being butch

‘Chances Are’, as sung by Johnny Mathis was playing on the stereophonic HiFi portion of our GE television/stereo consul. The table lamps, two with their green shades, and one with some kind of yellow and orange doily material were off and the only brightness that could be seen was the reflection of the porch light which always had to be kept shining when my parents left the house. There was a big sigh of ‘wait, don’t play that song yet’ as Johnny Mathis started to croon, and someone trying hard not to scratch the LP picked up the arm of the record player and said ‘are you ready yet’? There was a rush of poodle skirts covering up silky under slips brushing against themselves or the pant legs of waiting boys, and someone must have dropped a bag of potato chips as an ‘oh damn, give me the broom’ was heard. Then when most of the fuss ended Johnny Mathis was given the go ahead and the living room was alive with symphonic melodies and a lot of girls giggling. It was a Saturday night in 1957, located in the living room of my house on Denniston Avenue in Pittsburgh, and my oldest sister Maxine was having a teen age party.

Maxine is the oldest of our four siblings and was given the responsibility of baby sitting her bratty brother and baby sister when my parents went out. Maxine was the most level headed of the kids at the time and mostly made life easy for all of us when she was in charge! (You listen to Maxine when we are gone my mother would tell my little sister and I, and if there is any trouble I will take out the wooden spoon when I get home, my mother would caution us as she readied herself for a night out.- the only time I remember the wooden spoon was ever used for discipline was by mistake as my mother had the spoon in her hand as she went to catch me by the shirt and mistakenly swatted me.-but the wooden spoon was the weapon of choice to instill fear!) But when Maxine was going to have a party, or as she would state it, ‘just some close friends over’, all hell broke loose in our house. She would pull out the clunky and noisy vacuum actually picking up the sofa cushions one by one to clean whatever had hibernated under there, and would actually take a cloth and wet wash the glass of the photos on our mantel piece. And as she did this she would growl, very quietly so no one but my younger sister and I could hear, and she would speak seemingly without ever moving her lips, ‘touch this and I will kill you.’ No matter how loud we would scream ‘Maxine is scaring us’, my mother would just smile at her oldest child and then say to us ‘come on kids, really’?

My little sister Francie and I had learned at an early age, make nice, behave nicer, and good things can come your way. I being two and a half years older then Francie also learned the art of veiled threats, as in if you don’t want us around then feed us. If Maxine and her friends were going to have potato chips, pop (Pittsburghese for soda), and some of my sisters home made meatball sandwich’s then our silence and our being good had a price connected to it. Easy bargaining, especially when some of Maxine’s best friends happened to be boys coming over. So, before the kids ate drank and did whatever teenagers did, my little sister and I were fed. Most of the time that was all we needed to occupy ourselves stuck on the second floor.

However this night my sister Maxine let slip to her girlfriend that someone special was coming to the party. Normally this kind of secret communication was done at high school or on the phone in Maxine’s room with her door guarded by dogs and barbed wire, but some how in preparing for the party, and perhaps too much Windex in her nostrils, Maxine let loose about Arnie, and Maxine’s affection toward him. I was sitting behind one of the two sofas in the living room so my presence was undetected, and upon hearing this news I had to contain myself from shouting ‘Maxine has a boyfriend’.

So here we have the living room dark, slurping sounds dancing in the air, some crunching of potato chips, a giggle here or there Johnny Mathis now singing ‘Its Not For Me To Say, and my little sister and I sinisterly sitting on the upper steps leading to the second floor, peering over the cut out portion of the wall looking to discover who of all these people was Maxine’s boyfriend. And then as if we had scripted the entire event, Maxine’s girl friend said, let Maxine and Butch sit on that chair (That chair being the chair directly underneath our lookout position). It took us a second to comprehend who Butch was. BUTCH, we had never heard that name, what kind of name was BUTCH???? We thought Maxine’s boyfriend was Arnie. Again, as if scripted someone said to the crowd, that Arnie’s nickname is, Butch. Well that was it, my little sister and I were flabbergasted, and we thought the name Butch was hilarious enough, but as a nick name it was just the funniest thing we had ever heard. As Maxine and Butch were about to kiss, Francie and I let out a squeal of laugher, forgetting for one second we were spying and in hiding and said out loud together….BUTCH!!!!

Needless to say a mad dash encompassed with Francie and I barely making it to the back bedroom of the house before Maxine, wooden spoon in hand caught up with us.

After that momentous event, Francie and I started to call each other Butch, first kiddingly and then lovingly, and to this day some 44 years after, we still refer to one another as Butch.

Since that time and until I turned 38 and finally came out as a Gay man, I had never met another Butch in person. If there was a character on television or the movies whose name was Butch, I snickered, the name still seemed funny to me. As a Gay man, I did meet a few butches most of them not by name but by particular roles they held within the Gay community. Butch had a completely different meaning and purpose for them so it seemed and being butch was not comical but manly. Butch was an identity that Gay men embraced and for some Gay men being butch meant being Gay but not that Gay. It permitted some men to discriminate against others because apparently being butch meant you were almost like a fantasized version of what a heterosexual male should be like. It got you places at the time and as a part of a minority placed you one rung higher on the social acceptance ladder then others.

Name calling; be it a nickname, a symbol of sorts, recognition of your social status has always been around. We are told as kids that sticks and stones may break our bones but names will never hurt us. But somehow in the world of American politics 2011, name calling is almost as dangerous as bullets. Somehow the only way we can govern is if we govern only and for people with our same name. If we are Christian Conservatives, Tea Partiers, Progressives, The Religious Right, Liberals, somehow we know what is best for us, and how to do worse for you, and if you can only talk to me or call me by name if OUR name is the same. Sadly our names identify us then in turn isolate us.

Butch was a funny nickname for a guy, hilarious as a nickname. It then turned into a compelling name for a sister then transformed to become a masculine moniker. The word American used to mean All of Us, then it morphed into Some of Us and now in 2011 it seems to mean None of You, unless You are just like Us. …kind of scary, don’t you think? Being butch used to be so easy.

aunt meercy

Sitting on a shelf next to my desk is a picture of a woman with curly bangs surrounding her entire forehead. She is wearing a plaid skirt; the hem neatly pressed mid way between her calves and her knees. The photo is in black and white but the deep darkness of her lips tells me those are dressed with a bright ruby red. With his arm around one of her shoulders, the other hand holding hers is a man dressed in an army uniform. His hat is fitted perfectly so no hairline can be seen and it is tipped precisely in the middle to provide stability for his entire uniform. He is looking at the woman in his arms with a smile that if it were about to croon a tune would certainly contain words of “I love you.” She has maneuvered her body to both provide him the only vision for her eyes, but coyly sneaks a slight glance at the camera. She seems more than amazed with this man and truly content. The picture is circa 1943, the man’s name is Bobby Greene, and the woman is my Aunt Meercy.

As stories grow in age from inception to repetition, to third and forth iterations, what I knew about these two people was something very simple. He was the love of my Aunts’ life; she was madly, passionately, positively in love with him. What I don’t know about this story and no matter how much prodding I plead, I have never heard why the two never became one. All I know is a few weeks after this moment in history was captured in black and white, Bobby Greene went to war, and my Aunt never heard from him again.

