The Winter Party 2009

The annual Winter Party in Miami Beach is on! The festivities began this evening with a convivial poolside cocktail reception at the Surfcomber on Collins Avenue.

The crowd was lively and lovely, but what makes this event superb is the cordial team of volunteers who make every attendee feel beautiful in a crowd of many thousands of heartbreakingly beautiful men. Here are volunteers Elliott Thompson and David Salih. (Elliott has a secret project about to bloom. I couldn’t pry it out of him. He changed the subject, saying “You’re from New York. All the New York guys wear black.” He was right.) Incidentally, bright yellow and orange are the colors of the season, and if you don't have an orange hoodie, you just don't have a hoodie. So say the men in Miami Beach tonight.



I used to think this was just another circuit party, but that is inaccurate. The Winter Party attracts all ages, colors and sexes; and the scheduled events go far beyond the dance hall.

The South Beach Bum is a volunteer this year. Here he is with Steve Brady of upstate New York (hence allowing himself colors.)



Here is the fabled enchantrix, Countess Bedelia (center) and courtiers (from left) Alexis, His BF Leo, Walter and Gary. They will be ensconced in a private cabana during the Saturday pool party, but tonight they mixed with commoners like your humble scribe who dared to lick the diamond brooch on the Countess’s decolletage. It tasted like chicken.



Here is that flawless sine qua non of Miami culture, Pussila.



Rea Carey, the executive director of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force (sponsors of the Winter Party), welcomed the crowd.



Here is the chair of the Winter Party festival, Chad (Hot) Richter with The L Word actress Daniela Sea.





Balmy wind off the ocean. An open fire. Trays of delectibles served by smiling handsome guys. Wine and music. Swag from Kiehl's!

The Instincts of Leadership

For all who do not know him, this is a good indication of why Tim Dolan, newly named archbishop of New York, will be a fine leader. While I will never agree with his allegiances to some of the twisted policies of Catholicism, he is a refreshing step in the right direction and is cut from some excellent cloth.

Tomorrow on Bilerico: "A Fool and his Donuts are soon parted"

You will have to go to Bilerico tomorrow to find my response to the following:


Dear Father Tony,
I’ve been seeing one guy for about six months and have stopped dating anyone else. I think we are in love and that this may be the guy I spend my life with but there is one thing about him that worries me. Every time we have sex – and I do mean EVERY time - he starts shouting out “Yank ‘em! Harder! Do it harder! More! More!” No matter how hard I pull on his balls, he still begs for more. Sometimes, I am afraid that if I pull any harder, they will come off in my hand and I’ll end up on the other side of the room.

At first, I used to laugh about this, but he felt hurt by that. I guess a man can’t help what he gets turned on by. Now I do it without being asked, but he still yells for more. I don’t think he could cum without it. And, he has started to ask me to use my teeth instead of my hand….

Is this dangerous? Is it kinky in a way that could lead to some really weird stuff from him once we settle in together? Can I train him to like something else?

I’m Stretched-to-the-limit.

Repairing America

Ours is a time of change in which we will see the rectification of some intolerable nonsense. Organized religion will be taken out of the driver's seat of government (and into the front passenger's seat). Financial recklessness will be slowed (not stopped). Gays will get more (not all) rights.

Some fixes are easy. As I listened to our new President deliver his first address to a joint session of Congress, I felt that the strength of his words was diminished by the sight of a rabid and grinning Jack-in-the-box and a dazed ancient stoner seated just behind him. And that floor to ceiling flag. Don't we rather associate that sort of desperate decor with the old regime's need to hide behind fake patriotism?

Obama ought to carefully fold up that flag and replace it with a smaller one. He ought to move the Speaker's and the VP's chairs about 15 feet to the left and right of camera range, or simply get rid of them. If those two should take offense, a diplomatic solution would be to replace them with a line-up of the entire Cabinet. Why not send in all the clowns?

(source photo: Reuters)

Dolan takes Manhattan

Archbishop Tim Dolan will succeed Cardinal Egan in New York!

We were in Rome together for a few years, and a friend/classmate of ours occasionally sent him to this blog.

While Tim most certainly would not approve of much that I have said or done since my ordination, he is the kind of man who would never treat me with any less good will and respect than would he afford any other priest or lay person. Extremely likable and magnanimous, he is a startlingly good choice for New York and and anyone who meets him will have an easier time tolerating the evil B16 (Oops. That's the kind of inconvenient talk that might keep me from getting invited to dinner at St. Patrick's.)

While he will not say or do anything that would raise an eyebrow in Rome, Tim Dolan is sensible and compassionate and intelligent and will find the subtle routes to making the Catholic Church more inclusive. I do not know if he is gay or straight. I suspect he is celibate.

Tim, welcome to New York. Ed Petty would have been so proud. If there were cell phones in heaven, he'd have woken me up in the middle of the night with this great news.

Fort Lauderdale Sunday

We pulled up to a red light on Oakland Park Blvd next to this joyful fellow who was enjoying the second childhood that Fort Lauderdale grants a man. (His music, not ours.)

Other aspects of our Sunday excursion were not so cheerful. In some previously gentrified neighborhoods, lawns have gone to seed and houses with for-sale or for-rent signs outnumber those without. In the picture below the video, it seems that someone has lost faith in plush purple and in the wisdom of Jesus.

If you weren't feeling sick before you read this....

Click to read.



I get it. They're pushing vernacular, but why? Because a sick person can't get through a healthy sentence? Jesus Christ, where to begin?

THE best thing to do is not TO get on the train.

...ask someone to do it for you. Do what? Fade?

