As a child growing up in Nebraska, the end of March brought about the final melting of winters white blanket and the annual birth of the cottonwood trees. Wildlife emerged from it's slumber to begin a new mating season. Everything that was dead was suddenly green with life. Aside from the merriment which accompanied the spring came the knowledge that when the sky turned green and began to boil, you were to take cover immediately. Yes, the final days of March always brought the beginning of a new storm season to what has come to be known as "Tornado Alley". This area consists of Texas, part of Lousiana, Oklahoma, Western Arkansas and Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska. Western Iowa and South Dakota.
If you went to school in this part of the country, you no doubt had periodic tornado drills. Your teacher would usher you into a hallway on the first floor or another area with the least amount of glass. If you were really lucky, your class would be taken to the locker room which was usually in a basement level. In any case, we hardly ever took these drills seriously because we were young and invincible. In the years before Columbine, school was a safe place. Nothing life threatening ever happened there. Lucky for us, this theory was never tested. We had a few close calls, but we always rose from our crouched-head covered position to find that our friends were still here, the roof was still intact and the walls remained standing. Not so the case Monday afternoon in Moore, Oklahoma when an F5 tornado, which some say was almost 2 miles wide, tore through the heart of the Oklahoma City suburb leave death and devastation in it's wake. You may say this storm "hit very close to home" as I attended Graduate School at the University of Oklahoma in Norman. Just south of the Oklahoma City line, Moore begins. And, just at the the southern border of Moore, Norman begins.
Oklahomans take pride in their tough unshakable ability to weather even the toughest of conditions or adversity. This is why I was so disturbed by what I saw in the paper and on television. The faces of these Oklahomans was not that of determination and stregnth. Their eyes were blank. They wandered aimlessly as if lost on an alien planet. It was as if the tornado reached deep inside each of them and pulled out their soul and will to move on. Of course, that changed quickly as they snapped into action and began helping their neighbors. But, for one brief moment after the twister made it's exit, this city stood still, gathered it's strength and braced itself for the grim reality which lay under every flattened building.
I've heard witnesses try to describe their experience of going through a tornado. It never seems to give an accurate account of the event. The experience is often so traumatic that a recent victim has blocked or avoids certain details. The risk of slipping into a flashback is very real. Often, victims are prone to nightmares, anxiety attacks, depression, and violent outbursts. These symptoms last an entire lifetime and with some frequency lead to suicide or suicidal attempts. For one who has never been through this experience, it is impossible to fully understand the violence and terror one goes through in a tornado. After several years, the nightmares have stopped though I still suffer from anxiety attacks and severe depression. I am going to attempt to give an accurate description of what I experienced.
Right before the storm struck, the air got very still and heavy. It got to the point where it was hard to breath. By this point, the twister was on the ground and moving quickly in our direction. The tornado in "The Wizard of Oz" was serpent-like and menacing, but it came nowhere close to the real thing. The one I was in (like the one which struck Moore) was very wide and narrowed very slightly at the base. Even when it was almost 2 miles away, it looked like a black wall of churning debris which filled the horizon. We just stood there transfixed, not wanting to take our eyes off of it.I was suddenly alarmed at how fast it was baring down on us. As it came dangerously close, I could see large pieces of sheet metal, cars, household items surface. Occasionally the funnel would lose it's grip on a piece and it would come shooting out of the massive cloud like a toy flung by a child. Now it was time seriously take cover and brace ourselves for the tremendous wind. We were in a cement culvert which ran parallel to the path of the twister. We hunkered down under a bridge as the funnel reached us. The wind slammed into us with a force which I will never forget. It was pitch black. My ears popped with a head splitting sharp pain and I felt the world begin to spin very fast. The air was sucked from my lungs and I began to panic suddenly aware that i could not breathe. I thought I had been picked up and was flying through the twister, but I still was clinging to my friend who was to my right and felt the arm of the person to my left around my back. Large pieces of debris were propelled down our tunnel-like refuge. I was being hit with large shards of glass, wood, gravel and metal. My friend, who was wearing a tank top, had blades of grass embedded in his arms. The sound, which is impossible to explain in words, was earsplitting. It was like 20 horn-blowing freight trains all arriving at once or everyone in Manhattan all blowing their car horns in unison.