In the 50’s there was television program called “Your Hit Parade,” it was a countdown, prior to music videos, or MTV of the most popular music most middle class Americans favored. (It was the fifties so much of the music excluded that honky top filth known as rock and roll). It was then the music Moms and Dads hummed on the way to work which now is still played in the elevators of Holiday Inns located on a highway replaced by Interstates. There was a singer, the star of the show who always got to sing and sway to the number one selection, her name was Dorothy Collins, I referred to her as Dorsy Collins, and my Aunt Meercy reminded me of this woman. My Aunt was always singing the newest tune, and many times humming music of the 40’s the time of her young adulthood. My Aunt always had some song she wanted to share.

When I grew older and able to go to the movies, Dorothy Collins was replaced by Doris Day as the lady my Aunt most reminded me of. My Aunt was fashionable, carefree, a working woman (and for the 50’s that was an unusual phenomena), and she seemed to always be going on adventures that seemed similar to the roles Doris Day played on the screen. My Aunt was the Cultural arm of the family. She took my sisters and I to museums (where she taught us that polite people always stick to the right and never push ahead of anyone in front of them), to the premier of movies in downtown Pittsburgh (explaining to us when you go to a cultural event, you should applaud after each performance, but never be the last one clapping), and to dance concerts. My Aunt taught my sisters and I how to do the cha cha cha explaining how the man leads and the woman follows.

Being in the company of my Aunt was invigorating and exciting. I was sure she knew Doris Day and was sure secretly she might have something to do with Hollywood.

And as my Aunt Meercy continued to expose my sisters and I to the arts, she also encouraged our imaginations. She would lecture us on manners and social appropriateness, but she would never place limits on what you think, how you think, and the expression of self. I learned from her three main things. Being creative is wonderful and limitless, not everyone has the recipe for being right, and never pass up an opportunity when it is in your hands. (The latter I fear came from her never finding the man of her dreams, Bobby Greene, in her life again).

In the world of the 2010’s it seems differences matter, creativity the sign of the devil, and opportunity not being equal for all as stated by many politicians. Expression of self must follow rituals established by someone else, people who say they speak for God, or those speaking on behalf of the Founding Fathers of this Nation according to the politicians and their puppet masters the billionaires and self proclaimed religious leaders. They define the sin, then hate both the sinner and the sin.

My Aunt God willing, will be 94 in November. She married another love of her life in her late 50’s and never had children. My mother raised her kids, my three sisters and I to love my Aunt as if she were almost like a mother. We have and she has provided one another with the same emotion and care.

I became the collector of most of Aunts photographs when she decided one day, that photos were just useless stories of a past we once lived and will never live again. Many photos were ready to be thrown into the garbage, when I pounced upon the pile of trash and saved them and then framed the picture of Bobby Greene and my Aunt. My Aunt’s ability to instill in me the love for the arts, the understanding of difference, a love for my creativity are greater than any piece of paper colored in sepia, but I find it so comforting to gaze upon the faces of the many who have helped me find my way today.

I wonder if the politicians ever take the time to remember who they were and how that young lady in their life sitting next to her soldier would view their behavior today? And then I wonder what kind of photographs will be collect for their children to view?

power to the people

I have, more often than not, harangued, hooted and hollered about politicians running for office, being elected to office or radio/news entertainers who like to create the news rather then report it. I have expressed my viewpoint as to how dangerous, damaging or destructive the prose and policies of these people seems to me. And I have mentioned how exclusive and extreme all these men and women seem to be in promoting we vs. they, us vs. them, good vs. bad.

I know that most of these individuals have never heard my hue and cry, and I am sure the men and women who support the campaigns or careers of these scoundrels have never read word one of my blog. But nonetheless as a means of venting, expressing, identifying fact from fiction, truth from lies, common sense from uncommon indecency I feel secure at my attempt to lay claim to their lies. And I would eagerly debate anyone of the people who hate so much as to cause divide and conquer, who hide behind false prophecy, cancerous religious dogma, smoke and mirrors! I know this will never happen, but one day when Keith Olbermann is ill, or Lawrence O’Donnell needs a day off, or Rachel Maddow is on assignment I am available.

Yesterday, Bill O’ Reilly, stated that one of the only reasons Anders Breivik, the Norwegian terrorist, used his extreme measures against the Norwegian people, was because he was afraid of the rise of Islam in Europe and that the Muslim jihadists were at the root of all civil disobedience. O’Reilly then stated that a true Christian would never create such heinous actions or devastation. It was, according to O’Reilly the fault of the Muslims for pushing poor Mr. Bleivik to his wits end. It was not a Christian thing to do, bombing innocents, murdering innocents. But Mr. O’Reilly who encouraged the taking of doctors lives who performed abortions or the harassing of the women who sought medical advise regarding an abortion thought that the taking of those innocent lives in the name of Christianity was fine and dandy!. He never mentions the millions of Muslims who do not believe that terrorism and the murder of innocents is un-God like either. Not to be outdone, Glenn Beck, now left to his own devises on his radio propaganda hour, stated that in fact, the camp that 70 some kids were slaughtered and murdered was like a Nazi Youth Camp, so being that the kids were congregating for something assumed to be bad, bad things happening to them was inevitable. Mr. Beck scolded the limp wristed liberals saying they did not look at the real reason innocent kids were killed like animals because if they had then we might actually thank Anders Breivik for doing his job for democracy. Mr. Beck also said camps for kids for political reasons was a true dig at democracy, but forgot to mention the over 70 summer camps set up by the Tea Party to indoctrinate those youth to their political vent exist.

And then there is the sudden rise in popularity of the Governor of Texas, who under his tutelage has had the Texas State School Board rewrite their history books disallowing any mention of the gains made by blacks or Hispanics in the area of civil rights, and having historians add that in creating this nation our forefathers indeed wanted this nation to be a Christian country. According to Texas history there was never a divide between church and state. He also decided that it was time for The Response, Texas Gov. Rick Perry's pray-to-Jesus-to-save-America event which is scheduled to be held in a Houston stadium next month. This event is for Evangelical card caring Christians only, no other religious leader or denomination need apply. The cleansing of America is needed and any homophobic, anti Catholic, haters of Mormonism, anti Islamists, women are our chattel loving Christians are welcome, no one else. Mr. Perry who has not even tossed his hat into the Republican race is in second place as a popular candidate.

I could go on and should, but the point of this blog has come to me like a whack on the side of my head. I can call out haters, liars, religious bigots, domestic terrorists who are politicians or entertainers purveyors of fear, but they, I realize are not the boogie men/women to be scared of. They are the preverbal tip of the iceberg. The real scary people are the voters who want bigots and haters to be in office, the listeners in their homes who swoon on every fable, fiction and fact less tidbit told in order to blame others for their own misfortune. It is not he purveyors from a top their pulpit who use Gods name to justify their own insecurities, it is the congregants who Sunday after Sunday sit in the pews and instead of reading the Bible let the Bible be read to them.

