Heralded as the first active NFL Player to come out as gay, Carl Nassib earns his first Dazzler of the Day for that always-courageous act of being true to oneself, especially in a profession that has never felt very embracing of difference. That may be changing, and if this first step will help other football players making similar difficult choices, then so much the better. (But always keep this in mind too.)
With Pride Month in full swing, and a large number of Pride events happenings as the vaccinated among us move more freely than we have in well over a year, I’m taking a moment to be both serious and silly about this special month. Hence these photos, taken so I could update my social media profiles with something more seasonally gay.
Next weekend is when some of the main Pride events are happening in Boston, including Pride Night at Fenway Park with the Red Sox. More often than not, Skip and I would find ourselves there for such an event, and it always thrilled me to see the rainbow flags flying at Fenway and on the Boston Public Library. While we mostly skirted the big parade (we did it properly once) it was good simply to be in town for such celebratory fun. Boston enjoys an electric-like excitement in June, whether from the residual glow of graduations, or the exuberant arrival of summer, or probably a bit of both – and it’s sort of a glorious finale right before the city seeps into its sleepy summer slumber (which I tend to appreciate even more).
On the serious side, all the rainbows and unicorns and fluffy party scenes mask the heartache of the history that we in the LGBTQ+ community have endured and survived – and it’s worth a moment to recognize and remember the many of us who didn’t make it this far. It’s also worth challenging ourselves in analyzing the privilege and distinctions among intersectional groups and individuals within our widely-varied community. We are making progress, but this is a long journey, and it’s largely in its infancy. Let’s keep going, and growing, and learning.
“We don’t come out for heterosexual people to know. We don’t come out for the ones who hate us to know. We shout and make as much noise as possible just so other people like us who are scared and can’t be themselves would know that they are not a mistake and they are not alone.” – Artem Kolesov
What a wonderful circumstance to realize that Pride Month has reached such saturation in mainstream media that it rivals Christmas in all the best and worst ways. I’m not going to get into a critique of corporate tie-ins and the whole lavender-washing of a movement that was rooted in the Stonewall Riots of 1969. We’ve come a long way to see rainbow flags on Target merchandise, and I’m not about to decry or condemn the rest of the world for catching up and wanting to celebrate too.
Rather, I’m going to focus on the true meaning of Pride, much in the way that I’ve come to focus on the true meaning of Christmas – the essence of this month in which we remember our past, celebrate our present, and look to make things better for the future. For me, Pride will always be about one simple image: two guys walking down Boylston Street in Boston holding hands, unconcerned about the world around them, and simply enjoying the touch of another human being. I saw it at one of the first Pride Marches I ever attended, and it still thrills me – because I remember.
I remember what a thrill that was because it was something I didn’t grow up seeing.
I remember growing up and not having any sense of the possibility of love – not the love I was created to experience, not the love I was born to live. I remember the sort of heterosexual love that was forced upon me, and that I forced myself to fit into, even when it felt wrong, even when I knew it wasn’t me.
I remember not seeing myself anywhere, not finding my future on television or in a magazine or a movie.
Because I remember those things, and so many more, I will still celebrate Pride.
An oiled-up naked man graces the cover of Club 69’s debut album ‘Adults Only’ and, truth be forever told, that’s partly why I had to buy the CD at Tower Records. It was the 90’s and this was the standard club fare – house music and strong-throated divas singing power-anthems with a driving beat and a killer melody.
As the gay community smoldered in the ashes of the AIDS epidemic, and the damage to a generation was still burning strong around the world, I looked at love with wary eyes. For those of us who came of age at a certain time, sex would always be tinged with danger – and the lurking possibility that it could lead to death. What does that do to an already-marginalized population?
For the most part, I spent my weekends alone in the Boston condo – glad and comforted by the proximity of Chaps or Club Cafe, but socially anxious enough to not dare step foot into their darkened dens by myself, aside from the occasional moment of alcohol-induced bravery in which I’d join a few friends for a night of tea dancing. I always had a blast, but it was never enough to make me a regular, and hardly ever did I venture out alone. When my twinkdom was at its most potent, I was at my most hermit-like. I don’t regret it in the least. It may have saved my life. AIDS was still ravaging the gay community. Safe-sex was just starting to become the default, but people would always do what they wanted, no matter the risk or stupidity. The only person you could absolutely trust was yourself, and even then lust and desire could make you see things as they weren’t truly so.
Instead, I’d spin this CD of house music and play out fantasies of club life within the safety of my bedroom: dance party of one. I could wear only my underwear and no one would stare or cop a feel. I could get as sweaty as I wanted and just take a few short steps into the shower. I could dance the night away, absolutely safe and secure, and there was joy enough in dancing with myself.
