I Have a Change of Address

Come read my blog at:

www.themarryingkind.org/blog

Heading to the Principal's

I'm always a little nervous when I think back on High School, because I was really unhappy then and sick a lot. I was certainly the kind of kid who would have been sent to a fake prom. I mean if I had gone to the prom, and if my classmates had ever dreamed of doing such a thing. Oh, and if in my Catholic school anyone would have ever dared bring a same-sex date.

Water under the bridge...

Today I wrote to Constance's principal about the whole mess;

My letter's below:


Dear Ms. McNeece,

I'm deeply saddened by the events that took place during your school's recent prom(s). It is always difficult to acknowledge what extreme capacity for cruelty we, as human beings, have. It reminds me how much work we all still have to do.

The events of last weekend can not be altered. Most of your high school's senior class--with the support of their parents--willfully shunned a small minority of students by their duplicitous act. What they did was perhaps within their legal rights, but clearly it was morally wrong. And not the kind of behavior that should be tolerated.

I am not writing asking you to punish or expel these students--I realize you can not expel an entire graduating class. I am writing in hopes that you will truly seize this moment to educate your students and your community. Perhaps you and your staff will find a gift in this horrific event. You have been given an opportunity to create change. A chance to engage in dialogue. You have this time now to talk to your students. Discover what fears they hold so deeply within themselves that would cause them to act with such disregard toward these few ostracized classmates. Explain to them that it is the acceptance of our differences--not the rejection-- that makes us, as a society, flourish.

Right now great leadership is called for. I believe if you take charge and act you will transform this moment.

I have spent the last several years writing a novel about marriage equality called, "The Marrying Kind." It will be published later this summer. The story is sweet and funny but also challenges us all to stand up against injustice. If you would find it helpful for me to plan a trip to come and talk to your students and staff about equality, I'd be honored to assist you.

Sincerely,

Ken O'Neill

The Stuff of Nightmares

Perhaps because my book is coming out in a few months and so I'm feeling a little more stressed than usual, I've been having some unsettling dreams. In addition to being a writer, I am also a licensed massage therapist. The other night I dreamt that a real life client of mine named Paul came over for a session. He pulled off all of his clothes, started to hop up on the table and then stopped. He stood before me naked and said, "I just want to thank you for never once, in all the times you've massaged me, ever making an issue out of the fact that I am transgender.

I want to make it clear that I would not find it at all unsettling to massage a transgender person. I did however find the dream unsettling because Paul isn't transgender. In the dream I became confused. Was this man who I have seen naked multiple times actually born female? Or was Paul just messing with me. I wasn't sure but I was leaning toward the later explanation.

The dream reminded me of other dreams I've had, like when you show up at a party and you're suddenly aware you've gone to the wrong place and you panic because you're lost and you don't know how to get to where you really belong. And then, if you're me, you realize you forgot to wear any pants.

And you wake up. Thank God. And it was all just a bad dream.

Only sometimes it's not a dream. Sometimes, something terrible has really happened.

On Friday night Constance McMillen-- the high school girl from Mississippi who has gotten so much attention for wanting to take her girlfriend to the prom-- arrived at the event to discover there were only a few other students in attendance.

The rumors that this event was created to keep Constance from attending the "real prom" have not been confirmed. But as far as I see it there are only two possibilities.

Either Constance was at the real prom but no one else would go because there was going to be a lesbian there.

OR:

There was a real prom some place else that Constance wasn't told about because she's a lesbian.

I'm not sure which explanation I find more despicable.

I'll leave it up to you. Feel free to weigh in.

The Catholic League Prepares for Holy Week.

It's holy week.

For believers, it's the most solemn week of the year. A time of prayer, reflection and repentance.

It's a time to remember Jesus not merely as man, but as God. To think of his death and glorious Resurrection--his gift to mankind.

It's also a time for the faithful to remember to act like Jesus. To strive at all times to be Christ-like.

And so I was saddened to read in The "New York Times" that Catholic League president, Bill Donohue, chose to run an add blaming gays for the church's insidious pedophilia epidemic instead of owning up to the Vatican's shameful attempts to cover up abuse.

Wayne Bessen, Executive director of Truth Wins Outs, had this to say about the ad. “We should remind Donohue that there is no child sexual abuse crisis in gay community centers, neighborhoods, churches or social organizations. This nightmare has to do with Catholic pedophile priests and those who served as their enablers. The Catholic League thinks it is mounting a defense, but it is only exacerbating the pain felt by the defenseless who were taken advantage of by authority figures in the church.”

I believe that It is possible for the church to recover from even this heinous crime. But not without remembering that the church is made up of men, not God. And all men are capable of sin. Even Popes.

After we sin, at least as I was taught in Catechism, we ask for forgiveness. We do not blame others.

We take responsibility. We are humble.

We are penitent.

I hope that someday soon the church will recall its teachings.

Major Celebrities Help Jonathan & Gregory!

It's funny how fame works.

At this moment, I have 440 fans on facebook. By contrast, though I don't have the exact figure, Ellen has more than two million.

True, Ellen is seen on television everyday. Whereas I have what can best be described as a cult following.

I don't even need to use Ellen's last name for you to know who I mean. If I were to attempt going by one name, I would most likely be mistaken for Barbie's boyfriend--a dashing fellow. But, in fact, not who I am.

Here's my dilemma. I'd been thinking that my fan base--my star power, if you will-- was great enough to assure a victory for Jonathan and Gregory (Jonory) in the Crate and Barrel Ultimate Wedding Contest. But now I'm having doubts.

Maybe Ellen and I, because we're both famous, should partner on this project. You know, like Co-Chair the event to make sure that it's truly a success.

I think it's not a bad idea.

Inexplicably, though I've searched my address book, I seem not to be able to find her phone number. I mean we're both queer and celebrities, how can I not have her number? I've obviously misplaced it.

But with so little time--just six days-- I have another idea.

Why not just obsessively post to her fan sites. You know, like all day long.