It is the cowards, the bullies, the self victimizing American population whose only recourse in life is to attack that permit the O’Reilly’s the Becks, the Perry’s of this nation to succeed. It is the hooligans who use Gods name not his deeds as weapons of mass destruction, and it is the lazy, the lemming, the loser who permit anyone but themselves to think for them. I have to understand it is not the tip of the iceberg that can cause so much harm, rather the deep roots, the hidden traps, the vile and venomous part of the iceberg so menacing and unseen that causes the havoc.

An anti Semite, a homophobe, an anti women’s rights, a segregationist, an anti Islamism, an anti unionist politician or media entertainer can only reach the pinnacles of power if the people select or elect for that to happen. So the boogie man is only a puppet of the people giving her/him the power. Now that is something to really be scared about.

Power to the people, but what if the people have no idea just how powerful they have become.

a game of canasta

It is easier, said my grandmother, to talk about anything but the truth. She insisted that gossip was created just to ignore the truth and to erase any facts. My grandmother also insisted that if someone had to speak for more than at least 10 minutes anything after the eleventh minute was useless garbled garbage.

Many times my grandmother and her sisters, would come over to our house for their weekly card game of Canasta. The conversation would start with the health of most of the relatives and once matters of doctors and hospitals were run to the ground, the conversation would meander to such hot topics as was he a schicker (a drunk), does he have more money in debts than in the bank, or was that pinch on the tuchus (tush) towards his secretary just a one time nudge or more? Once speculation became the norm, my grandmother would slap her cards on the table and say enough, do you know if he drinks, do you know if he is in debt, do you know if he schtooped (had sex)?

Her sisters would place their cards to their lips, mainly because even if they were appalled did not want anyone to see their hands, and also because, I imagine, they were making faces at my grandmother. The older of the sisters Aunt Mima, would say in a mixture of Romanian and English, Eva, if we think we know what really happened it is the truth. Even if some of what we know is true, we are sure what we don't know is worse. Then her youngest sister Aunt Ciel, would clear her throat and add, that she indeed did know the truth, but until certain matters were cleared up this bit of information could act as the truth. A cousin who was the fourth player, usually cousin Clara, waited her turn in this matriarchy list of women, and said, that if someone doesn't mention the unmentionable, the truth will lie dormant, so raising it from the death of denial is the correct thing to do. All three women would then remove the cards from their mouths, look at one another, and most likely , Aunt Mima, the eldest, would say now what was the last play?

Few times my grandmother would acquiesce and let the game begin again. Many times she would, instead, place her cards, face down of course, and look each woman in the eye, slowly turning her head so they knew she was speaking to them. You would rather inflame the fire, by wicked words none of which come from your heart but from some sad place where only the sorry live. You would rather make others sound worse for fear that you might be found out to be the phony. You would rather like to hide behind what it is you wish for them wishing for anyone else not to be better than you.

The room would become quiet the ladies would clear their throats, one would open her pocket book, pull out a white linen handkerchief with her monogram on it, another would fold the cards and the third would push her chair away from the table then they would all look at my grandmother and say perhaps you have a point. We should discuss what we know not what we believe. Just in the nick of time my mother would bring in the sandwiches and desserts

It is the countdown to raising the debt ceiling or not. We have politicians pontificate as to why the rich need not pay more taxes while the poor to middle class experience cuts to their social services. We have compromises which once listed become obsolete never to be heard from again. We are told by Republican and Democrat spin machines how the other party is preaching false propaganda. Everyone is speaking for more than 10 minutes each and none of them is speaking the truth. And soon this game will be over, without anyone speaking up and calling everyone out for speaking from their from their heart but from some sad dark place where only the sorry live.

'for what its worth'

It was 1969; the University of Pittsburgh campus was to be the sight of a protest, a calling of civil disobedience by a large group of Anti Viet Nam/ Police Overindulgence individuals. It was one of the first times a college campus in the city of Pittsburgh was rallying its anti war/anti police/ anti government forces following the many other campuses across the nation in protest.

I was a sophomore in college, and all around me were people in support of the War in Viet Nam, against the war in Viet Nam, afraid of the power of the police in our nation and in support of their need to take control of the cities. Very few people were in the middle of any issue in this nation and most people were glad to choose a side and fight for the living daylights of that topic. There was conflict internally, and internationally.

I had been a part of the Draft Lottery, declaring myself 1-A, eligible for military service, but due to what turned out to be a semi-high lottery number, had two months in which to be drafted, but eventually was never called. My brother-in-law enlisted and until recently I had no idea some people from my senior class in high school also enlisted. I stayed in school not following my dreams of writing or directing, but realized that being a teacher or social worker could and most likely would provide me with steady employment and a steadier income. The arts, I was told at the time are for kids who have inheritances or millionaire parents.

I was not sure of what I knew about the politics in this country of mine in 1969. I knew that Blacks deserved their rights, but at whose expense, I knew that the police were doing their job, but where did their job end and freedom on my part to congregate or express myself begin. I knew that Communism was bad and someone once said if we don’t stop the Commies in Southeast Asia that the dreaded ‘Domino Theory’ of one nation after another would fall leading them to succumb to those dirty reds, and we all would be speaking Russian or worse Chinese.

Many of my main stream friends had little to do with the protests and were more worried about the Fraternity parties, a date for Saturday, and who they would sit with at Hillman Library on the Pitt Campus. I, wanting to be popular and excepted, thought about the social aspects of college too, but my curiosity was peeked when I heard the speeches of some people who actually looked like me regarding civil unrest. There was a calling, albeit soft, in the distance for me to look beyond myself and understand that something bigger than me was out there.

I remember growing my hair long, longer than anyone of the Beatles, buying a size 28 waist pair of army fatigues (most likely that size was a woman’s pair of pants), and finally standing at the fringe of the protest in front of the Cathedral of Learning, far enough from the main stage, and close enough to the street in case the police came. I remember seeing women ripping of their bra’s, guys French kissing girls in public, people shouting FUCK YOU to the police, and gangs of black kids with large afros with their fists raised high. I remember being exhilarated and down right scared. I lasted about an hour until I heard police sirens in the distance, and made up an excuse in my head, that I had better leave because I did not want my father who was a Sergeant of police to have to arrest me.

I dashed out of there, and when I got to the intersection of N. Craig Avenue and Forbes Avenue, slowed down just in case the police thought I was one of the really guilty instigators. As I was half way up the long and steep hill that is Forbes Avenue, I turned back and wondered what I had missed.

That was a beginning a milestone perhaps for my need to believe that I can, if I make the effort, make a difference. I realized that silence is like stillness. It is like that old piece of furniture in the attic that if not disturbed only collects cobwebs and eventually falls apart from inactivity. Your Grandma’s rocking chair needs to be sat upon, and while moving front to back on it, reciting the stories she once told you make the chair come alive. To be hidden from view may make you feel safer, but eventually you must go into the world and why enter a world that shapes you rather than you make the world as you would like?

This weekend, I read articles from the major newspapers, watched some of the political talk shows, heard commentary from ‘shock jocks’ and wondered why I even care. I heard of impasses on the debt ceiling, presidential contenders whose main platform is hate for others, rich getting richer and middle class paying the bills. I heard that the free market is no longer free in this nation, and that no matter the cost or the harm we must fix our budget. I got frustrated, angry and thought whose America is this? And then like a whack on the side of the head, I realized this is my America and I must find my voice and I must express it as loud as I possibly can.

