr. Renslow says, "We believe that it is our duty to inform and educate." In other words, he's using his position to influence the public and set public policy. IML cannot state its intent to influence the public and then retreat behind the defense that it is a private event. This is not an invitation-only party held in a basement, and pretending that it is in order to escape criticism and the scrutiny aimed at public policy setters is a specious and ineffective tactic.

With all that said, I know that this cannot have been an easy decision. I understand why it was made. I, too, want my brothers and sisters in leather to live long and healthy lives.

But while this policy may be for the best, it should not be lauded. This decision should be mourned as the sad last resort, and understood for what it really is: an admission that sometimes the conservative approach is necessary in order to achieve the greater good.

All leatherfolk lost some freedom today. I hope the upside is worth the sacrifice.

More ups than downs.

Above: a Spring sunset over NYC from my roof in Bushwick, Brooklyn.

I bought a bike this week. I haven't owned a bicycle since I was a child.

Last night I rode over the Williamsburg Bridge into Manhattan. John and I hung out in the East Village, had some killer burgers, and went to Beastie's to celebrate her graduation from college.

Then we biked home. Oh, my gawd. I thought I was going to die. Did you know that those gorgeous suspension bridges are actually giant, artificial hills? Very steep hills!

And I'm out of shape. I nearly died crossing the bridge. I don't entirely remember the trip after that, as I was huffing and puffing too much to really pay attention to the world. All I could think about was getting home. Of course when we finally arrived home, then I had to carry my bike up to the fourth floor. My legs were noodles and I could barely stand!

Biking will definitely be good exercise. Hope I do it often enough to get super buff!

I'm heading to Vermont tonight with D for a glorious holiday weekend among the fae. I'm so excited I could pee.

Artichokes.

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Thinly veiled.

Above: a pic of me at the faerie sanctuary in Vermont earlier this month. The black flies were thick, necessitating the elaborate chapeau, which I think is rather fetching.

And speaking of hiding behind a thin veil, D and I saw the movie Outrage last week. It's a documentary about closeted gay politicians who vote contrary to their orientation and community.

There's a lot to be said about this movie, both positive and negative. I won't go into it deeply here, because if you're all that interested you can find thorough reviews elsewhere.

What interests me most was a concept explained by one of the interviewees of the film. He said that closeted people often have an "I'm strong, you're weak" attitude. The assertion is that coming out of the closet is taking the easy route, and conversely, the person who refuses to discuss his or her sexuality is actually walking a more difficult, more noble path.

Of course, this is bunk. Out people are not following the path of least resistance--on the contrary, we face all kinds of discrimination and loss of opportunities because of being out.

The discernment that I make her is that yes, in a way, closeted people do have to work harder. They must compartmentalize their lives and work every hour of the day to keep those compartments separate. They must expend incredible amounts of energy lying to almost everyone in their lives. In that sense, yes, the out person has an easier life, because we don't have to play those elaborate games.

However, there is nothing noble about the lies that closeted people tell. The challenge of living a dual life is not greater than the challenge of living an open, out life. Even if it was, no credit for that work is earned by the dishonest person. Credit goes to those people who have the courage to be honest.

This concept especially struck me, because I think I have encountered it many times in my life, though I have never been able to articulate it. Now that the idea is crystallized in my mind, I am better prepared for the closeted person who tries to look down their nose a me.

A final note: I am sick of Jim McGreevy. He is generally portrayed in this movie as a noble, enlightened sort of guy who realized the error of his dual life and corrected it. Maybe I have it all wrong, but as I read the story, he only came out when he was caught in his indiscretions. I'm sorry, but coming out because your lies are found out is not noble. McGreevy is not a shining example of anything other than a sad coward trying to capitalize on the fact that he couldn't play the game as well as some. Dude, just shut up and go away.

Order! Order in this kitchen!

Above: our kitchen before new shelving (but after John had already cleaned it out a lot--I couldn't take a pic of how cluttered it was before that). Below are a couple "after" pics.

Some say that a clean desk is the sign of a sick mind.

Um, yes. I am sick. Terribly, terminally ill in my head. Not only do I have an organized desk, I like to have an organized home. I like everything to have a place and be in it.

Of course, I don't always succeed. There are times when my dirty laundry and dirty dishes pile up. It's always a challenge for me to see a project all the way through to the end, including cleanup--all too often I find myself living among the pieces of a half-baked scheme or the detritus of a weekend whim.

Clutter is like awful static for me. My eyes can't focus on it. They slide off, looking for any unblemished surface. My senses shut down and my world begins to contract, until I am paralyzed in the small areas that remain relatively neat. I become uninterested in starting new projects or putting my space to its proper use, because I'm daunted by the noise.

Yeah, yeah, I know you feel this way too. Most do. But darlings, I am afflicted with this to a degree that I can't put into words. And I think it's getting worse as I get older.

I'm becoming my mother.

On the up side, I now have a roommate who understands this. John appreciates surfaces. Last night he and I went a little gangbuster crazy on our kitchen. I am immensely pleased with the results. I can't wait to cook in there--in fact, I already have the perfect recipe for tonight.

There are several young punk kids living on the second floor of our building. They're absolutely adorable--authentic, anarchists, destroyers, chaotic, circus freaks, head bangers, tattoed, long haired, insane kids. They're dirty, sullen, and indifferent to consequences in a way that only our post-grunge, post-everything culture can produce.

