Over the Moon: Preview of The Couple Profile

 

Their first kiss was on the anniversary of Stonewall.

Their first date was at a showing of the movie version of ‘The Lion King’.

Their first buggy ride together was in New Orleans.

Tomorrow I present the first ‘Couple Profile’ – on Wayne and Cody – and it’s a story that goes back almost two decades.

 

The year was 1994, and ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’ was saturating the summer airwaves. Whenever I write a feature on someone, I try to get into their heads, or into the time period it took place, by listening to music relevant to one or the other. In this case, I tried a little of the Elton John song, but something didn’t ring true. It was romantic, it was swoon-worthy, and it must have played when they were just getting to know one another – but another song presented itself in my head, and then, unplanned but perfectly plotted to the whimsical workings of the universe, on some obscure mix that played when I was having trouble sleeping on a recent night, ‘Moon River’ came on, and it suddenly became the song that informed the piece.

I have no idea if it played any part in the lives of Cody or Wayne, or even if they like it (hopefully it’s not one of those songs they can’t stand), but for whatever reason it provided the soundtrack to the creation of tomorrow morning’s post. And somehow, the lyrics fit into the timeless notion of true love that I think these gentlemen exemplify. Come back tomorrow for a little slice of their story.

Moon river, wider than a mile
I’m crossing you in style some day
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker
Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way
Two drifters, off to see the world
There’s such a lot of world to see
We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waitin’ ’round the bend
My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me…
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A Mexican Morning Coda

I thought our Mexican weekend had ended, but once in a while you extend the fun into Sunday morning. JoAnn usually does a big breakfast at some point during her visits, but we had done so much already, it didn’t look likely. However, I had some purple potatoes that needed to be used, so I popped them in some olive oil and salt and pepper, roasting them to a tender crisp. I asked Andy, half-jokingly, to prepare us a few Mexican omelettes, not expecting him to do so. JoAnn and I sat in the living room while the potatoes cooked.

To our surprise and delicious delight, Andy had scraped together the leftover vegetables from the previous eve’s fajitas, and conjured a perfect Mexican omelette, with a side of purple potatoes and a piece of jalapeno cornbread. It was the perfect ending to a pretty perfect weekend. To ease the pain of her leaving, we made plans for the next rendezvous, and a date for the Summer of Love 60’s Party. It helps to look forward to something, especially if the summer is involved.

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Fajitas & Ritas

JoAnn came over this weekend and we made it a weekend of Mexican food and tequila cocktails. Things started off on Friday evening, with an ease-of-entry drink, the Paloma Cooler. We caught up by the conversation couch, limes bobbing along in our drinks, a bottle of tequila briefly on hand until it was gone (and we opened the next one), and the understanding and camaraderie of a dear old friend. Nothing quells the winter doldrums quite like that.

After getting up to speed, we moved into the dining room for a late dinner of slow-cooked cilantro-lime chicken. It’s not fancy by any means, but it’s easy and tastes good. The wonders of a crock-pot. Recipe is as follows:

Slow-Cooked Cilantro Lime Chicken

Ingredients

  • 1 (16 ounce) jar salsa
  • 1 (1.25 ounce) package dry taco seasoning mix
  • 1 lime, juiced
  • 4-5 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
  • 3 pounds skinless, boneless chicken breast halves
  • 1 can black beans

Directions: Place the salsa, taco seasoning, lime juice, black beans and cilantro into a slow cooker, and stir to combine. Add the chicken breasts, and stir to coat with the salsa mixture. Cover the cooker, set to High, and cook until the chicken is very tender, about 4 hours. If desired, set cooker to Low and cook 6 to 8 hours. Shred chicken with 2 forks to serve.

I asked Andy to make a jalapeno corn bread to go along with the chicken, and I found an easy box mix that incorporated sun-dried tomatoes. It came out deliciously, with a rich amber coloring, just enough jalapeno heat to add interest, and the crumbly goodness that is the hallmark of cornbread. We slept well after that – almost too well – JoAnn hit it hard and didn’t rise until 1 PM, but that’s how it should be when decompressing and relaxing. She needed it – we both did – and a sleepy morning that bleeds into the afternoon is the best way of dealing with the Winter.

We made our traditional run to Faddegon’s – a greenhouse can calm the most frayed of nerves at this time of the year – and then proceeded to the Fresh Market to pick up the last few items for our mini Mexican feast. JoAnn made her seven-layer bean dip, and prepped the vegetables and chicken for the fajitas. We switched from the Paloma Cooler to margaritas, salted rim and all. For dessert she had planned on doing an apple-filled enchilada, but we were so stuffed from the dip (and drained from the night before) that we turned it into a simple bowl of vanilla ice cream sprinkled with cinnamon. You don’t get a more bastardized version of a Mexican meal than that. No matter, the spirit of tequila wrapped itself around us, and the company was good and true. With a double DVD dose of ‘The Mexican’ and ‘9 to 5’, we closed the night down and headed to bed.