Everybody look what's going down
There's battle lines being drawn
Nobody's right if everybody's wrong
Young people speaking their minds
Getting so much resistance from behind
I think it's time we stop, hey, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down (“For What Its Worth”, by Buffalo Springfield)

super heros

This past year has brought us super hero's, some from the creative minds of Stan Lee, Marvel and DC Comics. Thor, Green Lantern, the X Men all demonstrated super human powers, all flamboyantly dressed and costumed out, and each with a specific knack to fool mere humans. Many were the good guy but in creating the good we all know there has to be bad otherwise why imagine the positive without the negative!

But not to be outdone, by Hippie, Progressive creative types, others have also come forward and have generated their ideas about characters with above human powers who also can change the destiny of man. The Evangelical/Christian Conservative Republican/Baggers have created Gay Man. He is a creature able to destroy the Institution of Marriage by simply saying, "I do". Gay Man can destroy heterosexual marriages by merely suggesting that he too wants the same freedoms in this country that the Constitution permits. Once Gay Man finds a same sex person he loves and wants to spend his life with, heterosexual couples begin to have adulterous affairs, practice infidelity, and end up divorcing. No heterosexual couple is safe while Gay Man is on the hunt for his own love.

Two Moms is a super villain the Vatican has penned. Two Moms with a simple penchant to cohabitate and raise children have the power to turn little Teresa into Tom and Edward into Edwina. Their vagina's and breasts have double the power of one ordinary heterosexual Mom, and with that power they make the Gay happen. Two Moms is worse then one dead beat dad and one Mom, one abusive Mom, or neglectful Mom. Two Moms make their evil ways by going to go to adoption agencies and adopt kids who otherwise would be left alone for the rest of their lives, pure sinister behavior. The Vatican would rather have those same parent less children go to foster home to foster home rather than let the power of Two Moms change their lives.

Queer Person a modern day creature out to make less than adequate males feel some kind of superiority, those in need of a scapegoat to feel better about themselves, and a perfect outlet for pointing the finger away from yourself so no one sees just how insecure you are about your sexuality. Queer Person first made his appearance in movies, novels and television show in the 40's and 50's, but has taken on new powers as the reason why the recession has happened, unemployment so high and in the land of the 700 Club Queer Person has the power to create blizzards keeping people from traveling in the winter. Queer Person is fave of Housewives of any city, wanna be starlets, and some people's best friends. Queer Person is the necessary reason for blame when you have fucked up your own life.

Gay Man, Two Moms, Queer Person evil doers created to avoid the real truth about bias, bigotry, ignorance, and fear. Gay Man, Two Moms, Queer Person characters developed to avoid talking about the facts, understanding differences and many times just to justify why religion is necessary. Gay Man, Two Moms, Queer Person suddenly they are more powerful then God, the Constitution, or common sense.

This has been and continues to be a blockbuster summer for super hero movies, sadly it continues to be a blockbuster year for anyone who wants to hate without reason, fear without cause, and discriminate without hesitation. Who knew homosexuals were so damn powerful!

anything goes

On the campaign trail yesterday, Pawlenty said, per NBC's Morgan Parmet: "We've learned some other things along the way since President Obama's been a candidate. You can't put somebody in the Oval Office who hasn't had executive experience leading a large enterprise and driving it to conclusion under difficult circumstances with a public component to it. He was a college professor. He was a community organizer. He was in the United States Senate long enough to have a cup of coffee before it got cold and then we put him in the oval office and made him the leader of our nation and wonder why it didn't work. We don't want to make that mistake again." (MSNBC.com) Mr. Pawlenty- George W. Bush had been a governor of a rather large state. He was a business man owner of among other things a major league baseball team. He spent time in office as a governor longer than the time to have a cup of coffee. Look at the mess, mayhem and compete breakdown this nation suffered from a person, who under your definition, IS fit to be president. Where were you, Mr. Pawlenty when George Bush held this nation hostage had poor judgment, bad business practices and simple outright ignorance of the job? Huh?

GOProud's (GOProud is an American tax exempt 527 organization representing conservative gays, lesbians, transgendered people, and their allies. GOProud advocates for small government conservatism at the level of federal public policy). Jimmy LaSalvia, who was the victim of an alleged anti gay attack, talked to MSNBC's Thomas Roberts about why he thinks that gays carrying guns (and not legislation) are the way to prevent similar hate crimes. LaSalvia said that the group who attacked him fled when they thought he might be carrying a gun in his jacket. (MSNBC.com) Mr. LaSalvia under your ‘keeping your head in the sand’ idea you suggest that the only way to stop hate and bigotry is not by the law, but the law of the gun. Are you then supposing that if someone uses the F word, or the N word or any other derogatory word and harasses anyone in the minority that all we need is to brandish a gun, and maybe shoot it for good measure? Pull out the gun and what then if they pull out theirs? Get real sir, you are Gay and this country via church, ignorance of family, false stereotypes in the media, you are hated for no other reason then a perceived vision that you are a devils child. In Nazi Germany the affluent Jews thought they could become one of the rest of the population, being rich, affluent, trumped the fact that as Jews no laws protected them from violence. Bang, bang, got you!

Rush Limbaugh on his radio show: “They’re playing games with us on this heat wave, again, a heat index, manufactured by the government to tell you what it feels like when you add the humidity in there. Heat wave? What heat wave? That's just the government TELLING you it's hot outside, for its own nefarious reasons.” (thinkprogress.com) So, now the lemmings are being told that they are not sweating and because they are NOT sweating, there really is little need to take any precaution from this government manufactured bunch of weather baloney. One more conspiracy by the government to take away the rights of Americans to live their life any which way they choose. Mr. Limbaugh, working in an air-conditioned office, then driving in an air-conditioned car driven by a chauffeur, walking into an air-conditioned home does live in an environment that probably has very little heat index or even a heat wave. First Limbaugh goes after the minds of the imbeciles and now he wants to control their bodies.

The world has gone mad today
And good's bad today,
And black's white today,
And day's night today,
When most guys today
That women prize today
Are just silly gigolos
And though I'm not a great romancer
I know that I'm bound to answer
When you propose,
Anything goes (Anything Goes, Lyrics—Cole Porter) Seems nothing is recognizable anymore. Truth is substituted for fiction. Fact is as steady as the branches of a tree in the middle of a hurricane. Substance is dotted with ‘I didn’t really mean what I said, that is if I am caught saying it’. Honesty is based on nothing more than ‘well I felt that way at the time.’ And character is only achieved by demeaning someone else’s personality first. Has the world gone mad today as the lyrics in ‘Anything Goes’ suggest? Is it the world going mad or just the permission of the docile, the dumb, and the less diligent that make it seem that way? The cause of distress in 2011 seems to always follow the pattern of blame. Someone else did this, caused this, made this happen, NOT I! Therefore I can’t fix my mistakes because it IS your fault this all happened. The President has no experience, a gun will make a difference, and the government is out to get you. Three people with leadership positions and all three have so very little reality from which they speak. Seems that Mr. Cole Porter had a crystal ball when he wrote the lyrics for ‘Anything Goes’

the sinai

Above me, was a sky filled with diamonds shimmering, waving, shining lights so crowded that it seemed at times the stars were trying to push one another to claim their place in the heavens. We had just finished our dinner, all of the plates cleaned, the last of the coals for the fire dimmed and all of us were lying on our sleeping bags. It must have been 8 pm, but being in the desert with no city view over the horizon, no lamplights beaming incandescent barbs of yellow, no noise but the soft gust of wind; it could have been midnight and maybe midnight on the dark side of the moon.

