Most Awesome Headline Ever!

"Nun Chases Robber(t) Into Woods"

Extra Extra Read all about it.

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

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.

Goodbye George Carlin

George Carlin, one of the most brilliant
subversive figures in American comedy
died yesterday. I absolutely adored this man
for telling it like it is, in a way that only he could do.

Jesus Christ!

Photo by Carrie Thomas
Today, The Unplug Single became available for purchase on itunes in the Christian and Gospel category.

Yes, you read that right, Christian and Gospel. Now, I've never been one for categorizing music, but this is just funny. At first I thought this was cute and then I came to the realization that I say shit and have a vocal intro where I talk about sticking a rocket up a crash dummy's ass on this new single. Sorry if I gave something away for you folks who have yet to purchase it.

Oh yeah, you can

go to itunes and purchase it.

I'm expecting an angry group of jesus loving bible throwers to show up on my doorstep at any moment.

I suppose it's best if I barricaded the door and ly low for a while.

Stardust and the Silver Screen

On Saturday K and I caught a matinee of Stardust.
It met and exceeded all my expectations.
Run don't walk to the theater and see this movie.
It is a magical dark fairytale for adults.
I almost cried three times and Robert Deniro doing the Can Can in drag on a pirate ship in the sky is absolutely priceless...oop, I gave a tiny piece away. Hurry and see it before I divulge more secrets.

Sunday I did a show at Pianos with the lovely Maddy Wyatt.
I am still getting to know George he surprised me at a few points in the night.
Thing came out of him that I have never gotten to come out of a guitar on stage.
Other things that I'm used to, were different.
We are in an adjustment phase, getting to know each other's quirks, but I am starting to fall i love with George as I unravel his mysteries.

Tonight is my silver screen debut, well sort of.
It is a screening of the Casey Stratton Documentary at
The Anthology Film Archives.
There is a trailor showing before the film, with me blabbing about being sent to Exodus by my parents with the hopes of turning me straight. Ugh. Am I ready to see myself twelve feet tall? I'm not sure. I guess I'd better get ready, seeing as the music video will be premiering soon.

ask your other dad

Photo by Carrie Thomas

On Saturday I got up earlier than god intended
to grab some coffee and walk K to the train.
He was heading into the city to volunteer
for the annual center kid's pride picnic.
As usual I found it hard to say goodbye to him
and found myself bedhead-and-all getting on the train with him.

My plan was to show up and see how adorable
he was working with the children and leave.
Of course that is not what happened. I ended up
with a nametag running a table putting temporary
tattoos on children of same sex couples while
K sat across from me doing face painting.

I observed a few things.
First off,gay daddies with their children are the cutest thing ever.
Second, I don't know where these children are coming from,
but they are almost all stunningly beautiful, happy and seemingly "normal" children.
I hate the word normal, but for the purpose of this it seems appropriate.

We have been led to believe for years by the christain right that
children raised by two mommies or two daddies are bound for
a life of such depraved deficiency that they'd be better off raised by a pack of rabid wolves.
This couldn't be further from the truth.
I saw children who are loved, clothed, fed and happy.

The highlight of this experience
was a child telling me that he asked his one daddy if he could have a tattoo
and his daddy said that he had to ask his other daddy and his other daddy said yes.

Check out this article all about the "unnatural" phenomenon of gay parenting.
It mentions black swan...well sorta. Sweet black swan, I hope you are being loved wherever you are.
I miss you.

Jesus lives in Ohio

Driving through the lush serene landscape of Ohio, I found myself
engulfed in a kind of peace that could only come from Jesus.
I knew that something was amiss when I looked in the Columbus phone book and found more listings for churches than bars, but I thought nothing of it.

Then there were the large signs that said "JESUS LIVES" "JESUS IS REAL"

We passed the giant tower that said "JESUS IS LORD"

Had we made a wrong turn into the bible belt? I thought for sure Ohio was closer to the bible nipple. Apparently I was wrong.

Right now, I am stretched atop the bed in the Dayton Econo Lodge. If you're really keeping up with my blog and obsessively checking it, you even have time to stalk me before I get to the bus station for my glamour ride back to New York.

I had something strange happen this evening. For the first time in my musical career, I had a woman return my cd. I gave her back her money as she apologized saying that she couldn't play my music in front of her children. This woman named Joel(like Noel) had sat through my first set this evening in Dayton and enjoyed the music so much that she ran to get cash and buy my cd. Apperently, she started listening to the cd after leaving the show, midset and got to the song, Marlboro Man, which totally rocked her world and not in a good way.

As I was packing everything up and getting ready to leave, here came Joel with cd in hand and a kind of embarassed look on her face. I gave her back her money and took back the used CD.

I found myself in an odd place this evening where I feared that speaking my mind and being who I am would offend people. I've never set out to offend people. I've only ever tried to speak from my heart without filtering or lying about who I am and what i feel. I changed a lyric mid-song. I don't live to give you head suddenly came out of my mouth as I don't live to make your bed.

I changed my setlist as I heard the woman working in the cafe talking about how the proximity to all the bars made this place the perfect location for her to minister to people. What better place than the street with the tattoo parlor and the sex shop? This is where she would bring people to Jesus. Pictures of Jesus hung from the wall next to a nude painting of a woman.

Where does the line exist between integrity and self preservation. I don't want to be run out of Ohio with pitchforks and torches and in fact I was received well by the folks of Dayton. It saddens me a bit that someone like Joel liked my music until she heard one song that conflicted with her beliefs. Suddenly I was the devil in CD form, come to corrupt her children and lead then down the fiery path to hell. If Jesus lives in Ohio, then maybe it is fitting that the devil lives in Brooklyn, a blonde boy with a guitar, now branching out to other states to tempt the holy through songs laced with sin.

God Hates Fags?

It was an extremely traumatic experience being approached by my parents at age 18 to have them tell me they wanted me to speak with a christian counseler with an organization called Exodus in Minneapolis, Minnesotta.

For those of you who aren't aware, there are these people who believe that faith in Jesus can change You from being gay to straight. They also believe that being gay is the result of your mother being over bearing and your father withholding love. I met with a counselor at Exodus one winter's day, followed by my first trip to a gay bar.

My experience was laughable. I got the counselor who was supposed to be helping me to admit that he was still gay after being with this organization for 6 years. It sickens me to think of this poor man as I feel he needed a lot more help than I ever did.

Oddly enough I stumbled upon this video. The man singing looks identical to the counselor with whom I met.
This could be the theme song for the ex-gay movement, but given my experience it just makes me laugh.

***Watch the Video***

***Listen to a podcast
where I recount my experience with the ex-gay movement***