The Beginning. The End.

K and I started watching Buffy The Vampire Slayer on Netflix over the summer. I must admit that I used to kind of laugh in my head at people who watched this show. It seemed rather silly to me, but alas, we got sucked in and not only have we derived guilty pleasure from watching it, but we managed to watch every episode but the final three, which we marathoned last night. I had been working for 9 hours straight on a track called Sally (demo here) for the third album The Ocean & The Easel. My brain, eyes and soul were fried, so distraction was very welcome.

Saturday marked the beginning of the recording process for this album and was consumed by 12 hours of vocal takes. Don't get too excited yet as this is a double album which I am recording in self-imposed hermitage, so the likelihood of an impending (soonish) release is not high. I dove head first into music and pretty much stayed there for the duration. By the end of the day I felt completely frustrated and wanted to just delete every audio file, which is the typical feeling I get when starting anything, but I hope to get into my groove soon enough.

I balanced the 12 hours of work with 12 hours of sleep Saturday night. I jumped right into gear on Sally as soon as my feet hit the floor Sunday morning (noon). well, I kind of stepped on a piece of glass and bled all over the place, but after I cleaned my wound and stopped the bleeding, I was hard at work.
Sunday was a new day and brought with it a more optimistic approach. I worked on editing for 9 hours. I know I accomplished much, but I am impatient and always wish things would go more quickly and most of what I had to do was tedious work. K cooked me a lovely dinner and we vegetated for our Buffy marathon and then curled up in bed. However, I felt unsettled and could not sleep. I stayed up until 3 in the morning editing and pondering.

Tonight I trudge forward.

Celebrating a Life/Losing Isaiah

Yesterday was K's birthday. We celebrated in grand style with a dinner of seafood namely our luxurious crustacean friend, mister Lobster. We then gathered with the lovely KL, DD and LMO for drinks. I feel very blessed to have K in my life and am
thankful that he was born and is alive and well. I could not have asked for
a better soul mate. I am truly blessed.

We were making our way back home, opening the apartment door when we ran into our friend Emma who lives one floor directly above us. She was on her way to the hospital. Her grandson Isaiah had been hit by a car and she informed us that he was unconscious. I could see the pain and distress in her eyes. I could sense the shock and I had a hard time taking in what she was saying. I tried to continue the acknowledgement/celebration of K's birthday, but I couldn't stop thinking about Isaiah.

We went about our evening trying not to think about Isaiah and finally went to bed.

This morning we woke to the sound of someone ringing our doorbell. K got up to answer it as I was still bleery-eyed and not yet ready to greet the morning. As soon as he opened the door, I could hear her cries "He's gone. He's gone" Everything else was muffled unintelligible echos swelling in the hallway. Konstantine returned to bed asking if I had heard and if I knew what she had said. I said I didn't think I wanted to know. He confirmed that I had heard correctly. He's gone.

Isaiah was 13 years old. He was a musician, a writer, a very special little man who
always addressed me by name and looked me in the eyes. He had kind eyes and a soul that glowed beyond his skin. There was something wise about him, an old soul. Isaiah had trouble walking due to being born with spina bifida. I'm not sure if this in part led to the tragic accident. I don't know all the details. I just know that he is gone and that his family now grieves. I find myself filled with overwhelming sadness to know that he died so young. He had many songs and stories to write that will go unwritten.

It is a tragedy like this that makes one really appreciate life and the loved ones we have. Every day could be our last and every moment is so important.

Isaiah, I am so sorry that you did not get to do everything you planned to do in this life. I hope that you are at peace. You will be missed.

I now find myself trying to decide what best food to cook for his family.
I know it's not exclusively a southern thing, but most of my upbringing being in the south, there is some automatic caserole instinct that kicks in and takes over. It is my knee jerk reaction to tragedy that I must turn the oven on. I must cook.

being visited by the ghosts of the living while wearing JFK Junior's shoes

A few days ago, on our way to the grocery store, Konstantine and I encountered an older Caribbean woman, as is a fairly regular occurance in our neighborhood. The woman was sort of babbling something and staring at the ground and Konstantine thought she was talking to him, so he responded to her. She responded by saying "not you, him" and pointed at my shoes. She went off on an entire rant about John F. Kennedy Junior and how he used to wear shoes just like mine. I just sort of smiled and nodded, responding "yes, they're great shoes. I love them". She said something like "he was really good to us" and then wandered off down the street. Just to be clear, the shoes being mentioned are two toned black and white saddle oxfords, so it's understandable that they might evoke more attention than a tennis shoe or plain black shoe.

In completely unrelated news, I have been visited in my sleep twice this week by the ghosts of living canadian musicians. First, it was Patrick Watson and then it was Joni Mitchell. Joni had this really cool guitar pedal in the shape of a high heal shoe and made me do a session of sing-a-long with her. I don't know what this all means, but hey at least it's interesting.

