On This Date In ISBL History: What About Here?

As Carlos and I are in sunny Miami for business and pleasure, I thought I’d do something I’ll call “On This Date In ISBL History” and repost some things from back when the blog was new, and newish … this was originally published January 12, 2010:

What About Here?

I'm going to say this straight out: ever since the White Man arrived in this country, we have been fucking the Native Americans. Which is something we do quite well; we befriend; we offer help; we make a suggestion. And before you know it, we have your land; we have your goods; we have you.

The Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, in the U.S. of A. is home to an estimated 45,000 Oglala Sioux on more than two million acres. Sounds nice. Room to roam; wide open spaces. God's country.

Not so much.

Unemployment stands at 80%. There are a minimum of fifteen people per home. Life expectancy ends at about age fifty. And while the Pine Ridge tribal housing authority receives some $10 million a year from Congress, it's not enough to maintain those few existing homes, much less build many new ones. One-third of homes on the reservation do not have electricity or running water.

What they have done, however, is to build a 280-cell jail to replace the old 25-cell one. So, if you're living with fourteen other people in a house with no water or electricity, get yourself arrested and move into some news digs with all the amenities. If you're young and living on the reservation you don't have the option of college or trade school; most young people end up joining a gang or the military or bootlegging; the reservation is supposed to be dry, but alcoholism is rampant

Youth suicide is on the rise.

Tribe president Theresa Two Bulls is also contending with startlingly poor health for young and old reservation residents alike; half of the Oglala Sioux over 40 have diabetes and the infant mortality rate is three times the national average.

President Obama has acknowledged the hardships facing Native Americans and vowed to do something, but with this economy and the fight for health care reform, will he find the time or the political capital?

"Few have been more marginalized and ignored by Washington for as long as Native Americans, our first Americans. I know what it means to feel ignored and forgotten, and what it means to struggle. So you will not be forgotten as long as I'm in this White House."—President Obama, at the White House Tribal Nations Conference.

We've heard those words from him before, regarding the LGBT community

Theresa Two Bulls has long harbored a conspiracy theory about the government: 

"Look how they brought welfare and our people lived on welfare and some of our people don't even know how to work. They're used to just staying at home all day, watching TV and drinking and taking drugs. That's the state the government wanted us to be in and we're in it."

We came here, and stole their land.

We came here and murdered them.

We came here and robbed them of their homes and their dignity and their livelihood.

That is not America.

If you want to know more about how we've treated Native Americans, please read Peter Matthiessen's In The Spirit Of Crazy Horse.

Things haven’t changed in the seven years since this post. We are still stealing lands from Native Peoples; we are running oil pipelines through their sacred burial grounds, through their properties; we are endangering the very existence of these Native Americans by treating them as if they, their lands, their idea, their lives, don’t matter more than a barrel of oil.

On This Date In ISBL History: Jimmy’s Eulogy

As Carlos and I are in sunny Miami for business and pleasure, I thought I’d do something I’ll call “On This Date In ISBL History” and repost some things from back when the blog was new, and newish … this—a piece of a book I’ve written called, ironically, I should Be Laughing—was originally published January 11, 2009:

Jimmy’s Eulogy

His fingers gripped the lip of the mahogany lectern that the minister had carried from the trunk of his car. He picked at a splinter on the front edge, pulling it away just enough, and then letting it snap back into place. Not used to speaking to a large group of people unless he had a cold Coors in one hand—and several more in his belly—and a pool cue in the other, Jimmy began speaking shyly, “Um, most of you know…knew…you knew my mother…. Our mother,” Jimmy waved awkwardly at Harry and Renny, silent in their seats.

“I know you didn’t see her around town because she, um, didn’t get out much. But I know you saw her every once in a while, Mister Dawson.”

Up for re-election to the Town Council, Jerry Dawson nodded to the crowd.

