Patti LaBelle on Gay Marriage

You can see my video of Patti LaBelle at Miami beach Gay Pride on Bilerico-Florida.

For the hearing impaired, those in a hushed workplace, those reading on devices that don't handle video and those who want to quote her, I've included the text after the video.

Everyone Has One

Everyone has one: a building coveted but never entered. This is mine. And now it looks like I'll never live in it or even walk through the front door.

When I am in the city, I walk by this building several times a day. We knew it had been carved up into apartments and that the current owner was a young guy who had inherited the place from his father. (That was the gossip on the street anyway.) Before reading the NY Times article, I did not know that the name of the kid's company is "Fun Times". It seemed he was going through the contentious process of flushing the building of long-term low-rent tenants. Late at night, I used to peer through the ornate wrought iron gates laid over glass doors into the fantastic parlor with its whorled staircase. We were enraged when one of those gates was removed and replaced with something simple and ugly, consoling ourselves with the hope that the original was off being restored and would soon reappear. From across the street, I'd envision a rooftop garden/painting studio with Central Park views. On other days, I would locate my monastery there.

If it is going to cost $50,000 a week to stay in 15 W68th St, the most I can hope for will be the dubious privilege of part-time concierge.

All Travel Writers go to Hell? Not Paul Rubio!

In which I go to Lincoln Road and meet a man, a woman and a critter.

I do not sell it.

Over at Chamblee54, the author makes an interesting application of something I wrote about arguing. It made me realize something that I had never really quite understood about myself. This is the comment I left:

I may be atypical, but I have never felt the need or desire to argue religion. I have also never felt the need or desire to market or proclaim the "Good News". I always felt that I was different from many religious people in that way. I always thought that someone would be converted only if he or she felt that there was something irresistible about me that could be traced to some inner spirituality that they would then pursue for themselves. That may be rooted in the fact that nothing - and I mean nothing - that the Catholic Church ever taught me brought me to Jesus. I got there on my own by exposure to what I read of him in the gospels. His words and teachings and parables had all the integrity and truth I needed. The church got it all screwed up. It's like when you are having a really good conversation with someone at a bar or a party and a loud drunk horns in on you and spills stuff on you. That is what the church is between me and Jesus. And that is exactly what the church was not supposed to be. Yup. Catholicism is a loud obnoxious drunk who breaks up the conversation between Jesus and the human race. That is why the Catholic Church needs to be cut down to the root. So it can re-grow itself correctly. It's almost too late, but not quite.

Miami Beach Gay Pride

I hope you will head over to Bilerico-Florida(where I am temporarily the managing editor) tomorrow for my recap of the private kick-off gala for the 2009 Miami Beach Pride celebration with pics and video. The lady Mayor of Miami Beach, Matti Herrera Bower is delightful. Wish there were more like her.

Every Little Step

Last month, I attended a pre-release screening of the movie Every Little Step. I also had an exclusive Bilerico sit-down with the film's two directors. You'll find my review on Bilerico tomorrow. The movie opens tomorrow in NYC and LA.

Update: It's up!

Tomorrow on Bilerico: "When you argue, and you will argue...."

You will have to trot over to Bilerico tomorrow at 11:30AM for my video response to the following:

Dear Father Tony,

My partner and I spend all our time together arguing. We try to stop but it's impossible. I dread going home because I know what's waiting. Yesterday he told me that he feels the same. It's just about the only thing we agree on. He also said "You're not the person I moved in with." I think he meant to say "You're not the person I loved" but he couldn't bring himself to say it. We are so tired of this and we want to change it.

DeVane and Moonchild
Miami

PS: If you're ever in Miami...

for more about Jack Wrangler

My husband suggested this NPR interview.
He was quite a fascinator.

And here is Margaret Whiting talking about her relationship with Jack.

From somewhere beyond Pluto

Not really news to us, is it?

As newspapers choke and bloggish aggregators take their place, several things will happen.

1) You'll have many choices. Mainstream media makes it seem as if the death of print news will deprive us of something. I can't think what that would be. Even if my NY Times online disappeared, I'd know where to go for a replacement.

2) Guys like me who write for sites like Bilerico will have to pay more attention to the quality of what we produce. Until recently, I could write a review with the assumption that my product would be like a distant moon in a swirl of more stellar reviews, and that the reader would sample my viewpoint only in addition to the "real" reviews. That will change. Our voices have gained an unexpected legitimacy that is forcing me to be less off-hand and more careful. For instance, doing the red carpet at the GLAAD awards or covering the Winter Party in Miami Beach turned out to be not a lark but something to be more carefully crafted. I wish I could do those events over again. There are now expectations. I'm feeling a little bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, and I've done several rewrites of something I am about to dish up: an exclusive interview with the directors of the movie Every Little Step (Friday on Bilerico).

