Category Archives: Gay

The Gay Sex Obsession of the Benham Brothers

A number of people I know – along with several studies on the issue – have claimed that a high percentage of homophobic people are actually gay themselves. I’ve always had a hard time believing that. Maybe I’m naive and foolish enough to think that most people aren’t so stupid and self-defeating, and maybe I’m just completely wrong. The only time I wonder about the phenomenon of homophobic man as closeted homosexual is when someone is so fixated on gay people that it’s all they talk about. Rick Santorum and Mike Huckabee come to mind, and now these Benham Brothers – who were set to have their own HGTV home improvement show until their anti-gay vitriol was discovered. Now, it’s like someone unlocked their mouths and all that’s coming out of them is cock talk. I mean, I don’t even think about gay sex as much as these dudes do. And so I’m left to wonder…

When their show was canceled before it even began, they posted this YouTube video. I lost count of all the double-entendres very quickly after one referred to the other as his “sister” and they started rattling off ‘The Three C’s’ that rule their lives. Yes, really. Watch:

A couple of days ago, they posted a big Bible-thumping article on how all the North Carolina shenanigans of late (you know, how the whole world is basically pulling out from a state that’s going to espouse such hateful “values” – and everyone knows that good Christians never pull out) are an attack on their religion. It’s more nonsense, but here are a few excerpts that better showcase their moronic hatred than my rhetoric could ever approach:

“Last week was a crazy week for the state of North Carolina. The hoopla around HB2 (House Bill 2), which overturned Charlotte’s radical bathroom bill, indicates just how demanding and pervasive the roots of the sexual revolution are in our country. And it reveals the direction in which we are headed as a nation…

This is the pattern of the sexual revolution’s mob, surrounding its prey, forcing its will on all who stand in the way.

Yet this is nothing new. As Scripture says, “There’s nothing new under the sun.” Today’s sexual revolution is simply new fruit coming from the same vine – the vine of Sodom.

In Genesis 19, we see how Sodom reacted to the men of God who came to Lot’s house:

“Before they lay down, the men of the city, the men of Sodom, surrounded the house, both young and old, all the people from every quarter; and they called out to Lot and said to him, ‘Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us that we may have relations with them’” (19:4-5).

Today, the sexual revolution of Sodom has pervaded every sphere of society, capturing both young and old. And anyone standing in the way will be surrounded by an angry mob demanding participation…

As the men of Sodom surrounded the house, Lot offered them his daughters, which reveals how pathetic he had become as a father. Yet they refused his accommodation – and it got even nastier:

“So they pressed hard against Lot and came near to break the door” (19:9b).

The “vine” of Sodom in a nation forces participation against the will of the people. It refuses to be told, “No.”

The story continues as the mob pressed against Lot and was struck with blindness, yet the rage continued:

“They struck the men with blindness, both small and great, so that they wearied themselves trying to find the doorway” (19:11).

Wouldn’t getting struck with blindness not sober you up a bit? Yet they “wearied themselves to get to the door!” The sexual revolution is “blind” to its own rage and hate. It has no capacity for reason. It has no ability to see its own hypocrisy or discern its hopeless future. It just forces itself on others regardless of cost or consequence.

Although Lot escaped the city of Sodom, the “vine of Sodom” left with him and eventually took root in the nation of Israel many years later. And it’s still alive today.”

““For they are a nation lacking in counsel, and there is no understanding in them. Would that they were wise, that they understood this, that they would discern their future. … For their vine is from the vine of Sodom, and from the fields of Gomorrah; their grapes are grapes of poison, their clusters, bitter. Their wine is the venom of serpents, and the deadly poison of cobras” (Deuteronomy 32:28-30, 32-33).

What we are witnessing today in America is the vine of Sodom, which is a deadly poison that erodes the moral fabric of a nation. It’s demanding and pervasive, and it refuses to be told, “No.” All across Europe and now throughout America the vine has taken root and is surrounding its prey, and nothing short of a miracle will stop its deadly poison.