Suddenly, the wind stopped though the noise continued, I lifted my head up to see pieces of debris which appeared to be dancing in the bright sunlight. WTF!!! I could finally breathe, but not for long. I dropped my head back down and began screaming as I realized that we were in the eye of the funnel and a second wave of was about to hit. Sunlight disappeared, darkness enveloped us and, like an explosion, the back wind hit. This time it seemed more violent and I know that, of the 20 some odd people who took refuge with us, at least 2 were sucked up into the funnel.
As the giant funnel passed us it continued to suck debris through the tunnel for at least 30 seconds. Then it was gone. There is no way of truly knowing how much time had passed from beginning to end. Though it seemed like an hour, it was probably less than a minute. In any case, no one had the presence of minute to check their watch. We all remained silent and as I raised my head and opened my eyes, i couldn't focus. My friend was trying to talk to me but it was if we had a bad connection. I heard the muffled sound of a woman screaming. Her companion had gotten up and started to run to find someone and was struck in the back of the head by a 2x4. He flew several feet and landed in a lifeless mass almost out of sight. My friend sat picking gravel out of his scalp. I didn't feel the pain but I had a 6 inch piece of glass that had been driven into my arm. I pulled it out without feeling a thing. We reached the hospital late that night. We had about 100 stitches, 2 tetnus shots and a couple of pints of blood between the two of us. We were luckier than the 62 people who lost their lives that day.
I really feel for the children of Moore. They will probably never feel "safe" again. Surviving a storm of this magnitude will leave a child traumatized to the point that they will be constantly watching the sky. Others will obsessively listen to the weather forecast to predict if the conditions will be right for a twister the following day. Many complain of waking up in a panic at the least unusual noise. I know because I have suffered from all of these effects since my experience.
Hurricane Sandy was very traumatic to our area of the country last year. It ravaged the coast and much of NYC. The difference is that we had a few days to prepare, gather some belongings, our loved ones and move to safety. In a tornado, if you are lucky, you have 15 minutes to find shelter. You dont get in a car. Most people who try to outrun a tornado die doing so. You may have time to grab a pet and get in closet or a bathtub and pray that the winds dont take it. At that it is truly in God's hands.
My heart goes out to the people of Moore, Oklahoma. There has been some press in the NY area about the congressional representatives from Oklahoma voting against aid for the Hurricane Sandy victims. We can only cast out vote and hope that our officials will do the right thing. Those votes in no way represented the voice of Oklahoma. After Sandy and especially after 9/11/2001, the NYC area felt the love of thousands of Oklahomans who sent donations and supplies. Hundreds of Oklahoma firefighters and workers showed up to try and rescue and recover our loved ones. I am a graduate of the University of Oklahoma just south of Moore. I have a number of friends from Moore. Oklahomans are tough breed. They have big hearts and a strong faith. But, no amount of strength can weather an experience like this unscathed. They need our prayers, encouragement, and donations to recover and move on. I plan to do my part. I hope you will too.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
Negative Messages/Lasting Impressions
In every life, there are milestones or events that leave an impression that dictate and steer your behavior or many years. What may seem insignificant to most, may effect others adversely their whole lives.