Robert Recommends: I Like You

I got a wonderful Christmas gift from K that has brought me a great deal of joy.
It helped me to laugh while angry midwestern women with bad hair were gnashing their teeth and complaining as we sat through 2 delays that left us sitting on the runway for 2 1/2 hours during our trek home from Kansas. (more about that another time) I did almost strangle a woman with my bare hands, but thanks to the humorous musings on entertaining from the lovely Amy Sedaris, said woman triumphed to live and complain another day.

If you haven't seen Strangers with Candy, her derganged sit-com that used to be on comedy central, then you haven't lived. If you have seen it and love her off kilter brand of humor, then you will adore this book.

Don't take my word for it though.

Buy the Book
Visit Amy's Website

Pine Mouth

image randomly stolen from the internet following a google search. uncredited, so sue me.

"WHAT?"You may be asking yourself is pine mouth?

It is not some after-effect of chewing on a pinecone or a post holiday sydrome brought about by humping the Christmas tree. It may sound like a joke or a made-up phrase or some sort of sister to the dreaded pot smoker's cotton mouth, but I assure you that pine mouth is none of these things and is yet very serious business.

I will share my story with you today. Hopefully, my tale of bitter whoa will help to spare you from the agony that I suffered. Like countless others, I fell victim to this dreaded condition for almost two weeks, just in time for christmas dinner. Our stories are countless. Many of us suffer in silence, in the shadows. Today I step into the light to speak of my tribulation.

A few weeks ago, We received an early Christmas gift from my mother. It was a cuisinart griddler, a great tool in the making of panini, the Italian grilled glamour sandwich. I was so exciited that I ran to whole foods and bought a bunch of pine nuts to make pesto along with an assortment of cheeses, sun dried tomatoes and ecoutrement to immerse myself body and soul into the ancient art of panini.

I should mention that the bag of pinenuts I purchased was rather large. When I got home, I began ecstatically chopping up the garlic, basil and pine nuts for my pesto (using this recipe). I was hungry, which is a constant state for me. My pet tape worm felix requires constant attention, and I generally oblige. I shoved a handful of pinenuts into my mouth and gobbled them down. One handful led to two, led to three, led to....well, six. Ok. I'm a pig. I gorged myself on pinenuts and then ate a panini with lots of pesto on it. K and Laura did not consume the quantity of pine nuts that I did, but they did enjoy the luxurious lusciousness of my homemade pesto on their sandwiches.

In an ideal world my story would end here, with a full belly and a happily ever after and maybe a Post script titled "midnight bacon snack". Alas, dear readers, my story begins two days after my flirtation with panini and my glutenous mouth affair with the temptress known as pine nut.

On Thursday morning (2 days after panini) I woke up and grabbed my morning cup of coffee. When I took my first sip, it tasted, well, off. It was bitter and rotten tasting. I just thought perhaps my corner coffee shop had made a bad batch or something. Lunch time rolled around and I took a bight of my lunch. It tasted bitter, mettalic and rotten. I began to worry. What was wrong with me?

I contacted my doctor A.K.A. a google search of my symptoms...sudden bitter taste in mouth. Oddly enough an article about pine nuts came up. I read of the phenomenon known as pine mouth. Multiple people 1-3 days after ingesting pine nuts experienced a bitter metalic taste with all food and drink lasting for up to 2 weeks. I looked for a remedy and found that not only does no one know the cause of pine mouth but there is not cure except to just let it run its course. I also discovered that this phenomenon seemed to be specific for the most part to pine nuts grown in china.

I was confused because the pine nuts I bought were Whole Foods own brand. Surely Whole Foods with its whole organic produce philosophy would not be importing its pine nuts from a country with the most questionable farming practices in the world? right?
I called Whole Foods and was told that all their own label foods including the pine nuts were grown here in the United States. I didn't take their word for it though. I went into the store to double check this and surely enough MADE IN CHINA was on a sticker on the back of the pine nuts.

I went online and found multiple articles on pine mouth and chinese pine nuts and like the crazy cat lady that I am, I stapled and paperclipped all the articles and walked back into whole foods and asked to speak to the manager. He of course looked at me like I was crazy and I insisted that he look at my documentation on pine mouth and that the pine nuts should have a warning or be removed from the shelves. He said he would forward the information to their corporate headquarters.

Continuing on my rampage of outrage, I wrote and email to corporate Whole Foods. Almost immediately I received a form letter response that was specific to pine mouth. Whole Foods was completely aware that they were selling a product that could make everything their customer ate for up to 2 weeks taste bitter. Unsatisfied by this form letter, I sent an email of outrage and a request that they warn customers of this issue or find another source for their pine nuts. Their response was basically that I could return the pine nuts for a refund and that they were sorry.