 

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Week in Review: 1/28 ~ 2/3

Another week, nay another month, has gone by, and we are at the point of a recap. This was a fun one – with lots of old friends taking the sting out of the last week of January. Slowly the days are getting longer now, the sun gradually staying out a little later. We’ve got a long road ahead, but the first third of Winter is well and truly over. It’s the slightest sliver of hope that gets us through the day. But enough on that, let’s get this rehash over:

  • The Madonna Timeline shuffled to two of my non-favorite songs by her madgesty, ‘Candy Shop‘ and ‘Gang Bang‘, but I did my best with what I was given.
  • A new musical ‘Upstairs‘ is in the launching phase, but needs help to come to full fruition. It tells the story of a 1973 arson fire at a gay bar in New Orleans – one of the deadliest attacks against gays and lesbians in the history of this country, and one that went largely known.
  • The last, and by far the most impressive. moment of this week was the premiere of the Straight Ally Profile feature. I wrote it on my friend Skip Montross, and he somehow managed to get it onto the front page of Reddit (a major accomplishment, I’m told – and one that resulted in our biggest traffic day ever). It was one of my favorite pieces that I’ve written on this website, and it’s a testament to how great a guy Skip is – and the proof is encapsulated here: “It is assured that the generations that follow us will view the voices of today, those who say that traditional marriage is a right reserved for only straight couples, with the same bitter disdain that we reserve for those who believed that separate could ever be equal… That is why it means so much to me… not because I benefit but because it is right.” ~ Skip Montross

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The Amazing Jockstrap Post

While I’m not slipping into a jockstrap this year like I did here, and here, I managed to find a few guys who did, and here they are. They’re not your traditional football-playing jocks, and that’s why I like them.

 

 

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Super Basket

There’s a more complete jockstrap post coming up later today in honor of the Super Bowl, but for now my own little football get-up is here to get in the sporty spirit.

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Memories of Super Bowl Glory

There is simply no way this year’s Super Bowl will ever attain the gloriously dizzying heights of last year’s spectacle. First of all, there are no sexy Patriots in the game. That means no Tom Brady, no naked Rob ‘The Gronk’ Gronkowski, and no Wes Welker. Second, there is no new David Beckham underwear commercial. Third, and most importantly, there is no Madonna (and no new Madonna song). The latter alone means it’s going to be one dismal letdown, even if Beyonce does her best.

Still, I may check out the game, because it’s what Americans do, and with my new interest in the sport I have a little better idea as to what’s happening on the field. As of this writing, I’m torn between the teams. Originally I went in routing for the 49ers, but ever since Chris Culliver made those homophobic remarks, I’ve been leaning toward the Ravens. It also helps that a straight ally, linebacker Brendan Ayanbadejo is playing for the latter. Besides, as a general rule I prefer the underdog.

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Helping Out Upstairs

One of the double-edged swords of all the progress the gay community has made over the last few years is the fact that those young people coming of age now don’t remember how hard it used to be. As a thirty-something gay man, I feel in many ways on the cusp of that – I remember what it was like in the 80’s and 90’s, and I know how easier it is in many ways today. While this is the way it should be, we must not forget from whence we came, and all our rich, tumultuous, and often-unlearned history.

A bit of our history that I had not known until recently was a 1973 arson fire that killed 32 people in a gay bar. It went ignored by the media, and unknown to many, like myself, until Wayne Self brought it back to over-due prominence in his upcoming musical ‘Upstairs‘. Events like this need to be remembered. We cannot forget, because such hatred will flare up in other ways.

Director Zach McCallum sums up the story as such:

Upstairs tells the long-forgotten story of a tragic arson fire in a gay bar in New Orleans in 1973. Thirty-two people, many of them members of the then-fledgling New Orleans Metropolitan Community Church, which had been meeting at the Up Stairs Lounge, were killed, in what remains to this day the single deadliest crime against an LGBT population in US history. At the time, the story was almost completely ignored by the news media. Though a suspect was identified, no arrest was ever made.

Wayne’s play is an elegant, haunting tale of damnation and salvation, telling the stories of several of the victims of the fire. The characters  include Buddy (based on the real Buddy Rasmussen), a bartender who led 35 people to safety, and Buddy’s partner Adam. Mitch, the associate pastor of the NOLA MCC, and his partner Horace. Drag performer Marcy and her dresser Reginald. And Agneau, a tormented and self-hating gay man. It is a morality play with a twist, told with sensitivity and dark humor, with a catchy and modern jazz and blues influenced score.

The production is up against a large goal, and timeframe: they need to raise $10,000 in order to move forward. They’ve got a good start (about halfway there at the time of this writing), but it must be raised by February 17, so the pressure is on. Please consider helping out with a donation at THIS LINK. (Your donation will only be collected if they reach their goal.) Another way to help is to attend one of the shows (which is what I would do if I were a hair closer to California…) Tickets can be found HERE.

 

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #85 ~ ‘Gang Bang’ – Spring 2012

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

Like a bitch out of order,
Like a bat out of hell
Like a fish out of water
I’m scared, can’t you tell?
Bang bang.
Bang bang.

Some songs make you want to do bad things. Very bad things. A sinister bass line, a blast of guitar, a vicious whisper – all add up to the daring drama of ‘Gang Bang’ -the next selection for the Madonna Timeline. From her latest (and sorely under-rated) ‘MDNA’ album, this is Madonna’s return to controversial form. Many fans have likened the song to a throwback from her dark ‘Erotica‘ opus, but this goes a bit further, and finds our maiden/mistress at her angriest. ‘Gang Bang’ is fully loaded, and aimed squarely at the heart of the one who has done her wrong. (In this instance, coming in the aftermath of her divorce from Guy Ritchie, it’s hard to read anything other than a savage revenge play made against her ex-husband.)