Of course, I can't do it all day long because my personal assistant is off today.

But if I, a celebrity, can find the time to post three or four times, surly you, a normal person, can do it once or twice?

If not for Jonory, well then for me, Ken O'Neill

Oh, and if you do get a hold of Ellen give her my love.

Have her people call my people. We'll do lunch.


http://www.ultimateweddingcontest.com/entries/22682

Like so Much Trash

My first impulse always is to give up and lie down. Get a big blanket, throw it over my head. Retreat from the world.

Maybe eat a cookie. A cookie would be good.

I'm not doing that, not even the cookie part. Instead I'm typing--two finger style. It's not much, but it's something.

When I feel like I can't do anything to help--when I'm forced to face ugliness in the world--my default emotion is hopelessness.

And then I remember that I've made this challenging decision to be present in the world. To be (God help me) a role model.

And so I don't give into despair.

This is my way of explaining why it is that I'm not hiding (with a bag of cookies) now that I've learned that Derrick Martin's parents have thrown him out of the house upon discovering that he had the nerve to be a well-adjusted, smart and personable, gay high school senior, instead of what they would clearly prefer, a self-loathing, deeply-closeted, suicidal one.

For those of you who don't know Derrick Martin is the Georgia High School senior who successfully petitioned his school to allow him to bring a same-sex date to the prom.

I don't know this young man, but my guess is he had a sense of his parent's views on homosexuality before he decided to take a male date to the prom. Derrick's actions can only be described as heroic. He made a choice to value his integrity more than his personal safety. (I think it's he, not I, who is the role model.)

I don't believe any parent is ever really surprised when they find out their child is gay or lesbian. Somewhere inside of themselves they know. And they have always known.

I feel fairly confident saying that this is also true of Derrick's parents. And so what to make of their shocking act of neglect and abuse? My guess is Derrick is not being punished for being gay. He's being punished for having the audacity of being proud of who he is. He's been tossed out for having courage and conviction. I'm not a parent, but it's my understanding that courage and conviction are traits to be encouraged and nurtured, not to be scorned.

His parents have cut him loose for being a leader. If he was quiet. If he wept and begged forgiveness things might be different. If only he tried to change, was repentant, remorseful, played the part of the sinner--he'd still have a bed.

But what would the cost of that behavior be on his soul? What lifelong damage would be caused?

His parents realized that because of Derrick's action's the world would know he's gay. They could no longer pretend otherwise.

It's a shame they didn't focus on all the other things the world has learned about their son. Like that he has strength, and fortitude,that he values honesty over hypocrisy.

Under different circumstances I would have thought that Derrick had become the great man that he is because of the influence of his parents.

I guess he just found his greatness within himself.

The Right to Dream

Until recently I thought one of the few perks I had being gay was my inability to serve in the military. Oh that and not being able to donate blood. (Not really a fan of needles).

I don't believe this anymore. (Well, maybe I'm still a little on the fence about the blood).

I have certainly believed that Don't Ask Don't Tell should be eliminated for the sake of Dan Choi and the thousands of other enlisted LGBTs whose lives and careers have been devastated by the policy. What I have never thought, though, is that this discriminatory law had any impact on me personally.

Until now.

I just made a brief appearance at the Queer Rising sponsored protest in front of the Army Recruitment Center in Times Square. And while I watched young gays try and fail to enter the building, I for some reason began thinking about my childhood.

I was not one of those kids who knew that they were gay at 4. I didn't even know it at 14. I insulated myself from those feelings so securely that if I was in a closet, I was unaware of it. At the first sign of a crack in the walls I built around myself, The plaster was out. The damage, repaired.

Still, all this self protection could not completely shield me from the knowledge that I was somehow different from most people.

At an early age I knew I wanted to be an actor. But I didn't talk about that. Because I felt I was not the same as the men I saw in movies. Not strong enough, or virile, or SOMETHING intangible that I couldn't articulate.

And now I must stop writing and ask my sad, little inner-child a question: "You didn't think there was a place for yourself in the arts?"

Really?

Wow. That's incredible.

Suddenly, I realize I have an obligation to the generations that come behind me. Being in the military wasn't anything I ever wanted for myself. But for some kids, that's the dream. They want to serve and protect this nation. Unfortunately, unlike me, who only thought I did not have a place, this outcast child knows for a fact that he or she is not welcome. Their call to be brave and honorable and true can not be realized. Not today anyway.

This child is forced to let this dream die.

And as a result, how many other dreams will also die?

Here's one for sure: If you can not serve in the military you can not be the President of the United States.

Of course we have had presidents who have not been in the military. We've even had a president who was a draft dodger. But all of our presidents have had the ability to serve. It has been within their rights to serve.

There will never be a commander in chief who is forbidden by law from protecting his country.

And so what are we stealing from our LGBT youth if we don't demand the repeal of DADT? We are taking from them their ability to aspire to greatness. Greatness in all fields.

There is a ceiling pressing down upon my head. I am trying, trying to break through--for myself and for all those children.

Because now I see clearly before my eyes every moment I settled for something safer. Something lesser. Something that would not rock the boat, because I taught myself not to aim too high.

This law has destroyed the careers of 13,500 gay and lesbian soldiers. That is a shameful statistic.

But what is equally shameful is the way in which this ban keeps us all in our place. Like segregated marriage, DADT tells every LGBT American that there is a place for you.

And that place is in the back.

Standing Behind a Barricade as the St. Patrick's Day Parade Passes me by

I've just returned from the St. Patrick's day parade.

Now I glance at my watch and realize a full five minutes have passed since writing the above sentence. What on earth ever made me think I should become a humorist? And more to the point, a humorist who writes about the inequities of being queer in America.

Now that's funny stuff!!

I guess I'm stymied because I thought I'd see representatives from the KKK or neo-nazis marching up fifth Avenue. Maybe Fred Phelps and family carrying "God Hates Fags" signs. Instead, I saw lots of smiling, happy people. Occasionally one of the participants would give us a thumbs up as they walked by. As we screamed, "Let us join! Let us join!" --as we recalled every moment of our lives when we've been passed up, passed over, ignored-- these fine people seemed not to grasp the problem.