One incident which left a very lasting impression happened when I was about 9 years old. My mother and father took me to dinner with a couple of their friends and their 2 children. The waiter approached our table, greeted us and said his name was "Charles". Charles spoke with a speech impediment in a somewhat effeminate tone. As he spoke, his hands punctuated his words in a very dramatic manner. Other than these traits, Charles was a very good and attentive waiter. He took our order and headed to the kitchen. It was not 15 seconds later that the parents started in with the "Charles impersonations". Each performance was more hateful than the one before it. All of them alluding to the assumption that our waiter was gay. Even at that young age, I sat in my chair confused by the fact that I had not witnessed the horrible thing Charles had evidently done to deserve this type of reaction. When it came my turn to bash our waiter, I could feel all eyes fixed on me. But, I just sat looking around the restaurant as if I had seen or heard nothing of the event that had just taken place. My mother chimed in with something like, "Next time we'll just leave you at home if you're gonna be such a sour puss." After that, everytime Charles approached the table, it was in a subdued manner with a somewhat deeper voice. He had obviously witnessed what had gone on at our table. He didnt smile as much, he was not as friendly, he was not himself. Hio su pirit was broken and he retreated back into his closet. I felt ashamed to be sitting at the table.
It is possible that Charles was over this incident the moment we walked out the door and never thought about it again. However, it made a lasting impression on my 9 year old mind. My parents behavior told me that if you are like Charles (at this point I did not have a reference to the word "Gay"), you are the target of humiliation and the butt of every joke. If you are like Charles, you are forced to endure hateful comments and snickers with a smile on your face. By being like Charles, you have brought these punishments on yourself. You are a buffoon and punching bag.
One incident which left a very lasting impression happened when I was about 9 years old. My mother and father took me to dinner with a couple of their friends and their 2 children. The waiter approached our table, greeted us and said his name was "Charles". Charles spoke with a speech impediment in a somewhat effeminate tone. As he spoke, his hands punctuated his words in a very dramatic manner. Other than these traits, Charles was a very good and attentive waiter. He took our order and headed to the kitchen. It was not 15 seconds later that the parents started in with the "Charles impersonations". Each performance was more hateful than the one before it. All of them alluding to the assumption that our waiter was gay. Even at that young age, I sat in my chair confused by the fact that I had not witnessed the horrible thing Charles had evidently done to deserve this type of reaction. When it came my turn to bash our waiter, I could feel all eyes fixed on me. But, I just sat looking around the restaurant as if I had seen or heard nothing of the event that had just taken place. My mother chimed in with something like, "Next time we'll just leave you at home if you're gonna be such a sour puss." After that, everytime Charles approached the table, it was in a subdued manner with a somewhat deeper voice. He had obviously witnessed what had gone on at our table. He didnt smile as much, he was not as friendly, he was not himself. Hio su pirit was broken and he retreated back into his closet. I felt ashamed to be sitting at the table.
It is possible that Charles was over this incident the moment we walked out the door and never thought about it again. However, it made a lasting impression on my 9 year old mind. My parents behavior told me that if you are like Charles (at this point I did not have a reference to the word "Gay"), you are the target of humiliation and the butt of every joke. If you are like Charles, you are forced to endure hateful comments and snickers with a smile on your face. By being like Charles, you have brought these punishments on yourself. You are a buffoon and punching bag.
Friday, May 3, 2013
I'm Back.....and In Love? (cont.)
So there I am standing in the bathroom thinking of dead puppies, my grandmother naked anything to make this hard on go away and finally the blood and butterflies subside and I go back out. In a short time, I discover that Josh is from Texas also and we both went to school in Austin. It is amazing that we had not met until now. I catch his eyes occasionally. They are eyes that look right through you and melt your heart and I start feeling something foreign. I am drawn to him immediately. I hang on his every word and then I stop and try to shake it off.
What I am feeling is a little scary. I have just met this man less than an hour ago and I'm beginning to dread the moment we have to part. I don't doubt it for a second. This is love. This is what all of the fuss is about. At age 46, I am experiencing true love for the first time? How is that possible? I thought I had been in love before. I had even whispered the words in my partners ear while falling asleep. Were those experiences my mind settling for the next best thing and telling me it was love. In any case, I have never felt feelings this intense for another person. Now I think about him every free moment. A nice day is a waste without being able to share it with him.
Then he told me that he is planning to go back to Texas so he could be with his siblings and their children. Once again, I come to the conclusion that my life is a big shit sandwich. Now what?
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
I'm Back....and in Love?