Someone from our staff or the police will stay with you until you can be on your way, or you're in the right hands. This is where the derailing becomes wreckage. In this case, the comma/or creates an opposition implying that being helped by the staff or the police would put you in the wrong hands. And, there is the irritating construction at the start of the sentence. This might be repaired in one of two ways:

Our staff or the police...

Someone from our staff, or FROM the police....

Take care. Yeah. Right.

Upper West Side religion

Now that's my idea of church. In our neighborhood is the totally delightful Society for Ethical Culture.

Thursday on Bilerico: Just Tell Mama

You will have to go to Bilerico tomorrow after noon for my response to the following:

Message: I have worked for the Catholic Church most of my life. I have seen many relationships that were hushed. I do find that the Church is a safe place for the clergy to be a couple, or carry on the relationships. I know of one couple who are Fathers, that have spent every free moment with each other as a couple for the past 40 years. Be it that they are not married but they are a couple. The Church defines relationships as man and wife, but allows the gay relationships to flourish in the shadows. I was told while working for a parish that the church does not have an open opinion of the gay life style,I was also told that the Catholic Church in the southern california region was 66 percent Gay, this was from a minister in a seminary. How could they support the proposition against gay marriage when they are 66% gay? I think it's talking out of both sides of their pulpits. What can we do to bring these truths to the parishoners so they are aware? We need to make a change to make it right for the gay clergy that are forced out of the church for speaking up about this.
From: JesuitJack

It's up. Get on it.

“I’m Estelle of the Ronettes. Thank you.”

A sad story, but very well written. This reminds me why I read the New york Times. Ben Sisario is a keeper.

You've heard of the Dick Dock

But have you heard of the Dick Rock?

In a monastery in Mongolia, there is a larger-than-life sculpture that absorbs all the sexual desire that would otherwise inflict the resident monks. I wonder if it works.

Protesting False Arrests in New York City on Valentine's Day: video/pics/texts

A group of men gathered at the corner of 79th Street and Fifth Avenue (a few doors down from Mayor Bloomberg's home) to protest the recently escalating number of false arrests targeting gay men in adult book and video stores. The entrapment involves a young undercover vice squad policeman coming on to an older gay man and eventually offering him money in return for sex. Once the older man is lured from the premises, he is arrested for prostitution.

This is wrong on several levels. There is the absurdity of a hot young guy having to offer cash to an older man. (I won't say it never happens, as I myself have been offered cash for sex even in my dotage, but I think it is extremely rare.) There is the fact that this drama deliberately targets gay men. There is the ridiculousness of using limited police resources to entrap gay men who are doing nobody any harm.

Surely the mayor can put a stop to this. Surely a leader as enlightened as Michael Bloomberg can prevail upon his own police department to stop this type of persecution.

Here is the flyer distributed at the rally, and the texts of the two poems written and delivered by the delightful activist George Tynan Crowley. Your click will make them readable.








And here is a photo of the scruffy/sexy JoeMyGod with Little Nick who, when I pointed out the owner of the now defunct sex club El Mirage, wondered if I had ever been to the nightclub El Morocco. Sheesh Nicklet, I'm not that old.



And here are two raw videos showing the delightful George Tynan Crowley reciting his poems and one video of the protestors.

In every palm, a psalm.

You know the safety-rule about bloggers: Until you meet them, they are not real. Well yesterday I was visited by a blogger from far away and known to me only via our posts, comments and email. I'm happy to report that she is real, pretty, funny, sharp and delightful in that way that makes an entire afternoon together seem like five minutes.

I wasn't worried about meeting her, but I was anticipating the possibility that she might be a church lady. Turns out, she does believe in God, but she does not fear God. And she seems to have mown through the nonsense of organized religion without cutting down the wild flowers of truth that still might be found growing from the roots of earliest Christianity. She is called to make her church more inclusive. It is a true vocation for her, not a choice, and it makes her spiritual but not judgmental.

I don't think she is capable of small talk, but her conversation is swift and wide-ranging and it easily incorporated anything that came to my mind and anyone we met, including those at Java Boys, the coffee house in Wilton Manors (and I want to do a shout-out to the owner, Nicki, who is unfortunately standing under the Pick Up Here sign in the picture below. Nicki has made some subtle changes to Java Boys that have vastly improved the atmosphere of the place. I should go there more often. I have never seen it quite so cruisy, and the shrieking diva dance music has been banished. Also, on a wide screen, there are regularly scheduled viewings of popular TV series such as American Idol.)

You know what's the best part of meeting someone you've only known through your blog? It forces you to be a better writer. You get away with no posturing when someone can quote back to you something you once wrote that might deflate the bravado being dished up by your mouth.

As we watched the huge hawks slowly circling over Birch
park, she said "In every palm tree, there is a rat."

That line keeps returning to me. I declaimed it loudly in traffic today while waiting for the lowering of the bridge over the Intracoastal. I mumbled it bitterly into the debit card reader while having my groceries rung up this afternoon, and I said it soothingly as would a nurse while brushing the fluffy white fur of the little dog in my lap. I'm going to steal that line and use it someday. I don't think she will mind.

Joe Cocker Lexicon

From C.

Watch this anywhere you can crank the volume and laugh. In 1969, we weren't listening to the words.

Today on Bilerico: A Real Snake Charmer?

