Congratulations! President Elect Obama

I’m so pleased to have witnessed history. I just wish I could have participated in it. Due to my rapid move from there to here I wasn’t able to get registered in time to vote in this election. But, no matter. It turned out the way it was supposed to anyway.

You may not know this, but I’m a big ol’ pol. I’m a political news junkie. The tube stays set to CNN all the time and I check the headlines in the paper every morning. I’m quite serious about it. I am one of the rare people that actually writes to my senators and congressmen occasionally. I have letters back from them to prove it.

Please don’t hate me because I didn’t get more aggressive about signing up to take part in this thing. But, let me defend myself and explain why I procrastinated. I’m going to take us on a long way around to explain why I’m not very happy about our electoral process and tell you why our constitution and political parties make some Americans less important than others.

I began to get excited about Barack Obama way back when I heard him speak at the Democratic Convention a few years ago. It was the first time that a politician’s speech had moved me to tears with feelings of patriotism. I felt inspired to be a better American. I had heard people tell me that JFK had made them feel that way. I was excited that we might be seeing someone like that in my lifetime.

I was also excited that Hillary Clinton was running for president because she is just so gosh darn smart. She’s a moderate democrat like me. She seemed perfect. When Obama ran for the same nomination I was heart broken. I wanted both of them to be president. Unfortunately, our damned two party system required that I choose one or the other. After Hillary was pushed out and McCain became the only challenge to Obama I became certain that the Democrats would win.

As we got closer to the election it became clear that states were lining up in their respective blue and red categories. It also became clear that the candidates only cared to visit and pay attention to those states that would be the most help to them. Thanks to our constitution, our votes don’t “really” count. The majority vote only determines how the states’ electors will vote. Because of the elector formula not every state and its citizens are as valuable as others. My little state only contributes 6 votes to the grand total. Therefore, candidates don’t care much about how we vote unless the race is really, really close. Also, because of modern polling, its easy to find out if a state is likely to vote conservative or liberal. Our little state is small and historically conservative, so my favorite candidate didn’t bother to campaign here.

It didn’t take long to realize that a few of the big electoral states would be a close race; Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana. Therefore, those Americans became more important in choosing the president than the rest of us.

I want my vote to count for something. I’m sure that if I had seen that this election were going to be close and that my state’s electoral vote would make a difference in the election I would have voted. If I had seen that the popular vote in my state would have been close, I would have voted. But, it wasn’t. Pollsters had us clearly in the red column. Therefore, my vote wasn’t important. I was an unimportant, less valuable American voter. The constitution says so and the politicians agreed by their not campaigning in my state.

Our system isn’t perfect but I still believe that its better than any other on the planet. I just wish we could pass an amendment to eliminate the electoral college and choose our presidents by popular vote. Until then the idea that we are all equal according to our constitution is something of an exaggeration. As a matter of fact, my vote is almost three-fourths less equal than that of a Californian.

Still, my guy won and I’m happy about it. Congratulations, President elect Obama. Now, as soon as he can get himself inaugurated, its time for some Supreme Court Justices to start retiring.

Helluva Halloween

As I understand it, Halloween is the official holiday of “my people.” But, until last night I never truly celebrated the evening to its fullest potential. Having always lived as a “stranger in a strange land” (around straight people), I’ve always celebrated as they do. They dress up in old ragged clothes, call themselves hobos and haul their kids around in SUV’s into the suburbs to subsidize dentists salaries for years to come. Oh, my! How the breeders are missing the true spirit of the evening.

Only we who live 365 days a year in polite personal repression in deference to our straight families and friends truly understand how important it is to really “let your hair down” for just one night each year. When living with the daily requirement to avoid the slightest eye contact with someone you might find attractive, or editing your dinner conversation in fear that a young couple might be offended by what their children overhear at the next table, it becomes absolutely necessary to embrace the outrageous and the absurd. That’s exactly what Halloween is to the gays. It’s the one night a year that “anything goes.” You don’t even have to travel to New Orleans for Mardi Gras.

Being that this is my first big city Halloween event I was both excited and frightened about how to dress for the evening. It was so overwhelming that I almost decided to pull on some unremarkable street clothes and just watch the show from the sidelines. But, last week I wrote on here how I’m often disengaged from the action. I proclaimed my intent to “prance like a pony” occasionally. Well, baby, this was my moment and I was not about to let it pass. I just couldn’t do that and look myself in the eye the next morning.

