Vacationed in New Orleans the first week of June ’14. Loved it. Want to move there some day.
In the meantime, I took copious pix which have been uploaded into two galleries (right-hand nav). Pix are typical vaca pix; things that I thought were interesting; tattoo process shots; cats of NOLA; and lots of food porn. Skip what’s uninteresting; enjoy that which is.
k.
I wasn’t sure whether to title this “gay” or “hate”… I decided to go with the more positive of the two.
I received the following message from Brian, an old friend from NYC. Kelsey is Brian’s wife’s God Daughter:
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Kelsey came out of the closet today. First to her family, then on Facebook. She lives in Louisiana surrounded by a conservative Christian community. She is having a really hard time, online and off, and could use all the friends and support she can get.
Please friend Kelsey and show her your support. Pass this message along to anyone you think might appreciate it.
Thank you.
-Brian
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Go here to friend Kelsey on FaceBook.
I dutifully FaceBook friended Kelsey; she accepted. I then went to her page. There I found numerous posts and comments from her “christian” friends (I suppose “friends” deserves quotes as well). These were people, horrified; people who couldn’t believe that their friend had so betrayed them, and therefore their version of Christ, by coming out of the closet.
They tossed the usual judgements at her, damning her soul while claiming to care about it.
How could she?!
I passed Brian’s message on to a number of, as I called them, my gay, spiritual, or spiritually gay, friends.
If you are on FaceBook, I urge you to friend this young woman via the link above.
Let’s face it. I, and most of the gay (my thumbs keep typing fay: a term stereotypical, as well as mis-spelled) people I know, live in a bubble. We have it relatively easy to very easy. Most of us live in cities, or larger towns, on “coasts”. One forgets.
Even here, having moved back to Reading, PA, it is easy to forget the days of my youth when it wasn’t as… Oh, but really, compared to what someone living in a true religiously conservative area goes through, even back then, in my fraught teens, I had it easy. (Thank you, Genesius; the theatre, not the Saint.)
How many young people out there never make it out alive simply because they can’t be free to be who they really are? Or just as tragically mind-bending, stand up to the world, showing their true selves, only to be beaten, spiritually, emotionally, physically, or often, all three? How many? How fucking many?
I could spend paragraph after paragraph of discourse on the hypocracy, the dishonesty, of the fundamentalist “christian” hate mongers. That, however, has been done before, by people far more learned than I. The problem is, one cannot have reasonable discourse when one party is blinded by a fundamental sense of “right”.
I no longer have the energy, or will, for this type of discourse.
What I do have energy for, is living my life as the out gay person that I am, and supporting those who choose, no matter the oppression, or odds, to do the same.
Have strength when you need it, lend your strength when it is needed from you.
How odd that the choice that Kelsey made, the choice to live as the Universe made her, the choice to live honestly to herself, and the world, how odd that that should have to be so hard.
Now that’s, as the kids today say, gay.
Nite,
k.
One universally consistent complaint about the iPhone is that it is not possible to cut and paste. Since I now tend to compose all my posts on my phone, this, given my feeble powers of memory, poses serious limitations on my inclusion of annotative links. I simply can’t remember extended URLs long enough to add them in.
That being said, Prop. (Well, it wasn’t an incredibly long URL.) Something that supports, the act of supporting, a physical, usually but not always, handheld item used on stage by an actor, and carrying the idea of “support” to its modern vernacular conversion, in the plural, “respect”.
Pshew.
So, the other day, I was called into duty raiding another theatre’s prop rooms. Raiding is, perhaps, the wrong terminology. “Borrowing from” is more correct, however, like long-time neighbors borrowing one another’s tools or garden implements, these “borrowings”, more often than not, are for a term longer than the item’s intended use.
Anyway, we filled a rowboat to the brim with small stools, think milkmaid, and rolled it (yes, it rolls) from one theatre’s warehouse across the street to our theatre. It’s nice that these two spaces are just across and down the street form one another: One, the sheer convenience is a joy, and: Two, the rolling rowboat doesn’t roll all that well.
On our short journey, we passed some local derelicts who offered, albeit in a somewhat slurred and incoherent fashion, stool-toting, boat-rolling tips. None of these were particularly helpful; the tip nor the derelicts.
And here I am, days later, on stage surrounded by our booty. Plus more acquired in the ensuing days.
Props: support; gratitude. Two sides, one coin.
I do love all the folks I’m working with and those who have made my participation in this project possible.
This was written piecemeal over a number of days. It might not make sense to you, but it makes sense to me. And now this has been brewing too long to not post immediately without further delay.
k.
Sphere: Related ContentAnd that.
Since it’s been so damned long since I last wrote, as Nath constantly reminds me, some random thoughts that have been running through my mind. In no particular order, with no particular relevance, rhyme or reason.
It was a great evening. A number of folks who I worked with, oh, 30ish years ago, were in the cast, some reviving their old roles (Genesius did the show in 1977; found these slides in my collection. Yeah, slides, kinda like visual 8 tracks) and some doing the show for the first time. Joining the “old hands” were a good number of new Genesians who were equally fun to watch. Quibbles with the production, of course, it’s me, the king of curmudgeons, but still, wonderful to see.
So scanned I was (I seem to have momentarily channelled Yoda), duly pricked, hooked up to machines, drained of blood, and what was discovered? I have a great heart, great lungs and seemingly, no lurking clots. In other words, no answer to what was causing the original symptoms, but the fear of my heart exploding is no longer hanging over my head. So, I guess, in the end, it is a virus, still a bit with me, as I’m still having occasional dizzy spells, but they are abating with each passing day.
Damn, the Sunday morning talking heads are on and I’m being distracted. More later, after the heads and a trip to the grocery store. Whoo Hoo! Do we know how to do holiday weekend, or what?! LOL
k.
Sphere: Related ContentApparently does matter. At least to Nath.
“Your new theme is so hard to read. The text is too small. Make it bigger,” says she.
Now personally, I like the text the size it is and I can’t believe that her eyes (ses yeux, fatigué, blasé…) are any worse than my 45 year old bifocal-ed orbs. But we all view the world through different lenses, so be it. Ok. Done.
I’ve searched for, found, and ta da!, added the “change font size” widget by Ferran Rodenas.
Thank you, Mr. Rodenas, you have made a lovely French girl – not me silly; Nath – very happy. Now she can pump the pixel size from its delightful 13px to a very frightening 22px if she so wishes.
And they say I’m a cranky curmudgeon. The things I do for you kids. 😉
Nite,
k.