I now have a boycott on whole foods. Any company that would knowingly sell tainted pine nuts and have a form letter prepared to fire off at angry customers is not a company that I will ever again support with my business.

My pine mouth lasted for two weeks. The only things that tasted normal were scotch and broccoli, but I forced myself to eat the bitter tasting things instead of becoming an alcoholic cruciferous vegetable addict. Actually I already am a bit of a cruciferous vegetable addict and with the many health benefits of being one, why not?

So, consider this your warning. Something strange is going on with pine nuts. The FDA is investigating it and nobody knows what causes pine mouth, but believe me, you don't want to have it.

Panic at the Disco

Ok, so this title isn't exactly the best to describe this post but it will have to do. This has nothing to do with disco. It has nothing to do with the band Panic at the Disco whose music I don't know, though I'm sure it's totally awesome and stuff.

Yesterday I had a panic attack, the third bad one in three weeks. The first attack happened on a crowded train. I ended up getting out of the train 4 stations before my stop because I couldn't breathe. It felt like I was having a heart attack. I climbed up the subway steps and suddenly I could breathe, so I waited for another train to come thinking I was ok. A train pulled into the station packed full of people. When I looked at the crowded train, suddenly it started again. Just thinking of being on the train took my breath away. I ended up walking home after calling Konstantine completely freaking out. He met me and walked with me.

I used to think panic attacks were something people made up, a sort of fake disorder used to get drugs from a doctor or draw attention to ones self. I now know that they are a very real very scary thing. Yesterday, I truly could not breath. It felt like I was going to die. My fingers started to go numb and tingling. I ended up in a clinic hooked up to an EKG, had my blood pressure checked twice, my breathing listened to via stethoscope back and front multiple times, had three viles of blood drawn, etc. My EKG was normal though my heart rate was a bit fast. My hands were shaking. My blood pressure was high. My temperature was normal. The doctor told me that I am having panic attacks and prescribed anti anxiety medication. I started to have another panic attack this morning but was able to calm myself down and stop it from getting as bad as yesterday. I played happy music in my head and focused on the music. My throat and begun to tighten and I was getting to a place where it was hard to breathe, but I just focused on the music and let it be the only thing that existed. My hands were shaking, but I kept my focus on the music and it brought me back. I refuse to let this take hold of me and turn me into an agoraphobic who can't leave the house or deal with crowds. It seems that most of the attacks have happened on crowded trains, in crowded grocery stores, etc. I am going to try my best to get to a place of calm and relaxation. Knock on Wood, this too shall pass.

I just have to tell myself Don't Panic

Cooking and Cleaning and Scrubbing the Tub

Yesterday I went into a cleaning frenzy the likes of which hasn't been seen in our apartment in quite some time. I enlisted the help of K and dove headfirst into an all day scrub fest. Bucket of bleach and soap with yellow rubber glove in tow, I scrubbed every inch of tile and swept like a crazy person. We gave the apartment a very thorough head to toe cleaning. We took a break to make a brunch of sorts with poached eggs, steamed spinach, oatmeal and my good friend bacon.

We completely rearranged the living room which does double duty as my office/editing suite. We decided to part with two chairs that the cat has basically destroyed. They were these beautiful danish midcentury modern molded plywood chairs that someone had thrown into the trash. K and I had found them when we first started dating and he helped me carry them home. We carried both chairs out to the curb and ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the cycle was complete and they returned to the place from where they once came. There is a new zen quality to the space and everything is so much more open and flowing. It feels good to get rid of some of the clutter and get the space to a place where it can breath again.

The desk used to face a wall and now it faces a window. It seems so much more inspiring to sit looking out the window rather than staring at the cold plaster wall.

I feel like I'm going through my own personal spring. Doing the spring cleaning and preparing for my own garden to start blossoming. Lord knows it feels like spring with how much rain we've been getting. It never seems to stop. I know it will soon enough though. There are good things ahead.

2 Years

2 years ago today I had just moved into a basement apartment. I was sleeping on a blowup mattress and the floor had just been finished so I was dealing with a constant nausea that comes from breathing in fumes. I had just finished a stint of sleeping on people's sofas for over a year, traveling like a wandering gypsy, bags and guitar in tow. The blowup mattress was a big step up.

I rushed with my guitar and equipment to a show held at Cadman Plaza in Brooklyn for Marriage Equality New York. As everything was being setup,I spied a boy in tight jeans with nice legs and very cute floppy ears. I told my friend that he would be my boyfriend. I of course never made eye contact or tried to approach him. It was more of a joke. I had given up on dating. My life at that point in fact did not even leave room for flirtation. I was content with and resigned to being alone.