So, I had to come up with a costume. It was an intimidating undertaking. I was dressing to be in the company of several distinguished “fancy boys.” Costuming is a serious business with these guys. I knew that a half-assed effort would not be appreciated. A shabby hobo from the attic storage boxes is not acceptable. I knew going into the evening that I was going to see a “fabulous” Tammy Wynette, a grisly but audacious Doris Day, and a twinkilicious twenty-something showing more skin than the Olympic men’s swim team. I toyed with the idea of leather. Its masculine, its aggressive, it’s a full-throttle, in-your-face statement. But, its also damned expensive and frightens small children and church ladies. I knew that dressing in drag was not for me. I may be gay but I don’t want anyone confused about the fact that I’m a guy. I enjoy being a man and I appreciate men that enjoy me being a man. I also wanted a costume that showed the inner me, my personality and style.

It came to me. Ever since I moved here I’ve been goggle-eyed by the larger population of beautiful men. I’ve made no secret about my admiration of several of them around some of my new friends. I would be a “horny little devil.” I wore my all black Perry Ellis ensemble, and added a black cape and plastic horns. I painted my face a ghastly and sinister white and black. Then to demonstrate my ability to accessorize I added a chain necklace with a bulky red cross, red socks, and of course a black and red marabou feather boa. No well-dressed gay little devil would be caught dead without his feather boa, right?

It was a great night. We howled at each other as we made our grand entries into the bar. Cameras clicked all night long and I collected so many pictures that can be used “with permission only”. My escort for most of the evening was an imposing and magnificent (but benevolent) wicked witch complete with stockings and heels. Elphaba, look out, someone’s after your job. I used my Halloween personae to shamelessly flirt with anyone and everyone that caught my eye regardless of age or attire. It was a helluva Halloween! Then at midnight, like Cinderella, I dashed away from the ball unceremoniously and unescorted. After arriving home it took a good hour to soak the cosmetics off my face and hair. I washed away every bit of last night except some great memories and pictures (and a fabulous feather boa).

Waffle House American

Ever since I was a kid I’ve loved the smell of coffee first thing in the morning. I would always wake up before daylight because Dad made so much noise “tip-toeing” around the kitchen. He was “quietly” watching the morning news, scraping butter into his toast and filling the old white plastic ‘70’s era Mr. Coffee maker. The kitchen noise funneled down our trailer house hallway into my bedroom as he rinsed, filled and banged the coffee pot against the side of the stainless steel sink. That was several years before the divorce so the fighting was about ten percent less than it was near the end. So, in my mind, those were “the good ol’ days” of my childhood. I’ve always associated the smell of fresh-brewed coffee first thing in the morning with that time of my life. You know, just like that warm fuzzy Folger’s commercial of the young man returning home on a holiday to wake up his happy parents.

We were a rural, country family. I’ve joked about us being “white trash” because we lived in a trailer out in the woods but nothing could be further from the truth. Daddy actually valued hard work and had served in both the army and navy. He was very career oriented and eventually retired after working for the same company for over 30 years. But, that’s all just preamble to my little story. The greatest insult I would ever hear my dad say about anyone was to call them a “lazy worthless so-in-so”. So, I learned early that “good people” were hard working, early-to-bed-early-to-rise, folks. That’s what made you a real American. Anyone who stayed in bed until daylight was certainly demonstrating faulty character. If you weren’t having breakfast by the time the rooster crowed you had overslept. And yes, we did have a chicken house.

Now that I’m grown, I’ve retained a lot of that old country farm-boy upbringing. I hold two degrees and my job rarely requires me to step outside of a climate controlled environment. However, I still consider myself very blue-collar in nature. I get up at 5AM every morning. Just like Dad, I fix a pot of coffee (in my very gay French-press pot) every morning. I sit and watch the news (hosted by the most attractive anchormen that CNN can afford) and read my paper. I’m proud of having kept that tradition.

Even on weekends I find it hard to stay in bed past 7 AM. There’s very little besides great personal illness or company that will keep me under the covers after daylight. Of course, it also depends on the disposition of my company how long I stay in bed. Yet, I digress. On weekends Mom would cook big breakfasts with eggs and bacon, biscuits and gravy….you get the picture. I still love to have those kinds of big breakfasts but I’m not a fan of putting that much effort into a meal on my day off. It does feel right, though, to get up early and have a big meal like that. Its spiritually and emotionally comforting to see the sun rise and be filled up with a big hot meal. So, I’ve become a Waffle House American.