Still they smiled supportively at our enraged, screaming faces.

And suddenly I understood for the first time something that is actually quite basic. For most people there is an enormous disconnect between what they think is right and what they are willing to do to defend what is right.

I would guess that the vast majority of people marching in today's parade believe that members of the LGBT community should be allowed to openly march. Some of these people even beckoned with their hands for us to join them. I don't think they meant to taunt. I doubt they thought their action was in anyway cruel. They wanted, I'm guessing, to be supportive. They wanted to make it clear that they weren't homophobic. Not anti-gay. Not me!

So we changed the chant from, "Let Us Join!" to "Join US! Join US!!"

And still the thumbs went up and the marchers broke into smiles. The cameras came out to take the photos-to record what? That they had seen a real live gay person? So they could show the photo later and say, "Isn't it horrible that they won't let gays march in the parade."

That is what they did instead of doing what we'd asked of them. Instead of doing something that would have had an impact. They did not join us--not a single one of them. They kept on moving. Because, after all, that is what one does in a parade. Isn't it?

And the bagpipes played. Soldiers walked at attention. Little girls danced the jig. All the while I found myself slipping away, fighting to hold back tears.

I am an Irish American. My grandfather was a member of the Ancient Order of Hibernians. These are my people.

Apparently they've forgotten that.

It is difficult for me to put a positive spin on today's events. I personally had no friends or family members marching in the parade. That's something, I guess. It's more than Michael Bloomberg's gay family members can say.

But what of these people, these smiling participants, who so clearly think they support me? They acted like they were my friends, but they would not join me. They would not sacrifice their good time, even though one of their own was being excluded.

I wonder if the day will ever come, when all of those people, all of my Irish brothers and sisters who believe in their hearts that I am worthy to walk with them--I wonder if they will ever say, "This is wrong. This parade is wrong." Will they come to know that encouraging smiles are no longer enough? Will they awake seized with the conviction that they must do more?

Will the day ever come when I find myself standing on Fifth Avenue, protest placard in hand, with no one to wave it at? No one to hear my cries? Because my supporters have decided to be brave?

My hope is that the time will come when these good people remember the actual significance of this day.

And rising up together, as Patrick himself did, they will drive out the snakes that threaten us all.

On the meaning of friendship

I have a lot of friends on facebook, many of whom I've never met and most likely never will.

So in truth, they are not my friends. Not really. They are people who I have something in common with. We all support LGBT equality. We fight for the end of segregated marriage laws in the US.

Sometimes, though, a bond is formed with one of these strangers. A connection that feels real somehow. You care for this person. And support them. And worry for them. And joke with them. And respect them. And, in short, you feel about them the same way you do your "real" friends. I don't have many such relationships here on facebook. But I do have a few. The one I'm thinking of now is with Jonathan Howard.

A few nights ago I had a terrible dream. I was in the doctor's office. My partner, Marcus, was with me. The doctor whispered dire news about me into Marcus' ear. Even though I couldn't hear the doctor, I knew what he was telling Marcus. He was breaking the news that I had Alzheimer's Disease. I began shaking. And I ran from the exam room through the halls of the hospital shouting, "NO!" as I glanced at sick and dying patients all around me. I awoke with a start, my heart racing, tears streaming down my face.

I guess the good news is the fact that I can recall the dream in such vivid detail probably suggests that I don't have Alzheimer's Disease.

The other good news: this was a rare occurrence-- I'm not prone to nightmares.

Lying in bed, still upset from the dream, Marcus and the cats sound asleep beside me, I started to think about my friend Jonathan Howard. Jonathan has at times had nightmares so violent that he's awakened beating his fists against his headboard.

This kind of violent behavior hasn't always been the case for Jonathan. But, in August of 2008, Jonathan and three of his friends were the victims of a savage gay bashing.

For myself, and I imagine for many members of the LGBT community, being physically attacked, is a buried fear. In my case it probably developed the first time someone shouted faggot at me. As a teenager, before I'd even figured out I was gay, someone threw a bottle at me as they shouted. The bottle didn't make contact, but it struck me all the same.

My experiences, however, don't compare with Jonathan's.

I was not beaten.
I did not lose consciousness.
I was not rushed to the hospital.
My life was never really in danger.

So there I was, lying in my bed post nightmare and thinking about my friend. Wondering what I could do for him.

I can not make that night in August go away as much as I would like to. I can not promise him that he'll never have a bad dream again. (Thank God if he does have one, he has his fiance, Gregory to comfort him).

So what can I do for my friend Jonathan? Maybe I can show him in some grand way that who he is-- a proud gay man-- is an honorable thing. Righteous. Worthy of dignity and respect.

Jonathan has a great love--Gregory Jones. Whether you're straight, gay or bi, there's is a relationship to envy. To aspire to.

I would like to give a gift to Jonathan. I would like to replace his nightmares with sweet dreams.

In the new dream he's with Gregory. It's their wedding day. It's beyond beautiful. It's magical, romantic, exactly as they want it to be. And all over the country, people are sending them well-wishes. They're aware of the nuptials because Jonathan and Gregory have won the Crate and Barrel Ultimate Wedding Contest.

I have a dilemma, much as I love my new friend, I cannot manage this gift alone. I need help. Actually, I need thousands of people to help me.

On the plus side, it's help that will require very little effort on your part.

I'm hopelessly Hollywood. I love a tragedy into triumph story. Can you not picture it? Young gay man beaten, left for dead because of who loves, perseveres and with the help of his community wins the Crate and Barrel Ultimate Wedding Contest!!!

Will you vote--get your friends to vote?

Please will you do this for my friend?

Vote as a way of striking back at all the bastards who attack--who insist on choosing hate instead of love.