Yet it wasn’t the city of Sodom or the people that were the problem; it was the spiritual “vine” of sin that had taken root and perverted the nation. Interestingly, rampant homosexuality was not the “root” of sin in Sodom, but rather the effects of the real root. The prophet Ezekiel said, “‘Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy” (Ezekiel 16:49).

The fertile soil that makes the “vine of Sodom” grow in a nation is when the people are arrogant, overfed and unconcerned. In their pride, they reject God and indulge themselves endlessly, and they are concerned about nobody but themselves. To be honest, this sounds more like professing “Christians” today than anyone.

So today, the newest fruit of the vine of Sodom is the sexual revolution – and it’s poisoning our land. It has nearly taken over everything and is forcing itself on everyone.

Yet it cannot ultimately be removed by “fire and brimstone” from heaven or “common sense laws” from earth. Its ultimate defeat will come when we humble ourselves in repentance and seek God’s face once again. Only the Gospel of Jesus Christ has the power to defeat the real root of the “vine of Sodom.””

I guess my question is: why do they care so much? If what we’re doing as a gay people is so sinful, that’s on us. How does it affect anyone, least of all these two Christians? That’s the part I don’t get. Thankfully, I don’t know either David or Jason Benham. I have no reason to believe either of them are gay. I do, however, have to wonder why they are so obsessed with gay people and gay sex when it really has nothing to do with them. Unless it does…?

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Kickstarting Conversations with Coco

Coco Peru is without challenge one of my favorite entertainers. From her scene-stealing, semen-burning turn in ‘Trick’ to her hilarious (and surprisingly touching) performance in ‘Girls Will Be Girls’ Ms. Peru has been giving audiences razor-sharp wit and side-splitting commentary for more years than any of us cares to recall.

Now she’s making a very serious and earnest play for the television stardom that should have been hers all this time, with a Kickstarter Campaign in which she aims to film a pilot for ‘Conversations with Coco’ – a genius idea that I’d make must-see viewing (and I barely watch TV). There are just a few days left to fund it, so if you are feeling the least bit generous, please visit the ‘Conversations with Coco’ Kickstarter page and get to it. You know she’s worthy.

The best part is that if and when the show kicks off, portions of the proceeds will go to the Los Angeles LGBT Center. Do good, feel good, make good – and enjoy the laughs along the way.

 

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A Hunk Who Does Good: Ronnie Kroell

 Our very first three-time Hunk of the Day is also a personal favorite of mine, as Ronnie Kroell is one of those genuinely nice guys making his way in the otherwise-jaded land of Hollywood. He’s making further motions on making in positive imprint on that town in his latest project, “The Ronnie and Eddie Show” but he knows he can’t do it alone. To that end, here’s a bit of word-spreading for a guy who deserves it for all the good he does for the world.
 
HOLLYWOOD – Friend Movement and Vertex Media are proud to announce the development of “The Ronnie and Eddie Show,” a comedic reality show that follows the lives of actor and entrepreneur duo, Ronnie Kroell and “Laughing Eddie” Lobo.
“The Ronnie and Eddie” Show follows the lives of BRAVO’s, “Make Me A Super Model” fan favorite, Ronnie Kroell and Hollywood Funny Man, “Laughing Eddie” Lobo on a roller coaster journey of dreams, drama, and helping others. Each 30-minute episode brings the viewer an intimate look behind the “smoke and mirrors” of Hollywood, the challenges of operating a business, and the joy of making the dreams of others come true. The show promises to bring the humor of Laverne and Shirley, the drama of Vanderpump Rules, and the heart of Extreme Home Makeover.
Enjoy celebrity cameos from the likes of BRUCE VILANCH, KARAMO BROWN, AYLIN BAYRAMOGLU, FRENCHIE DAVIS, and more to be announced.By supporting “THE RONNIE AND EDDIE SHOW” on Indiegogo, supporters have a part in creating a new Hollywood – a more inclusive, supportive, and talent driven place to dream.
 
I support any project that serves to inject a little heart into the Hollywood universe, and any person who aims to combine their love of entertainment with a love for humanity. Best of Luck, Ronnie & Eddie.
 