I’ve started my own morning ritual on weekends. I get up without a shower or shave, throw on sweats and a cap and jump in the truck for an early morning drive to the diner. I love the chill in the air. I watch the sunrise. Its also great to see the roads and the city empty of traffic. It’s a beautiful feeling because, as we know, only the most industrious and virtuous among us are actually out and about during that time. If a national disaster struck on a Sunday morning at 6 or 7AM, only those of us on our way to Waffle House for breakfast would be in charge. I can imagine us setting up an emergency command center in the dining room with short order cooks in charge and waitresses guarding the perimeter. And, as you know if you’ve ever been taken care of by a Waffle House waitress, they can handle anything or anyone. If you’ve not had the experience, I caution you not to come between a Waffle House waitress and her tip, and certainly do not try to correct her if she misspeaks on “scattered, smothered, covered, chopped, diced, chunked!”.

Yes, I’ve heard the rumors that Waffle House does not have the most “gay-friendly” business practices. I’m somewhat indifferent to all that hoopla. Who am I to interfere with how those folks run their business. I can’t imagine that too many of us “fancy-boys” have applied to work as short order cooks or dishwashers anyway. Its usually not our scene. I’ll just say this. If Waffle House keeps serving me a hot breakfast first thing in the morning and leave me to read my paper in peace and quiet, I promise not to make out with any guys in the dining room.

The Workhorse Roundup

My adventure continues. Slowly and surely I’m making a life out of this experience that I have thought of as an adventure. I’m afraid that its turning out a little different than I expected. But, that’s okay. That’s the nature of adventure anyway, right? I’m also learning a lot about myself. I guess that I had the mistaken belief that if I changed my environment, my location, that something about me would change. It doesn’t. While I am certainly surrounded by new possibilities and experiences, my core values are the same. My response to these experiences are the same as they always have been throughout my life; conservative, thoughtful, analytical. I’m observant but not engaged, present but politely detached.


I’m still the same old workhorse I’ve always been, just with a new saddle and new stable (see the previous post on Workhorses and Carousel Ponies). The difference now is that I’m surrounded by acquaintances that identify with me in ways that I have never experienced before. I appreciate that most of them are like me. They’re reliable, steady, hard-working guys that value personal responsibility. I wouldn’t be friends with anyone less inclined.


However, and this is bizarre, there is now a sprinkling of circus ponies that I have become acquainted with and I love them dearly. I doubt I embarrass anyone with that moniker. These are certainly guys that would quickly acknowledge that they are in this category. With a twinkle in their eye and a flashy smile they would own up to this without any reservation. I have learned to respect their view of life. It is right in line with the classic old quote, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” I’ve come to respect this view of life because each of these fellas would admit that soon enough, time and life will require that they eventually become workhorses themselves. Its regrettable that I missed that “pony-boy” stage of my life. I’m sure that the memories from those times must enrich one’s life a great deal. If anything, I’ve learned that I probably need to lighten up a little and not take myself so seriously. It might be quite possible, and even recommended, for an old workhorse like myself to prance like a pony every once in a while.



(photo credit, Four Horses by halfpic at flickr)

W.

Whether you love the man or hate him, you will like the movie. Believe it or not, Oliver Stone has made a fair and very entertaining film about our current and soon to be former (thank goodness) president.

I don’t believe I’ve ever enjoyed an Oliver Stone film until now. The “Last Temptation of Christ” was offensive. “Nixon” was chaotic and oppressive. Most of his other films are so complicated they are impossible to watch without a road map. But, this one hit the perfect balance. “W.” shows the bumbling buffoon of a swaggering cowboy that Bush is well known for. But, by the end of the picture Stone has led us to a place to feel honest compassion and sympathy for a man that is quite simply in over his head. While the picture shows George W. Bush to be simple and somewhat stupid, he isn’t devious or malicious. I really wanted to give the guy a hug and a pat on the back when it was over. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the hunky Josh Brolin makes me want to sing “Hail to the Chief” with a whole new sense of enthusiasm. And, Brolin also makes us proud to know that GW is a brief’s, not boxers, guy.