PS: as long as you are there voting for Jonathan & Gregory take an extra minute and vote for all the LGBT couples

http://www.ultimateweddingcontest.com/entries/22682

IRISH: Act One--Like Roots, but 100,000 words shorter

Not having any first cousins on my father’s side, I didn’t really consider myself an Irish American when I was growing up. My dad is one of five children. His three sisters, however, are all nuns and his one brother is a priest. So no kids in the family for me and my brother to play with. As a result, it was always my mother’s family we were with. It was Romanian culture—their customs and foods and particular brand of crazyness that I identified with.

I did love my Irish grandparents, though. My brother and I spent a lot of time with them. They were sweet, and gentle. They were not fiery or hysterical. Not at all Romanian. My sense of morals, my desire to be a good person, my hope for social justice in the world is all a direct result of the example of my grandmother, my Nan. Nan was one of 15 children—actually I’m not exactly sure how many kids there were. A ton. It was more than 12 and less than 17. Ladies and Gentlemen: The Crehan family.

Even as a kid, when I was all Romanian all day, I realized that lurking somewhere out there in the world was a family that I was a part of. Hundreds and hundreds or pure bred Irish people (and plenty of half-breeds like myself).
Still, I didn’t give them a lot of thought.

Then last April I got an Evite from a stranger/cousin named Mary-Alice Barrett inviting me to a reunion of the New York area Crehans—specifically our generation. The first cousin’s once removed. The party was happening on my birthday. I really wasn’t that excited about spending my birthday with a bunch of strangers/cousins. Whatever. Not going.
But magically about four minutes after the Evite arrived my mother called. “There will be a cousin party,” she announced as if she’d just read it on Page Six.

“It’s on my birthday.”

“What a great way to celebrate,” she said, choosing to ignore the petulance in my voice.

My older brother died in 1996. I mention this now because as a result, I am now an only child. And at moments like this one, with my mother’s wishes so clearly stated, I feel the burden of responsibility to do what is expected of me.

I accepted the Evite. I spent my birthday with strangers/cousins.

But then, upon arriving at the event, something remarkable happened. Almost immediately these people didn’t seem like strangers. They seemed like, well, exactly what they are, my family.

Many of them even looked like me. Which makes no sense at all. Because I look like a Romanian. True, I no longer possess the classic Romanian uni-brow. That disappeared long ago when I very wisely accepted waxing as my personal savior. But the dark eyes, the high forehead, that’s pure Romanian—at least I always thought so. My skin is too pale for a Romanian, exactly right for an Irishman. The way we moved and spoke and laughed, there was a connection there, too.

These cousins embraced me.

One female cousin embraced me rather aggressively. At first I was a little taken aback that she was putting the moves on me—yes we were strangers—but we were still technically cousins after all. But then even this awkward moment of having a relative hit on me became a joyful one.

I realized right then, as I was removing her hands from my waist, that I have crazy coming at me from both sides of the family! Here’s the thing: when you look into the face of crazy, what you usually see is talent and vulnerability and heart and pain and sorrow and imagination.

I’m a little bit crazy and I’m proud to say I inherit it from both sides of my family. By the way, my mother has no idea that I write a blog. Let’s keep it that way because I don’t think she’d appreciate her only living child describing himself as nuts (even a little bit nuts).

I left the party that night, ecstatic. Realizing, for the first time—I’m IRISH!!!

I’ve been on a multi-cultural cloud ever since!

Actually, I was on a cloud until yesterday. That’s when I remembered this week is St. Patrick’s Day. That’s a great day to be Irish! I live in New York. And now that I’m finally Irish I would love to march in the parade.

Oh, wait.

I can’t.

Because I’m gay.

Thank God I’m not writing a screenplay. Because this—everything I’ve said thus far—is just the first act of the story. In a screenplay this would be the first 10 of 115 pages.

Fortunately I have a couple more days to figure out how the story ends.

Will I go to the parade anyway, with my friends from Queer Rising?

Will I carry a sign?

Will I get myself arrested?

Will I stay home and feel bad about myself?

Will I decide to turn myself back into a full-blooded Romanian?

Honestly, I have no idea what I’ll do.

Two days to figure it out.

I’ll keep you posted.

Marriage rights activist seeking same for hot, world-changing fun

I'm having a crisis.

It occurs to me that actually no one reads my blog. It's the only explanation.

My blog has 15 followers (14 if I don't count myself) and I guess for the purposes of establishing a fan base, I should not count myself.

So that's 14. 14 fans. (13 if I don't count my agent) She sort of has to be my fan. I think it's part of the job description.

And now we're 13. Lucky number 13.

I guess I've been thinking it's only these devoted 13 who took the time to register their love of me. But that thousands and thousands of others faithfully read. Enjoyed a laugh, the occasional tear, and, most importantly, heeded my advice.

Apparently not.

Last weekend I wrote about Jonathan Howard and Gregory Jones. I know of at least 13 people--14 if I count myself, and I am--who thought my suggestion was brilliant.

To recap:

I laid out a clear and simple plan in which, by voting for them (Jonathan & Gregory) in the Crate & Barrel Ultimate Wedding Contest, they would become the poster couple for gay marriage. And all around the country folks would be learning lessons of love and tolerance when they read of their victories in their morning papers or, I suppose, in blogs that, unlike mine, have a substantial readership.


Now here is what I know for a fact: More than 8700 people want to see gay marriage become a reality. Yet as of right now, that's the approximate number of votes Jonery have received. (Don't know what Jonery means? Too bad. Read my earlier post).

Here's the other thing I know for a fact--okay, I don't know it to be a fact, but I'm saying it anyway. Many of the people voting--especially the gay men--have alternate screen names that they wouldn't want, say, their mothers or boyfriends to know about. Jonery does not care if you're a little trampy. You can vote with those names, too!

That means maybe it's not 8700 people who have voted maybe it's only 5000 promiscuous people.

WE CAN DO BETTER!

This is not hard.

