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?