I thought you were good,
But you painted me bad.
Compared to the others,
You’re the best thing I had.
Bang Bang, shot you dead.
Bang Bang, shot you dead.

The thing that has always struck me about Madonna, and a fact that many of her detractors have a hard time believing, is that most of her anger and acting out is a rather transparent display of hidden hurt and buried heartache. It’s hard to get truly mad at someone who comes from a place of sadness and loss, even if they do their best to turn it into something bitter and defiant.

I thought it was you,
And I loved you the most.
But I was just keeping
My enemies close.
I made a decision,
I would never look back.
So how did you end up
With all my jack?
Bang Bang, shot you dead.
Bang Bang, shot you dead
in the head.

Her performance of this song on the MDNA Tour was filled with guns and violence, and even in a pre-Sandy Hook world this was tough to watch. I’m not going to get into a gun-control debate here, though. It’s a Madonna song. You read into it what you want, and I’m not going to argue about it.

Bang Bang, shot you dead, shot my lover in the head
Bang Bang, shot you dead and I have no regrets
Bang Bang, shot you dead in the head
Bang Bang, shot you dead, shot my lover in the head.

All I can do is remember what it made me feel. This is one of those driving songs, the soundtrack to those times when you simply get in the car and drive with no destination in mind – you just want to get out of the house, away from your husband, and away from a life that sometimes seems at odds with everything you once dreamed. It’s the ultimate lashing out of anger, the purging of pent-up emotions, and, if you’re careful, a safe release of the madness that lurks somewhere in the midst of the happiest marriage.

And then I discovered
It couldn’t get worse
You were building my coffin
You were driving my hearse
Bang Bang, shot you dead
Bang Bang, in the head.

A confessional piece of pop art like this song can sometimes afford an easy reconciliation. Listening to it may quell the stupid fights, the ones over the small things. It’s no substitute for communication and figuring the big issues out, but I’m the first to admit that most of our fights (and not just between Andy and myself, but most of us) are over the small stuff.

I thought it was you
And I loved you the most
But I was just keeping
My enemies close
I made a decision,
I would never look back
So how did you end up
With all of my jack?
Bang Bang, shot you dead, in the head.

Every once in a while, though, I’ll get in the car, and there is no relief. There’s nothing left to be reconciled, there’s nothing left to alleviate, and there’s nothing left in me to forgive, and that’s when the song turns just the slightest bit dangerous. We all have our breaking points. We all have the capacity to hurt, and to get hurt. And in the end, we all bleed.

Bang Bang, shot you dead, shot my lover in the head
Bang Bang, shot you dead and I have no regrets
Bang Bang, shot you dead, in the head
Bang Bang, shot you dead, shot my lover in the head
You had to die for me baby
How could I move on with my life
If you didn’t die for me baby?
If you didn’t die for me baby?
I need you to die for me baby…

How far removed are we from the murderers and killers? How far apart are we from the person who, for that one moment, snaps and cracks and pops one in the head of the one who hurt them? We all like to think it’s so unfathomable, so far from who we think we are, from what we think we could do. But until you’re there, until you’re the one getting that shit heaped upon you, you’ll never know.

Bang Bang, shot you dead, shot my lover in the head
Bang Bang, shot you dead, shot my lover in the head
Bang Bang, shot you dead, shot my lover in the head
Now my lover is dead, and I have no regrets.
He deserved it.
And I’m going straight to hell
And I’ve got a lot of friends there
And if I see that bitch in hell
I’m gonna shoot him in the head again
Cause I wanna see him die
Over and over
And over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over…

To be honest, it’s not my favorite song from the album, despite how much many other fans seem to love it. (It was instantly heralded as one of her best, and the end result didn’t live up to the hype in my head.) I do think it would have made a killer video, and Madonna did put out feelers for Quentin Tarantino to direct it (oh how I wish that had come to fruition), but as of this writing it hasn’t panned out. For now, it’s a nifty vessel for channeling the rage we usually feel at one point or another, and every once in a while I’ll turn it up, back the car out, and drive.

Now drive bitch!
I said drive bitch!
And while you’re at it, die bitch!
That’s right drive bitch.
Now if you’re gonna act like a bitch,
Then you’re gonna die like a bitch.

Song #85: ‘Gang Bang’ – Spring 2012

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The Exquisite Disdain

Even now, after all those ad campaigns, after all we’ve learned how about bad it really and truly gets, there is the glamour of self-destruction, imperishable, gem-hard, like some cursed ancient talisman that cannot be destroyed by any known means. Still, still, the ones who go down can seem as if they’re more complicatedly, more dangerously, attuned to the sadness and, yes, the impossible grandeur. They’re romantic, goddamn them; we just can’t get it up in quite the same way for the sober and sensible, the dogged achievers, for all the good they do. We don’t adore them with the exquisite disdain we can bring to the addicts and miscreants.
~ Michael Cunningham, By Nightfall

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Someone to Watch Over Me

There’s a saying old, says that love is blind,
Still we’re often told, “Seek and ye shall find.”
So I’m going to seek a certain lad I’ve had in mind…

It’s the sort of co-dependent anthem we’re not supposed to like – the sad, pathetic admission that all we want may just be for someone to take care of us. It’s not something that those who didn’t know me would ever accuse me of being, but those who did know – the few who saw through to my heart – knew it well. I was, and would always be, a reluctant romantic – try as I might to pretend otherwise. You only get burned so many times before you turn those romantic overtures down, but you’re never able to completely rid them from your most secret wants and yearnings. I’ve held onto mine all this time.