You'll have to go to Bilerico after noon today to see my answer to the following:

Dear Father Tony,

Last week, I did something I have wanted to do for years. I did it while my partner was away on business for a week. I got my first tattoo. It’s a really sensuous green serpent that winds around my shoulder and ends with its forked tongue flicking my nipple. I decided that I would do this as a surprise for my partner, “J”, but when I came home and revealed it, “J” went through the roof. Furious that I did this secretly without sharing the idea. We had a huge fight. It’s not over. I think I have a right to my own body and what goes on it. I had always pictured my lover’s hands moving over my body following the serpent down to my nipple. Well I don’t think that’s ever going to happen and the whole thing is ruined. Was I wrong to do this? I don’t think so, but what do I do to fix this mess?

My Bad?

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead

It would appear that we have a new mayor in Fort Lauderdale, ending the shameful tenure of Mayor Naugle. And I can't even bring myself to trot out the Naugline hideousness for those of you who are unfamiliar with it.

The new mayor, John P. "jack" Seiler, is heterosexual, married, Roman Catholic and a family man. Even his hair style would make you think that he is going to be Naugle 2.0. I interviewed him earlier today, about an hour before the polls closed.

After the brief interview, off camera, we had a rather lengthy chat, and I was favorably impressed. He had been mayor of Wilton Manors (one of the gayest places in the known universe) during the boom years. He actually has a track record that is somewhat pro-LGBT. I think he may not be so bad. We talked about the policing of sex on the beach. We talked about the separation of church and state. We talked about justice for the LGBT community and the tourism dollar. He actually has friends who go to Slammer.

My assessment: the new mayor of Fort Lauderdale does not suck dick, but he is not so bad. I am encouraged.

Our new Mr. Gay World

The oldest contestant (they refer to them as delegates) has won the crown, and will be spreading his ambassadorial good will everywhere.

If I had been a judge, I'd have been partial to Mr. Argentina, Mr. Mexico or Mr. Spain., and while on that page, don't miss Kwazulu Natal 's (South Africa) hair!

Blossom Dearie 1924-2009

When playing that American Songbook game in which everyone tries to guess who's singing, if you've exhausted all possibilities and still cannot identify the voice, it's probably hers.

Rahav Segev for the NY Times

A fascinating dispute over ownership

Mannie Garcia/Associated Press

The New York Times tells us that Shepard Fairey, the artist who produced the iconic image of Obama is suing the Associated Press to counter their claim of copyright infringement. Verified is the source photograph that is the basis of the artwork. Providing a further wrinkle, the photographer himself is claiming that under his agreement with the AP, the rights to the photograph are his rather than theirs.

The key issue is whether or not the artist's "treatment" of the source material produced something that is original, or something that is derivative in a way that requires certain permissions that were neither requested nor granted. The initial volleys from the attorneys and experts leave me undecided. For the moment, I'm of the opinion that the artist should have secured the rights to the "image" before he began to sell his "version". For me, the deriving of revenue is the critical factor. I tend to credit any photos I post that are not of my own doing, but I make no money from this blog. I think the instant you receive ad revenue from a blog, your responsibilities are different. You now have a home-based business. You are using other people's material to make money. I would think some level of permission would be necessary. The grey areas here are very grey. More grey than that bow in Aretha's hat. That hat is a good example. It traveled around the world overnight. Are those who used it for entertainment purposes, and derived income (ad revenue) in the course of the delivery of that entertainment, obligated to pay something to someone for the use of that hat? Oy.

Roman Catholic bishops fervently driving nails into their own coffins.

There's an article in today's NY Times about a resurgence in the Roman Catholic Church's marketing of indulgences. The bishops who are promoting the practice are worried that the steep decline of the sacrament of Confession indicates that modern Catholics don't feel personally sinful the way they used to. Gee, I wonder how that could have happened. Could those very same bishops be held responsible for the fact that modern Catholics no longer feel that God has issued a list of mortal sins (the big ones that could send you to hell) and venial sins (the ones you need to regret but get you only a hand-slap rather than perpetual incineration)?

I think the day those bishops declared that eating meat on Friday was no longer a mortal sin, we Catholics got a glimpse of what was behind the curtain. One day something sends you to hell, but the next day it's no big deal. Arbitrary. Optional. A game of rules devised by men, not God.

When the meat-on-Friday ban was lifted, I wondered if the bishops would next declare that missing Mass on a Sunday was no longer a mortal sin, but then I realized that Sunday Mass meant revenue, and Catholic revenue trumps Catholic theology any day of the week.

Indulgences are quaint and comforting. They presume that even if we earn a place in heaven, we must pass through a place of purification that is like hell, but temporary rather than eternal. Sinning less will get you out of purgatory faster, but certain prayers are tagged with indulgences. Saying them will get you a specific amount of time off from purgatory. For example, as a child, I was taught to memorize a short prayer to be said silently after receiving Holy Communion:

Look down upon me, good and gentle Jesus, while before Thy face I humbly kneel, and with burning soul pray and beseech Thee to fix deep in my heart lively sentiments of faith, hope and charity; true contrition for my sins, and a firm purpose of amendment; while I contemplate with great love and tender pity Thy five wounds, pondering them over within me, and calling to mind the words which David, Thy Prophet, said of Thee, my Jesus: "They have pierced my hands and feet; they have numbered all my bones. "

I was crazy about this prayer. It was just so ...juicy. Also, it carried an indulgence of thirty days. I said it often and tried to compare my cumulative days off from purgatory with the extent of my sinfulness. That however was a problem because no one knows the time length of a stay in purgatory. Is it five minutes or five centuries? My several years off by dint of that vivid little prayer might be just a drop in the bucket. And once one begins to fry, there would be little opportunity to put Xs through days the way one might do in a prison cell with a photo of Jeff Stryker taped to the wall above the calendar.