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Ally Week

It’s been a while since I’ve done a ‘Straight Ally‘ feature, and that’s my fault for being lazy. Well, busy and lazy. And it turns out this isn’t a new ‘Straight Ally’ post, but rather a recap of those that came before in honor of Ally Week. Let it also serve as a call-out for any allies you might have in mind that are worthy of a feature post. I’d like to get back into my interview/profile pieces.

It all began with my friend Skip Montross, who was an important impetus for getting the series started. As such, it was a natural, easy, and fun way to document a singular friendship, as well as looking into its universal components, and the way we operated in a society where gay male/straight male friendships were becoming increasingly common, and interesting.

Next up was fitness superstar Scott Herman, who added some hunkiness to the ally factor. I’m all about a pretty poster boy, especially if the sauce he’s shelling is for equality and acceptance.

Founder of Athlete Ally, Hudson Taylor was an obvious and exemplary choice for a Straight Ally. He’s been dedicating his life to forging the way for equality, especially in the realm of sports.

Along those sporty lines, Ben Cohen has been one of the staunchest straight allies the world has known. His rugby roots paved the way for his social activism, and his very personal tragedy involving bullying has given him a touching credence that makes his work all the more meaningful.

A very big round of thanks needs to go out to all of my friends who have proven to be straight allies over the years. Being an ally doesn’t necessarily mean making a public spectacle of yourself or instituting grand sweeping reform – sometimes being a friend is all you need to do.

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Kim Davis Should Be Fired

When Kim Davis first refused to issue same-sex marriage certificates even after the Supreme Court declared it law, I took it all with a grain of salt. The will of the highest court in the country seemingly meant nothing to her, and though it was an aggressive, and downright mean, act to perpetrate against a couple that simply wanted to get married (at its heart, Ms. Davis, that’s what you’re doing, under the guise of religion), I still decided to let her nonsense play out.

Let’s be reasonable, something that people in support of Ms. Davis and “religious freedom” seem incapable of being. Kim Davis has been married four times. She’s been divorced three times. If we’re going to go by ‘God’s law’ then Ms. Davis is already in for a hellaciously hot future. Targeting innocent gay and lesbian couples who want only to celebrate their love (as she got to do four times already) is not endearing her to anyone’s God. I thought for sure the loonies would see that much, but they and Ms. Davis herself have proven capable of stupidity beyond my wildest imagination. Even then I joked a bit, saying that I didn’t understand how someone so badly in need of a makeover could alienate so many gay men.

But today, after her umpteenth appeal was denied, and after she still refused to do her damn job and issue marriage licenses, I’m just pissed. I work for the government too, but if I behaved the way she did I’d be disciplined big time. Her job is to issue marriage licenses, not administer a religious sacrament. There is a distinct separation of church and state written into the constitution, and it’s there for precisely this reason.

Let’s say, for example, that my religion is fashion. Not a far-fetched example, quite frankly. And let’s say that I’m vociferously against Crocs and cargo shorts, that I think anyone who wears them is going to hell, and that I don’t want to be affiliated with them in any way. As much as I’d like to not help them, if my job calls upon me to provide information that they need to do their job, if I have to help them or support them in the course of the day, as a state worker I have to do so. I can’t refuse because I don’t believe in Crocs or cargo shorts.

Or better yet, let’s say that I don’t believe in working a full day. My beliefs are that I need a siesta from noon to five, and after that I need a period to relax and meditate. It goes directly against the hours that I’m supposed to work, but hey, those are my beliefs and everyone who knows me will most definitely attest to this. Can I just leave my job at noon based on these staunchly-held beliefs?

That’s exactly what Ms. Davis is doing right now. If it were anyone else, they’d be disciplined, if not fired. How many times does she need to be instructed to uphold the law of the country and do her job as a government employee? I think she’s had her chance. Either do your job, or resign. Stop getting paid for services you refuse to render.

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School, Saddle Shoes & Shame

When I was in third grade, saddle shoes were all the rage. At least I thought they were – the way they contrasted so delightfully in and of themselves, the way they sharpened an outfit. I didn’t pay much attention to who exactly was wearing them, but I loved the way they looked and soon became obsessed with getting a pair.