I'm the guy who created The Marrying Kind. I don't even approve of marriage at this moment in history. I think we should all be waiting (gay & straight) until we have equal federal marriage rights. But I can put aside my differences and recognize that the publicity that will come from this victory will be a huge step forward for gay rights.

I don't think I'm wrong about this. But if I am, how much time has this action really cost you? Two minutes. A few minutes more if you're... well you know, exceedingly friendly.

Here's an idea: Log onto one of those "other" names and make a new friend. Invite them over and before you get acquainted, log onto the Crate & Barrel Ultimate Wedding Contest and make your new friend vote. It's essential that you get them to vote before you get distracted by other things and forget the real reason you invited a total stranger into your house.

For those of you without a screen name you wouldn't want your mother to see, this would be a good time to call your mother. Get mom to vote. And all the rest of the clan.

So I should go now because I'm going to post, I mean...

I'm going to call my mother.

http://www.ultimateweddingcontest.com/entries/22682

Oklahoma, NOT OK!

I am a college graduate. And I am a writer. I begin by mentioning these facts as a way of proving that I generally have a basic understanding of the English language. When I read something I can usually ascertain the meaning of the words.

Yet I have just read a brief story on Advocate.com (three times, in fact) and I can't figure it out. This is in no way a reflection on the story's reporter--Julie Bolcer. Each of her sentences clearly has a subject and a predicate. If I still remembered how, I'm sure I could diagram each and every one of them. She's writing in paragraphs. It's all good.

Except that it's not.

Let's start with the headline: Okla. Senate Opts Out of Hate Crime Act

You can do that?

You would want to do that?

Below is Julie's first sentence:

"Oklahoma state senator Steve Russell pushed an amendment Wednesday night that makes it possible for the state to circumvent the portion of the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Protection Act that concerns LGBT protections."

Now that I've read it a fourth time, it's a little clearer: It's not the whole Hate Crimes Act he's trying to kill. It's just the part that deals with LGBT protections.

Here is the Rest of Julie Bolcer's piece:

According to NewsOK, a state law enforcement agency would not be required to share investigative files with federal agencies under the proposed changes to the Oklahoma hate-crimes bill. The bill is now headed to the house for consideration after passing the senate 39-6.

“Under the new provisions of Senate Bill 1965, reports that were collected during investigations of possible hate crime that did not end in a conviction would be destroyed or kept by the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation,” reported NewsOK.

“Russell said the bill is meant to prevent the federal law enforcement officials from taking over a case and applying different standards when local law enforcement has already investigated a case.”

The senator also said his bill is meant to protect speech of all kinds, according to NewsOK.

I do not make a habit of posting entire articles into my blog. But I'm hoping one of my readers can explain to me what I clearly don't understand.

Do you think one day this Senator woke up and thought: Oklahoma would be a much better place to live if those homosexuals felt less safe? Or, perhaps he thought, I want to be remembered as the man who did nothing when my neighbors were being harmed?

It's all deeply distressing. But there is something about the senator's motivations that I really don't understand.

I remember an episode of "LA Law" I watched a hundred years ago, so the details are now fuzzy. Here is the gist: One of the male lawyers is out on the town with his brother or an old friend, and they're attacked, called fag. At first the lawyer doesn't want to report the incident because he's straight and feels humiliated for being perceived to be gay. But, because it's TV, he works through these feelings and presses charges against his attackers.

The point is you don't actually have to be a member of the LGBT community to be the victim of an LGBT hate crime. Your attacker just has to THINK you are gay.

So, this brings me back to the Senator.

The advocate.com has included a head shot of him. He's pretty cute in conservative kind of way.

I would totally hit on him. I mean, if I was single and if I didn't know he hated gay people.

But back to his cute factor. He has very delicate features, well groomed. He's thin.

He could definitely pass.

I'm not questioning his sexuality. I assume he's 100% straight. But to the eyes of a hater? His wry smile, his impeccably manicured brows, the crispness of his collar, these mark the senator. They spell trouble.

And if this law passes (or maybe it did, I didn't really understand the article) Senator Russell, along with every real member of the LGBT community is about to find himself a whole lot less safe than he was before.

I do hope the Senator will reconsider his actions. But if he does not, for his own safety, he should really think about packing on thirty or forty pounds fast. Oh, and throw away that tweezer.

What if we Were a Mouse Click Away From Equality?

For awhile now I've been thinking the LGBT marriage equality movement needs a poster couple.

Clearly, as the author of "The Marrying Kind," an obvious choice would be me (and my partner, of course). But to be honest, while there are several organizations for which I think I'd make an excellent poster child, poster couple not so sure about.

Let me just say it: I don't have great hair. I do have sensational teeth. But on the other hand, my jaw line... a little weak. I couldn't possibly spend every minute of my day avoiding being photographed in profile--that would be exhausting.

So that leaves me with the difficult task of anointing another couple.

Before you say Ellen & Portia or that "Star Trek" guy, let me stop you. I'm thinking, let's go another way. Let's eschew celebrity, shall we?

I've found another couple and they're perfect for our cause.

They're named Gregory Jones and Jonathan Howard. These boys are so cute: great hair, strong jaws. The teeth, probably not as good as mine. But two out of three. Oh and they are smart and funny and madly in love with each other.

But here is why we all really need them: They have entered the Crate and Barrel Ultimate Wedding Contest and they have a good shot of winning. They are in second place behind a straight couple.

Now, as all my friends know, I love the straights. Really. And I know there is no way of saying "I love straight people" without sounding like you don't.

I really do.

But, I think we can all agree that straight people don't really need more societal support with regard to the recognition of their relationships.

The LGBTs on the other hand...

See this is why they must win:

Can you imagine the press, the outrage, the rejoicing (I'm guessing that outrage and rejoicing will be coming from two different sets of people).

Picture this for a minute: It's three weeks from now. All over the country folks are picking up their local papers and reading stories about the two gay guys who won the Ultimate Wedding Contest. All over America people will be talking about gay marriage.