The cadillac of indulgences is the plenary indulgence, which erases all of the accumulated time you would have spent in purgatory. On Christmas Eve of the Holy Year of 1975, the Pope granted a plenary indulgence to all who received his blessing and said the prescribed set of prayers within a specific number of days. On that occasion, the Pope went so far as to clarify that you didn't have to be at St. Peter's to take advantage of the special offer. You could get it by hearing the blessing via radio waves or by seeing it on TV. I got it in the flesh which I assumed would strengthen its efficacy, but I forgot to do the prayers by the deadline, so I lost out on that terrific opportunity. I am not worried because on another occasion, while in Saint Peter's basilica, I received an indulgence of 7000 years because of something I saw. I repeated the experience three times, earning a total of 28,000 years off!

There is a reason why people think that indulgences can still be bought. This has to do with the booking of Masses to be said for the deceased. The hope is that Masses said for the soul of a dead person will abbreviate his time in Purgatory. Faithful folks who mourn a loved one often ring the doorbell of the church rectory and say to the housekeeper "I'm here to book a Mass." The housekeeper fetches the priest who escorts the pious person into the office where he opens the big leather-bound scheduling book. A series of questions ensues. Who is the Mass for? When do you want it said? Do you want a High Mass (music) or a Low Mass (mumbling)? Do you want it repeated every week? Month? Year? The priest booking the Mass would tell the pious person the fee paid to the singer or the organist, but would never ever ask for money as payment for his saying the Mass. All the same, not once in my five years of parish work did I ever book a Mass without receiving a "donation". This money would be distributed among the priests of the parish to match which Masses each one said (with the pastor often taking the lucrative ones and leaving the assistant pastors with the pittances.) Just a wink and a nod separate this business from the pray-for-pay that brought about the Reformation. Really, priests ought to strenuously shun those offerings. If you take money at a moment like that, your hands are dirty forever.

I think that rather than start hawking indulgences, the clergy ought to be sent back to school to learn how to hear confessions. I gave some advice about this recently. and received email from some of my priest-readers who understand the merits of Confession for the modern Catholic. These are men who are good at forgiveness. Unfortunately, they are in the minority.

There is just too much wrong with the Roman Catholic Church today. In the same issue of the Times, the Pope is reported to have un-unexcommunicated that stupid British bishop who was denying the Holocaust. Old B16 bowing to international pressure over one of his more ridiculous moves to traditionalize his church by cozying up to the far right fringe is doing a flip-flop that is pitiful to watch. Catholics, no longer intimidated by threats of hell, do not tolerate this stuff and have replaced personal sin with personal judgement. They have become the adults that the post-Vatican II bishops intended, but those same bishops are asking them to be led by a childish and vain old man. If he lives long enough, he will bring the Roman Catholic Church to the brink of extinction. Bishops from the third world who are not intimidated by Rome will lead the revolt. The American bishops, mostly ill-chosen conservatives who are afraid to think, will be the last to get on the bus of the renewal to come. By then, they will be irrelevant.

Blogswarm

It's Freedom to Marry Week, and as a painlessly/happily married old man, I'm doin my part for the cause just because some people deny us the option and not because we ever craved the exchange of vows.

Go here for more.

And here are the pretty colors of justice:

It's Supper Time and the Livin is Cheesy

On my way to the office, I walk past a storefront window on West 27th Street that often arrested me. It displayed a clock that I began to covet. Who designs such a thing? What company manufactures it? I know that if I could get a job working for them, I could produce such things as they have never imagined. I would rival the creator of this thing, the genius of which is how it perfectly replicates the harsh overhead bare-bulbed lighting of the VFW hall in which the last supper was held.

Shortly before Christmas, it was missing from the window. Someone had purchased it. I am gnawed by speculation about the buyer. Did he keep it? Did she gift it? How stupid to celebrate the birth of Jesus with a replica of his last meal. Maybe they did some sort of alpha-omega decorating, placing it next to the manger scene.

And didn't the storekeeper have another hundred of them in stock? I can't believe they sold out right down to the floor model.

Love and beauty must be claimed when they cross your path. Borne away, they do not return, though you should look over your shoulder and call out as the seconds turn instantly into years.

Butch boots

When C and I first met, I didn't own any work boots, and that is just about all he owned.

While touring Baltimore, we found ourselves looking at footwear and I announced that I would like a pair of boots like his "butch boots".

He helped me pick out just the right pair, and I entirely bowed to his judgement. He showed me how to wrap the long laces around the ankle parts in a careless way. Of course, these boots demanded ancillary purchases of plaid flannel and button fly Levis.

I loved my butch boots. I embraced their life, and every time I put them on my feet, I walked like a lumberjack. The lumberjack that had always lumbered about inside me.

After a few months, C caught me polishing them with saddle soap and made strong protestation. Didn't I know that they were supposed to be scuffed and beat up? How could I possibly think of ruining them with polish. I looked at the stained cloth in my hand and suddenly realized that I was scrubbing the soul off them. Like black music re-recorded by white singers in the 1950s to make it palatable for the mainstream. I never violated them again.

Sometimes I'd look at them in their place by the back door. They were like your family dogs, their tongues out and tails thumping when they see you coming and they know it's time to go out.

Other times, I'd gaze at them and feel what Martin Heidegger felt when he wrote that rhapsodic riff on Van Gogh's painting of old boots. I'd wonder if Heidegger was more of a fetishist than an existential phenomenologist.