“She liked you…she told me so…when you came by with her…. She always said that, uh, you were a decent man and why couldn’t I—.” He turned away from Jerry Dawson. “And Mister Dailey? You used to work on her car…”

Harry twisted in his seat to look at the man in the wrinkled suit; the one holding the bag with the bottle inside. Of course! Roger Dailey; he owned the Chevron on the highway, and, on more than one occasion towed Barbara’s car home after she had sent it into a ditch or a tree on a late night, drunken escape from insomnia. He had even pounded out the dent in the fender that Barbara had gotten from hitting one of the pumps at his station.

“She used to say you were fast and fair. Never took advantage of her because she was a dru—a woman!”

Roger Dailey stood a bit taller.

“Miss Evers? My mother loved your shop. You always had something that she liked in there. Pictures frames or…I remember this, uh, this little ceramic cat she brought home from your shop when Grandmother was visiting. It had a chipped ear…. But she set it in the kitchen windowsill anyway.”

Sara Evers bowed her head, remembering the day Barbara Seaton left her shop with that cat because she had knocked it, and its mate, off the shelf. The mate hadn’t survived, but Barbara took home the damaged cat; Sara had a stern ‘You break it, you pay for it’ policy.

“She didn’t see many other people,” Jimmy was saying, “but she talked highly of most of—.” He stopped to survey the faces in the crowd. Renny watched from the other side of a lacy wall while Harry’s face was illegible, his eyes dark and sightless. David, Ben and Vera, not knowing him very well, not knowing what he wanted to say, stared blankly back. His father, at the far end of the crowd, was unsmiling, his own eyes disapproving. Lastly, Jimmy eyed Wyatt, the first person, other than Charlie Bloom or the checker at Dawson’s, to tell him how sorry he was that Barbara had died; Wyatt nodded, as if to say, ‘Go ahead, Jimmy. Tell them.’

His eyes tripped over the craggy faces of Roger Dailey and Jerry Dawson, and he grimaced at Sara Evers and a woman in a flowing blue dress the color of a stormy sea; a couple of other people, from the church no doubt; one of his old school teachers, his scowl greeting Jimmy even now. Then a slight smile, as out of place on his face as he was at this funeral, crossed Jimmy’s mouth when he spotted Charlie Bloom standing at the back; he’d actually shaved and worn a tie. 

There were four strangers in the crowd, his father being one of them. A young girl, sixteen or so, her eyes drooping with boredom, picked at her fingernails, while her brother, Jimmy somehow knew that, stood beside his…Billy Seaton. And there was an older woman in a hat, their mother, his wife; she looked like…. He glanced away quickly, not wanting to see his father, even after so many years, and his eyes found Lyle, whose hair was a halo in the sunshine, whose eyes smiled, whose hands tugged at his Uncle Harry’s tie.

Watching his son, Jimmy wanted them all to know about his mother.

“She tried, my mother did…I truly believe she tried to love us, but…she didn’t know how. She, uh, she cared so much about what other people thought that she forgot to…she only cared about how we looked and dressed and behaved. She cared about that stuff, but I don’t think she cared very much about us.

“She, uh, was…she…hurt us. Me, Harry and Renny. She did that a lot…hitting and screaming…she threw things. When we were real young, me and Harry, she would lock us in our rooms all night…or out of the house if I…” Jimmy wiped his eyes, thinking of those hours spent at that all-night diner when Barbara didn’t want him in her house.

“She shredded my sister’s whole life and then shoved it in a box…she turned her back on my brother because…. She threw everything away that belonged to Harry…it’s all gone, all of it. She got rid of them, my brother and sister,” he lifted his eyes toward Harry and Renny, “but she wouldn’t let me go. She paid for me…and my family…so we couldn’t get away…she was never going to let me go because…. It was so awful in that house, for Harry and Renny and me, but who could we tell?”

“What would people think?” Harry mumbled.

“We didn’t know anyone and…” Jimmy continued, “being so far away from town, you couldn’t hear the…screams. Ours, sometimes, but mostly it was her…and my Dad, when he was there.” Jimmy took his eyes off that loose sliver of wood on the lectern and gazed at the man he had never really known; the man whose own blue eyes narrowed. “My father wasn’t any better than my mother. He left before I learned to walk and we never knew where he went…or why.