I started this blog a year and a half ago with the intention of exercising my writing skills. I think they say that the path to Hell is paved with good intentions or maybe I am mixing two metaphors. In any case, I am back with a renewed resolve to share my experiences, observations, and opinions with anyone on here who gives a shit.
I have a question. Do you think is possible for a man to reach the age of 46 without ever truly being in love? The reason I ask is that I am currently having feelings for someone that I dont recall ever having before. I met him about a month ago. I was supposed to have breakfast with a friend and he called to ask if I wouldn't mind if his friend joined us. I said of course he could join us. If you have not caught on yet, "breakfast" is a euphamism for another group activity in which gay men participate. I will not always alert you to these, but I am sure you will be able to identify them for yourself in the future. Or, if all else fails, let your imagination wander. The story will no doubt be more interesting and my life will be so much more fulfilling.
Anyway, I was introduced to Josh and for the first time I experienced butterflies in my stomach upon meeting someone new. This is a phenomena that I had heard many a time whilst being bored senseless by a female friend recounting the meeting of she and the poor son of a bitch she was currently dating. However, never had this happened to me so i always thought it ull on embellishment to convince me of the depth of their connection. I was always sure that the male counterpart would have had a completely different account of the event. Suddenly, I was having this reaction and thought it was an oncoming wave of nausea which, I feared would be followed by a wave of vomit. Excusing myself, I slipped into the bathroom to discover that I had a full on, post Viagra erection. What the Hell?
(Yo Be Continued)
Monday, September 26, 2011
No Good Deed Goes Unpunished....
There was a time not all that long ago when I was homeless. I shared a great apartment in northern Manhattan with someone I was not really close too. I was freelancing and not saving any money so each month I would end up broke. Suddenly he came to me and said that his boyfriend was wanting to move in so I would need to move. Everything happened very quickly and I put all of my furniture in storage and hit the streets of the city looking for someone who would let me move in with them. I bounced from sofa to sofa always feeling like I was in the way until Thanksgiving night of 2006. That night, in the pouring rain, feeling feverish and sick, I was asked to leave a warm apartment in Chelsea and ended up on a friend's floor in Washington Heights.
In the middle of the night, I awoke to my friends big Jamaican boyfriend searching my suitcase. My friend had stepped out for a while.I asked what he was doing and he asked if I had any "crystal meth" in my bag. I told him I didnt and he began to scream at me about how I was a freeloader and when I got up to leave it infuriated him to the point that he followed me down the stairs screaming that he "hoped I died of AIDS in the street". The next thing I knew (I still dont remember how I got there), I was climbing the fence on the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge. I felt like my life since September of 2001 had been torture and I saw no end in sight. Then out of the blue, a woman passing stopped and said very calmly, "That water is colder than you think...If you jump, it's forever and ever. You can't change your mind. You will never see the sun again.....or taste chocolate ice cream....there are so many beautiful things in life....dont throw them away." I pulled myself down off the fence. The woman took my hand and walked me in the pouring rain to the Manhattan side of the bridge. She hailed a taxi, stuck a $20 bill in my hand and told the cabbie, "Take him to St. Vincents emergency room." Then she looked at me and put her hand on my wet forehead. "You are burning up with fever," she said, "but they will take care of you." Before she closed the door, she said, "My name is Eleanor Chaikin. I live in Brooklyn Heights on Henry Street. If you need anything, look me up." She closed the door and as we were pulling away, I saw here walking back toward the bridge in the rain. I ended up spending three weeks in the psych ward at St. Vincents after admitting to being suicidal.
God Bless you Eleanor Chaikin. Whoever you are and wherever you are, you saved my life that night.