As we prepared the house for sale and made decisions about what to keep and what to pitch, I'd pick up those boots and then put them down, moving on to something else, unable to part with them. Finally, I asked C to do the deed, and I didn't watch as he took them out to the garage and threw them into the bin, but I heard the heavy clunky butch sound they made as they tumbled into the trash. I could not look into that bin until after the town truck, making its weekly rounds, had taken them away.

I don't need them anymore. I am butch.

Cranky today

It's damn cold down here. Windows shut for a second day. Wearing my New York schmata (sp?) and hearing the man on the television warn us about falling iguanas. It seems the cold makes them fall asleep in the trees, whence they drop.

B16 tries to cover his big pointy tracks.

We get a rare and amusing glimpse into a fractured Vatican power structure, as cardinals and bishops in and out of the Curia break ranks and talk about the fact that revoking the excommunication of the stupid bishop who denies the Holocaust was a papal mistake. Does anyone believe B16's disclaimer that he didn't know that this bishop felt that way?

This sort of thing never happened in recent previous pontificates. There's trouble brewing behind the chair of Peter. B16, you better watch your back. The red-hatted boys will toss you under the Popemobile if you become too inconvenient.

Thursday on Bilerico: Taking Out the Trash

You will have to go to Bilerico tomorrow at noon to see my response to the following:

That's not right

I'm in the kitchen with my back to the TV. A commercial for Celebrex is in progress.

Patients also taking aspirin and the elderly are at risk

An Object of great beauty

Here are three views of an object I found in a kitchen cabinet while packing up the house we are selling. I rarely use it for its intended purpose, but I love to look at it. I love to place the palm of my hand upon its cool and smooth surface. I love the sound its crank makes. I love the letter style. Some things you don't tag sale. Ever. This is the kind of thing the ancient Egyptians would have placed in the sarcophagus of a pharaoh.

Upside Down and Backwards

Yesterday, for no particular reason, we happened to stop by the Gladstone Gallery on West 24th St. They were exhibiting exactly one piece of art: Jennifer Allora and Guillermo Calzadilla’s “Stop, Repair, Prepare: Variations on Ode to Joy for a Prepared Piano.” (There are several performers who play in rotation. While we were there, a young man named Sun Jun, a Julliard student, was in the piano.)

C, who has of late returned to the keyboard, appreciated the difficulty of playing this Beethoven piece – or anything – upside down and backwards. I looked for meaning, about which I’ll spare you my snark.

It was nevertheless entirely entertaining and uplifting.

Later in the day, we went to see the movie Revolutionary Road in which Leonardo DiCaprio is trapped inside Kate Winslet while they play out their life upside down and backwards. Not uplifting.

The Three Degrees - Live in London

You will want to give this your undivided attention.
You will want full volume and full screen.
The year was 1975. They are singing live.
They are not being ironic or derivative or retro.
I am amazed at the emotion they bring to this.They are almost in tears.
The dresses look homemade.
I am amazed at the harmonies and how much they evoke the McGuire Sisters.
And how much better than the Supremes they were.
What is not to love here? You'll thank me.

Word Fun

A pathologist sent me this list:

Washington Post's "Mensa Invitational" which once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are the winners:

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

2. Ignoranus: A person who is both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

7.Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high

8.Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

Thursday on Bilerico: Kevin Unrepentant

And below the video, for those who'd skip it, is the text of the letter. You know you'll find my answer at Bilerico on Thurday.



Hi Fr. Tony:
I'm a practicing catholic and have a question about confession. I go several times a year and always say the same thing: jerk off regularly, watch porn and have sex with guys a couple times a year. I feel like God is saying why do i confess the same thing over and over when the priest absolves it over and over! Should I continue to bring this up or let it go and confess more important stuff? Thanks for any insight you may have. Kevin

(PS: I had selected a sweet accordian-laden Henry Mancini cover of Crazy World from Victor Victoria as the background, but my itunes library had a different idea.)

UPDATE: It's up. Get on it.

The Blackballed Fr. Geoff - an update

Fr. Geoffrey Farrow's story has been taken up by Wayne Besen. It will also appear in the monthly newletter of DignityUSA.

Earlier today I got a phone call from the interim director of CLUE. He reiterated the displeasure felt by CLUE's board of directors about the actions taken by the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. CLUE is preparing an official statement about this matter and it is expected that the representative of the Archdiocese on CLUE's board will also have something to say. There is really only one thing that the Archdiocese could say that would make any sense. Let me write it for them: "We have reviewed the matter and would like to clarify our position. It was never our intent to stand in the way of Fr. Geoffrey Farrow's being considered as a candidate for the open position at CLUE. We would hope that CLUE would continue its dialogue with any and all qualified candidates." Then, when the microphone is off, that same henchman for the Cardinal can privately tell the directors of CLUE that in these economic times, funding to all organizations is under incredible strain and it would be a shame to have to cut back CLUE's funding for economic reasons, and that their level of funding is currently under review in the larger context of the work of the Archdiocese with its limited budget yadda yadda yadda. That's how I'd do it anyway, if I was still working for the Evil Empire.

The interesting thing is that I have now talked to two of CLUE's leaders. They both speak with the fearlessness that comes with honesty. They don't mince words. They seem to be real men of God. The kind you can trust. I don't think they can be bought.

Catholic Church maliciously blocks new job for Father Geoffrey Farrow

Have you wondered whatever became of that California priest who refused to give in to a directive from his bishop to instruct folks to vote yes on Prop 8?

If you've been following his blog, you know that Father Geoffrey Farrow was suspended for following his conscience but continues to work for LGBT justice.

The fact that he is barred from functioning as a Roman Catholic priest is bad enough, but recently, through mutual friends, I received some sad news about Father Geoff. News that makes me extremely angry. News that demonstrates the malice of a church that preaches the love of Jesus while deliberately persecuting a priest who for all the right reasons dared to follow the real teachings of Jesus.