I performed a set as my self while two dragqueen friends, Chic and Sassy held umbrellas over my head to sheild me and my guitar from the rain. Then, I performed a set as Kitt & Kaboodle, my cabaret alter-ego with Jeff Cubeta. I was packing up my guitar and winding down when I was approached by a tight jean wearing floppy eared boy. He asked if I had a mailing list. I said yes, but I had rushed and didn't have it with me. He seemed dejected. Was he flirting with me? I was impervious to such things and oblivious perhaps, but hopeful. Maybe I wasn't content with being alone. I had seen him earlier walking around with a microphone followed by a camera crew. I asked him what they were filming for and he told me it was for a television show produced by the LGBT community center. I gave him my email address and told him to email me to let me know when the show aired. (this is the short version, btw. He left and then came back minutes later. I thought I had scared him away...and the whole throughout the whole situation I was very confused with his intentions...if it was flirtation, professional networking...I had no clue.)

I received an an email a few days later

"Hello, Im the guy with the camera from the marriage rally. The show
will be airing the third thursday of June in Manhattan on time warner
34 at 1030 and some other time on BCAT. You can also watch it online
at gaycenter.org/out.
Also if you ever want to grab a coffee or something that would be great."

I responded:


"Hey Konstantine (a.k.a. guy with the camera)

Thanks for the info. I don't own a television, so I'll
have to check it out on the website.

I am always up for grabbing a coffee or something. If
that something involves an old wooden rollercoaster in
Coney Island or a game of pool, even better.
I'm free Thursday evening,this friday from 2-4pm or after
8pm(very specific, I know), and then I'm in Minneapolis
doing a show, but I'll be back on Monday."

I will spare you the details and just say, the rest is history.
Two year later, I'm engaged to a floppy eared boy who looks quite hot in tight jeans.
oh and he is smart and sweet and kind and gentle and all that stuff... If you need a puke bucket, I totally understand.

May-oh-no-no!

Mayonaise is like the poor man's butter, you can add it to almost anything and increase the fatty goodness and flavor. What would Potato salad or tuna salad or a BLT be without mayo. I hobble through this world carrying many sinful vices , one of which is an overindulgance in foods of a fatty nature. Bacon is at the top of the list, but in a close third just behind butter there is Mayo.

Recently I thought it necessary to buy a giant tub of mayo as part of my stockpiling madness. I also recently turned up the temperature of the fridge because things had been freezing. I noticed more recently that milk seems to go bad so quickly, but attributed this to the fact that it was fresh milk from the farmer's market. Perhaps, I turned the temperature up too high in the fridge, yes the same one with the giant tub of mayo. Do you see the kitten tied to the railroad tracks? in other words the impending doom facing my belly?

We were invited to dinner on Thursday by our friends Jason and Simon. Jason cooked an amazing meal centered around one of my favorite forms of pig, the porkchop. We had wine, enjoyed music and the company of Jason's friend Heather. All was well in the world. We said our goodbyes and walked home.

When we got home I was a bit peckish, so I made veggie burgers from frozen patties and put some mayo and ketchup on the side. I awoke to the sound of K vomitting but thought nothing of it. People vomit. I made myself a sandwich for lunch slathered with a generous helping of mayo. A couple hours after eating said sandwich, I began to get extremely nauseous. I ran to the bathroom and went all Linda Blair on the toilet. I still did not make the mayo connection, but thought perhaps we had both gotten a stomach bug similar to the one I had wrongly blamed on the empanada place. I think they may have closed. I think it might have been my fault. Oh dear. The last stomach bug was extremely contageous and basically struck everyone. I watched all my friends fall like dominoes around me. Well, anyway I heard no word of anyone else being sick and I will spare you the gorry details, but I have never in my life vomitted like I did on Friday. I could not hold down water and the pain was horrific. I spent Saturday in bed most of the day just recovering from Friday, but luckily by Sunday I was back to normal.

So, with picnic season fast approaching, please heed the warning of making sure you keep all dishes containing mayo nice and cold. Don't let what happened to me happen to you. On the upside if it does happen to you, the weightloss side-effect is amazing. I lost that last stuborn 5 pounds around my waistline and just in time for spring break. ;)

Big Edie is watching you!

This weekend K and I watched the original documentary Grey Gardens from the 1970's. It is truely a brilliant doc. and slightly if not entirely crazy, which of course means it's right up my ally. I previously had blogged about my excitement for the HBO original movie with Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange. I have asked my friend Marc to save it on his DVR since we are pioneers truding through the world without cable.

Something strange happened this evening. I received an email from the official Grey Gardens website telling me that they have relaunched. I have never visited the official Grey Gardens site nor signed up for any email list pertaining to that site. I feel a bit creeped out. Does the official Grey Gardens website read The Rant?

If so, hey little Edie! What up?