“You deserve so much more than just to be tolerated. You deserve to be loved for exactly who and what you are right now. This, of course, is a double-edged sword. This also means you must return the favor. Learn more about racism and sexism and ableism, too. You, unfortunately, are probably already well aware of how much homophobia can hurt, inside and out. Learning more about how different kinds of oppression work and where they intersect will help you build better bridges with others and create a safe and respectful…culture for everyone. Bullies are almost always outnumbered by the bullied. We just need to organize.†― Ivan Coyote
October 11 marks National Coming Out Day, and since I’ve written many a gay post here over the past seventeen years, I’ll not regale you with the tale of my own coming out because it’s been done before. Rather, I’m asking a simple question that hangs in the air with the idea of a new Supreme Court justice taking Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s vaunted place. How would you feel if your marriage was suddenly up for a vote, and if it went the wrong way would be deemed null and void? Or better yet, how would you feel if you grew up in a world where you weren’t allowed to marry the one that you loved? National Coming Out Day is about coming out and being true to who you are. That’s a relatively new luxury – and for many it’s still not a luxury at all. We met remember that. We must safeguard it. And we must work to protect the rights we’ve earned when hate and homophobia make motions to rise again. No one is equal until everyone is equal.
The wisest among us would agree that art has the power to change the present and the future, but if the artist is skilled enough, and obsessed enough, art can also change the past. Such is the revisionist magic that Michael Broderick conjures with his renderings of erotically-inclined gentlemen. With work that manages to be both nostalgic and entirely of-the-immediate-moment, referencing iconic themes of the past with a scintillating gay sensibility of the present and future, Broderick bridges what has been with what might be, infusing a history of oppression with cleverly-rewritten twists of fabulous celebration.
With a bit of influence from the palette of Maxfield Parrish, Broderick’s subjects run the gamut from aloof to regal to slightly tragic – all maintaining a mesmerizing grace. These are gods, and what is an artist’s calling other than to get us closer to the divine?
Masterfully utilizing an angular art-deco brilliance, saturated with stunning shades and bursting with dreamy color, Broderick conjures a world of fantasy and pleasure, both hedonistic and haunting. His roots in upstate New York were parched for color and flavor and verve, and as soon as he escaped our doldrums, he came into his own, creating the indelible world of which you see just the smallest glimpse here. Visit his website to see more of his magnificence, and prepare to enter the way life should have been.
There aren’t many Tweets that stop me in my tracks these days, not given the current climate of utter insanity that rules the online world, but this one shook me to my core (and it’s affected others similarly), both for its startling accuracy and its beautiful, difficult, unwavering truth:
“Queer people don’t grow up as ourselves, we grow up playing a version of ourselves that sacrifices authenticity to minimize humiliation and prejudice. The massive task of our adult lives is to unpick which parts of ourselves are truly us and which parts we’ve created to protect us.” – Alexander Leon
After forty-four years on earth, I’ve only just begun to process the wreckage that this truth has uncovered. I mourn for the boy and the young man who felt so confused and hurt for such a long time. I mourn for how long I couldn’t see it, for how many sleepless nights and teary-eyed days I spent feeling that something was wrong with me, that things didn’t quite line up, that nothing made sense. Even when I came out and lived openly and honestly as a gay man, I still felt somehow displaced and out of sorts. Every time I felt I might somehow belong ended with a feeling that something still wasn’t quite right. This quote unlocks the survival technique of why so many of us continue to play our parts, while touching on the damage done in living any part of your life falsely.
The world was, and remains, a vicious place for those of us who are different.
Until such time that there is a dramatic and genuine shift in that, this sort of work will continue.
How sad that it should be so.
Once upon a time I breathed a sigh of relief. It was the night that New York State passed marriage equality. Only the year before, Andy and I had had to go to Boston to get legally married. We drove into Albany to celebrate, and as we neared Rocks, I felt a burden lift from my shoulders, a weight to which I’d grown unnoticeably accustomed. It had always been there, and I had never known
When you’ve spent your entire life being told, in explicit and furtive terms, to be silent, to be quiet, to be less, the first taste of true freedom, of genuine equality, is an enthralling relief. We exhaled that night – an exhalation decades in the making – and the state of New York suddenly galvanized something in some of us that we’d never even known was there. A sense of worth that I had long pretended I didn’t need.
The same thing happened when we watched from afar as the White House was lit in the colors of the rainbow and marriage equality was made the law of the land. The exhalation. The sudden lifting of a burden that was still somehow there.