3) Original local content in the hands of a blogger/newser will become gold. For instance, you'll get my interview with Andrew Holleran (next week on Bilerico) or a review of the private kick-off reception for Miami Beach Pride (later this week) or my interview with Jack Rutland who heads up Fort Lauderdale's "gay library" that is having its grand re-opening this week. Ordinarily, a bloggish report would consist of grainy pics and chat with the hot guys in the crowd. These days, I have to do some homework and prep some questions in order to avoid reader-disappointment. The expectations are changing.

4) You will end up getting more, not less, and you can drill down as local as you want to go. I don't even go to the grocery store without my camera. Want to know what is in my kitchen sink and how it reflects the American economic malaise? Not a problem.

One final note. With print media, there was always the arrogance of inaccessibility. You couldn't always get a reporter to cover your event. You couldn't "get through to" an editor if you wanted to comment on something or ask a question. That arrogance has evaporated.

What is most interesting, from my point of view, is the fact that guys like me, who can do this without getting paid, will hold sway for a short time until news delivery is reconfigured. Not that I wouldn't like to get paid. And, if I get bored with this, the sweetest reality is the fact that I can stop whenever I wish, and do something else.

Jack Wrangler's Penis and the Goodness of Hyper-Masculinity

You can read it at Bilerico.

Passover PLOrk

Just got off the phone with C who is in New York.
This is where he'd be dragging me this weekend if I weren't still down south.

I'd be subjected to So Percussion and Matmos with special guest PLOrk. Here's how their show is described on the site:

The sound art duo Matmos (M.C. Schmidt and Drew Daniel) makes live music and recordings, using the sounds of everything from amplified crayfish nerve tissue, to the pages of bibles turning.

Oy. Sounds tres cajun revival. Apocalypso anyone? Oddly, I think we can do without both of the commas in their sentence, and I think they meant to end with the turning pages of bibles.

Oh but they had me at PLOrk which stands for the Princeton Laptop Orchestra.

I'll be playing the spoons in this kitchen.

Answers to the "Guess" post

Sorry to have forgotten about this.

In the compartments of a container I found in an old warehouse, were these dental molds or appliances.

In the second photo are scarlet quince we grew on the farm. I'd gather them in late summer. They are like tiny pale green apples with no stems separating them from their branches. When kept in a bowl indoors, they release a spicy perfume. Over several months they turn into the rusty wrinkly rocks you see in the photo. I drilled holes through a number of them and strung them into a Wilma Flintstone necklace that I wore with matching suede hush puppies and tie-dyed rayon shirt to thrill the locals at some nervous social event in the Wretched Little City.

Dancing Marines

This is exactly what being in the seminary was like. The only difference is the gear.

Tomorrow on Bilerico: "Sex on Gilligan's Island"

You'll have to go to Bilerico tomorrow for my response to the following:

Dear Father Tony,

I'm writing because yesterday a friend of ours said "They have an open relationship" when he introduced us to someone. I didn't like it. It felt weird.

My "husband" and I have been together for twelve years. Yes, we have sex with other men. But we don't "cheat" on each other. We talk about it. It's not like a "free-for-all" thing. We know what NOT to do that would make each other mad. We don't hide it, but really it's nobody's damn business, and I did not like getting introduced that way. But it got me thinking. This weekend, my husband is going to LA. He (we) have been emailing someone we both know who lives there. I'm sure they will have sex, but this is different. It's like dating. He's staying with the guy. It's like a possible romance with me out of the picture. Where do I draw the line? Are we trashing each other this way? Years from now will I be alone and kicking myself for being stupid?

King Arthur

An honorable man.

And then there is our President who is hiding behind courageous men like Gronstal in the fight for gay rights. Obama thinks it's smart strategy to use double-speak when talking about marriage equality, thinking that once gay marriage is the law of the land he can jump on the bandwagon just as it crosses the finish line and welcome us all to the front of the bus. I am still convinced that in his heart President Obama is pro gay marriage rights. He thinks he is being an astute politician by letting other men like Gronstal do the road-paving dirty work. Obama does not want the taint. I think this is a mistake that he will ultimately regret. Men coming home from battle remember who was, or was not, in the trenches with them.

Buzzing with the Mormons

I didn’t need a planning and development professor and a spatial information design professor, producing a study called “The Geography of Buzz”, to tell me what I already know – that our Lincoln Center Neighborhood is one of the most hyper-buzzy places in the world. That is rather why we chose it, despite its reputation as not-so-trendy, and as overly heterofamiliar (Maclarendale, as I like to call it.).

What is interesting about the study is how its co-authors, Elizabeth Currid and Sarah Williams fed their matrix to get that result. They considered photos of parties and events as an indicator of buzz-worthiness. They used Getty Images, assuming that if a picture was for sale, buzz would have driven it.

Hmm. This provokes some questions.

Who is doing the buzzing in our neighborhood? I don’t think it is that ubiquitous fourteen year old girl who is the target of television commercials. I don’t think it’s the gym-built circuit boy a few blocks down in Hell’s Kitchen.