Not just Gregory and Jonathan's.

But mine, too.

Yours too, if you're queer. (Though I know many of you reading this are straight. Because lots of straight people are supportive. And lots of straight folks read my blog, because they know I love the straights).

But I've digressed.

How do you and I make this dream-- the one where everyone in America is talking about equality--a reality?

It's so simple!!!!!!!

Easy.

No effort.

You go to the link I'm posting below and you vote.

Then you invite your friends to do the same.

Honestly, Can we not get a few hundred thousand people to do this? To assure that Jonathan and Gregory (and honestly, all of us) win!

This is publicity for our cause we don't have to pay for.

FREE.

I'm so sick of segregated marriage. It's about time Crate and Barrel joined the fight!

And the best part? It's so much fun being an activist when it only takes two minutes to accomplish your goal.

VOTE!!!

Here's what I did because I'm a creative type. I invited 1138 of my friends to vote for Jonathan & Gregory. That's one friend for every right I am currently denied by the federal government.

And each friend who clicks the link gets me closer to my goal. Gets you closer. Gets all of us closer to the kind of world we want to live in.

A world where segregated marriage is no longer acceptable.

A world where marriage equality exists.

As far as I can see, the only real question remaining is do we call them Gregathan or Jonory?

I think Jonory. But on this point I'm willing to be flexible.

http://www.ultimateweddingcontest.com/entries/22682

Please Come!

Constantly I find myself fighting the urge to not join in or participate in something--actually in everything.

Big parties, rather not go. The movie everyone is talking about, I probably won't be seeing.

I recognize that my reclusiveness is not always personally beneficial. And so it is with reticence that I force myself out into the world. Even though it's so nice at home curled up with a good book.

Ugh. I just received an invitation.

I don't even want to open it. I was just going to make myself a little green tea and have some quiet time, but now I have to find out who this invitation is from.

Excuse me while I take a moment to sigh heavily.

The invitation is from the Empowering Spirits Foundation--I like them. Not that I want to go to their party, but I do like them.

So their thing is next month. Oh, God. They already have like 400 people attending.

Ugh. Yikes!

Excuse me while I take another moment to sigh heavily. This time the sigh is panic-laced. (I don't do well in crowds).

Oh wait!

On closer inspection I see that Empowering Spirits Foundation isn't inviting me to their place. They are asking me to fill out the census in the comfort of my own home.

Which I guess means they will not be providing any type of refreshments. That's not the way I would throw a party. Best not to quibble since this means I don't have to leave my house.

I wasn't certain that I was even going to fill out the census form because I thought homosexuals didn't count. But according to Empowering Spirits, who I trust even if they don't really know how to throw a party, it's vital that the LGBT community fill out the forms.

Why, you ask?

Because, according to Jamie Grant, the director of the Policy Institute at The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, “Without data, you have no community portrait, and without a portrait, you have no needs, you have no identity, you have no funding; the census has always had a civil rights component to it.”

Oh, and there are only 10 questions. So we can fill it out fast and then get to the party.

Oh, right. Empowering Spirits Foundation is not throwing an actual party, it's more of a virtual thing. I know I don't like going out, but this is such a big deal. And it's only once every ten years. So...

You know what? I bet I can find their address. (how hard could it be? I mean, how many Empowering Spirit Foundations could there be?)

I make crazy good stuffed mushrooms. I'm thinking we grab are forms, we head over to the foundation. Somebody could make a crudites--that's always nice. I know they're tacky but I love a pig-n-blanket. (And I don't think I'm alone). Vino. Anybody?

We take two--three minutes tops-- to fill out the form. Then it's party time.

Because--well--we exist.

Therefore, we deserve to be counted. Don't you think?

So. Everybody. In?

See you next month.

Rock With Me Baby!

Fortunately, I'm not really prone to bad dreams. But over the course of the thirteen years I've been with my partner, Marcus, there is a scary nightmare I've had more than once.

I'm all alone in the house. All of the windows and doors are wide open. It's raining and the water pours in, streaming across the floors. I'm not actually paralyzed. But I can't move. I'm frightened but also very angry. I don't know what to do. At my side are two small suitcases, there getting damaged by the rain.

And then as sometimes happens in a dream, I understand what's going on. I realize I can't keep the house without Marcus. I can't afford the house alone. Sometimes, in the dream, I've lost the house because I can't pay the inheritance tax. Other times I've been bankrupted by lawyer's fees because his parents are suing me to gain possession of the house (a thing they would never actually do. But, it's a nightmare). Sometimes, I just don't have enough money because I don't have access to Marcus' social security. Just that extra bit would be enough of a safety net.

But I don't have that. I don't have his social security because in the eyes of the law i am a stranger to him.

Finally I just leave the house, because I don't know what else to do.

This is the only dream that has caused me to awaken, gasping and in a sweat, since I was a child.

I haven't had the dream in a couple of years, but the terrifying memory of it came rushing back to me when my friend Tanner Efinger invited me to be a part of a rally and "rock-in" called rock for equality to raise awareness and funds to fight the inequities of social security benefits for LGBT Americans. Please visit www.rockforequality.org to learn more.

I'm involved because I want GLBT seniors afforded the same rights as straight seniors.

Okay, that's not the whole reason. It's not even the main reason.

Mostly I'm involved for myself. And for Marcus. I just want what's ours.

I think about Don't Ask Don't Tell and all of the years it has managed to exist, in spite of how clearly wrong it is. Time truly does fly.

There always seems to be a reason to treat people badly. Always a reason why the timing is wrong.

Change? Maybe not.

Progress? Maybe next year.

I'm in my forties. There is a very real chance that in twenty years--when I'm really thinking about social security benefits--that I still might not have equality.

I'm not predicting that. I will not be accepting that.

So to make sure that's not my fate. I'm talking now. I'm making a fuss.

I'm rocking.

Will you rock with me?