At Buster Brown there was a pair of saddle shoes – for boys in fact – and I rejoiced as I slid them on my feet. Ahh, the glory of a pair of shoes! These shone in shiny black and white, beacons of pride and joy, like tickling piano keys as I walked. I marched around the store, admiring them in the shoe mirrors. They were bold, and at first my feet were unaccustomed to something so demanding of a second look. Could I pull them off? Of course! How could I not? I thought of those pretty little girls parading around in their pristine saddle shoes, topped by perfectly-white frilly socks. How they glided along on dainty footsteps, how they made it look so effortlessly elegant and easy, and how I wanted to do the same.

The first day I wore my saddle shoes I felt like I was floating into school. I was making my own black-and-white checker-tiled dance-floor, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers all rolled into one (before I even heard their names in the ‘Vogue’ rap).

Yet the whispers upon my entering class were not of awe or envy. I knew those whispers even then. These were whispers of confusion. These were the whispers of discomfort. These were the whispers of ridicule. I thought I heard someone say they were girl shoes.

Then, sudden and swift and irrevocable, the onslaught of shame. With reddened face and panicky disposition, I seethed in inner agony. I quickly took my seat and swung my feet under my chair, away from prying eyes. At heads-down time, I peeked under the desks to study the feet around me. Only girls were wearing saddle shoes.

I shrunk in embarrassment. I cringed at the monstrosities on my feet. I’d made a fatal misstep. I who never faltered, who never failed, now felt the hot flush of being the almost-object of ridicule. I felt myself teetering on the brink of becoming ostracized from the only people who seemed to matter. Yet I never let on that those whispers bothered me, or even made it to my ears. I never let on how badly they crushed my ego and destroyed the silly bit of joy I got in those shoes. I never let on that when they tried to break me, they had in fact succeeded.

I didn’t wear the saddle shoes much after that – just a few more times so as not to arouse the suspicion or ire of my frugal parents for not making use of new shoes. They went back into their box, worn only at home or on vacation or where I could be myself and not worry about being chided for it.

Everything I do today, every strange, questionable object I wear, is done in honor of that little boy who was robbed of such joy, held captive for the rest of his boyhood by a gang of innocently cruel children. They were taught by the world to dress like a boy or a girl, and there was never room for anything in-between. Another line between innocence and shame. Another demarcation of growing up. The way we erase our identities to fit in, to feel like we belong – I didn’t know then that it was the very way I would grow to hate myself. It would take years before I returned to my quirky style. Years of khakis and polos, and jeans and sneakers, and trying to be the boy everyone wanted me to be. Years in which I pushed my lovely saddle shoes into the dark recesses of my closet, and the life-loving fun that should comprise every childhood into the hidden recesses of my heart.

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That’s So Gay

My husband and my brother follow each other on Instagram, which I find both amusing and confusing. (My brother started and quickly stopped following me a long time ago.) Anyway, a couple of nights ago Andy sent him a picture of some car that he thought my nephew would like (it had what can only be described as wings (or raised fins) on the back, and it looked cool to me). Rather than responding with a simple ‘Ha!’ (my stock go-to reply to anything that neither impresses nor bothers me much) or a dismissive ‘Not his style’ my brother sends one word as his response: “Gay.”

I know I shouldn’t expect less, and certainly not more, but at this stage of his adult life, and at this formative point in his own children’s lives, to toss the word ‘gay’ around in an apparently derogatory manner is just offensive. When he gets angry, or just casually describes someone be doesn’t like, I’ve heard him use the term ‘faggot’, which he once explained did not mean anything against gay people, it was just a term for something stupid. That excuse no longer flies with me. It never did.

My brother probably won’t ever change. I’ve implored him not to say such things, I’ve screamed and yelled, I’ve spoken calmly and explained that it hurt me personally to hear him use such language, and I’ve told him unequivocally not to talk that way around me, but while it has lessened, it’s still apparently there. Even in the harmless response to a picture of a car he didn’t like.