Father Geoffrey Farrow had applied for a position with the Los Angeles branch of CLUE, Clergy and Laity United for Economic Justice.

CLUE identifies itself as follows:

We are an interfaith association of over 600 religious leaders throughout Los Angeles County who come together to respond to the crisis of the working poor.

CLUE derives a significant part of its funding from the Roman Catholic archdiocese of Los Angeles.

Today I spoke with a member of CLUE's board of directors, Rev. James Conn, a Methodist minister and Director of New Ministries for the California-Pacific Conference of the United Methodist Church. Reverend Conn had been directly involved in the recruitment and interview process involving Father Geoff.

I asked him if CLUE had denied Father Geoff a second interview specifically because the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Los Angeles threatened to cut off all its significant funding for CLUE should Father Geoff ever be offered the position in question.

As incredible as it may seem, Reverend Conn confirmed the truth of this and expressed his heartfelt disappointment over the fact that CLUE had to choose between continuing the interview process with an extremely promising and qualified candidate or risk losing the financial support of the Roman Catholic archdiocese of Los Angeles that is critical to CLUE's work.

A second interview with Father Geoff had been scheduled for December 15, 2008, but on December 13, Father Geoff received a phone call from CLUE expressing disappointment over their decision to terminate the interview process solely because of the threat made by the archdiocese of Los Angeles whose representative on CLUE's board of directors had brought the situation to the attention of the highest level of authority in the archdiocese.

It is important to note that, in his interview, Father Geoff was not trying to pass himself off as a priest "in good standing" with the Roman Catholic Church, and that the bishop who suspended Father Geoff is the ordinary of a different diocese.

It is also important to note that the ministry performed by CLUE is to the poor. Its primary focus is not the LGBT community. Father Geoff would not be representing the Catholic Church on matters of faith and morals in his new position.

It is important to note that at the age of 51, after having devoted 23 years of his life to the Roman Catholic Church plus an earlier 7 years in the seminary, Father Geoff has had his medical benefits discontinued and is without income and assistance from his bishop. While it is disgusting that his bishop has turned his back on Father Geoff, it is infuriating to think that his bishop would conspire with the Cardinal Archbishop of Los Angeles to block gainful and appropriate employment.

I am well familiar with the jargon of the Roman Catholic hierarchy. They will say that they feel compassion for Father Geoff and that they pray for him, but their actions speak too strongly and demonstrate deliberate malice. They do not wish him well. And, God forbid that they should have ever proactively attempted some sort of out-placement effort on his behalf. Some bishops privately do that on behalf of priests who leave, but not the hard-hearted bishop who cut off Father Geoffrey Farrow nor the malicious Cardinal Archbishop of Los Angeles.

I am writing this because I've learned over the years that the Roman Catholic Church gets away with this kind of despicable and inhumane treatment of men who choose to follow their conscience only when its bad deeds are not held up to a strong light. Father Geoff does not wish CLUE to lose its funding and therefore has remained silent about this, but his friends have brought this situation to my attention, and I want Catholics in California and beyond to understand clearly the level of unchristian behavior and deliberate malice of which their bishops and cardinals are capable.

I hope you will consider going to CLUE's website and leaving them a message about your feelings (please keep in mind that CLUE wanted to continue its interview with Father Geoff so don't paint them as the "bad guy". If you want to leave a message for the real "bad guy", you may contact the office of Cardinal Roger Mahony.

Archdiocese of Los Angeles
3424 Wilshire Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90010-2202
213 637 7000
info@la-archdiocese.org

Ask them why they hate Father Geoff. When they assure you that they do not hate him, ask them to prove it and soon. Right now, more than their insincere prayers, he needs a job.

National Gay and Lesbian Task Force NYC Leadership Kick-Off

Last night, in New York City, I went to a party on 14th Street at the Design Within Reach Store.


Then I went with Joe and Aaron to Rawhide because we were in a mood for some raunch dressing. Later, at GymBar, we met this guy whose name escaped me while he showed me his collection of me-with-celebrity photos kept on his camera.

(I made one of him with Joe but it is not pretty.)

Today I woke up with a cold. I rummaged about until I found something C had stuffed in my Christmas stocking.

I've been rubbing it on my chest like a mad thing. There's no food in the house and it will be hours before C comes through the door. Camille is not happy about being forced to suffer unattended and with no audience.

Tomorrow on Bilerico: "Is This Good Thing a Good Thing?"

You'll have to go to Bilerico tomorrow to find my response to the following.

Curiosity as an American value

In his inaugural address, the new President Obama has just included curiosity in his list of saving American values. How refreshing and delightful. We have endured so many years of defensive and suspicious leadership. We have all but forgotten that our country was once strong in its curiosity about the world, its people and its horizons.

From the text of the speech:

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true.

forebearers vs forebears

In his inaugural address, the new President just used the word forebearers. While certainly more inclusive than forefathers, he could have used the more elegant noun forebears, as in My forebears were Italian. The word does however open the door to some Four bears walk into a gay bar jokes.

A Joyfully Broken Chicane

The word of the day is chicane. I just heard it come from the mouth of an NBC reporter.

Let's use it in a sentence:

With the inauguration of Barack Obama, the racial chicane of Amercian history has been permanently dismantled.