Now class, Today's word is:

Even though it is against the law for my partner and me to get married, we sometimes act like an old married couple anyway. You know, just to flaunt the law. One of the radical, old married things we enjoy doing is learning a new word every day. (Though in reality it ends up being two or three times a week).

Certain words, in spite of having learned them before, never seem to stick in my brain. I could, for example, look up Nonplussed every day of the week and still have doubts as to its meaning. Nonplussed is something which causes you to be at a loss as to what to say. (I know that because I just looked it up--again).

So even though my partner is at work--and I'm doing whatever it is that I do--I thought how about a word of the day!

Today's word is Carpetbagger!

According to Merriam-Webster a carpetbagger is an OUTSIDER; especially a nonresident or new resident who seeks private gain from an area often by meddling in its business or politics.

Huh. Good to know. Let's see if we can use it in a sentence, shall we?

"By attempting to bulldoze his way into New York State politics, Harold Ford, Jr is acting very much like a carpetbagger.

Now I'm not going to blame Harold Ford, Jr for wanting to move from Tennessee to New York. I mean that's kind of a no brainer. Right? I can forgive that.

But here are some fun facts I'm not so willing to forgive:

He twice voted for Bush's Anti-Gay federal marriage amendment.

He voted against The Employment Non-Discrimination Act

Apparently he also voted against gay adoptions in Washington DC.

And my personal favorite, he voted against Hate Crimes prevention, because really who cares if you're only killing minorities.

Wow.

I don't think I'm going to vote for him because his past record is. Well... Umn...

His past voting record has left me completely nonplussed.

Perhaps by the time I arrive this evening at the LGBT center on 13th street at 6:00, I will have thought of something to say. And will therefore no longer be nonplussed.

That does not, however, mean that I'll be plussed.

Criminals and the Women Who Love Them

I am the son of a retired police officer. So it may come as no surprise that I was raised to respect authority. And that generally I do not make a habit of associating with known felons.

But something crazy is going on with me. I can't help myself! I desperately want to consort with criminals. With four criminals in particular.

Right now I find myself bereft because on Friday morning I will be on a plane headed to Florida to visit my parents instead of sitting in a court room supporting--well, let's just say it-- four known felons. I know they did it. I saw them commit their crimes with my very own eyes!

The four felons in question are Alan Bounville, Jake Goodman, Justin Elzie and Gabriel Yuri Bollag. Together they are known as the Queer Rising 4. Perhaps you've heard of them? I think they're dreamy.

BUT THEY'RE CRIMINALS!

I want to be their moll. (there I said it.)

I'm remembering a scene from my childhood. I was watching Donahue. Phil had as his guests woman who loved prisoners. They did anything they could for these men. Sacrificed everything for them. And got nothing in return.

Even at age six, I knew these ladies had a problem.

But now I find myself thinking: "Maybe I should cancel my nonrefundable plane ticket and stay in town to be with my boys, Alan, Jake, Justin and Gabriel. Have I mentioned that they're dreamy?

"Dad," I'll say, when I call the former police officer, "Here's the thing. I'm not coming because there are these guys. True they're lawbreakers, I can't deny that. But they are so dreamy. I never knew how hot activists could be. I got it bad, dad."

Just like the woman on Donahue, I will write my boys long letters to keep their spirits up. I will describe the details of my far less exciting days, while I dream about being reunited with QR4.

I think I'm becoming one of those crazy Donahue women (except I'm still a man, of course). Oh, and I guess another difference is I think the men that they loved were serial killers. Where as the men that I love are fighting for equality and the end of segregated marriage laws.

But aside from those minor details, I'm just like those women.

Alan, Jake, Justin and Gabriel--they're like a boy band. Incidentally, boy bands are often made up of known felons. Oh my God!!! I can't wait for their first single. You just know that HRC and Courage Campaign and Freedom to Marry are going to be fighting to have QR4 get chained up for them and perform.

Oh my sweet perpetrators. I am the Bonnie to your Clyde (x4)

How can I not be there for you on Friday? What if I, just this once, sent many others in my place?

What if on Friday, Feb 19th at 9:30AM hundreds of my friends arrived at 100 Centre Street Part A 4th floor NY NY 10013

Of course these hundreds of friends are not a substitute for me your loyal, QR4 fan.

Fan?

No. Fan seems too insignificant a word to describe the way I feel about you activists. Soul mates! That's better. True there is the small detail that we don't know each other. But when I saw you in your chains. Well.... enough about me.

A brief reminder to my hundreds of friends who will be in attendance at 9:30 Friday morning. The boys? The boys are mine. Don't think because I'm not there that Alan, Jake, Justin or Gabriel are going to settle for you.

You can be a fan. But you aren't a soul mate.

So step back.

It all Comes Down to Love!

This year, Marcus said it first.

He gave Theo a gentle nudge to pry her from his pillow. She purred, hoping against odds that he might choose her over me. When Marcus didn't, she hopped off the bed and Marcus nuzzled up beside me.

"Happy Valentine's day, Bug," he whispered.

"Happy Valentine's day, Bug." I grinned and gave him a kiss.

Theo gave us about three minutes of privacy before she jumped back up on the bed. I don't think she knows she's a cat. At some point, she decided that she was Marcus' wife. Fortunately, I have not been cast as the other woman. I'm more like Mom. When she's sick or wants food, she's all over me. But when she needs love, It's Marcus' arms she leaps into. It's his nose she licks.

"Happy Valentine's day, darling," Marcus told Theo. She pressed into his arms, and he shrugged. Sorry bug, I have to please the Mrs, his raised shoulders seemed to be saying to me.

Then he giggled sweetly. And suddenly I remembered that I love Marcus.

I should clarify that I am usually aware that I love him. But in fact, the awareness of love is not at the forefront of memory twenty-four hours a day. Not for me. Not for anyone, I suppose. Between life and stress and work, there are many other things to think about.

But when these moments happen--this morning's giggle for example; or a thoughtful e-mail he's sent for no reason, a particuarlar glance in my direction, or even just hearing him call me Bug--I remember that I love him.