I’ve long since given up on him. But if his kids should ever say something like that one day, it would break my heart. Kids see and hear everything. Even my non-parenting ass knows that. Words matter. What may be meaningless or insignificant to him might make a world of difference to others. I would hope that message is being passed on to his kids, because if you’re not preparing your children to be open and embracing of difference, you’re setting them up to fail in this diverse future.

As I was sliding down a maudlin hill contemplating all of it, I was reminded by Suzie that I should help do my own bit of education. So let’s turn this into a teachable moment for all those people who say something is ‘gay’ without meaning disrespect to those of us who are in fact gay. Here you go:

 

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This Really Happened Last Night

As proud and lucky as I’ve always felt to be an American, I’ve never felt more proud than seeing our White House resplendent in the rainbow last night. When love wins, everyone wins.

“No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of  civilization’s oldest institutions. They as for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right.”

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Happy Pride, Albany & Boston!

There was a time when I thought that pride was something I could carry in a Louis Vuitton bag or sprinkle out of a Tom Ford Private Blend decanter. I believed that pride could be found in the paisley lining of a Versace coat or the shiny surface of a Gucci loafer. If I could locate the elusive purple croc Hermes tote bag or Jeffrey Scott’s golden winged sneakers then surely I would find it. I thought pride could be bought, like so many baubles and trinkets, wrapped around my head like a pair of trendy sunglasses, encasing my heart like the richest and most-finely embroidered corset. Yet like all tempting ruses, the idea that pride was something that could be appropriated from anywhere other than within was too good to be true.

It turns out that true pride is not something that you can buy and wear on your back. It doesn’t come in a cologne bottle or the hand-stitched finery of the most gorgeous haute couture piece. It cannot be conjured by fashion or looks or beauty, and it’s more than just an attitude or frame of mind. (I used to think that was enough.

My pride was something I had to work to uncover, and it didn’t always come easily. There was no set of instructions on how to access pride, no easy-to-follow list of the steps necessary to bring it into being. Even acting the part and proudly flying my rainbow flag and pink triangle weren’t an authentic rendering of it. It proved elusive, even when I paraded around in Prada and thought I had it all.

My pride was sometimes latent and quiet and covered in shame, but it was always there. The realization of it took some time, and even as I write this I am coming to understand that it’s never really over. Like the best parts of the human condition, it continues to be an ongoing process of acceptance and love and evolution. The difference now is that I’m aware of it. I sense it and it empowers me. You may strip me of my cashmere socks and fancy designer underwear, but you can never strip me of my pride.

It comes from a belief in the dignity of oneself, in the very trust that you are worthy, you are equal, you are all the wonderful things that comprise a human being. When you realize that, the fashionable and the frivolous can be seen and appreciated as aspects of beauty – admirable and noble to a certain extent, but only as an accentuation of what you already are.

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A Sultry Bordello Heats Up Albany’s Pride Celebration

One of the highlights of the Albany Pride Celebration is the semi-formal kick-off to Pride weekend, as put on by GLSEN NYCR (Gay & Lesbian Straight Education Network – New York Capital Region). It’s the only somewhat formal dress-up event, and as such it sparkles a little bit more. This Friday they are transforming The Egg Performing Arts Center, at the Empire State Plaza, into a burlesque bordello and dance hall, where the sights and sounds of a French cabaret will swirl attendees into a decadent world of saucy French delights.

Having been lucky enough to attend their Great Gatsby event, and last year’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s party, I can assure you that this will be a grand time. Fine food will be on hand, as well as an open bar (beer & wine), in addition to a display of one of the most impressive silent auctions in town. Better yet, this evening’s proceeds will go towards funding the Safe Schools Advocacy & Bullying Prevention work of GLSEN NYCR, as well as area scholarship programs that focus on empowering LGBTQA youth as they prepare to enter the workforce. There will also be awards for an empowering local educator, an outstanding youth and our ally of the year.

The black tie is optional (very optional, so relax if you don’t have one, black or otherwise), a feather boa is encouraged (in my book, it always should be), and the only thing that’s an absolute requirement is a fun attitude (and even that can be left at home because you’ll find a new one at the door).

The night begins at 5:30 PM at the Egg Performing Arts Center at the Empire State Plaza, Friday, June 12, 2015. Tickets are available here.

