The Banal Chew

Yeehaw!

That's right, folks!  We's in Tucson now.  And boy howdy, is it ever hot!  Why, I reckon you could git off yer horse and fry a roadrunner egg right on a rock!

So why not mosey on over to the fencepost at Casita Klatsch and keep up on all the desert fun?

Bang, You're a Grown-Up

When I was a teenager growing up in Arkansas, we had a fireworks stand for a few summers.  It was an interesting experience, particularly because I got to keep a substantial part of the profits in return for my work managing the enterprise.  To stock the hut required a 5-hour drive round-trip across the Oklahoma border to a warehouse in Tulsa.  I would sit in an aluminum, webbed lawn chair in the back of our '76 gold, snub-nose Dodge cargo van, the floor of which was lined with green astro-turf, while Dad drove and his first cousin sat in the passenger seat.  No seatbelts, no stability.  Those were the days. 

Despite the present dangers, I'll never forget the smell of the fireworks, a mix of sulfur and cheap paper, as they surrounded me in the back of the van during the ride back to Springdale.  To this day, a mere whiff of a brick of Black Cat firecrackers instantly snaps me back to 1979, the humid Arkansas summers, the Izod polo shirts, Ocean Pacific jeans and hair.  Lots of it, hair that is, in natural golden curls that were the celebrated envy of every female member of my large family.  Mostly, though, I'll always remember how mature I felt.  My status as the geeky kid, for whom there was never enough "room in the boat" to go with Dad and his cousin on fishing excursions, was changing to that of colleague. 

In the months following the final summer that we had a fireworks stand, just before my senior year in high school, I was handed the keys to the cargo van and told it was mine.  It certainly came in handy during my role as drum major to cart around instruments and various marching-band paraphernalia.  Affectionately called the "Wayne-mobile"--I used my given name when in school, for I was picked on enough and didn't need my gender-neutral, family assigned nickname to provide further ammo to the bullies--the van became part of my identity.  Yes, indeed, we had joy; we had fun; we had seasons in the sun.  And although I've completely lost touch with her, I have no doubt that my high-school girlfriend still hasn't forgiven me for refusing to carry a blanket in the van.  Ouch.

Shtick

I had an audition last night.  A local group is looking for a conductor.  They're pretty good, and I would be thrilled to have the gig.   At any rate, I think the audition went well.  We shall see.  At the very least it was fun to do my thing again.

I have been out of the spotlight for a couple of years now.  In fact, bitterness has crept in over my lack of options here in Sydney to the point that I have come teeteringly close to liquidating my library and leaving the profession completely.  Last night's hour-long work in front of a group managed to refresh me and wash away a decent amount of the grievance. 

Even if I don't get the gig, let's hope the amelioration is sustainable.

Gay Power

This post commemorates the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots in New York City.  I'm a day early, but what the hell.  Considering there's a dinner for us tonight to wish us farewell as we head to the U.S., I doubt I'll be in much shape to post anything coherent tomorrow. 

Like so many others, I am amazed at how fast and how far we have advanced in the U.S. when it comes to gay rights.  Yes, it may seem like the pace could be quicker, but we live in an age of impatience, fueled by technology, consumerism and an increasing fear of ennui. 

When you compare our struggle with that of other disenfranchised demographic groups throughout history, you see that we have indeed come a long way baby, and within a relatively short amount of time.  I, too, get bogged down in the struggle, but I say let's rejoice in the fact that we are advancing.  It may be a game of checkers, but we're making headway.

But back to Stonewall.  I was recently directed toward a remarkable letter written by the well-known author Edmund White to a couple of his friends only weeks after the riots took place.  It provides a shimmering glimpse at the beginning of one of the most historic and heroic "call to arms" we have seen in the modern era.  Below is an excerpt.  The full letter can be seen here.  I encourage you to read it. 

Saturday night, the pink panthers are back full force. The cops form a flying wedge at the Greenwich Avenue end of Christopher and drive the kids down towards Sheridan Square. The panthers, however, run down Waverly, up Gay Street, and come out behind the cops, kicking in a chorus line, taunting, screaming. Dreary middle-class East Side queens stand around disapproving but fascinated, unable to go home, as though torn between their class loyalties, their desire to be respectable, and their longing for freedom. Sheridan Square is cordoned off by the cops. The United Cigar store closes, Riker's closes, the deli closes. No one can pass through the square; to walk up Seventh Avenue, you must detour all the way to Bleeker.

Domestic Bliss

So, yeah.  This has been fun, getting ready to move to Tucson.  Good times.

When was the last time the toilets were cleaned?  Oh yeah, when I did it.

How about dusting and vacuuming?  Oh, same. 

And cleaning the floors?  I think you know the answer.

I'm just saying...