It was 1974, and I was lucky enough to have been the teen leader taking 40 some kids to Israel for a six week adventure. This night found us at the base of Saint Catherine’s Monastery facing the foot of Mt. Sinai, in the Sinai Peninsula. Our itinerary permitted us to tour the Sinai Desert, which had recently become a property of the State of Israel. We were walking the same path that Moses had taken the Jews as they sought freedom and equality. We were camped out in the middle of nowhere which at the time seemed to be the center of the universe, ready to awaken at 3am to climb Mt Sinai and stand upon a precipice as the sun rose to greet the morning.

Shooting stars were so numerous, that counting them became futile. Clusters of galaxies gathered as if they were waiting to be the next contestant of the ‘best of the universe’ contest, and from horizon to horizon we witnessed sparkle, glitz, and glamour as if thousands of paparazzi flash bulbs had all gone off at the same time. We all, all 40 of us, spoke about the beauty of this scene, and we all, all 40 of us shared secrets of being human, being alive, our place in the universe, and the sheer power and greatness of this universe. Then as if someone had placed a finger over his/her mouth we fell silent. For many of us it was because we wanted to think as we watched the sky, for many of us it was because the silence enhanced our ability to observe, and for many of us it was because lying here seemed cozy, safe, and peaceful. And we knew our dreams would be glorious.

Sleep was way too short, but it was 2:45 am, and the Israeli soldiers who accompanied us blew their trumpets and we awoke. We all quickly packed our gear, filled our flutes with water, and without any humbug, or hesitation made ourselves ready for the next journey in discovery contentment. For some of the kids who attended Religious School we were about to embark on a Mountain so famous that the thought of approaching it made them laugh from nervousness. For some of the kids, we were about to climb a Mountain that not a single person in their family before them had ever had the same opportunity. For some of the kids we were about to find out what other great pieces of the universe were almost in our reach.

Night hiking was difficult, stepping on paths never before seen a bit tricky, but with the guidance of the soldiers and the tour guides each step became easier and easier, and each step leading to a surprise none of us expected. It took the 40 of us about 2.5 hours to gather on a plateau, place our packs on the ground and face the east looking for the first rays of sunlight. Climbing in the dark we had little idea just how high we were but as the first few minutes of the dawn descended upon us we noticed that standing near the cliff, there were pockets of wispy clouds below us. That was just the ribbon from the gift that would soon be opened.

In minutes as the first few crisp yellow tentacles of the sun touched the Earth, our gift of magic opened as if it were blurted from a canon, and straight ahead of us were colors of the rainbow so bold, so bright, so big that at first we thought we all had just seen something so new that it was not listed on any color chart. We oohed and aahed, but just as quickly we ALL became quiet. I could hear hints of sobbing, I could see expressions of awe, and I could feel a warmth so peaceful surround me that at first I had to pinch myself to make sure this was not a dream.

For many this was a real understanding of a God, of a Higher Power, of something greater than us, and for many this sunrise, the star show the night before, told us how inclusive this existence could be, and how ALL of us mattered.

So now, Rick Perry, Michelle Bachmann, Tim Pawlenty, Herman Cain, and Sarah Palin have stated that they all had a calling from God to run for president. They say they were humbled by God’s request. The same individuals who have heard God calling them to be president of the United States somehow has also told them but if you are president, it does mean that all people should not be treated equal. If you are Gay, a women who wants the reproductive rights for your body, a person who believes in Islam, poor, elderly you don’t count. The God that has spoken to ALL of the above mentioned Republican/Bagger potential presidential seems to speak to people who like exclusion and make some people matter more.Somehow that was not the God, higher power, magnificence I witnessed in the Sinai.

For me, I saw God, a higher power, the force of nature and I learned that I am not alone on this Earth. I saw a God, a Higher power, a force of nature that said to me what I do is not only for me but the greater good of those with whom I share this Earth. I understood that WE, all of us are here for a purpose that is inclusive. All of this makes me wonder what God, Perry, Bachmann, Pawlenty, Cain and Palin have been talking to?

really!!!!

And so, now it is the potential of severe migraines that may hound Michelle Bachmann if she were to be elected president of the United States, yep our United States. It isn’t her hate for minorities, her inability to be inclusive, and her disdain for women controlling their own reproductive rights; it is her migraines which cause consternation as to her credentials to become president. Suddenly bogus, bias, bigotry are meaningless as to Michelle’s qualifications, and it is her issue with headaches that have the politicos in a huff. Really!!!!!

Running on empty, but running as if he has had the call of his Lord, speaking from pulpits that only appease the Evangelical Christians, chastising anyone who is not part of some large lobbying group, ever eager to have his state secede from the Union, Rick Perry is testing the waters for a run for president. The Tea Baggers, the ultra Conservatives, the haters who identify as Republicans are drooling at the mouth, hoping and praying that the man who loves to divide this nation between us and them, holy and unholy, Evangelical Christians and everyone else are waiting for Jesus’ final message to Governor Perry telling him run baby run. Really!!!!

Way down in the polls but not one to be counted out, Herman Cain, CEO of Godfathers Pizza, will not step down from his comments that Islam is not considered part of the freedom of religion in this country. Nope his God, the official God as in “Of God We Trust”, has no room for other religions, and when his God fought with the colonists in the Revolutionary War, he had all the soldiers sign a pledge that Christianity was the one and only state run religion for this brand new nation. And this man still has at least 5% of the Republican/Bagger support for his run for president. Really!!!!

Tim Pawlenty who has all but fallen off the radar as a viable candidate does not want his place in history to go unnoticed. Nope, he knows the more you hate, the more you scapegoat, the more you deny freedoms the more chance you have in staying on some primary ballot for the office of president. He will, if elected, take up DADT and make it job one in his first weeks as president. He will appoint an Attorney General who will defend DOMA, and he will make as a priority an amendment stating marriage is ONLY marriage if it is between one man and one woman. He has faded from the horizon but will not go away without stating just how much he hates those Gays. And he still is on the hunt for the role as president. Really!!!!

Mitt Romney, lamenting that he too is unemployed, is laying low. He can’t be too honest about health care, women’s reproductive rights or immigration because those who hate in the name of God don’t like anyone who might act like Jesus, but prefer those who just like to speak for him. Mitt can tell us about the free market as jobs are shifted over-seas, unions are busted, and he can tell us why the oil companies, the financial conglomerates, anything big business, with big lobbying money makes America great need no guidelines while scolding the working middle class citizen as the root of all evil and economic failures of this nation. He stealthy waits in the shadows as if found out too soon he may be seen as Democrat in Republican clothing running for president. Really!!!!