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A Heart of Sequins (Via Winnie-the-Pooh)

I’d been working on the outfit for days, even if I didn’t have a place to wear it. It was an old Winnie-the-Pooh Halloween costume, but it still fit, though it was more of a short-legged jumper at this point. A bright golden yellow formed the sunny background to the spot of cherry red that was emblazoned on the chest in the shape of a heart. I sprinkled it with sequins and glued them on, then outlined the heart with a thin velvet ribbon that was gorgeously on the border between lavender and purple. It stayed in my closet for when I wanted to wear something special, and I would add a sequin or two whenever I happened upon such magical flotsam and jetsam. A feather or two may have found their way onto the outfit as well, as feathers tend to do in my presence.

Despite my love of it, this wasn’t anything I’d wear in front of people. It was never my intent to show off or put it on for anyone other than the stuffed animals in my bedroom, and certainly not for anyone outside my immediate family. I just loved the way it looked, and loved the way it looked in the mirror when it was on. That was enough then, and it’s still enough now. There was comfort in surrounding myself with prettiness, a safety in being in such close proximity to beauty. The colors of the red and purple together, the sparkle of the glue-gobbed sequins, and the vibrant corn-hued backdrop were indubitably a mess, but I loved it all. Most infantile taste is garish at best, but the brightest beginnings can be just as auspicious as the quieter ones.

My parents didn’t do much entertaining, so when they did it was always an event. On a Saturday night, they were having a few old neighbors over who had moved to Florida but still visited once a year. It was a special occasion, as much for the rarity of the long journey that got them there as for the uncommon dining formality, in which we got to eat in the formal dining room (and slip under the table before the meal was done, as kids tend to do).

I distinctly remembered our former neighbor ~ an elegant blonde woman who personified fabulousness in a way that had me wondering how she had ever landed in Amsterdam, New York. She was brash and funny and outspoken, and I loved that feistiness. She was also bold in her taste, with a big bag that she rummaged in for sunglasses or other fancy accoutrements during the brief course of her stay. It was my first glimpse of glamour. My mother had a chest-drawer full of pretty scarves and a jewelry box filled with gold and silver, but I always sensed she was more practical in her style. I longed for the ridiculous gaudy sparkle of my grandmother’s costume pieces, or the shimmering bugle beads of her ornamental, if impractically small, purse.

Our glamorous neighbor sat on the living room couch and talked to me like I was an adult. Part of me was scared, part of me was thrilled, and part of me felt like someone was finally listening. Unbeknownst to anyone, and perhaps even to herself, she had detected something in me that no one had acknowledged. I don’t know whether it was just that I was gay or different, but at the time I knew that it was something special.

Somehow we got around to discussing my Winnie-the-Pooh-on-drag-acid outfit, and she encouraged me to put it on. I was a shy boy, but in her exuberance I sensed acceptance, an unconditional sort of acceptance that was somehow foreign to me. I bounded upstairs and slipped into it. Almost too shy to come back, I sheepishly re-entered the living room. (Actually, I think I may have cartwheeled in and then crumpled to the floor trying to disappear from view. Such is the bane of the painfully-introverted extrovert.) She summoned me over to her, where she put her hand upon my sequined heart, admiring the not-so-fine handiwork and exclaiming over its creativity and beauty. It was genuine praise, coupled with a knowing glint in her eye. That’s how I read it anyway, and that’s what mattered.

She saw something in me that my parents hadn’t seen. Or if they had, they never let on. It was something I had not yet seen in myself but something so special and so emboldening that at that moment my life changed forever, even at such a young age. Three decades later I still think back to that night and remember the feeling. Whenever I sense my confidence faltering, I recall how impressed she was by a few messily-glued sequins on an old Halloween costume. Sometimes, a confident facade is enough to stave off the cruelty of the world until you can gain the real thing back.

I’m sure I’m the only one who remembers it but I remember it distinctly and clearly as if it had happened yesterday. It has had that much of an effect on me. It was the first time someone saw something special in store for me. It was the first time someone encouraged me. It was the first time I felt like my creativity had worth.

It meant that I might have worth too.