Sore Fingers

Photo by Carrie Thomas

My fingers are sore today and the tips are white from the combination of about 4 hours of piano and 3 or 4 hours of guitar playing yesterday.
I have been teaching myself a few of my new songs on piano.
It's interesting, because I find that there is more of a classical inspiration when I put things to piano, whereas guitar seems to draw me to a place more rooted in folk.

What I really want is a djembe. K and I passed a shop the other day full of African Art and Djembes which are handmade by this one man from Senegal. He even goes to Africa every year and picks out the goats to be slaughtered for the skins that are stretched to make the drums. I will hopefully get one soon, because I feel it is part of the sound I want for some of the newer recordings (yet to be recorded but what I hear in my head)

Divine

Photo by Carrie Thomas

I have loved you wondering if love was born from your loving me or from my own sense of something wet below your belt. I have loved you like a child staring at an icecream truck knowing that there is some relief from the heat of summer.
I have loved you selfishly with the need to feed
the need to feed the hungry parts inside me
yearning to be fed
yearning for your body in my bed.
I have not forgotten how to eat
how to cook the meal or to zest the peal
to add that special something to the dish.
I have learned a new language of seasonings
a new avenue of reasoning from every kiss.
I love you because I want to, not out of fear
of coming winter, not out of fear that nothing better may come.
I know nothing better may come because I have loved you
and after eating a dish so devine and drinking your lips stained with wine,
I have been shown what loving truely is divine.

The Power of Selfishness(sort of)

Last night there was a protest in Union Square to free Tibet from the tyrannical reign of China. As I was passing this protest what struck me was how quiet it was. One person was speaking very calmly and all those gathered were attentive and completely focused.

I was on the phone with K who had previously recounted his short stint as a Buddhist.
This led me down the path of looking at quotes from the Dali Lama. I don't know much about him other than the fact that he always looks happy when he is filmed or photographed. There is this glow that he has. I sometimes refer to people like this as ones whose souls shine through their skin.

I know that I have moments of this. I have had periods in my life where this glow was a part of me. Lately however I have felt more like the opposite, a darkness or dullness that dims the soul, much like one standing in a shadow.

I think there is something to be said about selfishness. When I say selfishness, it's probably not what you think. The word has gotten a bad wrap, but perhaps a certain form of selfishness is part of the road to happiness. When one denies ones own needs to express art, to get enough sleep, to generally nurture ones own happiness, there is a suffering that ensues. Being that we are all interconnected, this bleeds into the lives of others. We affect those around us with our sadness, with our disappointment and our discontent. Ultimately the selfishness involved in nurturing one's self can pave the way to happiness. This happiness can ultimately lead us to be happier and kinder to others around us.

Feng shui for instance is a two way road. It is often thought of as this silly art of moving furniture to solve all your problems or putting a mirror in the right place to bring financial prosperity. Feng shui however is about your environment affecting your inner peace. Conversely, your inner state can affect your environment and those around you. When I am stressed and depressed, I find that the apartment is a mess and a reflection of my inner turmoil. When I am organized and content on the inside, the apartment is clean and organized.

We must embrace selfishness in the sense of taking care of your inner environment. Our well-being shines out of us like a light or stretches out like a shadow covering the light of others. The world starts from within us and stretches out.

I am not a Buddhist. I would be a terrible Buddhist I think, but they definitely have some great ideas. Today I am going to nurture my inner peace and hope that I can shine beyond my skin a bit. Today I'm going to embrace the power of selfishness, not such a nasty word after all.

"As human brothers and sisters, I have a feeling that deep down we are all the same human beings. Therefore, it is quite natural that when some human brothers and sisters suffer, then other brothers and sisters spontaneously develop some kind of sincere feeling or concern. At this moment I find this very much alive. I consider this a hope for the future."- The Dali Lama

Oscars, chili, rambling

Last night K and I made chili and watched the Oscars. I thought Hugh Jackman did an excellent job, especially on the dancing/singing numbers.

I was thrilled that Sean Penn won the best actor award for Milk. He definitely deserved to be recognized for the great job he did.

I sense that someone is mad at me, that something has happened, but I don't yet have confirmation. It's just one of those gut feelings where things seem to not match up quite like they should.

I've been very wrapped up in a great deal of stress with my family, much of it is completely out of my control, which just gives me this overwhelming sense of helplessness.

I feel optimistic today, like it is the first day of the rest of my life and that I can just put one foot in front of the other and gain much needed momentum that at times it feels like I've lost. I guess I just feel bogged down or as Kate Bush Would say, "Suddenly my feet are feet of mud. It all goes slow-mo. I don't know why I'm crying. Am I suspended in gaffa?"

I need the soundtrack in my head to switch to Robert Smith singing Doing the Unstuck. It is time for that shift in my perspective.