Since this experience, and after getting through that period of my life, I have felt a need to help others in the same situation so they would not have to go through what I did. This leeds me to the point of this entry. I met someone who had just moved here in December and he seemed to be a nice guy. He is straight, Puerto Rican and moved here from Miami. I told him if he ever got in a pinch and had nowhere else to go, to call me and he could crash at my place. One night he called and I opened my door to him. That was 5 months ago and with the exception of a recent 4 week trip back to Miami, he has been on my sofa since. I was understanding and did not ask for any money from him even though I have no money myself. He was here while I endured Chemo and radiation therapies for cancer. I was unable to work yet he ran up my Con Ed bill because it has to be cold so he does not melt. Then he started doing steroid shots. The real problems start here and it came to a head last night when I tried to talk to him about the defensive attitude he cops inappropriately. The incident climaxed with him trying to take my phone away, punching me in the face and putting me in a headlock almost tearing my ear off with his Mr T bracelet. My glasses were broken and I was bleeding out of my ear. Refusing to give me back my phone, he sat with a smug look on his face and told me, "try to get me to leave". I left the apartment to get the police only but began to think that I did not want to have him arrested or fuck up his new job, so I came back up and allowed him to stay. AM I THE BIGGEST FUCKING IDIOT ON THE PLANET???
24 hours have passed. I have learned my lesson not to have compassion for people. And, I will never open my door to another person. I have saved him at least $3000, and what do I get for it? Assaulted and threatened in my own home.
QUESTION FOR THE MASSES: What is the best way for me to get this freeloading son of a bitch out of my apartment?
In the middle of the night, I awoke to my friends big Jamaican boyfriend searching my suitcase. My friend had stepped out for a while.I asked what he was doing and he asked if I had any "crystal meth" in my bag. I told him I didnt and he began to scream at me about how I was a freeloader and when I got up to leave it infuriated him to the point that he followed me down the stairs screaming that he "hoped I died of AIDS in the street". The next thing I knew (I still dont remember how I got there), I was climbing the fence on the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge. I felt like my life since September of 2001 had been torture and I saw no end in sight. Then out of the blue, a woman passing stopped and said very calmly, "That water is colder than you think...If you jump, it's forever and ever. You can't change your mind. You will never see the sun again.....or taste chocolate ice cream....there are so many beautiful things in life....dont throw them away." I pulled myself down off the fence. The woman took my hand and walked me in the pouring rain to the Manhattan side of the bridge. She hailed a taxi, stuck a $20 bill in my hand and told the cabbie, "Take him to St. Vincents emergency room." Then she looked at me and put her hand on my wet forehead. "You are burning up with fever," she said, "but they will take care of you." Before she closed the door, she said, "My name is Eleanor Chaikin. I live in Brooklyn Heights on Henry Street. If you need anything, look me up." She closed the door and as we were pulling away, I saw here walking back toward the bridge in the rain. I ended up spending three weeks in the psych ward at St. Vincents after admitting to being suicidal.
God Bless you Eleanor Chaikin. Whoever you are and wherever you are, you saved my life that night.
Since this experience, and after getting through that period of my life, I have felt a need to help others in the same situation so they would not have to go through what I did. This leeds me to the point of this entry. I met someone who had just moved here in December and he seemed to be a nice guy. He is straight, Puerto Rican and moved here from Miami. I told him if he ever got in a pinch and had nowhere else to go, to call me and he could crash at my place. One night he called and I opened my door to him. That was 5 months ago and with the exception of a recent 4 week trip back to Miami, he has been on my sofa since. I was understanding and did not ask for any money from him even though I have no money myself. He was here while I endured Chemo and radiation therapies for cancer. I was unable to work yet he ran up my Con Ed bill because it has to be cold so he does not melt. Then he started doing steroid shots. The real problems start here and it came to a head last night when I tried to talk to him about the defensive attitude he cops inappropriately. The incident climaxed with him trying to take my phone away, punching me in the face and putting me in a headlock almost tearing my ear off with his Mr T bracelet. My glasses were broken and I was bleeding out of my ear. Refusing to give me back my phone, he sat with a smug look on his face and told me, "try to get me to leave". I left the apartment to get the police only but began to think that I did not want to have him arrested or fuck up his new job, so I came back up and allowed him to stay. AM I THE BIGGEST FUCKING IDIOT ON THE PLANET???