Michelle Obama's gown

This is what I would put her in. I was aiming for youthful/sexy/elegant. I think she should go with the "column" rather than the "flow". She has the body for it. I think she ought to emphasize her shoulders. I think a low neck line is better than a scoop or something higher which might be too "suit-of-armor". I think she will opt for the high waist which is something she seems to like and favors. I think the halter should be soft and gathered. Maybe shear over silk. The sheath below the waist could be slubbed silk or textured with shimmer. It should not be brocade which would be too heavy. This part has to be fluid and must follow and accentuate her movements. Overall, the color ought to be sapphire or cobalt or some mingling of sapphire, cobalt and teal. The jewelry ought to be delicate to counter her muscularity. Could be diamonds or marcasite. (I hope she doesn't do the big pearls). I think this tanzanite and diamond necklace from Tiffany & Co. would be fine. At the transition between the top and bottom parts of the gown, I've left the possibility for a thin blue satin cord/sash and even a space under the left bosom for one of those brooch/applique thingies she likes but she'd do better without.

I think the revelation is scheduled for Tuesday. I'm guessing she'll choose something by Maria Pinto.

The New Bilerico

To all of you who say that Bilerico is dry, I say check out this post from one of our new contributors. I am proud to have pushed for his recruitment. I'd walk to Buffalo in the snow for a piece of that!


PS: The directors of Bilerico had a brainstorming session last night. We've got plans I think you'll enjoy. Stay tuned.

One more. Easy on the vermouth and let's rethink that run in the park.

Doris Day Pink

I'm sure Cooper's owners won't mind. Besides, it'll wash out. Maybe.

where'd this come from?

For all you beefeaters, isn't this a woofworthy blog?

Cooper

I'll be baby-sitting a little bit of cotton fluff named Cooper for the next two days.
The breed is known to have separation anxiety, and sure enough, the little guy has spent the first hour studying the door through which his master left.

Thursday on Bilerico: His Closet is a Duplex

I haven't yet written my response to this letter, but I've got lots to say. You'll have to go to Bilerico on Thursday for it.

Message: I am a happy self-identified gay man living in San Francisco who has had a number of successful long-term relationships with men. But for the last couple of years, I been having sexual dreams and fantasies about making love with women, in addition to my continued fantasies and attractions to men. Am I cracking up, emerging from another closet or just going through a phase? Read me my beads!

Joe

Golden Globe Gowns

A good gown has to enhance the woman in it while retaining some artistry of its own, and, it has to move.

As I watched the nominees and presenters at the 2009 Golden Globe Awards Ceremony – and you can find a good compilation of the ladies in their finery here - (all the following photos are ripped from that slideshow), I found the menswear insignificant or annoying, but the women were dazzling , with “classic” as the predominant note.

I was wowed by the red-robed Eva Longoria. You had to see her walk on stage to really understand why she was the evening’s best-dressed woman. (Am I fair to judge a woman’s intelligence by the gown she chooses?)



She looked...Divine.



I’m giving a strong and surprising second-place to Drew Barrymore who justified her crooked hair. I think she’s ready to star in an Angie Dickinson bio-pic. (Did she swap purses with Eva?)



The absolute vavoom of Beyonce Knowles and Megan Fox is indisputable, but their dresses were only slavish servants to their curves.




Anne Hathaway whose skin tone always makes her look rather refrigerated seemed to step out of a John Singer Sargent painting. Third place.




Equally alluring was Penelope Cruz, but there ought to have been a necklace. Did it fall off in the limo?



I was highly impressed by Mrs. Pierce Brosnan who proved that zaftig can be sexy. She seemed perfectly comfortable in this elegant dress.



As a subcategory, the black dresses with shear panels were not so hot. Did a troop of girl scouts sew these to get a merit badge?



Finally, there is Glenn Close who did not walk on stage. She was beamed up.

those silly awards

well it's turning into a horse race for second place!
I know fifty contributors at Bilerico who would love to be the bridesmaid. Why not help them out? Vote!

class='thickbox'>Put a ring on it

The art of the insult

Once again, I call your attention to the venerable Dick Cavett.

While reading this, I was sifting through famous insults I recall, and holding them up for comparison. I kept coming back to Joan Rivers on Elizabeth Taylor. That string of burger joint jokes. As deadly and polished as those insults were, I think we could not enjoy them because of what they targeted. Not evil but weakness. When Joan turns the gun on herself in that recent commercial in which she says “Oh honey, this face has seen more knives than a benihana”, we can laugh easily because she owns the weakness targeted. I wonder if she wrote that line herself.

And there's that Dorothy Parker review of a Kate Hepburn performance in which Kate "ran the gamut of emotion from A to B". No one ever thought of Kate as weak or vulnerable, so we can laugh. I wonder if she herself laughed.

Improving the red carpet

As we head into the award show season, there is discussion about the appropriateness of rented diamonds and designer gowns in a time of economic crisis.

This provides me with the opportunity to suggest a change for which I have long pined.

Would it be too much to ask that the stars arrive dressed in the signature costumes they wore in the films or plays that earned them their nominations?

Also, would it be too much to ask that the writers of those productions provide them with pithy but dazzling acceptance speeches? The unscripted gushing of all but a few winners is annoying.

These shows are supposedly delivering the best in entertainment, folks. I'm sure Reese Witherspoon is a nice lady, but wouldn't you really rather hear her say something supplied by Bruce Vilanch or Joan Rivers?

And don't get me started about the pain of listening to non-performers accepting awards.

I know this puts a burden on Meryl Streep this year, but she could change out of the habit in her limo en route to the after-party.