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Hella Cute

A simple story like this is sometimes enough to bring a tear to the eye and re-affirm my belief in humanity. A very cool straight guy, Jacob Lescenski, just asked his best friend Anthony Martinez, an openly gay guy, to the prom. This would have been unthinkable when I was prom age, and it’s thrilling to see it happen in my lifetime.

Friends ask friends to the prom all the time – hell, I once took a girl to her prom when there was clearly no romantic interest on either side, and it was one of the best nights I ever had – so to see a gay guy/straight guy friendship take such a matter-of-fact turn is some way no big deal. In another way, it is huge, and it has me grinning from ear to ear. Thank you to Jacob Lescenski and Anthony Martinez to showing the world what it means to be a friend and an ally.

A straight ally is a heterosexual man or woman who has contributed in some way to fostering equality for all human beings, particularly in regards to battling homophobia, ending discrimination, and supporting marriage equality. A straight ally fights for human rights, especially those denied gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people, with the knowledge that to deny equality to one segment of the population is to diminish all of us as human beings.

It’s not enough to stand alone, because no matter how tall one may stand this sort of social revolution will not be accomplished by one person. It will take a collective effort from all of us – gay, straight, bisexual, transgender, male and female – and change ~ true, lasting, meaningful change ~ can only begin with understanding and kindness, friendship and love.

We stand on the precipice of something great – a moment that matters. We have in our reach the power to make a difference, to make a change, to make the world a better place – whether that’s in something as simple as a shared laugh, or as deeply felt as a new way of thinking about what you may hold closest to your heart.”

UPDATE: An even happier ending than one could have imagined. Check out a video encapsulating this entire moving experience. Simply awesome.

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Holy Backlash

Mike Pence, Governor of Indiana, has gotten himself into a bit of a pickle with his Religious Freedom Restoration Act, which paves the way for legalized discrimination against gays and lesbians. I’ve been galvanized by the swift and strong reaction to Governor Pence’s proposal. The problem for Pence and anyone who doesn’t believe in equality is that the majority of people are no longer going to allow such thinly-veiled acts of discrimination to exist without a battle – and that battle isn’t yet harming gays and lesbians, it’s hurting the state of Indiana. Hardly effective leadership for someone who is, say, the Governor.

If the growing boycotts and unprecedented backlash against Pence and his problematic religious freedom fight are indication of anything, it’s that this country, and this world, will not stand for discrimination against the LGBT community. It’s simply unacceptable to treat a gay person as anything less than a human being. We have the same rights and privileges as any other human being.

For me, it’s pretty simple: if you are open to the public, you have to serve the public. Gay, straight, black, white, Christian, Muslim, mean, nice, pretty or ugly ~ everyone. Do you have to become gay if you serve a gay person? No. Do you have to stop believing in Jesus Christ if you serve a Buddhist? No. Do you have to give up your Prada bag if you serve someone wearing Crocs? No.

We’ve had this argument before, but the world has changed and evolved a lot in the last few years. As the vitriolic response to Pence has proven, setting the stage for discrimination is not only bad policy, it’s bad business. I don’t feel the need to pontificate upon it any further, and the good thing is that there are other far more powerful entities willing to do so. The corporate world is standing against it and taking millions of dollars away from Indiana. Sports teams are considering pulling their biggest events out of the state. Other governors have banned travel and non-essential trips to the state of Indiana. The irony is that Mike Pence’s religious freedom act, far from helping or aiding Indiana, has served only to harm and inflict financial pain upon its own constituents. That’s the problem with anything rooted in hatred: the underlying nature of the beast will ultimately devour itself.

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A Wonderful World

In this Age of the Internet, it’s easy to think that we know everything about everyone, particularly someone who has an immensely popular blog. Kenneth M. Walsh, of Kenneth in the (212) fame, is one of those online-celebrities who in many ways feels like an old friend, at least for those of us who have followed him religiously since he exploded onto the scene. Yet you never really know someone until you read their memoir, and Mr. Walsh offers scintillating tidbits of the humorous and twisting tale that brought him to the enchanting metropolis of New York in last year’s ‘Wasn’t Tomorrow Wonderful?’