24 hours have passed. I have learned my lesson not to have compassion for people. And, I will never open my door to another person. I have saved him at least $3000, and what do I get for it? Assaulted and threatened in my own home.
QUESTION FOR THE MASSES: What is the best way for me to get this freeloading son of a bitch out of my apartment?
Friday, September 23, 2011
The Police...
We all heard the "controversy" surrounding the behavior of a handful of NYPD officers who, upon invitation, started "dirty dancing" with some of the barely dressed parade dancers. For those of you who have not been hit with this report and who are familiar with the West Indies Pride Day Parade in Brooklyn, here it is in brief form.
The West Indies Pride Day Parade is an annual end of summer event which takes place on a Sunday afternoon on Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. The parade is a celebration many cultures and the diversity of the core community of this Brooklyn neighborhood. A main and understandably popular feature in the parade are the women of all ages dressed in colorful and provocative costumes represent the island of their origin. To keep the peace and control the crowd, NYPD officers are stationed along the route. During this years parade, some of the dancers approached and "flirted" with a group of officers. A few of these officers, caught up in the spirit of the festival, started playfully bumping and grinding (without touching them) with a few of the women to the delight of the crowd. The woman passed, the officers returned to their posts and the parade continued. A few days later, the "scandal" was all over the Daily news and Post with Police Commissioner, Raymond Kelly being asked to weigh in on the "issue". Two weeks have passed and we are still hearing about this incident. Why?
The way I see it, these officers were doing some positive PR work for an embattled organization which has very little respect or support from this community. Sure, they were there to protect the public. But, they cannot protect a public that does not trust them. That short interaction, although a bit lude, was totally harmless and broke down a wall in the minds of many young festival revelers. Those officers, for a moment, identified with and celebrated a community which sees them as the enemy. I live in this neighborhood and I see the fear and distain the citizens have for the police. It was the irresponsibility of the person who pushed this item to the front page that took a positive and made it a negative. Especially the younger people in the neighborhood, who may have laughed and seen the officers as humans rather than monsters, were suddenly told that it was "wrong" and "dirty". The police were the bad guy again. Also, the controversy sends the message that the NYPD and the community are not equal and are forbidden to interact even in the spirit of community and pride. Is this the message that the NYPD want to send? In reading the responses of Ray Kelly, he seems to try to defuse the situation and try to make it go away. This tells me that he is not the one making an issue of the event. Whoever it is, they are misguided and seems to want to feed the flames of hatred toward the NYPD.
Believe me, I have my own beef with the NYPD, but I still believe that they are not all bad and it is about 1 in 10 who should not be on the force. In a city as large as NYC with it's 5 boroughs, this is a pretty large number, but if we see all of them as adversaries, what are we going to do when we actually need protection. I know if it were not for a member of the NYPD, I would be only a name etched in the granite down at Ground Zero. On the flip side, if it were not for the sloppy, lazy work of two NYPD detectives, I would not have spent four months of my life on Riker's Island...More news at 10.
The West Indies Pride Day Parade is an annual end of summer event which takes place on a Sunday afternoon on Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. The parade is a celebration many cultures and the diversity of the core community of this Brooklyn neighborhood. A main and understandably popular feature in the parade are the women of all ages dressed in colorful and provocative costumes represent the island of their origin. To keep the peace and control the crowd, NYPD officers are stationed along the route. During this years parade, some of the dancers approached and "flirted" with a group of officers. A few of these officers, caught up in the spirit of the festival, started playfully bumping and grinding (without touching them) with a few of the women to the delight of the crowd. The woman passed, the officers returned to their posts and the parade continued. A few days later, the "scandal" was all over the Daily news and Post with Police Commissioner, Raymond Kelly being asked to weigh in on the "issue". Two weeks have passed and we are still hearing about this incident. Why?