And on the ready to Tweet her policy if she is elected president, between her stints as a Fox entertainer, a reality star, and a liar is Sarah Palin. Standing tall in the slimy shadows of hypocrisy is thrice married Newt Gingrich, who between taking trips on a luxury liner to Greece, buying jewelry at Tiffany’s, tries to portray himself as the Everyman. And once Senator now hater of women, Gays, non Christians, unions is Rick Santorum, eager to call anyone a sinner, and ready to proclaim he is the one true decider of morals and ethics. And they are still in the running for a shot at the presidency. Really!!!!

Really!!!! These are the women and men who even stand a chance of becoming the most powerful world leader. Really!!!! These women and men are the choices we have from the Republican/Bagger political party. Really!!!! There are enough Americans out there who care little about conscience, choice, fairness, equality but care more about hate, division, immorality and greed to keep these people in the running. This would all be laughable if anyone of these clowns did NOT stand a chance of running for president. But in America of 2011, it seems quality is not job one. Really!!!!

saturday night family poker

I remember many a Saturday night, as a kid, when my mothers extended family would come over to our house for the Katz/Braff Family poker game. My mother would add the two leaves to the table and extend the usual seating of six to include at least 18 tushes. My great cousins/aunts and uncles would arrive at least an hour early salivating at the mouth as my mother placed tray after tray of home made corned beef, cole slaw, pickles on the buffet, and since my mothers family were Romanians, plenty of egg plant dishes were also served.

Once the female relatives entered the house they would immediately congregate in the dining room and or the kitchen. Suddenly that part of the house smelled like lily's and gardenias and the living room where the men first meandered became a denizen of at least three kinds of cigar smoke and odor. Once the food was served all aromas and odors were supplanted by the hot juicy fresh smell of corned beef and home made dill pickles and the garlic of the egg plant dishes.

My sisters and I were told, one of the few times my mother was insistent about anything, that if we behaved said hello to ALL the relatives, we could have some corned beef, cole slaw, and pop (in Pittsburgh, soda was called pop), a whole bag of potato chips, (which were only bought for company) and then go to the second floor where all the bedrooms were located. Many times we did just that, but there were times when my younger sister, Francie and I were the only kids at home for one of these poker games, we instead would sit on the stairs leading to the second floor, and listen to the conversations going on during the Katz/Braff poker game.

My mothers family came in two kinds. There was an uncle Joseph who came to this country selling shmutahs, and ever since his first step on American soil seemed to make money and more money. He had 10 kids and all of his children were rich. Then there were the other relatives who had anything from blue collar jobs to menial day labor work. There were the wealthy cousins and then the rest.

Family was important to the Katz/Braff folk, and many times family business along with the actual playing of poker would take place. Many times if financial help was necessary the men would first discuss the issue, and once they shared their wisdom, the ladies would be permitted to chime in sometimes able to change the amount of assistance pledged to a little more.

My Dad, a policeman, making very little income, would always be the first to vote for help for anyone in need. He believed that if you gave what you could, at the level from which your income permitted, you were doing the right thing. He believed if you had $100, you gave what you could, and if you had $1000 you give that much more. He believed that working hard had its rewards, and obligations. He believed that giving what you could was important.

There was one time, as I remember when the poker game became a little less fun and a whole lot more intense. A cousin lost his job, his wife was sick, and the bills were piling up for him. He asked the family if they could help. You are my luntzmen (family), he said. My wealthy Uncle Joseph, took the floor and said of course, we all can give you the same amount of money. Another cousin said, we could do that but some of us have more money to provide at time like this. My Uncle Joseph said, yes some of us do, but if I did that, it wouldn't be an equal gift, a family gift. And if I did that once I might be asked to do it again. How can I remain rich if I give more money than anyone else, if give all my money now what would happen if more was needed later? But you are rich enough to do that, and do it again said another cousin, and if you did, all it would cause you is to buy one less box of cigars.

Suddenly, lots of Romanian was being spoken with some Yiddish added, chairs were pushed back, plates and glasses slammed on the table and as my little sister and I made a mad dash for the safety of our bedroom, cousins were running up the steps heading for the front room where all their coats were being kept.

The poker game was over.

The Republican/Baggers want more and more money cut from the entitlement programs of this nation before they even consider raising the debt ceiling. They believe that social security, medicare must be cut and the poor and elderly, disabled most of whom have little to no money need to pay their way while the wealthy not be asked to pay anything, let alone their fair share to offset the nations debt. Somehow equal in this country does not include the wealthy's participation in helping our fellow 'luntzmen' to survive. Somehow fair share includes half of the share and no fairness about it at all.

As I remember there was no family poker game for a few months. When finally the game was resumed, it was a game of about half the family. The cousin who lost his job, lost his house and lost his wife to cancer. He moved in with his children. The poorer relatives pitched in as best they could to help his family, but as the gossip was spread by my aunts and grandmother, rich Uncle Joseph paid not a single penny. There was a division in the family and as I remember it never ever was healed.

Cain(e) Mutiny

Somewhere along the way, American’s have turned inward, fearful of anything that does not look, sound or hate as they do. Somewhere along the way, the only way to solve a problem is to find a boogie man, a scapegoat a victim for which to place blame. Somewhere along the way inclusion is like revulsion, exclusion manna from heaven, and “we vs. they” the next line in after “we the people.”

Suddenly the haters, the bigots, the deniers identifying themselves as Christian Conservatives, Tea Baggers, and Republicans are making a list and checking it twice. Unlike Santa Clause these lists are for the naughty not the nice. These lists are filled with thou shall not, thou shall never, thou better govern under blackmail or thou shall not be elected.

So what happens if these zealots who base fact on fiction, reality on fear, choice on approved thinking, actually win the majority of votes in the 2012 election? So what happens to the Constitution which is so blatantly bandied about as the 6^th book of Moses, or the word according to the Gospel when this group of self serving serfs funded by billionaires takes control of the government of the United States? So what happens to the words "I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation (under God---added in 1954 to help fight the Communists), indivisible, with liberty and justice for all”, when the justice for all part is up for grabs?

Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain said Sunday that communities have a right to ban Islamic mosques. (msnbc.com) Mr. Cain is an African American; the communities in the South at one time felt they had the right to ban the ‘colored’ from using drinking fountains, bathrooms, and even certain property. Those communities felt, based on their interpretation of everything from the New Testament, to the Constitution, to their families personal bias that denial of anything black fit in perfect harmony to make their community safer, or was that more American.

Cain said his view doesn't amount to religious discrimination because he says Muslims are trying to inject Shariah law into the U.S. (msnbc.com) The Roman Catholic Church, based in Vatican City is all about passing its law against gay marriage, gay adoption, gay rights. The Catholic Church has deemed any abortion illegal pressing people in this country to abide by its law. Somehow the Vatican seems eager as ever to have its interpretation of its Canon Law, the law of the land.

"Let's go back to the fundamental issue that the people are basically saying that they are objecting to," Cain said. "They are objecting to the fact that Islam is both religion and (a) set of laws, Shariah law. That's the difference between any one of our other traditional religions where it's just about religious purposes. (msnbc.com) The Fundamentalists Christians of this nation are busy trying to place their religious practices as the law of this nation. The Fundamentalist Christians are trying to make into law their church practices by disallowing women to have freedom over their reproductive rights, disallow same sex marriage. For the Fundamentalist Christians there should only be one law, their law when it comes to reproduction and marriage. The Fundamentalist Christians see no division between church and state as long as the state adopts its religion as the religion of the land.