There’s a somebody I’m longin’ to see
I hope that he, turns out to be
Someone who’ll watch over me

I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the wood
I know I could, always be good
To one who’ll watch over me

This is not a post for those just stepping into a new relationship. No, this is the kind of kiss of death that you don’t impart until you’re married. The games we’ve been trained to play when it comes to love don’t allow you to be so bold, so brazen, so frighteningly raw. No, young lovers, hide your heart and bury your longing – at least if you want to hang onto the one you love. Is there anything so strange that we humans do as pretending to not be as interested as we really are? I wasn’t good at hiding that sort of thing. And guys weren’t good at dealing with someone who didn’t bother hiding it. So I danced alone for a long time, swaying in dim empty rooms whenever a song like this came on, rocking in solitude to lyrics that pierced my heart for lack of understanding, lack of experience, lack of love.

Although he may not be the man some
Girls think of as handsome
To my heart he carries the key

Won’t you tell him please to put on some speed
Follow my lead, oh, how I need
Someone to watch over me

And I waited, and wondered, and hoped, and prayed. And waited, and cried, and loved. And there were lovers fair, and lovers cruel, lovers who cared enough to leave, and lovers who didn’t care enough to stay. And even though I’ve been with my husband for over a dozen years, love is still a tricky thing, seeping into the darkest corners to let in a little light, or pouring over the burning ache of hurts newly raw. I don’t always understand it, I don’t know how it comes to be, and perhaps that’s best. It’s not something you can corner or trap, not something you can control or cajole, but when you’re ready – when you’re really ready to be loved – someone will be there. And then the wanting will be okay.

Won’t you tell him please to put on some speed
Follow my lead, oh, how I need
Someone to watch over me...

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Tequila via Paloma

My friend JoAnn is coming up for the weekend, and we’ve loosely planned a Mexican food fiesta of sorts, beginning with a slow-cooked cilantro salsa chicken, and this entry cocktail ~ the Paloma Cooler. It’s all tequila, all the time, and I snagged this special recipe from Martha Stewart’s page on tequila cocktails. Say what you may about Ms. Stewart, she knows her way around the bar. This one is simple, yet potent, and comes with a neat lime boat filled with tequila. The original recipe is below, followed by my variations.

  

Paloma Cooler

 

1 lime wedge, for garnish
Coarse salt, for rim
Ice
1 teaspoon lime juice
½ lime, cored
1 ounce platinum tequila
1 bottle Mexican grapefruit soda

Directions: Rub rim of a highball glass with lime wedge; invert glass in a small dish of coarse salt, twisting to coat rim. Fill glass halfway with ice, 1 teaspoon lime juice, and 1 ounce platinum tequila, then top with Mexican grapefruit soda. Stir. Float the cored-out lime in drink and fill with tequila (try a reposado for added color).

For my version, I modified the proportions without sacrificing the flavor. Instead of a highball glass, I used a shorter old-fashioned size, doubling the tequila and halving the soda. It’s slightly more crowded with the ice and the lime, but that makes it more fun, especially when the tequila in the lime cavity spills out and joins the pinkish pool of grapefruit soda.

The only type of rimming I enjoy (at least in the cocktail realm) is a rim of salt. For the cajillionth time, I abhor a sugar rim, and always will. Salt, on the other hand, is a different animal entirely, lending an integral counterpoint to the tendency of margaritas and the like to go into a too-sweet territory. With the lime and grapefruit soda here that’s not as much of a concern, but the salt is still a nice accent.

The gimmick of a floating lime filled with tequila doesn’t sound like my usual preference for elegant simplicity, but once in a while it’s nice to get a little messy, and tequila is the perfect companion for that sort of thing.

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Profile of a Straight Ally: Adam ‘Skip’ Montross

The man sits in the midst of a sea of young girls and a smattering of their gay pals, yet he is alone. It is the 10:20 showing of ‘The Hunger Games’, and a solo gentleman in a baseball cap courting his mid-thirties may make for a suspicious visage to some, but he is relatively unfazed. He checks his phone, as much out of habit as self-conscious distraction, and fires off a quick FaceBook post, both betraying a sophomoric excitement and self-deprecating belittlement of his attendance at such a movie. There’s a certain respect that must be given to those who can retain a sense of boyhood wonder, as well as those with the self-possession to see such a movie alone. That sort of self-possession is why some straight guys don’t have a problem with gay men. It takes a secure, confident, and sure-of-himself guy to not pause at the notion of hanging out with guys who are attracted to other guys. It takes a brave and courageous man to not fear being called or considered ‘gay’ when stepping out of traditionally masculine roles. And it takes a guy with an impressive sense of self to so closely and fiercely align himself with fighting for equality for all. In this premiere installment of the straight ally series, Skip Montross is that guy.