(photo by Dr Craig, licensed under the Creative Commons)

Shaken to Pieces

I just read an article on promession, a new method of body composting.  That's right, instead of your body turning to stinky soup in a casket that some tree had to die for, or filling the air with toxic chemicals upon cremation, you can now have your carcass frozen with liquid nitrogen, vibrated into a million pieces, sifted for any metal objects (teeth, hip replacements, etc), the remaining bits placed in a uber-biodegradable box and then buried under a newly planted tree. 

I actually like the idea of this, but I think I'll skip lunch now.  Not really hungry.

Photo by The Rusty Projector, licensed from the Creative Commons

Daddy 'Mones

In a recent Utne article, it was reported that current research suggests fatherhood is good for the brain.  Apparently, some kind of chemical mystery occurs that makes dads more "canny and resourceful".  Hmm.  It caught my attention.

Then I realized that they're talking about the sperm donor.  I'm a stepfather, so I guess I'll remain uncanny and at a loss for what to do. 

Anyway, here's the statement.

Loving a woman and fathering her children changes a man’s body and brain in ways that make him more canny and resourceful, while improving his ability to handle stress. At the same time, living with the woman he loves alters a man’s hormones and neurochemistry to make him a better mate.

Upon reading this, I cannily and resourcefully walked over to the trashcan and hurled.  Sounds like a bunch of right-wing, fundamentalist-fueled (and funded?) work to me, used as grounds for anti-nontraditional-family propaganda.  The original research is headed up at the University of Virginia, arguably not a hotbed of diversity and progressive thought.

Anyway, I feel smarter having a kid in my life, but that's probably because I get to share my, ehem, vast knowledge and wisdom with him.  I have to admit, however, that I'm not sure about the increased ability to handle stress.  I'm still working on that.

Photo by Tom A., licensed under the Creative Commons

Hotting up

I've always hated that phrase.  A former professor of mine used it quite often during rehearsals.  "And in these bars, we'll hot it up."  What. Ever. Mary. 

Anyway, as our departure for the U.S. draws nearer and nearer, that phrase keeps popping into my head.  The pace is quickening, as we knew it would.  There's much to be done.  time is lacking.  Stress levels are rising.  Tempers are flaring.  Feelings are hurting.  Diets are suffering.  Workouts at the gym are rare.  I would guess that everyone knows how it goes. 

Last night, Mark and I had our last night alone in our own place for the foreseeable future.  Zane has been away on a school excursion and comes back home tonight, and tomorrow our new tenant moves in.  So unless Zane makes some new friends in Tucson (which he will) and has some sleepovers at their house, that's it for a long time. 

So how did we spend our last night alone?  We had a candlelight dinner, engaged in some lively discussion about how to manage everything and see everyone before we leave, and then we were asleep by 9:30pm.  Oh, the joys of moving house.

Mission Accomplished

Yesterday was all about the animals.  They were due for their annual exams and vaccinations, so we loaded the three of them up and paid a visit to the local animal hospital, where they were sufficiently probed, palpated and pricked.  "Lucky devils," Mark said.

We also had to replenish our stock of spot flea treatment.  Cha-ching.

 So $350 later, fully immunized and the pictures of health, they have the audacity to sit and glare at us for making their lives hell.  Mmhmm.  

Oh, and Roger is happy as a lark with the new rug.  He's no longer afraid to cross from the stairway to the dining room.

Puppy Psychosis

Roger, our Schnauzer, has developed a worsening phobia of wood flooring over the past few months.  I don't get it.  We've always had hardwood floors, even in our Tucson house where we raised him during the first year and a half of his life.  Now he just stands and wobbles like a clumsy tapdancer while trying to figure out how to cross the living room floor. 

On the interwebz, I've read similar complaints from others, and the advice offered is that it's because the dog can't get any traction on the slippery surface, but that doesn't seem to fit here.  Roger has never had this problem before, regardless of the length of his nails or how recently buffed the floor might have been (which is practically never). 

Anyway, we're off to by an area rug now.  We'll see if that helps.

Back in Sydney

After many tiring hours on boat, train and airplane, we are again in Sydney.  It is cold, rainy and smelly.  Oh well.

I have posted photos from our European Vacation to my Flickr account.  For best results, run the slideshow with photo info turned on.

European Vacation 2009. The End.

It's time to go home.  Sitting on a night ship as it plows through the North Sea on its way from The Netherlands to the UK, where we will catch a plane back to Sydney, I type this post with an odd mix of feelings.  My life is so different than it was when I lived here in Europe all those years ago.  Reconnecting with old friends after many years of searching, learning, sinking and swimming, I realize that my life is now just as rewarding as I'd hoped it ever would be.

I am not just a middle-aged man, losing his hair where it counts and gaining it where it doesn't, often lost in the breathtaking race of human life, fighting the thicket of insignificance, rejoicing in the experience of what it means to be human.  I am the worthy sum of many parts.  I am who I am because of where I have been.  I am a product of what I have seen and whom I have known. 