Herman Cain, running for President from the Republican/Bagger ticket is just one of the poster boys and girls wanting to be President for some of the people some of the time. He is smart enough to exaggerate the fears of uneducated, delusional, bigoted people, who never point to themselves for answers to problems, but love to place blame on their failings on anyone else. Many may say who is Herman Cain, but no matter his notoriety or not he is speaking the words, dancing the dance and flaming the fires of hate for a group of people who do not respect anyone or anything perceived different than they.

There is a mutiny going on in this Nation. And it seems soon no one will be an innocent bystander, and many of us will be taken prisoner. I wonder what the definition is of people who know a disaster is avoidable, but do nothing to stop it?

My summer place

"When the light of each summer's day reaches its end, I'll sit by the fire with all my new friends. A million tomorrows will never erase the fun and the joy, the beauty of my summer place." Emma Farm Camp song circa 1968.

Joe And I are sitting at Logan Airport waiting to board the plane home to LA, returning there from our stay in Provincetown. Joe spent two weeks in this field of dreams, and I managed a week. For those having never been on the flexed arm of the Cape, Provincetown is a place where saying I can, is as natural as saying hello, and being a kid again is as simple as inhaling and exhaling.

Our last night, took us to an intimate dinner at a wonderful restaurant called Devon's. We sat at a table overlooking the water and as if we had ordered it, the full moon dressed in reddish orange, was erupting from the horizon begging all and everyone to croon a tune or at least spoon. The moon was wrapped in wispy white Queen Annes Lace and seemed to play a game of hide and seek, begging all those in Provincetown to find it. And when it was found, the beams of light danced to a waltz on the calm deep purple waters of the Bay. Mesmerizing would be saying the least, hypnotizing just touching the surface.

For Joe, Provincetown is a land of discovery, delight, and delicious what if's and why not's. It is his place to be more than a name, not just a face, but a unique man whose talents and kindness are appreciated, respected and sought. It is his summer place. Provincetown for Joe is a kind of Disneyland, where you are never too old to be a kid and never too wise to learn more. As Joe's partner, Provincetown aside from being magical for me, is a place I can witness the man I love, loving life.

When I was lucky enough to have worked at Emma Kaufmann Camp my summers seemed seamless. I could be creative, carefree, and collect memories on a daily basis and many times by the hour. Emma Kaufmann Camp was my summer place, and as a 61 year old man, I still recall and reflect on a time once so long ago, but a time that never seems to leave my psyche.

As Joe and I sit in the terminal looking out the window seeing traces of the Bay in the distance, we both sigh and sigh again as our minds meander to the place which has become a transfusion of joy and happiness, peace and comfort. A place not like any other, Provincetown.

"My memories of camp will stay with me always, the blue of the water the green of the trees, and when I do leave her it will be but briefly and when I return I will say..." Emma Kaufmann Camp song circa 1969

I hope we all have a place that resonates with rhythm and rhyme, smiles and sincerity and we are lucky enough to travel back if not in the physical, but via emotions, and spirit. we all need our summer place. Ah to be human.

P-Town

Last night the moon was almost full, the moonbeams extending to the calm water of the Bay, and Joe and I were lucky enough to have been strolling on Commercial Street in Provincetown witness to all of this. We stopped, mesmerized by not only the reflection on the water, but amazed by the colors dancing in front of our eyes. Only in Provincetown can I actually see shades of black, hundreds of hues in blue, and purples and pinks never ever copied on the easel of any artist. Last night the moon was boldly over the water and in its outreach to Earth it not only provided dancing light, but calm and peace, dreams and desires, hope and happiness, all of which come with spending time in Provincetown.

I have been in P-Town for 5 days and the transformation from worry and angst to what day of the week is it and who cares what time of day it is came quickly. The minute I boarded the Ferry from Boston I could feel the weight of this and that falling off my shoulders, and once I stepped on the wooden harbor of P-Town I was 10 pounds lighter with stress falling of my body like beads of sweat.

As an news addict, I knew I would have to give up my fix, and try to cope only talking about the color of the sky, the eclectic harmony of people in P-Town, and just how wonderful it was to be in this town of dreams. I avoided cable news, tried to run past new stands avoiding any glaring headlines, and shied away from any conversation political in nature. The world was going to spin and churn, lies were going to be told, hypocrisy would still reign supreme and decisions to ignore the poor while rewarding the wealthy would still be made, even if I was unaware of the exact details.

It has been difficult for me to not think about the bigotry of both Michelle Bachmann and her homophobic closeted husband Marcus. I have tried to stop worrying about the closure of government and the raising of the debt ceiling in the Republican/Baggers attempt to do all and everything to not support Obama. I have tried not to perseverate over more states removing women's reproductive rights, Gay rights, workers rights. I know my worry does not make the world better or worse. It has been difficult not to want to make wrongs right. But try I must.

It is sunny, and some new shade of blue has appeared on the horizon, and the water has morphed into a turquoise/light blue green pallet calmly calling out look at me. Time for a stroll and time to wonder just how amazing this world can be in spite of the politicians who think that the only world that counts is the one they try so hard to control.

Provincetown, a place for rebirth, richness and required living.

grandma buncher and the wind

It was one of those days in LA, a strong bit of sunlight, temps in the low 80's and a wind steady with fringes of cool air to sooth the body just as you thought the sweat was going to overcome your entire body. It was a day when a long walk was necessary, no earphones or I-Pods, just a walk listening to the sounds, hums, tunes of the city.

My paternal grandmother, who I only knew for the first 7 years of my life had little to say, to any of her grandchildren. But when she wanted to make a point, she would place her hands on our shoulders, place her fingers under our chins, state that when an adult is talking to you, you must look that person in the eye to keep them honest, and listen. Her name was Anna Buncher, and Grandma Buncher would then speak the words necessary to make a point and as quickly as she started she would stop. I still remember the conversation we had regarding the wind. She said, God created most to many things, making the Earth a place for his greatest creations, humans, to live and thrive. He knows all we do, but sometimes certain people act out before God knows what they are up to. So God invented the wind. The wind, she went on to say, is God's telephone. When it blows calmly he is listening on his end of the phone, and when the wind howls and moans, God is talking to us and wants US to listen. People must be heard, and the wind carries their thoughts, emotions, and actions to God and to others. People must also listen she said in a stern voice, and when they talk too much, or talk too much nonsense they must realize how deceitful and deadly their voices can be. The wind is a recorder of both gossip and good.

Being 7, I was not quite sure why my grandmother was so concerned with the weather, but I knew she wanted to tell me something because she used her I am your grandmother voice, without the cuddle or the cooing. I asked my Dad what his mother meant by this conversation about God his phone and the wind hoping he could translate her story into something I could grasp. My Dad didn't get around to explaining his mothers tale right away, but finally one night when we were sitting Shiva for my grandmother (a Jewish tradition for the family and friends to come together to support those mourning the death of a loved one) my Dad pulled me aside and spoke to me about the wind, and my grandmother.