Most of my straight male friends, and more than a few of the gay ones, simply don’t have that kind of confidence. Sometimes I don’t even have that confidence. Luckily, there are people like Skip who have enough for the rest of us, who inspire us to find that confidence within ourselves, empowering us with their vision of equality. These are our allies ~ the formidable straight people who realize that this is their fight too, the fight for a better world.

They don’t need to do it, but they realize that it’s the right thing to do, that to stay silent is its own form of oppression, and that acquiescence can be a crime in itself, and a more insidious one at that. Skip understands this, and explains his views with passionate reason, making irrefutable points grounded in disciplined intelligence, all the while speaking from the heart:

“You ask why this means a lot to me and I say that it’s for the same reason that it SHOULD mean a lot to everyone; because it is right, because it is just, and because it is fair. Take a good look at our history. Study it well. The heroes whose names we all learn as school children are always those who championed the rights of a minority against the aggressive opposition of those who preached contempt, division, and often hate under the guise of false righteousness. Likewise, the passage of time and the clarity of hindsight is never kind to those who fire-walled progress. Rather, it shines a spotlight on their ignorance and bigotry. Martin Luther King Jr.’s defining quote may well be, “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character… Governor George Wallace, I draw the line in the dust and toss the gauntlet before the feet of tyranny, and I say segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever. Which side of history are you willing to place yourself upon? We are at this place again, having taken far too long to get here. America is ridding herself of an unsightly scar. The process is long and painful but wholly worthy.”

“It is assured that the generations that follow us will view the voices of today, those who say that traditional marriage is a right reserved for only straight couples, with the same bitter disdain that we reserve for those who believed that separate could ever be equal… That is why it means so much to me… not because I benefit but because it is right… I feel the need, nay the duty, to stand up to radical ignorance and hypocrisy. It boils my blood when individuals, or collectives of a like minded ignorance, stand behind obscure passages in the bible and use them as an armor of righteousness with which to cloak and shield their transparent and hateful bigotry. It is reckless and woefully misleading when someone quotes biblical passage as a justification to oppose gay marriage. There are so many philosophical and ideological miscarriages when using the bible as a defense of marriage that it boggles the mind. Freely they cite Leviticus 20:13 as, “If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination” as they preach it to the heavens. Yet they freely dismiss the abomination levied upon those who dare eat shellfish or get a tattoo? Protest a gay marriage? “Where and when do we show up.” Protest a Red Lobster? “Aww but man, they have the best cheddar biscuits.” It’s this kind of hypocrisy that tears at me with vicious claws. Clearly, adherence to the bible is flexible enough to ignore instructions that are inconvenient, such as murdering one’s children for disobedience, but when it’s convenient to justify hate… well then it’s gospel. It’s the ultimate in passive aggressive bigotry. If you’re afraid of gay people… we get it. If lesbians creep you out… that’s fine. Just stand up and have the courage to fucking say it. Hiding behind an obscure passage makes you not only a homophobe but a weak one at that.”

In this era of political-correctness, it’s refreshing to find someone so willing to simply state it, to call out the bigots and name the hypocrisy ~ because, really, that’s what it is: bigotry and hatred. It takes a lot to put that out there, and most of us are too insecure of what might be said back to us to stand behind it. It took Skip a while to reach that point too.

“Like most adolescents and young adults, I wasn’t always supremely confident in myself,” he recalls. “A teenage boy who admits that he cries at earnest and touching character films can take a lot of slack from friends and cliques. While I always knew what I liked, I was sometimes afraid of being honest based on what others might think. I feel like I completely grew into myself somewhere in my early to mid twenties. It was at that point when I realized that I know exactly who I am through and through. I sometimes get the feeling that not everyone enjoys that benefit. I think that once you truly know who you are you find that, with the exception to those that you love and hold close, you couldn’t care less what anyone else in the world thinks. I am a nearly-35-year-old husband and Dad who has been going bald for as long as anyone can remember, who enjoys watching ‘So You Think You Can Dance?’ and singing songs from ‘Wicked’ just as much as I enjoy giving fantasy football advice while fixing your computer. I am who I am and I like what I like. Thus, I am afforded the ability to speak loudly about that which I hold true.”

 

That ability also gives him the bravery to sit alone at a showing of ‘The Hunger Games’, as we return to the original scene of this piece. The movie nears its final stretch, and the clock closes in on midnight. At home, his wife and daughter rest in peaceful slumber. A son is on the way too, but for now, for this midnight, he is on his own. Every husband and father has his own way of carving out time alone. The Don Drapers of the world get drunk and skip out on their daughter’s birthday party while others find more innocent and constructive ways of retaining sanity, of holding on to the wild navy nights of their youth.

 

He often references those nights, with a laugh and bravado at how he was able to survive ~ sometimes with bloody noses, sometimes with bruised limbs, sometimes with suppressed tears. I’ve heard him reminisce about being a part of a group that unfailingly supports one another, bound by oaths and promises and the simple shared dignity of fighting for your country. These days, the macho bonds of brotherhood, instilled by the navy and its fiendishly dichotomous life of regimented strictness and shore-leave abandon, have been supplanted by the comfort and excitement in taking care of his kids ~ a job that sometimes requires the efficiency and discipline of a navy admiral.