With the current administration, I feel those burdens being placed on some of us again. With every murder of a transgender person, with every refusal to fly the rainbow flag, with every appointment of an anti-LGBTQ judge, I feel the burden get heavier. We have come too far and fought for too long to go back. And so I resist as best I can. In little ways and little words. In posts like this that maybe someone in need may read and recognize themselves, offering a resonance that might be the extra push someone needs to stop crying, or stop hurting themselves, or stop dying.
In our daily life, we must refuse to be anything less than who we are.
It is our right to become what we were meant to be.
It is our right to find happiness.
It is our right to live as we wish.
Such a simple concept, why it should be so fraught with enemies is incomprehensible to me.
This weekend, World Pride comes to New York City, and the parade looks to be one of the largest the world has ever seen. Until such time that we don’t have to fight, until that day when we have all achieved equality without question, reservation, or condition, then we need Pride. Perhaps now more than ever.
The cult-classic ‘Clue’ and its wacky cast of indelible characters form the inspiration and theme for this year’s GLSEN Gala, taking place next Thursday, June 13, at the Albany Lakehouse. This is one of my favorite events of the year, given its formal, dress-to-the-boas fancy attire (suggested and encouraged) as well as its noble cause. Come dressed as your favorite character, or simply get into the spirit of the thing with a few festive feathers or jewels. It’s the month of Pride – the time to be as fabulously extra as you can be.
Join us Thursday June 13, 2019 for THE Funky Formal event of the season at Albany’s Washington Park Lakehouse.
The black tie is entirely optional, feather boas & big hats are strongly encouraged.
Celebrate 21 years with us, as we continue to fund the Safe Schools Advocacy & Bullying Prevention Work of GLSEN NYCR, right here in the Capital Region of Upstate NY. Our mission is to ensure that every member of every school community is valued and respected regardless of sexual orientation, gender identity or gender expression.
Get your tickets early, and get them here.
Whatever came of Gay Lit? It’s been ages since I’ve had the luxury of lazily browsing a bookstore, but I can’t remember the last time I saw a section on Gay Literature. In the 90’s they seemed to be everywhere. Hell, there were entire Gay Bookstores (shout out to ‘We Think The World of You’ in the South End of Boston!) These days, for better or worse, our work seems to have assimilated into the general categories of Fiction or Non-fiction, but rather than getting into some deep analysis of what that might mean to the LGBTQIA world, I’m simply going to offer a reading suggestion which brings us even further back in time to the 1960’s. By the great Edmund White, ‘Jack Holmes & His Friend’ is a look at a gay man’s life during the last half of the 20thcentury. I won’t give much more away; Mr. White has a better grasp of words than I ever could. He gets into what it might have been like for a gay man at that time, how subtle notions of masculinity were both desired and problematic, and ways in which we tried to escape.
“Either you were off everyone’s radar and flying solo, undetectable, or you registered with them and suffered the consequences – you became a character, a type, which was fine except it felt limiting. What he wanted and needed was a buddy, a guy his own age, a masculine guy who didn’t look at you penetratingly and size you up. A buddy who would share with you his interest in books or old movies or fine sports writing. Yeah, you’d catch sight of your buddy out of the corner of your eye as the two of you headed out into the night, collars turned up against the cold and shoulders bumping. Someone who didn’t stare at you and who could watch TV with you and make just the occasion wry comment while nursing a beer. Someone who made you feel like a minor adjective, not a major noun.”
~ Edmund White, ‘Jack Holmes & His Friend’
“I thought about how much work it must be to be the life of the party, even if the party was just three or four friends.”
“He knew he couldn’t indulge his despair even for an hour or the perpetual-motion machine would freeze; he’d never escape the stasis of depression.” ~ Edmund White, ‘Jack Holmes & His Friend’
“I tried to collect my thoughts: It’s true that a gay friend is different, maybe better, because he’s not a rival. He’s not part of the whole dismal system. He’s not one more pussy-whipped churchgoer who’s learned to keep his head, the big head and the little one, in check. Everyone thinks gay guys are sissies and mama’s boys, but they’re actually people who’ve chosen their sexuality over all the comforts of home. They’re bravely obsessional – but at a price.“ ~ Edmund White, ‘Jack Holmes & His Friend’
“There were so few safe ritual male topics available to us that we ended up saying things that were real and personal.” ~ Edmund White, ‘Jack Holmes & His Friend’
“He’s one of the rare people I know who genuinely prefer their own company…” ~ Edmund White, ‘Jack Holmes & His Friend’
That noble sentiment, so much easier said than done, is the opening salvo to Mike Rickard’s latest album ‘Out Loud.’ The title track, dedicated to the “victims, survivors and families of the Pulse Orlando shooting†resounds with defiant jubilance, refusing to be cowed or broken by hatred and fear. “I thought I was the only one,†he sings, “But I know I’m not alone. The faces may change but the story’s still the same. I am them and they are me, and we are strong.†Setting up the strength of love to vanquish hate, it’s a proclamation that Rickard has made throughout his musical career, but perhaps one which was difficult even for him to fully believe. The past few years have made political activists out of anyone who dares to be different or dares to be themselves. Rickard takes up the mantle, putting fear and frustration to song, as in the shuffling ‘Alright’ and the melancholy ‘Don’t Feed the Ghosts’ – the latter of which finds him ready to give final exorcism to past events, a glorious kiss-off to what has come and gone but still finds a way to haunt him.