I’m afraid the paprazzi might have missed the Mormons who are buzzing in our backyard! You see this study relied on the mainstream news media for its information. A medium that is imploding as we speak, and certainly will not be the best future buzz-indicator. Currid and Williams ought to expand their study to include Flickr, Twitter, Facebook etc in order to really hear the buzz of the endless stream of Mormons who ask us to take their picture with their temple (across Broadway from Lincoln Center) in the background. Those photos end up in buzz-generating circulation on the net, and not for sale.

Also, consider the buzz generated when Joe posts a photo of fifty gay men enjoying a Sunday afternoon on “Bear Hill” in Central Park. That type of photo ought to be included when determining how the buzz-traction on the Bethesda Terrace stands up against that on the red carpet in front of the Kodak Theater.

Meanwhile, even though surrounded by Mormons and strollers, and with C reminding me that I once said that I would never live anywhere in Manhattan except the Upper East Side, and despite the death rattle of our Balducci’s, we get down to buzziness with a perfect score on foot, and I hope that all those Mormon families who asked me to take their picture in front of the temple – and did not bother checking it immediately in the viewfinder – will not be too disappojnted with the wonderful souvenir images of their sensible footwear and sturdy ankles.

Guess

Clicking might help, or maybe not.

Hello. My name is Tony, and I am a Synesthete.

I have been reading a good amount of Oliver Sacks lately. Having finished the fascinating An Anthropologist on Mars, I am well into his Musicophilia.

This afternoon, I got sunburned having lost track of the time poolside, entirely lost in the fourteenth chapter entitled The Key of Clear Green: Synesthesia and Music.

I have always assumed that everyone “sees” what I see when thinking of numbers, the letters of the alphabet, musical notes and keys, days of the week, and months. In my mind, and I have always assumed, in yours, all these things are assigned specific colors, and whenever they “appear” in our minds, they always appear in their naturally assigned colors.

I had always assumed that my assignment of color to abstracts was based on my rather common poetic disposition. For instance, it is easy to think that Monday is blue because of all the songs that tell us so. I have also always assumed that July is the particularly appealing and highly saturated bleu de travail of Moroccan or Mexican tiles because I associate it with the ocean and the summer sky.

It has always been more difficult for me to explain why I see numbers or letters in color. Three and C are always Kelly green. Four and D are always a flat red. I chalked it up to early childhood exposure to these symbols on the sides of painted wooden blocks kept in a cylindrical tin among my toys, to be spilled out onto the floor for the stacking.

Several years ago, when I read that Laura Nyro had, in a recording studio, demanded many repetitions of a particular piece, perplexing her musicians by screaming “No! No! Do it again. Play it in lavendar!”, her meaning seemed perfectly clear to me.

It seems I may have been wrong all along in my assumptions about this business.

Oliver Sacks says that synesthesia is not something that brings patients to neurologists…Most people who have it do not consider it to be a “condition”…Some estimate the incidence of synesthesia to be about one in two thousand….

He speaks about a painter who became colorblind (He describes this case in An Anthropologist on Mars) as persuasion …that synesthesia was a physiological phenomenon, dependent on the integrity of certain areas of the cortex and the connections between them –in his case, between specific areas of the visual cortex needed to construct the perception or imagery of color. The destruction of these areas in this man had left him unable to experience any color, including “colored” music.

I want all of you regular visitors to tell me whether or not you are synesthetes.

And don’t nobody try to tell me that when you think “Stravinsky” you don’t see it in red, or Mahler in mauve, cuz I can’t imagine them otherwise.

PS: An earlier and equally delicious chapter is called Brainworms, Sticky Music and Catchy Tunes.


And, I learned heaps about autism and epilepsy in An Anthropologist on Mars. Seizures and brain trauma can cause extreme personality changes. This raises a question. Has anyone ever become gay after a seizure or a lightning strike? Could it happen? If so, will doctors eventually change sexual orientation by zapping just the right area of the brain with just the right stimulus? I owe Oliver Sacks a phone call to report on my reading some books he recommended that were supposed to make me an atheist. They didn’t. I’ll try to get immediately into the gay question.

Meanwhile, I am turning away from the screen to gaze at something periwinkle/cornflower blue because that color, in and of itself, seems to induce health in me.

Chelsea Art, a Converted Sex Club, and a Handsome Blogger for Sale

New York City is for walking around. That is why living in a shoe box in that city is tolerable. You're not at home much.

On a recent Saturday afternoon, while wandering through the art galleries in Chelsea, we came upon some installations by Carolee Schneemann. This one is particularly amusing. Her work would have irritated me but I learned that she was making these installations forty years ago. A kinder, gentler, more naive time.




Later, in another neighborhood, we entered what had been a great sex club called El Mirage. It is now an art gallery. The video was bizarre, but would have gone over well with the previous clientele.



And earlier in the day, we were startled by the sight of a certain New York blogger friend. See the red dot next to his portrait? That's right, he's sold. I won't tell you his price.

Tomorrow on Bilerico: "When the Rain in Spain Goes Against the Grain"

You'll have to head over to Bilerico tomorrow after 11:30AM EST to see my response to the following:

Dear Father Tony:
My new boyfriend wants to piss on me and wants me to piss on him.
That's it.
Sincerely,
Not Into It