I had heard that Stone had included the President’s Christian conversion. I was dreading seeing it on film because I feared it would be mocked in true Hollywood fashion. Instead, it was treated with great sensitivity and feeling. I can imagine that very scene happening in most of the churches across the South.

Stone’s movie finally hit the right blend of emotional elements; humor, sorrow, anger. It was easy to identify the multiple story/timelines involved. The supporting cast made all the characters serious and meaningful. It would have been a piece of fluff if the only major player had been the President. But, Brolin’s George W. seemed seriously presidential when surrounded by a cabinet that includes Richard Dreyfuss and Scott Glenn. The only questionable casting decision was Ioan Gruffudd (Fantastic Four) as PM Tony Blair.

Brolin should receive an Oscar for this performance. The character is perfect from accent and gestures, to swagger and expressions. Even in the scenes that showed W. at his most ridiculous I never felt that Brolin was mocking the man. The character was played with real respect and dignity. Brolin was able to deliver the charm and personal charisma that was present in the younger Bush when he ran for his first presidential campaign. The pre-9/11 Bush was the man that everyone wanted to “have a beer with.” Brolin gave us exactly that. With Brolin in the role it was impossible to dislike the guy. If George W. Bush were to be made into an action figure, it would look like Josh Brolin.

Make no mistake. Watching this movie will certainly not turn you into a Republican. I doubt that one could even call it historically or biographically accurate. But, its certainly entertaining. You should not be afraid to see this film. If anything, Oliver Stone and Josh Brolin have shown us that George W. Bush is not a monster. And, while they have not defended him, they may have explained and apologized for him.

So Long Butch, We'll Miss You

I was heartbroken this morning to hear of the passing of a true classic movie star of the Golden Age of Hollywood. Our beloved Paul Newman has lost his battle with cancer at the age of 83.

I don't know of anyone in the country that hasn't found at least one of Newman's characters to fall hopelessly in love with. Whether you love the steamy and sultry Ben Quick, the moody and brooding Brick of "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof", or the iconic, precocious and forever playful Butch Cassidy, you're sure to have loved Paul in some way. Even straight men would have to admit that while they don't feel the attraction to Ben Quick, they secretly admire Cool Hand Luke.

I completed this prismacolor drawing of Paul as Butch Cassidy a few years ago. Over the summer I began an oil painting of him. Regrettably, I don't have a photo of it to post. But, as you see, Newman has been an inspiration to me for a long time.

For more news about Paul's passing, click on the following link.

Little Rocker

I'm officially a Little Rock resident. I've rented an apartment and my mail has been forwarded to my new address. I'm getting into a regular routine and making friends here. As a matter of fact, I'm meeting friends tonight at a local bar to watch the most recent episode of "Sordid Lives". That's certainly something I would never have done previously. I had dinner tonight with a friend and we talked about "guy stuff". I'm currently sitting at a Barnes and Noble paying bills online because my Internet won't be turned on until Saturday. I'm home sick and not feeling extremely successful yet, but its because I'm way out of my comfort zone. I knew it would be like this for a while. But, its a good thing. I had become complacent and stagnant. It was time to grow personally and professionally. I like to think of this current discomfort as "growing pains".

So many friends and acquaintances have been surprised at my sudden change in job and location. I've had so many responses such as, "I can't believe you did this," and "this is the last thing I ever thought you would do." To all of those comments I simply say, "Good!" I can't remember the last time I did something risky, unpredictable and spontaneous. Let me explain it a different way with this analogy.

Remember the last Lord of the Rings movie? In the final scene a very old and frail Bilbo Baggins is taken to the Elves ship to sail away with them. He is so old that it seems he has nothing left to do except lay down and die. But, as he is about to board the boat he looks at his companions and says, "I think I'm ready for another adventure." That's exactly how I feel. Its been a long time since I've felt challenged or inspired. The last time I pushed myself for a new adventure or a personal challenge was when I went through graduate school. It was difficult. It was gruelling. But, I came out the other side stronger, smarter, and better for it. This will be the same way. It will be tough at the beginning. But, I will learn something about myself and be stronger for it. And if I'm lucky, I'll find someone to share my life with and end a lifetime of isolation and separation from the world. That isolation is the potential future I faced had I not made this move. I have a chance to make a difference in the future of my life. That's something I didn't have before.

The embedded picture of the Little Rock skyline and Arkansas River in the foreground is from a Flickr album by justpics2000.