Expressing through art

I am by no means an artist in the aesthetic sense.
I draw stick figures and have horrible handwriting.
On Sunday K & I went over to Marc's to watch a marathon of Six Feet Under.
Claire, played by Lauren Ambrose was trying to draw a perfect circle as one
of her assignments for art school but ended up blowing off her work to bone
a slutty tattooed musician who she meets at a crematorium while delivering a person's ashes. Lauren frequents the restaurant where K works, so he has probably seen her more times in person than on television. I am told she is very sweet. Back to art. I was over at Beverly's listening to old vinyl on the record player. Her collection is amazing, some of it going back to the 1930's. Laura was there and had begun drawing on one side of a coffee mug with chalk. I felt compelled to pick up the chalk and release what I was feeling. This is the result. As, I said, I am not an artist. (excluding music)

A Picture w/ Some Words is Worth 1,000 Words

I have a softspot for old lesbian pulp novels, educational films(especially sex ed) from the 1950's and a plethera of other odd objects from the past.
There has been so much going on lately that I don't know where to start, though I suppose the best place would be with an apology for neglecting my duties here at the Rant. As many of you may have noticed, Chester Devonshire's image and name never left the blog after he was so suddenly fired due to the economic downturn. After a week, without Chester, I found myself sinking into a slow paralyzing depression. I found myself down on my hands and knees begging Chester to come back. Some of you will be very pleased to know that he has accepted on the condition that his return was to begin after a 4 week vacation to the Virgin Islands.

It is cold in New York, that kind of cold that seeps through your skin and into your bones, making your fingers red and numb, your skin cracked, your toes pulsating with tinges of pain.

K went away to Canada for a week. During his absence aspects of my life began to fall apart, completely unrelated to him, but rather connected to my family. Many hidden thing came forth and my parents separated.

My father was in another car accident, totaling his truck on the way back from a therapy session. He was unconcious when they found him. I'm not sure what happened. The details still seem to not add up. He is in the hospital with a broken sternum, some bleeding in his brain that seems to be headling and an extremely broken leg.

Despite being in a whirwind of stress that has bounced me around from crying to hysterically laughing, I decided to stop smoking cigarettes. I have only been smoking for a couple of months. I wave goodbye to nicotine and spend long stretches without it in my system and then suddenly welcome it back like an old friend only to say goodbye again. I have felt a bit tense the last couple of days, but I am breathing deeper and smelling more, some of which I wish I weren't smelling.

I am feeling very rundown from everything. I don't fully know how to process all events and emotions. I have fear of things to come. Life goes on, but it changes so often in unexpected ways.

Typhoid Mary would like to retract her statement

Last week, after a meal of Empanada's at the newly opened location for Empanada Joe's on 22nd street, I became very ill with what I thought for sure was food poisoning. I have discovered over the course of the last few days as those around me have fallen ill , condemned to a similar fate of toilet hugging, that I was too quick to conclude food poisoning to be the source of my harrowing experience.

It is rare that I remove a post from this blog. However, in this case, I feel it is necessary to prevent any unfair criticism of Empanada Joes. I afterall did enjoy the food that I had there and it was reasonably priced. It is important to be able to admit when one has made a mistake, and in this case I have concluded that I was wrong.
I whole heartedly apologize to the folks over at Empanada Joes and wish them all the best with their new location.

That being said, Please everyone be aware that there is a highly contagious virus that can be spread with very little physical contact. (see here) I rode the train with poor Carrie Thomas on Thursday and on Friday night, she found herself bowing to the porcelain god.

On Saturday evening, Konstantine also fell to his knees and bowed his head in the confessional known as Jason and Simon's bathroom.

I sign this post typhoid Mary, admittedly wrong...but ultimately just happy to eat solid food again.

Nov. 4th

Today I find myself in an odd state. I am tired beyond words.
Je suis trop fatigué pour les mots. I will start with a confession, something that I generally keep very quiet because it enrages some people and starts long drawn out conversations with no resolution, conversations for which I have distaste and which I have already had before.

Before this week, I have never voted.
I know it is my right, my civic duty, but honestly I have always felt and still to a great degree believe that the system is broken. If we didn't learn this in the 2000 election, then learning anything may be a hopeless cause. The electoral college is a system set up by rich white men who wanted a safeguard should the results of the election not meet their liking...regardless I've had this conversation before. I will not go into the details of my reasons for protesting a very non-democratic system for many years.

I am tired beyond words because I was restless on Monday night. I felt so tense. I stopped in the middle of the street in soho to call K. A homeless man standing 10 feet away began ranting in my direction about how white people are going to be exterminated from this planet like the disease that they are. I pretended I did not hear him, and walked away. I couldn't fall asleep that night. I think I fell asleep around midnight or 1am. I got up at 5:30 in the morning on Tuesday. Mind you, I am not a morning person. I seem to see everything in double vision until the clock strikes noon and two cups of coffee have churned away in my empty stomach threatening to bring a future self-induced problem with acid reflux. I'm sure there's a drug for that, a purple or blue or pink pill. There's a pill for everything.