The way I see it, these officers were doing some positive PR work for an embattled organization which has very little respect or support from this community. Sure, they were there to protect the public. But, they cannot protect a public that does not trust them. That short interaction, although a bit lude, was totally harmless and broke down a wall in the minds of many young festival revelers. Those officers, for a moment, identified with and celebrated a community which sees them as the enemy. I live in this neighborhood and I see the fear and distain the citizens have for the police. It was the irresponsibility of the person who pushed this item to the front page that took a positive and made it a negative. Especially the younger people in the neighborhood, who may have laughed and seen the officers as humans rather than monsters, were suddenly told that it was "wrong" and "dirty". The police were the bad guy again. Also, the controversy sends the message that the NYPD and the community are not equal and are forbidden to interact even in the spirit of community and pride. Is this the message that the NYPD want to send? In reading the responses of Ray Kelly, he seems to try to defuse the situation and try to make it go away. This tells me that he is not the one making an issue of the event. Whoever it is, they are misguided and seems to want to feed the flames of hatred toward the NYPD.
Believe me, I have my own beef with the NYPD, but I still believe that they are not all bad and it is about 1 in 10 who should not be on the force. In a city as large as NYC with it's 5 boroughs, this is a pretty large number, but if we see all of them as adversaries, what are we going to do when we actually need protection. I know if it were not for a member of the NYPD, I would be only a name etched in the granite down at Ground Zero. On the flip side, if it were not for the sloppy, lazy work of two NYPD detectives, I would not have spent four months of my life on Riker's Island...More news at 10.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Another Saturday night and I ain't got......
....you know the song....Oh whoa is me...If he just got paid, he could pay for the company of someone to talk to. In my case, I am lonely, broke, depressed, bored and asking "where is my life". I guess this is as good a place as any to start a blog so.....here it goes.
There is nothing really remarkable about me. I'm 44 years old, have an average look, in shape but not a body nazi, short mousy brown hair that has just grown back in after chemo and radiation therapy. I am of slightly above average intelligence. I have an MFA in directing which, in my experience, speaks to nothing but my determination and ability to play the "game". I had what I consider to be an average midwestern, WASP, American childhood complete with domestic conflict, emotional abuse and the parentally infused fear that we would be social outcasts if people actually knew that we were not the Brady Bunch. There was a reason that I was confused by "Father Knows Best" but had a full understanding familiarity with "Ordinary People" at age 11. Growing up gay and not knowing it isn't easy anywhere and Papillion, Nebraska was no different.
Look, everything we go through in our lives makes us who we are. It is impossible to fully understand a person's emotions or behavior within being in their shoes from the first step. Far be it from me to judge anyone or their actions. Anything I write in this blog is meant for no purpose but to express my opinions and share my experiences as I have seen them. They are not meant to offend (though they may) or chastise. If they do, I apologize now. So anyway, don't I seem like a good guy? SO WHY AM I ALONE IN A CITY OF 8,000,000 PEOPLE ON A SATURDAY NIGHT!!!!??
There is nothing really remarkable about me. I'm 44 years old, have an average look, in shape but not a body nazi, short mousy brown hair that has just grown back in after chemo and radiation therapy. I am of slightly above average intelligence. I have an MFA in directing which, in my experience, speaks to nothing but my determination and ability to play the "game". I had what I consider to be an average midwestern, WASP, American childhood complete with domestic conflict, emotional abuse and the parentally infused fear that we would be social outcasts if people actually knew that we were not the Brady Bunch. There was a reason that I was confused by "Father Knows Best" but had a full understanding familiarity with "Ordinary People" at age 11. Growing up gay and not knowing it isn't easy anywhere and Papillion, Nebraska was no different.
Look, everything we go through in our lives makes us who we are. It is impossible to fully understand a person's emotions or behavior within being in their shoes from the first step. Far be it from me to judge anyone or their actions. Anything I write in this blog is meant for no purpose but to express my opinions and share my experiences as I have seen them. They are not meant to offend (though they may) or chastise. If they do, I apologize now. So anyway, don't I seem like a good guy? SO WHY AM I ALONE IN A CITY OF 8,000,000 PEOPLE ON A SATURDAY NIGHT!!!!??
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