Struck-through with world-weary wiseass remarks that only a fellow social anxiety-sufferer could love (“I don’t even like to be touched when I’m having sex”) there is much to laugh about and love in his engaging recounting of nights with one-armed men, terrorized toothbrushes, and an almost-unhinged Thomas Roberts. Yet for every hilarious occurrence (and there are many) there is an equally-poignant and touching moment of melancholy. Such depths give this memoir a gravity that grounds the more outrageous wanderings of the occasionally wayward protagonist.

The most audacious and memorable character in the book is Mr. Walsh’s own mother, the indomitable and unsinkable Molly. She is perhaps the mother of all mothers, pulling no punches and delivering every blow with brilliant comic madness and sometimes unbearable pathos. Walsh digs deep with his family memories, and the years-long dance his Mom somewhat awkwardly performs regarding his sexuality is one to which many of us can relate. We want so badly to be loved, and we will forgive almost-all parental transgressions because we have but one mother.

Most moving is Walsh’s own coming to terms with his coming-of-age, especially the exact moment his childhood innocence departed. Not all of us can pinpoint the exact moment that innocence is shattered, but Walsh has it down to a date and time. It was during the Johnny Carson Show, when that evening’s guest introduced a film clip from a gay love story. The audience’s reaction – jeers and boos and open hostility – was what rang in young Kenneth’s ears, and suddenly the notion of shame was born. It’s something that resonates with most gay boys and girls, and this is the part of the book that struck me most deeply.

“My ability not to be painfully-self-conscious around people ended that night,” he writes. “My self-doubt and increasing sense of worthlessness – the whole nation would turn hostile and boo me if they knew who I really was – became who I was. All a stranger had to say to me was “Hi,” and I’d instantly turn beet red and my heart would start racing out of control.”

When Walsh revisits the clip years later, he is struck both by his somewhat overblown recollection of the audience response, but also by something more: “Despite the fact that it wasn’t “as bad” as I remembered, it still made me sick all over again, thinking about that isolated fourteen-year-old boy watching television that night and getting booed over his shameful secret. If it seems like almost nothing now, that’s just further proof that it’s the little things that can affect people so much, especially children. Things are hardly perfect for gay youths today. Still, I’m glad something this blatant would be unlikely to happen again.”

As in Andy Cohen’s recent diary, New York City comes alive as Kenneth’s ultimate true love and salvation, and their decade-long-and-going-strong relationship evolves from distant admiration to rocky-rodent courtship to torrid yet stalwart sustenance. The final post-Studio-54-party scene is the stuff New York dreams are made of ~ wistful, romantic, and sweeter than expected. It ties up the long and winding way Walsh wound up in the city of his dreams, and leaves things full of promise and further adventure – the way the best books always end.

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Shout-out to HomoRadio

It’s always a joy to visit HomoRadio. I used to go on when I was hosting 1st Friday events at the Romaine Brooks Gallery, so when they asked Andy and I to stop by for a fun segment on marriage, we returned and talked about what brought us together way back when. Currently in their 23rd year of production (they debuted in 1992!) HomoRadio continues to offer compelling dialogue and up-to-date news of local events with an LGBTQ slant.

Dr. Ray, Sean, Ulysses and Dave are engaging personalities who bring listeners together from around the world. Along with news producer Joe Galu, they’ve created a vital and vibrant forum that was once lacking from our local cultural landscape. Doing anything for over two decades is an accomplishment, but to have a gay-themed show in 1992 was a groundbreaking experience. In a world before the internet, most of us had to scramble and search to find others like us. A radio show was a way of reaching people who needed to feel less alone.

In the ensuing decades, our community has made great strides, and HomoRadio has chronicled every step along the way. They’ve become a cornerstone of Albany’s tapestry, growing alongside the Capital Pride Center and consistently joining in the Capital Region’s dialogue on what it means to be gay today.

It’s also just great fun to hear my friends have this party every Sunday – and the best part of being on the radio is that it doesn’t matter what you wear. (As evidenced below in Versace – and backed by Dr. Ray’s car.)

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