All of the diverse and equally wonderful people who then and now welcomed me into their homes, their lives and their hearts, even after so many years, have shaped me.  They have taught me lessons.  They have given me a voice.  They have shown me how to be a man and a human.  For that, I am indebted to them to an amount I doubt I can ever repay. 

It is unlikely I would be the person, partner and father I am today, were it not for these people.  And so, Mark, Max, Jenny, Karin and Neil, I thank you.  And I look forward to seeing you all again, only with less delay and perhaps on a different continent. 

Joi gin, farewell, & à bientôt

I am sitting on a high-speed train, blazing through the French countryside on the way to Brussels.  By the time I finish this post, we'll probably be there.  I wish they had trains like this in the U.S.

Mark and I are now over halfway through our vacation.  So far we've been to Hong Kong, London and Paris. Yes, we're tired.  And we have both caught colds, but despite that every aspect of our trip has been wonderful. 

We overnighted in Hong Kong and caught up with my long-time best friend (Mark I), who works there now and lives with his wonderful partner, King.  They both treated us to a fantastic night.  We look forward to going back when we have more time to spend with them and explore HK.  The highlight had to be the very funky cocktail bar we ended up in after dinner.  I think it was called the Blue Feather Boa, or something like that.  Completely unsigned and discreetly tucked away behind double doors lined with silk curtains, the interior was comfortably chic and shabby.  The clientele, mostly English-speaking men and women from all over, were drinking cocktails and engaged in quite a bit of merry-making.  Apparently, there are places like this all over Hong Kong.  It was great fun.

Mark I. looked a bit blurry after a couple of the lychee daquiris.

The next day we flew to London, where Kevin and I watched Mark and Jason get a bit roughed up in the Union Cup rugby tournament.  Thankfully, there were only scrapes, bruises and strained muscles to deal with.  We met some fun guys and had a swell time at the various gatherings and parties. 

Despite the rugby schedule, there was time for some sightseeing, including a day trip with Kev & Jase to Cambridge.  I'll have more pictures in my Flickr account when I have time to edit and upload them.

Punting with Kevin & Jase on the River Cam in Cambridge

Kev & Jase (and our punter...an American who attended the University of Arizona at the same time Mark and I did.  What a strangely small world.)

Sandy in the sun at St Paul's

 
I attended the Ascension Day choral Eucharist at Westminster Abbey.  The choir sang the Byrd Mass for 5 Voices for service music, as well as Stanford's Caelos ascendit hodie and Gibbons's Clap your hands, two of my favorite sacred choral works.  The organ postlude was Messiaen.  What a treat.  After the service, I shook hands with the Archbishop of Canterbury on my way out.  I left my politics at the door on the way in and decided simply to admire his sermon...and eyebrows.

Next up was Paris, and it was splendid!  The weather was cool and very rainy on one day, but we did not let that stop us.  Mark marveled at Versailles and Sainte Chapelle, and I had a great time seeing them again after so many years.  But what's up with all the beggars and scam artists everywhere?  I don't remember them. 

Mark wants a palace like Versailles.  I told him I'm not cleaning it.

Waterworks at Versailles

The ever-so incredible stained glass at Sainte Chapelle

We took the metro out to La Défense, the ultra-mod Paris business district, to see the Grand Arch.  It's grand alright.  The photo doesn't do it justice.  You'll just have to trust me:  the scale is mind-boggling.

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Update:  Now we're in Bruges, where we'll overnight as we work our way up to Amsterdam by train.  I'll have more to report soon!

Fair Europa

In just a few hours, Mark and I take off for Europe.  It will be his first time there and my fifth, although the last was over 10 years ago. 

This trip will be different.  I will be viewing the continent through a slightly different lens.  Previously, each time I was in Europe it was either as a music student or performer.  Like so many other singers, I always had plans to live there for a while and eke out my living as a musician.  And I did live there for a year and experienced what are still my most memorable musical experiences.  Alas, I never got back as a resident, and life took me in a few other directions.  It's not all rueful, however, for had things turned out differently, I never would have met my partner, nor would I be a step-dad.  How could I regret that?

Now, years later and with life as a singer behind me, I wonder how I will regard those places I had seen before.  I suspect there will be some nostalgia and perhaps a tiny bit of melancholy involved.  Nevertheless, I am excited to go and see the sights with Mark, who knows very little of the me that once sang in a few of those ancient churches and resplendent concert halls. 

Despite the faint shadow of those memories I might notice here and there, I will enjoy it.  I have no doubt.

Our boy, Tolstoy

A Child and Parents
by Zane
Year 3 2006

Once upon a time there was a child and parents.  The child was called Alexi.  The dad was called Sandy and the mother was called Rhyll.  Once they went to a Kung Fu palace.

They went to the master.  He said, "What are you doing here?"  And Alexi got a metal bar and beat up the master.  And while he was doing this, he said, "Die!"

They all farted for ten minutes.  And they they said, "You hothead!"

And then they lived happily ever after.

THE END!