The Banal Chew

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.