There are terrors and frights that accompany such a family life ~ resignations and appeals and a bartering system that all married folks realize and master and come to terms with, happily or unhappily, and in the end most of us do what we can to survive, hopefully not hurting the ones we love too much along the way. We both see that, we both love our partners, but we’re not blind to sacrifice, and all that goes along with being loved. It is life’s great balancing act ~ how to love and be loved, and though difficult at times, we are fortunate enough to have found it amply rewarding as well.

It helps that we’ve fostered outlets for such sacrifice through creative expression, and Skip’s skills are more varied than mine; he’s even been known to sculpt a relief of a baseball player for a family member’s birthday gift, or compose a poem for a special occasion. Like my wedding.

If there were any lingering doubts as to our friendship, and Skip’s taking up the mantle of a straight ally, they were obliterated with his wedding gift to Andy and me. Amid a wealth of generous offerings and exquisite gifts, his remains one of our favorites. It was a poem, simply framed and gorgeously rendered, and I’m reprinting it here because it perfectly captures the essence of Skip and what he means to us:

HIS & HIS TOWELS ~ By Skip Montross

 

We searched both high and low,
For the perfect gift to give.
Something that you’d remember,
For as long as you both shall live.
 
But they don’t make his and his towels you see,
What you’re doing is kind of new.
Sadly the world isn’t there yet,
They’ve not caught up to you.
 
Some people are convinced,
That theirs is the only way.
They say marriage is not the right of every man,
Especially those who are gay.
 
But yet you’re both defiant,
And your love you do not hide.
Brave and boastful you share it,
Full of both beauty and of pride.
 
Those of us who’ve known you,
Through your long and storied past,
Know that yours is the truest of loves,
The kind to ever last.
 
And as you drink and dance and laugh,
Take a look at your gathered friends,
For in the face of arrogant ignorance,
They stand with you till the end.
 
But worry not of that this night,
Just bask in joy and glory.
For tonight we choose to celebrate,
The “Andy and Alan” story.

That it was a straight man who so eloquently portrayed our love was proof that this battle for acceptance and equality is one that both gay and straight people will need to take up. But more than that, it cemented Skip’s status as a close friend, one whom I respected both for his heart, as well as his talent. In addition to the occasional foray into poetry and sculpture, Skip is perhaps best known for his stand-up comic skills, having performed from Broadway Joe’s to Waterworks. He’s got an uncanny knack for impressions, and his humor is both smart and sly, clever and witty. Like many comedians, however, Skip is capable of, and often prone to, going dark at times. Not just bad-mood dark, but a darkness that overtakes days and sometimes longer stretches of time. He’ll disappear from FaceBook or the comedy clubs, only to return – re-energized, reinvigorated – with a kick-ass stellar set, and then he’ll be gone again.

Though he claims that nothing embarrasses him, he has a certain undisguised sensitivity in the way the world can hurt people, himself included ~ it’s a heightened sensitivity that goes hand-in-hand with an empathy and understanding of the bullied and the oppressed. When asked how he would address someone who was looking for some way to survive, he offers the following:

“To me the answer is painfully simple yet very difficult for one to accept. At the end of the day it all boils down to understanding, knowing undoubtedly and accepting fully one simple sentence: It’s not you, it’s them. Every time I hear a story about a young person committing suicide because of bullying, I feel a deep swell of utter pity. I pity that they never had a fighting chance. As I said earlier, having a clearly and confidently defined sense of self is one of the keys to a fulfilling life. If you know who you truly are and you can love that person truly then life can be joyful. I imagine a poor soul who is tortured because they are meant to feel ashamed of their identity. I wish that in every instance there was someone who could have said, “You are good and you are worthy and you are loved and you are not wrong for feeling whatever it is that you feel.” Because I’ve enjoyed the great fortune of being surrounded by those who fostered me to be whoever I wanted to be, it is difficult to imagine feeling anything other than support by those closest to me. What a fortified and solitary existence that must create, surrounded by walls of defense and self doubt. Why are there not enough of us who can recognize this and say to them, “It is not you. It is them.” You are not wrong or sinful or ugly or less because someone has told you that. When someone tells you that it is because they themselves are afraid and angry. What you are, in fact, is better. You are better than someone who would turn you on yourself in hateful judgment. You are better than you believe yourself to be. Someday in the future you will look back and feel angry that you ever felt this way because you will be proud of, and have faith in, yourself. You just need to know that it is not you, it is them. To live with constant self-doubt and self-hate is what I imagine to be a dark place. And I imagine that coming out of that place, as it were, must take a warrior’s courage. To risk everything on the chance to simply be okay with yourself is a courageous and, I imagine, frightening endeavor. We’ve progressed as a culture where being different and unique is significantly more accepted than it was as little as a generation ago… but it is still a monumental task.”

“I have never had to experience what the weight of that doubt and fear and shame feels like… but I can imagine. And that is why I have the utmost respect for anyone who has had the courage to openly admit their sexuality and also for those struggling to find it.”

 

Skip makes an interesting analogy of homophobia being the real disease, not homosexuality. He turns the traditional notion of equating gay people with those having an affliction on its head, reversing that vulgar thought. It highlights an important social construction: the problems that many gay people have may not be a failing in the fact that they’re gay, but a failing in the way the world treats them. It’s not being gay that’s killing these kids, it’s the hatred heaped upon them for being gay that makes them kill themselves.