‘Out Loud’ accomplishes what Rickard has always done well: it tells stories, setting emotion to characters and music, and bringing the listener along for the ride, as it so compellingly proves with ‘Six Queer Kids’ and its powerful video. Telling the not-uncommon tale of a boy kicked out of his home for being gay, and the ensuing tragedies that result, it weaves its warning with a barely-there lining of hope:
Contrasting with the somber social themes, the midsection and heart of the album has Rickard waxing wistful and romantic, as on ‘You’re to Blame’ and ‘Taste Your Smile,’ in which he indulges in some happy reflections on being in love. “So let me say it, let me lay it on the line,†he sweetly opines, “I still see you, like I saw you for the first time.†As in most great love stories, ambivalence and doubt creeps into this one as well, yet the honesty that tempers it brings about something more genuine and lasting. As heard in ‘Wouldn’t Be Love’ the narrator finds a way of reconciling the trials and breaking points of life as the very things that strengthen and solidify love. The complex quartet of love songs rounds itself out with ‘What Love Looks Like’ – a simple but heartfelt distillation of a true romance that sways gently and sweetly.
Sonically, Rickard’s music has evolved since ‘Stirred, Not Shaken’ ~ moving further along from the occasionally-country inflections of that early work to incorporate a few more electronic flourishes without sacrificing song structure. It makes sense given the trajectory that can be explored later on in ‘Sweat’ and its follow-up remix EP that ‘Out Loud’ completes this journey in brilliant fashion.
The penultimate cut is a gorgeously string-adorned aural jewel to keep on keeping on: ‘Not Finished Yet;’ comes with telling punctuation to indicate that Rickard’s voyage is far from over, and it speaks to a broader and more compelling message to anyone about to give up. He closes out this album with ‘Surrender’ – a dose of hard-earned wisdom that uncertainty and doubt, when acknowledged and honored, are the other sides of acceptance and confidence; without them any genuine self-love rings slightly hollow. It takes most of us a number of years before coming to such a place. After an album, and a lifetime, of introspective tension, Rickard finally lets loose, surrendering in a clever sonic illustration of steely vulnerability. A little bit bruised, a little bit broken, and all the more beautiful because of it.
{If you happen to be in the Atlanta area this evening, pop in to Mike Rickard’s listening party for his latest album, ‘Out Loud’ at the Red Light Cafe. For more information on ‘Out Loud’ and other work, check out Mr. Rickard’s website here.}
Several weeks ago I saw a local production of ‘The Boys in the Band’ and left sorely unimpressed with it. I’d managed to avoid the movie version all my life based on the roundly negative perception that had been gleaned in the ensuing years of gay evolution, but I didn’t want to go in to the current revival wholly unprepared, so I watched a local troupe do the best that they could.
It felt so dated, so acerbic, so harsh – I didn’t recognize the joy I’ve mostly felt when surrounded by my gay friends. Yet was it the play that was problematic? Or was it my anger and issue with the fact that it was, at its time, an accurate reflection of how gay men lived and were perceived? Or was it my discomfort that some of those very same themes and issues still held true to this day? Whatever the reasons, I went into the current revival – staged fifty years after its landmark premiere – with these doubts hovering in my mind.
Back on Broadway with a thousand-watt cast and pedigreed director, ‘The Boys in the Band’ is one of the hottest tickets in town. The questions that bothered me on first viewing were still in effect, but director Joe Mantello (who lately has been averaging about two directorial pieces per season, and whose previous work includes ‘Love! Valour! Compassion!‘ and ‘Wicked‘) and that perfectly-assembled stellar cast managed to pull off a brilliant feat: bringing back a piece of the past, keeping it faithful to the original material and era, yet somehow making it completely of-the-moment and eerily relevant. (If anyone thinks that our fight was over when marriage equality became the law of the land, check out the vitriol on any number of social media sites. Hatred comes as much from the outside as it does from within.)