You are probably wondering why I was up at 5:30 or maybe you're clever and know the answer. It's all the rage and all the buzz. Black is the new white. As a person who happens to be gay in a predominantly carribean neighborhood, I find that the word minority has a special meaning. It's all about where you are standing. Plop me on the upper east side and I'm an economic minority. Plop me in a sports bar and I'm a "social" minority. Plop me in any church and I'm a religious minorty. I am a card carrying member of a native tribe. I look white as a sheet but don't let it fool you. Plop me on an indian reservation and I am an ethnic minority even though I share bloodlines with the people. Plop me in a "whitebread" town and I have a supressed desire to put on war paint, do a rain dance, scalp my enemy...no I kid and scalping can be traced to Mexicans. It is not a tradition of native culture. Push anyone far enough though and you better hold onto your hair.

At 6 in the morning I found myself in a line of people that wrapped around the block. Beaming smiles were painted on their faces. There was a sense of excitement, an energy that was palpable and electric. Parents with children took pictures with cellphone cameras. Most of the crowd were caribean americans/african americans, speckles of white like myself, all of us knowing that we were voting for the first black president, a pretty big deal. Though, honestly I don't think of Obama as black. He's half white, raised by a white woman in Hawaii. Much of being black in america is cultural. It is a shared experience that goes back to africa, crowded unsanitary boats, whips, chains, songs ripped from the soul, marching, death, rebirth, collared greens, the art of intriquite hair braiding, and the beating of a distant drum that you can hear if you listen hard enough. people kept coming, the line kept growing and growing. after an hour I was still in line, now double in size, almost triple. As I got closer, I began to get more and more excited, my heart beating like a hammer against my chest.

There was a woman who voted right before me. She had to be 80. She had a man holding her up on one side and a cane on the other side. She was glowing, an old african american woman who was voting in an historic election.

When it came to my turn, I stood in front of a closed curtain. Apparently the curtains are supposed to open, but mine was broken. There were no instructions or anything. I looked at the woman who was a volunteer in the process and said.

"What do I do?"

A girl behind me laughed. The woman smiled and told me to pull the lever, vote and then pull the lever back the other way...not the most eloquent or detailed of instructions but enough to get me where I needed to go.

When I pulled that lever, I felt like I had pulled down on a slot machine that was spitting out gold. It was like an electoral orgasm. My whole body tingled with power and satisfaction...uh huh. god it felt so good. I voted for the skinny man with the floppy ears and ooh did it ever feel like big ol' slice of pecan pie with whipped creme and sprinkles. mmmmm hmmm.

That evening K and I were sipping wine from a cheap bottle that tasted a little better than cheap, watching the results. When they called the election for Obama, we both started chearing and clapping. We heard yelling, clapping chearing in other apartments, people in the halls yelling OBAMA! We grabbed egg shakers and our Obama sign and took to the streets. People flooded the sidewalks and the streets, holding signs, banners, wearing t-shirts and buttons...hooting hollaring. Screaming. Cars slowed down honking, people hanging out the side, people drumming, dancing, playing music out their windows. We went to the bar right around the corner and the bartender who is our neighbor began pouring shots and handing them to everyone. We all raised our glasses together, cheering.

I mistakenly called my family. They are a group of conservative christian McCain supporters. I sometimes forget the pervasiveness of lies in negative campaigning and how they can seep into people's heads. I cannot repeat some of what came out of the mouths of my family members most noteably my sister. It absolutely horrifies me. Racist things, idiotic, crazy things. between coming down from this great historic victory and grappling with the evil discriminatory propositions that were passed in California, Florida, Arizona and Arkansas, I have found myself in a place of one who has had a sugar rush, bouncing off the walls and now everything has crashed a bit.

Last night, I went to visit my friend Beverly. Last week I was supposed to help her set up her cellphone. When I arrived at her building she was in the lobby holding a towel covered in blood, blood gushing out of her mouth, choking on her own blood. I had her doorman get in touch with her son. I rode in an ambulance with her to St. Vincent's hospital, truly the waiting room to purgatory. They managed to stop her bleeding and cauterized a broken blood vessel in her nose. Her son arrived and it was odd to look at him. He looked so much like his father, Norman Mailer, a notable writer who died earlier this year. Beverly had been involved in a love affair with jazz musician Miles Davis, but left him for Norman, became his 2nd wife and gave him two sons. She was a model on the price is right many many years ago and has acted in multipe movies, plays and commercials. She is full of so many stories. There are tales of spain and Hemmingway and of a New York that isn't here anymore. She is a special woman with a touch of southern charm and a dash of crazy...two elements I have as well.