My Dad said my grandmother grew cautious of people the older she got. Her trust was tarnished, and her belief that you do unto others as you want others to do to you was shattered by too many selfish, greedy and self serving people. His mother believed that rumor, innuendo, were cowards way of acting human and that was behavior God could not tolerate. She believed that here say led to lies, lies were told by the insecure, and insecurity was a behavior for people who can't do much of anything but lie. Lies according to my grandmother were noisy and loud truth was quiet and soft. So my grandmother made the analogy that a soft breeze was full of good and a strong wind trembled with bad.

I have heard great gusts of roaring wind coming from the mouths of people and their spouses who want to be considered candidates for president representing the Republican/Bagger Party. I have heard how Gays are barbarians, poor people lazy and drug addicts, women cheap and horny and unable to control their own bodies, children of immigrants freeloaders, unemployed persons Un-American, and old people leeching off the backs of some future generation of someones kids and grand kids. I have heard tumultuous tremblings of here say from thrice married men about the destruction of marriage if same sex partners wed, I have heard lies from people who place one hand on the Bible swearing they are speaking for God, as they rob, ruin and ridicule the rest of Gods children. I have listened to insecure people try to be the bully hoping no one discover how phony and hypocritical they really are.

At the age of 61, I realize how right my grandmother was in her analogy of behavior and the wind. Nothing remains silent and any word spoken, like the dust or dirt, pollen or petals, aromas or odor are carried from one place to another, from one person to another. When people are sane, caring, concerned there is a sweet soft breeze very comforting. When people hate tornados blow wild.

There is a park very close to my house, called Runyon Canon. One path is a long and winding route taking you to the to the top of hillside. Once there you overlook the city of LA and on a clear day you can see the Pacific Ocean. Most of the time there is a breeze that runs through the hair on your body, caresses your nostrils and invites you to take a deep, deep breath. I stood at this precipice today and I heard my Grandma Buncher speak to me.

Betty Ford

Betty Ford had the courage to understand she above all else was human. She had the opportunity of power but used that opportunity to give voice to those who had little else but self. She knew her frailties and realized through sharing her fears she could find strength by seeking commonality with others afraid. She spoke out about breast cancer. She talked about her addiction to pain killers. She understood that secrets turned a person inward, stale. She knew her voice could be heard, listened to, while so many other women were silenced, ignored. She was inclusive, she was a member of a village with prestige and used that identity with courage, gumption and direction. She made a difference for all women.

Michelle Bachmann wants to be President. She wants to be President for just some Americans, not those who are of the same sex and want to marry, adopt children, share in the equality the Constitution promises. She does not want to be President for those who don't embrace the God she claims as hers. She does not want to be President for seniors who need social security, workers who want a fair wage, poor people who need medical treatment or health care. She wants to be the first female President, but has no need for protecting other women who want the right to decide about their own bodies.

Two women a part of the political landscape of the nation, two women each which a legacy, each with a purpose and two women who have nothing else in common than their gender. Betty Ford looked at others and said, how can we do this together, Michelle Bachmann saying do it my way and anything else is wrong. Betty Ford understanding the frailties of life, Michelle Bachmann defining anyone with independent thought as being frail. Betty Ford speaking truth, Michelle Bachmann, finding that the truth doesn't always make her look good.

Betty Ford has passed on today, and her force and energy will surely be missed. She made history for women and demonstrated the beauty of loving one another. Michelle Bachmann is selective as to who she loves, and as to who should have any power. Her history is still being made. Kind of scary the difference between the two!

We will miss you Betty Ford.

twitter me this

The President thinks legalizing Gay marriage should be a state by state choice. Interesting, women’s reproductive rights and the right for an abortion are now being handled state by state, and if you live in the state of Kansas you may not find one clinic even open to even permit discussion on the pro’s or con’s of an abortion. If you go to Texas, you will have to go to a Pro Life Clinic, listen to their propaganda and invention of science before you can ever speak to a neutral doctor. In 1861, the states that decided slavery was in their purview and jurisdiction also decided that war would be the answer to keep bigotry alive and keep alive the fact that all men and women were not created equal.

I don’t have a Twitter account, so even though I would have loved to “play” on line with the President, and ask him a few questions in Twitter speak, I couldn’t. And perhaps my questions would have had too many words so I would have been unable to communicate any way. But I do have a few questions for the President and wish somehow he could answer them.

Why does he, seem to think certain rights and freedoms should be a national priority and certain rights and freedoms stop at the borderline of one state to another? Why does my marriage to the person I love have merit and substance in New York, but means nothing when I go to Idaho? Why could I file a joint tax form in Massachusetts but pay a fine or penalty if I do so with my Federal Income Tax form? Why as a woman who seeks information on my body, my reproductive rights, who seeks knowledge about an abortion, hoping to stay healthy get fair advice in California but run the risk of going to jail in South Dakota? Why can I access Planned Parenthood clinics in many states but if I go to Indiana my health is of less concern? And why is it that slavery was abolished in the United States when certain states felt that life, liberty and pursuit of happiness were really not important for all of their residents?

I would then ask the President, why are somethings like equality, justice, fairness politicized by someone who says he is the president of ALL Americans. Why do I as a woman, a member of the LGBT community have to beg borrow and steal just to live a normal life, an American life, a life which supposedly my Constitution says is one as a citizen I am entitled to? Why do I have to wait to love whomever I want to love, stay as healthy as much as I want, choose my destiny as I wish?

Mr. President you speak out of two tongues, the first is of a compassionate man and the second is of a politician. Compassion should flow like a river as it finds its way to the ocean. A politician has too many roadblocks, detours, by-ways and never seems to find any destination, except what is good for he or she.

Mr. President are you the president of ALL Americans in ALL 50 states? Are you the president of ALL Americans? Then what about me and my rights as a woman as a member of the LGBT community? How much longer do we have to wait?

Twitter me this Mr. President, when will ALL Americans be equal?

more or less

More or less...

Seems if more women don't get the attention they need for their reproductive health, their general health, the less wanton women we will have. It seems the more we close Planned Parenthood Centers, the less sleazy women will be roaming this nation, keeping them where they belong at the beck and call of their man. Seems the less women who should have never gotten pregnant in the first place, end up carrying the children they never really wanted , the more to teach them a lesson about morals.

More or less...

The more we keep the Gays hidden, the less we have to worry about our own heterosexuality. The less power we give the Gays the more power we give to God. The more rights we deny the Gays, the less like an American they will feel and isn't that really the American dream.

More or less...

The more money the rich maintain, and the less money they have to spend on taxes, the more jobs they will create, and the past 10 years has proven that point so incorrectly. The less income a teacher earns, the less amount of benefits a first responder takes home in his/her paycheck, the less amount of money in an unemployment check the more money saved for billionaires to first buy a jet, cruise the world and then maybe reinvest in the economy, as a true American would.

The more each and every Republican/Bagger candidate for president screams about homophobia, anti Muslim, and racism the more popular they become to Republican/Bagger primary voters. The more fiction pawned as fact on Fox News, the less anyone from that demographic will really be called upon to think. The more the Republican/Baggers in Congress say no to anything good for the nation the more we slip, slide into a Fascist State, ridding itself of a middle class and defining we vs they loud and proud.

More or less...which way do any of us win?