Brilliantly-lit and designed, the set is all about surface and reflection – mirrors and glass work to obscure and reveal. As the evening progresses, it gradually gets ravaged, and by the end it’s as messy as all the emotions that have been spilled. The main draw of this production is the cast, and at first I wondered whose star might shine brightest; the good news, and what makes this show work so well, is that they all do. Mantello has insured that each gets a little star turn, but it’s the ensemble work that propels these boys to a greater glory. Working together in finely-tuned nuance and dexterity, they seamlessly weave their own individual tales among the birthday proceedings at hand, flawlessly executing the cadence of the gay world as it exited the 60’s and charged into the 70’s. The sexual freedom on hand portends the arrival of AIDS in the 80’s, which makes this time capsule of gay history especially poignant in a way the original production could not have achieved.
Jim Parsons elicits the complexity and tightly-coiled danger of the evening’s host Michael, gradually coming undone as the night wears on, ending a brief bout of sobriety and giving in to his own demons. His is the rough, wounded heart around which the show delicately revolves. A former one-time paramour, Donald, endearingly played by Matt Bomer, is the first to arrive and set his mind at relative ease. Providing a sweeter foil to the perfectly prickly Parsons, Bomer provides both a calmer presence and some swoon-worthy eye candy (if you want to see him in briefs and briefly naked, it’s worth the price of admission).
Robin de Jesus sparkles and almost steals the show as Emory, deftly devouring the scenery in moments that run from the highest camp to the most lowly pathos, while somehow managing to steer clear of a grating stereotype. Michael Benjamin Washington brings a subdued elegance to his role as Bernard, even as he leaves in tears and regret. The catalyst that provides all the immediate drama is the arrival of Michael’s college friend Alan, the sole straight person in the story, whose overt posturing and derogatory comments belie past secrets operating on multiple levels. Brought to anguished life by Brian Hutchison, Alan may be the most conflicted of them all, a rather stunning reversal of the expected standard order. Birthday boy Harold appears half-way into the evening, but makes perhaps the biggest impression. Masterfully brought to life by a wickedly unrecognizable Zachary Quinto, his feathery, deliberately-cadenced delivery is as delicious as it is diabolical. Wit and sharpness have helped him survive, and all the vitriol that Michael throws at him falls away like so many broken arrows.
As mentioned, each character gets an indelible moment to show-off, and no one is one-note accent, which is quite an achievement. Even the Cowboy (Charlie Carver, in an almost-silent role) makes the most of his few words; his emoting, with the slightest switch in expression in a room of sharper wits, manages to convey innocence, exuberance and earnestness in a performance that is sweeter than it deserves to be.
Portraying a couple perpetually on the verge of a break-up or break-down, Andrew Rannells and Tuc Watkins inhabit Larry and Hank in realistically antagonistic fashion, yet despite the seeming precariousness of their relationship, they ultimately provide the evening’s singular moment of hope and sentiment. In a world that once openly hated us, and in some circumstances still does, the tortured yet honest way they navigate their lives is, in a warped way, one example of how gay people worked to forge their romantic relationships. That’s indicative of this play on a broader scale, and if we don’t see ourselves as readily in these characters, perhaps that’s the best sign of how far we’ve come. Taken as such, the work becomes a celebration. What might outwardly be seen as a sad little birthday party becomes a glorious revelry, thanks largely to the compelling performers who breathe life into a world that has, for better or worse, faded away.
Next Thursday, June 1, marks the Semi-Formal event for this year’s Pride festivities in Albany, NY: the GLSEN Gala. It is one of my favorite events, and this year there is a Roaring 20’s Gatsby Theme (which we’ve done a number of times but still isn’t quite old). I love a dressy event, especially one that does so much good in the world. Here’s the info – hope to see you there:
GLSEN-NYCR is proud to present our Roaring 20th Annivsery GLSEN Gala! The black tie is entirely optional but Feather Boas & headbands are strongly encouraged!
Come celebrate a “roaring” 20 years with us, as we continue to fund the Safe Schools Advocacy & Bullying Prevention Work of GLSEN NYCR, right here in the Capital Region of Upstate NY.
Our mission is to ensure that every member of every school community is valued and respected regardless of sexual orientation, gender identity or gender expression.
Please purchase tickets here, all ticket funds go to GLSEN-NYCR! –> https://donate-newyorkcapitalregion.glsen.org/page/contribute/roaring-twentieth-anniversary