“A friend by definition is someone who you’ve chosen to be company, someone who shares similar ideals and values and someone who’s of value to you as a person,” Skip explains. “Anything that affects that person is something that you should feel by proxy. Say for instance you have a friend who has been diagnosed with a disease such as cancer or Multiple Sclerosis. You’re naturally inclined to learn more about it and become a proponent for its eventual cure. You do this because though its effect on you is indirect, it is still something that means something to you because it means something to them. In this regard, I feel like having several close gay and lesbian friends certainly influences my actions and beliefs. The disease analogy is apt here because my friends do suffer from a disease. Not the disease of their sexual orientation as some segments of society would have you believe. Rather, they all are crippled with the disease that is the intolerance and contempt of a society who, by and large, forces them to be labeled, categorized, identified as different and deemed unworthy of basic rights. It is not their own diagnosis, but the diagnosis of a sometimes hateful society, which nonetheless has symptoms and complications. It is for this reason that I choose to, in much the same way that a friend of someone who has cancer would, speak and actively seek to find a cure. I don’t want to cure my friends of gayness (because a world without gays and lesbians would suck big time). I want to cure others of misguided ignorance and unsubstantiated fear.”

The first time I met him in person was at one of my holiday parties. He arrived with his wife Sherri (then his girlfriend), one of my co-worker friends whom I trusted implicitly not to bring riff-raff into my home. He wore a snazzy newsboy cap and pin-stripe jacket ~ semi-metrosexual bordering on a then-hipster style. Greeting him in red tulle and matching spray-painted hair, I didn’t really have a fashion-leg to stand on – it was my Venetian Vanity party after all. (Insert Skip’s disparaging Cyndi Lauper hair quip here.) As the evening unfolded, I was impressed and ultimately won over by his wit and limitless knowledge of useless trivia and entertainment facts, underscored by a self-effacing sense of humor and a sensitivity hidden just below the surface. 

While he embraces, sometimes ironically, a well-tread suburban dream, one gets the sense that part of him yearns for more. At his soul, he has an artistic temperament, and it finds expression like most artists ~ in the unlikeliest of places and moments, and in any way possible ~ the aforementioned plaster reproduction of a sports plaque, a quirky color on the basement man-cave wall, an uproarious FaceBook post that comes out of nowhere, or the gift of a poem for a wedding.

When Sherri later mentioned how happy he was that I had approved of his outfit, something touched me on a deeper level. That’s when I realized that straight guys were just as insecure as gay guys, and required as much, if not more, validation. In that small sliver of a moment, a mind-set was changed, altered forever after, and straight men were suddenly a lot less scary to me.

 

In the ensuing years Skip and I forged a sometimes unlikely friendship, with occasional dovetail moments like a shared love of ‘Wicked’ and the Red Sox, and I recognized in him a sort of boundless creativity somewhat tempered by his stereotypical role in the world. Straight guys yearn to be more than just ‘straight guys’ as much as gay guys yearn to be more than just ‘gay guys’. The binding constraints of stereotypes cut into everyone. We each found ways of breaking through such limiting bounds by pushing against the confines that society wanted so badly to impose upon us. In our shared quest for creative fulfillment there exists a commonality that transcends sexuality. It is upon this common ground that our friendship is based.

Yet we can’t get around the fact that being friends with a gay guy and acting as a straight ally continues to raise questions of one’s own sexuality. There will always be those who assume and believe that any brush with gay issues instantly makes one gay as well. The absurdity of this is not lost on Skip, nor does it bother him.

“I’m sure that there have been people that have thought I was gay on a number of occasions,” he surmises. “One girl I worked with was convinced I was mostly because I wore suit jackets every day for the first week at the job. And I’ll admit that I can see how a guy who openly sings show-tunes and ranks ‘The Birdcage’ among his favorite comedies is someone who you might question. If they think that, it’s not because I’ve showed the slightest inclination towards finding the male physique the least bit enticing. It’s just not the way that my clock ticks. I knew I liked girls from around the time that I kissed my neighbor, a cute Japanese girl named Shawna, when I was about 5 years old. Or when I stumbled upon my first Playboy and tried to understand what that new found warm tingling feeling was. They think that because I fit some external stereotypical profile that they’ve set up on “who’s gay” based on a bunch of factors that have nothing to do with sexual preference.”

“I think that often, maybe not always but often, the negative reaction someone has to being called something that they are not is a by-product of the internal fear that maybe they are. So when I read a message board boasting that someone is afraid that a young boy watching two boys kiss on ‘Glee’ will give them gay inclinations I have to just shake my head. Watching two boys kiss when I myself was a boy would illicit no reaction other than perhaps an odd curiosity. It certainly wouldn’t have given me any kind of response based on desire. I feel like when someone indicates that they feel differently than that, like watching this would confuse them or persuade them towards similar exploration, it always makes me wonder how shaky their own sexual inclinations might actually be. I have no issue with someone who could feel a hormonal or sexual response from this type of stimuli and thinks that it could be enticing. I just think that when you suggest that it’s a possibility then you’re announcing something to the world that maybe you didn’t intend if you get my drift. Socrates said that, “From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate.””