I suppose this isn't revelatory, what I'm writing here. I imagine this is much the way it goes for all couples who've been together beyond the early flush of romance and discover that they have the desire to build a life together. That living with the other person is fun and difficult and extraordinary and the only way of being that makes any real sense.

On Valentine's day, we all celebrate that very special kind of love. Of course, if one hopes to have more than just one Valentine's day with the same person (I've had 12 with Marcus) on some level the celebrating must happen every day of the year.

This is true for all couples.

And maybe that's why I care about Valentine's day. Because it's a day for all couples. It's a day we recognize how the same all of us who are in relationships are--in spite of superficial differences like age and race and gender and orientation.

One day a year we collectively agree that loving another person is a great gift. It's an awesome responsibility. It is a challenge. It is a hope.

All people are allowed to celebrate Valentine's day. There is no single group that's unwelcome. Because on this one day a year we all seem to understand that it all comes down to love.

And if you have it--if you have been blessed with this sacred gift-- you are welcomed to be a part of the celebration.

Today we're all equal in our love.

Tomorrow?

Well that's another story.

I Am Not Now, Nor Have I Ever Been

It was cold this morning and I didn't want to leave the house. Marcus and the kids (cats) were snugged up in bed. I dragged myself from under the comforter and made my way slowly to the kitchen. Before I put coffee on, I checked e-mail on my phone. Maybe it was cancelled.

It wasn't.

Sigh.

There was no escaping. I was going to have to go downtown to the Queer Rising Marriage Equality Rally. I live in Harlem. Worth Street is nearly an hour away. That's far!

And let's not forget it was cold outside. Oh, and did I mention I had to be there by 8:00?

Maybe I wouldn't go after all.

I hate being an activist.

I'm not very good at it.

On second thought, I'm not an activist.

I went anyway.

There were a lot of nice people there. People who are committed to equality are often nice. (Not always, of course. But often.)

I had not come prepared with a sign. (Because, as I previously stated, I hate being an activist and I'm not an activist.) But one of the real activists had made several signs--as real activists are want to do--so she gave me one to hold. It said Queer Rising in big letters and had many rainbow colors. Not the sign I would have made but I hadn't made a sign. And as the say beggers (you know the rest.)

Anyway, not the sign I would have made but, I liked having the sign to hold because it gave me something to do with my hands. (and it made me look like an activist, which I'm not.)

I stood at a safe distance from the actual activists, but did participate in the chanting and general shouting for equality.

Then a gay man and a lesbian came and talked to us. They told us they had just received a marriage license. Even though, they don't love each other, or even know each other very well. They had previously tried to get licenses with the people they actually love. But since the great loves of their lives were of the same gender, they were denied.

Not a surprise. But really a drag. Right?

Suddenly I began chanting a little louder!

Then I thought maybe we would go for snacks. But we weren't done yet.

More actual activists emerged from the building and chained themselves together, effectively barring entrance into the building.

Lot's more pro-marriage-rights slogans were chanted!

Also police came. (Not being an activist, that frightened me.)

I continued to carry my Queer Rising sign and considered blocking my face with it in case there were camaras, like the Gotti family does when they are exiting a court house.

But the police were not interested in me. Because I was across the street where we were asked to stand. (I was taught by nuns and therefore obey authority.) And besides, not to belabor the point, but I'm not really an activist.

So anyway the police clipped the big heavy chains and arrested the (real) activists and escorted them to the Paddy Wagon.

And just for a minute I wished I was an activist. I wished I cared enough about civil rights to go to prison for what is right. I wished I was fighting more. Shouting louder.

I wish I was braver.

And then I remembered something: At least, I showed up.

I did chant.

I did hold a sign.

And maybe that's not enough. But it's something.

It's a start.

And maybe next time I'll chain myself to the door too. (Totally kidding, Mom.)

But I think I will keep showing up. I will keep chanting. I will make noise, albeit respectful, somewhat subdued noise. I can do these things...

(Even though I'm not an activist.)

And maybe someday...

Who knows?

I'm Not Getting Married

I joined the NMB and I'm not getting married!

I felt pretty excited when I took the pledge. Really excited actually.

Then I realized it wasn't exactly that I was boycotting marriage. It was more like marriage was boycotting me. I'm gay so it's not a huge hardship for me to say I won't get married until everyone can.

My partner and I have been together over twelve years and if federal laws allowed we would be married. That straight people are joining the NMB and choosing not to marry because they want to stand in solidarity with me is overwhelmingly heartening. Because it is hard not to be married when you want to be.

It means--even for straight couples living together unwed--that you are thought of as less than by society. Okay maybe not if you are Brad and Angelina or Susan Sarrandon and Tim Robbins. But for the rest of us: Living together is not the same as married.

If you are not married you can't avail yourself to your partners health insurance. In the first 10 years I was with my partner, before his company offered domestic partner benefits, we spent an extra one hundred thousand dollars on health insurance. That's not a typo I really mean ten thousand a year times ten years.

That's just one example. Of course there are nearly 1400 federal rights that come with marriage.

What's happening when we decide to boycott this sacred institution is that we are saying marriage as it's currently defined is wrong, and therefore I won't be a part of it. As more and more people begin to think this way and start talking about marriage in terms of segregation and civil rights, hearts and minds will change.

When marriage as it's currently defined becomes unacceptable to US citizens, lawmakers will be forced to act.

The straight members of this organization are doing a great service to the GLBT community. They are literally enduring economic and societal hardship to support the cause of justice. I, for one, will always be grateful. And I promise, if a law is ever passed that gives a right to gays but excludes straights, I will remember this moment and I will boycott. And I will speak up loudly!

Thank you

Ken O'Neill

The Marrying Kind

High School Anti-Gay "Event" Being Investigated

High School Anti-Gay "Event" Being Investigated

I find this so troubling. But I also wonder how can you not expect this kind of behavior when you put an entire group of peoples rights up for public debate?