Beverly seemed to be on the mend but still recovering. I helped her put some numbers into her new cellphone and show her how it works. I rushed from Beverly's to Mr. Dennehy's for the Leonard Cohen tribute night. K was waiting there for me. On my way I got into a heated discussion with my mother over the election. She preached doom and gloom, the coming apocolypse, her misguided view that Obama is a socialist and things bordering on racist....actually not bordering...truly racist. I became disgusted, angry. I said something with proceeded by the word *Fucking* and hung up on my mother. Oh my god. I hung up on my mother. She called back. I didn't answer. She called back. I didn't answer. She left a voicemail.

I called her back to explain that I was upset and horrified by what was coming out of her mouth. She apologized. I suggested reinstating our moratoreum on political discussions. She said it was not necessary. I love my mother deeply, but I am still horrified at the inherent racism of my family.

As a child the dreaded "N word" was used in our house. I had to train my parents, to tell them that it was offensive and not acceptable to me. The word disappeared, but I guess it is hard for some people to shake their surroundings. I carry the mud of radical christain hate which has been smeared on me like some coat of paint that might make me right. I don't know if it will ever wash off.

My parents have come a long way. I know they love me, but they think I am misguided and living in sin. They don't speak it, but I know it is there. I said that I wanted to spend christmas with K.. Instead of inviting him my mother made up a lame excuse about how there is not enough room in their house, of course meaning that K and I would have to sleep in the same bed, a horrible sin in the eyes of god for them. A part of me wants to cut ties with my family at times. It goes in waves. They love me. I love them. That's good and all, but they do not fully accept me for who I am. At times, it makes me feel like they are ashamed of me or embarrased of me.

It has been 12 years since my parents found out that I am gay. I knew long before that. I made out with my first boy in the 3rd grade. It felt innocent and natural. I hadn't learned yet that to some people I was stepping down the slippery slope to a heathen lifestyle. I live in a country which claims to be free yet has the highest per capita population of people incarcerated of any industrialized nation, a place where I cannot marry the man I love and have equal protection under the law. This election was an amazing powerful thing. I do think that people want change and that there is a renewed sense of hope in a new direction, but this nation is by no means free or equal. Gay people are second class citizens who are tollerated. There are not seperate water fountains or seperate seats on the bus, but we are not equal. Until every man and woman in this country has equal rights. This nation is not free. There is not freedom for all in my america. I hope that is the next thing to change.

A Vacation of sorts

I feel fortunate and very blessed to have some of the most amazing and giving friends. Though I don't get to see many of them as much as I would like, I have been given the opportunity to meet some really sweet, talented and warm people in my travels and in my life. I would like take a moment to say thank you... to Ricky for the letters,the help with the studio, and being one of my biggest cheerleaders. Recently you have helped me to find a renewed sense of purpose...to George for everything, more than I can even say. Of course, Sanford, who I will get to see tonight.
I will do my best to do you all proud.

So, I am very excited...something that almost never happens is happening.
I almost never get the opportunity to take vacations really with the exception of visiting Mr. Carpentier's beach house in Delaware during the summer...and that is not too shabby. Rehoboth is a beautiful magical town. If you walk two blocks from Mr. Carpentier's house and cross the highway, you will find yourself in a soccer field. Walk through the soccer field to the row of trees, cross the dirt road and you will find yourself at the swing sets. If I am visiting then you will probably find Mr. Carpentier and I swinging. It is good to hold onto part of being a child, to still see parts of the world through those hopeful eyes.

This time tomorrow, K and I will be in Vermont visiting our friend Chris and mountain biking. We arrive at what I've been told is the peak of the turning leaves. Chris has been kind enough to let us stay with him and also managed to borrow some bikes for us to use. See, this is what I am talking about, so sweet.

On Friday, we are taking a 2 1/2 hour bus ride to Montreal to visit friends. Matheiu has been kind enough to offer us a place to stay in his apartment. His roomate who I have not met is out of town for the weekend and has kindly loaned us her room and bed.

I have never been to Montreal, but I hear that it is amazing. It is the 2nd largest French speaking city in the world next to Paris. This will be the first time I have left the country in over 6 years. I am so excited to see what waits in store for us on this little adventure. I will try to take some pictures and document the journey as I am able.

I must say it is strange to be traveling and not doing a show. I don't travel generally unless I can also book a show. I did almost book something in Montreal, but unfortunately it was too short of notice to make it happen.

Well, I am packed. Laura is staying in the apartment to watch the cat.
Deep breath...Away we go

My Man+ My MOW MOW

Yes, I know. It's cheesy, but I couldn't resist sharing this photo I took last night.