But if you want true depravity, look for it in the details. It's very easy to embrace chaos. One must be deeply disturbed to try imposing order.

Yeah, right.

Above: two weeks ago, Daisy and I went on walkabout to Roosevelt Island on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Ain't he cute?

I spend way too much time on Facebook lately. That is one big element that has cut into my blogging. I post so much there, especially pics, that I don't feel the urge to re-tell my stories here. That's a bit silly, of course, because writing is nothing like uploading a few iPhone pics.

Another annoyance about Facebook is the groups and pages some people create. Today I had an invitation to join a group called "Sarcasm!" Someone out there wants me to "become a fan" of it!

Sarcasm is an insincere form of expression. You're saying the opposite of what you mean. The Webster's definition says it is used to "cut or give pain;" it is "bitter," "caustic," and "often directed at an individual." In other words, it's not nice.

Much has been written about the origin of the bitter, sarcastic tone that is so often used by queer people. Some think that it's a mechanism learned to survive the discrimination and hurt inflicted by a world which torments minorities. I tend to agree.

I can be a sarcastic, sardonic, bitter, ironic, and all of those bitchy things, with the best of them. Lately I've chosen to avoid all that, in the hopes that I'll get something nicer out of life, having put something nicer into it.

Still

Above: a photo I took last weekend while in Vermont, as photoshopped by Chris S. to remove some power lines.

I have resolved to write as often as possible, preferably every day, in order to build my blog momentum once again.

Unfortunately, I'm not sure what to write about today. The zillion topics zooming through my brain all seem banal when reduced to writing.

I'll try again tomorrow.

Long Time Gone

I haven't been writing much lately. Life has been full of changes, at work, at home, with my family, and with my health. I have had a very busy six months or so.

Everything is going well, now. I have many fun projects on my list and lots of fun adventures on the horizon.

I hope this Summer will bring more time for reflection and writing.

I was in Vermont last weekend at the first work weekend of the season at Faerie Camp Destiny. We started planting the garden and getting the land open. I made a little video, which I'll try to post below, that shows some of our handiwork.

I am trying to write from a new place--a quiet place. In the past I've written the most when upset. I become loquacious when offended or emotional. I rant. I rave. I emote. All of that is fine, and often interesting to read, I'd just like to find my creative spark when I'm mentally in a calm, centered place.

I was quiet this weekend in Vermont. I often "lose my words" when there. More correctly, I lose my urge to speak: that little push that forces the words from my stream of consciousness out my mouth. It's a pleasant sort of effect. I spend more time examining the stream and choosing carefully what I want to express, so that my words of substance tend to be a little closer to the poetry I'd always like them to be.

This weekend, some of the quietness was simple fatigue. I am seriously allergic to Spring and the things that trees do during the season. I had to take so much medication to control my allergic reaction that I ended up rather lethargic, and while I could force myself to garden in order to keep my body moving and engaged, it was difficult to do the same with my mind. I spent too much time zoning out, instead of carefully reflecting.

I have a feeling I missed some of the lower volume, lower frequency rumblings of this weekend's song. I hope those harmonies will appear again when I'm better able to listen and join in.

IV

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

Slick sheets
Require baby steps
Elusive searching
For solid ground

Gusts kick up
Change and debris
Skidding across worlds
To young abodes

Strangers in a strange land.

We come from Planet Purple

Where everything is purple

And people are all the same

All the boys are named Paul

All the girls are named Pauline

And everything is purple

One day Lady Elaine Fairchilde

Of the Neighborhood of Make Believe

Found the Planet Purple

And traveled back to Earth

With our friend the Purple Panda

To learn more about your planet

On Earth the Purple Panda learned

That people can be different

And there are many colors

Like blue, green, orange, and pink!

Purple Panda traveled home

And told the Purple People what he learned

We were tired of all being purple and same

So we decided to be different

Now some boys are girlie

And some girls are boy-ish

And Purple People aren’t all purple

And we all have different names

This is your invitation

To join the Purple People

Who struggle to be different

While loving each other the same

Christian H.

Inspired by

If We Were All The Same

Fred Rogers, 1988

Photo credit for the last two pics: Chris Scanlon

III

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

Slick sheets
Require baby steps
Elusive searching
For solid ground

Justin Bond: Rites

Howdy, y'all!

2009 is off to a really good start. The universe has been kind to me lately. I'm knocking on every kind of wood.

I'll have a post up soon looking back at 2008, but in the meanwhile, I figure the best gratitude I can show for my happiness is to share it with my friends and throw a party!

Pre-Party for Justin Bond: Rites
January 25, 2009
7:00pm
Christian's Crib
Cocktails, beer, and seasonal nosh.

Justin's show starts at 10:00pm at the Zipper Factory theater, which is on my block. Buy tickets for $20 through his site (link above).

Email me for address and directions, if needed. (riotpuprex at gmail dot com)

Please RSVP directly or through Facebook so I can make my plans.

I'm thinking of some fun Justin-themed party games for before and during the show.

I'll be dressing up in something sparkly/insane and I hope you'll feel inspired to pull a say-something outfit out of your closet. I know they're in there. Don't make me invade your wardrobes.

Happy 200FINE!!!

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!