Worth visiting

OK so my husband likes this blog better than all others (Including mine? Maybe. He's smart enough to say "Oh no baby, I love it in a different way.") Nico is indeed an enchanting youngster, and has something of merit to say about anything. My husband, who will eat nothing from the ocean or from fresh water for that matter, is fascinated by the fact that there is nothing Nico won't eat. A recent post offers us a newly composed Christmas carole, a link to pics of drunken Brits, some sass about Silent Night and the national anthem, and, a pic of Marie Antoinette's gallows-wear. What's not to love. Go there, but come back. I've always been jealous suspicious of smart gay children.

Tomorrow on Bilerico: "The Naked Boy Giver"

I’m making a bit of a detour on Bilerico this week to comment (with owner’s permission) on an irresistible post I read at a blog called Naked Boy Chronicles
Here’s the post abbreviated:

I have a problem letting go

I did not see the Boif this trip around.

He was insistent on seeing me and I asked him to please respect my wishes and leave me alone. I told him I was not ready yet, I am still hurt over his leaving me. So he respected my wishes and left me alone.

I just felt that seeing him would bring me down simply because he had to leave again. It was like giving someone a gift and then snatching it away. I didn't want to set myself up for that.

I felt it would be a case of him mocking me and showing off and him telling me about his wonderful life now and how he has everything now and how he never had anything here. He should read all the earlier blog posts, he had everything here: Love, respect and all my possessions and money. But mostly love.

He actually told me on the phone one time that he had nothing here and that's why he left. He said I had everything and he had nothing. Can you imagine how that made me feel? Nothing? I thought I was something.

I thought I gave him everything -- especially unconditional love. I used to joke about him leaving me and tell him that no one would take him and that after five minutes of him, they would return him. And I loved the thought. The thought of him being mine forever and always returning to me.

My problem is I get attached to people and make them family. I don't have one of those weird families that quarrel. I have a big Italian family. We outright yell, scream and go crazy and in five minutes, it's all over as if nothing happened. He and I were like that, we argued all the time, but never held a grudge.

I am not used to giving up on family members and just having them out of my life. I don't live like that. He is like family to me. I can't get over that he is gone. That's my problem. I can't let go.

Old photos

Seventeen years ago I had a few solo shows in the Wretched Little City. I was doing portraits. I wasn't using Photoshop in those days. Not even digital. Had folks lie down on the kitchen floor of our old farm house. I was surprised at the level of trust my friends placed in me with camera in hand. Here are a few from a show called A Resting Ritual. They were just about life-sized. While packing up the house I came across them after not having seen them for years.

My agent, Miss Ward, was a willing model.



This one was called She Knows the Drill. Miss Ward was not happy with the way she had applied her lipstick. As I said, no Photoshop. Women especially liked this one. T shirts and note cards followed.



C was not a willing model but he could be convinced. He actually designed the metal wavy frames in which these were originally mounted. They did some serious damage to the gallery walls. I think this was titled Housebroken or maybe Fully Domesticated. The sessions were great fun with folks holding props and lights and wondering what I had in mind. I had nothing in mind.

If you liked it....

As Beyonce recently bounced: "If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it." And that is figuratively what I hope you'll do to Bilerico, a nominee for Best Gay Blog 2008.

[Upfront disclaimer: I'm part of the Bilerico editorial team.]

As you know, I love my Joey and Andre and Andy and Pam, so why vote for Bilerico?

a) Bilerico is much more than a cut-and-paste fast food kind of gay news aggregation. The contributors present developed opinions that are not geared to a fast rabble-rousing. I often disagree with what is presented, but you know I'm the kind of person who often spends hours looking at bad art because it helps me know what is good and true when I find it.

b) They have this advice column written by an insufferably self-absorbed ex-priest who considers all questions as excuses to tell stories of his ribald past. But, he is a slightly cute from certain angles. I don't think he's real, but he seems to be working hard to keep Bilerico planted in the fertile gutter of explicit sex.

c) Bilerico was last year's runner-up. This year, they're bigger, harder and uncut and needier. Put a ring on it.

e) Tell me that you have voted for Bilerico, and I will grant you the sexual favor of your choice. Specify it in the comments section below so I can prepare.

You do know that you can vote every 24 hours.

Road Notes

To prepare for the DC beltway, study the chariot race scene in Ben Hur.

The South is different. Between Richmond, Virginia and Jacksonville, Florida, NPR disappears, and the dial is swamped with Jesus. Consumers are fed what they want.

The convenience store women are very fat, funny and call me honey.

In a South Carolina parking lot, I am sitting in my Smartcar, trying to keep the juices from a Wendy’s ½ pounder from dripping onto every other part of me by mashing it onto my mouth, when I look up to see a family stopping close to my windshield to take a photo of my car. I wanted very much to ask them to delete it and to let me run back inside to purchase the salad item. That would be what is expected of a Smartcar owner. It’s been several years since I had one of these burgers. Not changed a bit. I’ll eat another one in 2019.

The optical sensors on the urinals of the rest stops all along Route 95 are labeled Zurn. Probably a German manufacturer. Could it be that the blinking red dot is doing more than sensing motion? Is it recording? Would the rapid frisson of an expedient jerk-off confuse the dot into a wild flush? I think I might like to be a Zurn, with an endless stream of the traveling men of America unzipping before me. Zurns should come equipped with applause meters.

Best post elsewhere in 2008

This post combines politics, culture, art, design and sex. It's a summary of what we will remember about 2008 when we go back to the future. Today, you'll call it shallow, but those who sift through the past, decades from now, will study these images and note that even if no gay man received a cabinet appointment, the heart of at least one gay man was wrapped around the First Lady (Sorry Betsey Johnson. I assume you were joking.)

PS: I think she'll choose the de la Renta.