Skip is able to laugh off some of his stereotypically gay traits, but sagely reasons that those traits really have nothing to do with sexuality at all. It’s a reminder that pertains to everyone, and when I took the time to truly think about it, it was startling in its resonance. “I joke about being a “few steps away from being a gay man” because it’s my way of playing off of some people’s misguided perception of me based on what I like,” he explains. “These perceptions seem always to be based off of someone noticing my proclivity for show tunes, my desire to have the interior of my living space present nicely while colors co-ordinate and decorations flourish, my yearly joy during the Oscar Awards or my unabashed love of all things Gaga. To them, these are the things that they consider to be “red flags.” It never ceases to amaze me that the things that make me “a few steps away from being gay” are things that have literally nothing at all to do with sexual preference. They’re just the things I like. And they’re the things that I’ve always liked.”

Such stereotypes run along the same lines of limited reason that makes some people question whether all straight allies are gay. Fortunately, that kind of ignorance is dying out, whether they want to believe it or not. Future generations have made it clear that being gay does not matter to them. They will continue to operate and vote with that in mind. The world is catching up to the fact that marriage equality is one of the last human rights not being afforded to everyone. Righting inequality is never an easy or quick task, but it feels like we are on the tipping point. The next generation will continue this, and largely because of people like Skip ~ and the children he is raising (even if his propensity for crafting a serviceable French braid in his daughter’s hair raises more eyebrows).

“Having a daughter has seemed to only make people’s questions multiply,” he claims. “I can braid my daughter’s hair, I help her make changes to her various dolls’ wardrobes to enhance their “fashion” (as she likes to put it) and I often serve as the “Reigning Queen” for her tea parties. I do this because it’s what she likes and I like playing with her and having fun. I also do this so that she knows that in this big wide world she’ll experience with age that she’ll run into boys who like dresses and girls who like flannel shirts… and that just makes them different and unique, which are traits that I want my daughter to value in others and even strive for herself.”

It is here where Skip’s value as a straight ally is most admirably pronounced. His greatest accomplishments won’t be in teaching me sports or HTML, but in raising his daughter and son to be loving and accepting of all people. It’s not only a boon to the world as a whole, but to his kids as well. Those who don’t open their children’s minds to the possibility of difference do them a grave disservice in preparing them to be successful and productive members of society. That’s what’s always confused me about those who indoctrinate hate and dissension into their children: those kids are going to grow up unable to successfully navigate a diverse world, trapped by the shackles of ignorance and held back by an inability to get along with others.

Skip and Sherri are giving their children the best start in life, teaching them how to love, and instilling a sense of what it’s like to be loved. Fittingly, that’s where this story ends ~ with the future. Skip’s legacy will be two more people who don’t see difference as a bad thing, but who accept and embrace it as something of value. He is teaching them to be inquisitive and open, accepting and non-judgmental. It is the basic tenet of a straight ally. That sort of thing will always move me. It’s one thing to say you’re my friend ~ it’s quite another to put your actions behind it.

He closes with a succinct summation: “If you feel that something as simple as one single trait (of the countless traits that make up a person), the bio-chemically predetermined factor of a human being’s sexual preference, is a tool which you can use to judge or admonish them, then I say that you are either woefully misinformed… or that you are yourself, at heart, simply not a good person. Life is far too short, and is already fraught with far too many heartaches. No human being should waste a solitary thought nor spend a single breath in attempt to make another human being doubt or lament their own identity. Nor can anyone truly believe in earnest that they are afforded a right with which to wrestle, from another, a right which is inalienably theirs. Love, no matter what manifestation it may be found, is the most precious commodity we have on this earth. Don’t shit on it; lest progress and history shit on you.”

His words ring with the blunt edge of inevitable change, the charged future for a better world. It is the sound of a dying branch of shame finally breaking off in the winds of righteousness, the reclaiming of a religion twisted and abused in the name of hatred, and the last gasp of an irrational and unreasonable group of people afraid of anything different. It is a clarion call for honesty, for being the people we were born to be ~ a demand for acceptance, for equality, for every individual to be afforded the right to love. It is, at its heart, the wish and hope and dream of a better world.

“I believe that there are far too many people who spend time trying to present an image to the world, constantly manicuring a representation of what they think people want or expect to see while never exploring or developing the person they actually are. The moment that you’ve handcuffed perception with identity is the moment that you’ve censored both your voice and your beliefs.”~ Skip Montross
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Profile of a Straight Ally: A Series

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, transgender and queer 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, female, non-binary, queer ~ 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.

Tomorrow marks the premiere installment of a new series, ‘Profile of a Straight Ally’, in which I write a feature on a straight ally who has especially moved or impressed me in some way, specifically regarding their stance on equality. When it was time to pop my straight ally cherry for this series, it came down to a few choice contenders. Ben Cohen and Hudson Taylor were at the top of the list, and both luminaries will be profiled in the coming months, but for my first straight ally profile, I wanted to get a little more personal and select someone closer to me: Adam ‘Skip’ Montross ~ my friend and webmaster.

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Dad’s Big Night

This week we celebrated Dad’s being honored with a Medical Professional Excellence Award given by St. Mary’s Hospital. On a snowy night that also saw sleet and ice and frozen rain pour down from the sky, we traversed the back-roads of upstate New York to Johnstown, making a rather treacherous journey to see my Dad accept a long-overdue award for excellence (in a rare moment of acknowledging what a stellar career he’s had). It was well worth it.

Despite the weather, it was a great night, and it was good to see how many of his colleagues and friends turned out to help him celebrate.

Most of all, it was good just to spend some time with my family.

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