“He’s here today and I still don’t know why he ran out on his family. See, I always thought fathers were s’posed to teach you things, you know…like how to ride a bike or throw a ball…I learned that stuff from my sister. Fathers are s’posed to teach you to be a man, but I didn’t even learn that until my brother came home this week. The only thing my father ever taught me was how to run away.” Jimmy blinked back his tears. “But…see, I was only a baby when he left…so I never learned that lesson…

“But you know…I learned how to, uh, fix things and hide things and lie. After all my mother did to hurt us, the bruises and fights, the times she would fall down and we would have to get her from the store…or the beach…nights she would wreck her car…or start a fire in the trash barrel out back, we would fix it. I would fix it because no one else…. She made my sister leave home and never come back…she made Renny hate her life so much that she forgot all about me and Harry…She never told a soul about us…her family.”

From the front row, Renny was sobbing; reliving the sting of Barbara’s palm across her face; seeing the ribbons of clothes in a box on the parlor floor; recalling how she and her brothers hid from their own mother, doing anything to stay out of her way. As Jimmy spoke she felt those hurtful pieces of her past fall away; with every tear she shed, she put another bad memory away for good.

“And Harry,” Jimmy was weeping openly now, “was the loneliest boy I ever saw. He had no one to talk to…. People were so mean to him because he acted…at school and at home, he got teased from everyone. My mother…even me. My mother made him put her to…she made him go away, too…and then, one day, she had me take his things…his books and records and drawings…and burn them in the yard. She tossed out his pictures and told me I could never talk about Harry again…. For the longest time I didn’t know why, but then Harry came home this week…with Wyatt…and then I knew…”

Reaching for Wyatt’s hand, Harry forced himself to think of only good things. He remembered dancing at The Stud; fireworks over the marina and a bicycle ride in Hawaii. He revisited the afternoons in Renny’s room, playing music while she talked on the phone; he once more saw Jimmy as a boy, running around the yard, chasing a ball; the trips to San Francisco, when all he could think about was how he would one day live there. He didn’t think about the bad times; he’d put those away for good; forgiven and forgotten.

Trying to stop him, the minister moved beside Jimmy, but, gripping the other man’s arms, Jimmy held him at bay. Watching his family, in tears now, all of them, he realized that those who lived through it were remembering, and those who weren’t there finally learned the truth. Renny leaned onto David, who crouched next to her; Ben aimed his eyes at the sky to keep from crying and Vera held her head in her hands. Wyatt leaned behind Harry’s chair, hugging him and Lyle.

“Please?” He let go of the minister and pleaded with everyone. “I’m almost done.” Twisting his head to one side, he found the small gray cube at the edge of the cliff, the four huge windows out front screaming, and the toothpick picket fence leaning a little. “You see, as bad as it was for us in that house, as lonely and sad, as painful…. As bad as it was, my mother did one nice thing for us…. Finally.

“She died.” His head down, Jimmy sobbed as his audience shifted uncomfortably. “She killed herself so my family could home again and not be afraid…I got my them back because she died. I got a sister who is pretty and who loves me…likes me. I got my big brother back again, when I needed him most of all…and I got his…lover…Wyatt who is more a part of this family than anyone else here today.

“And I have my boy, too.” He wagged a finger at Lyle, who sang back, ‘Daddy.’ “He loves me with all his heart and I love him more, if you can. I’m gonna make sure he grows up loved and happy and safe, especially loved.

“Our mother was no angel like he said,” Jimmy scowled at the minister. “But she wasn’t a monster either…not really. She was just scared and alone and tried to make us like that…afraid of loving anyone…afraid no one would love us, but,” he was almost finished. “We’re not afraid anymore.”

Jimmy stopped. It was all said and done. It was over. Time to go home.

After having sent the book to several publishers and getting the No Thanks Letter, I put it away, but now I am going to try again.

Perhaps a publisher out there somewhere .... ?

On This Date In ISBL History: Stop. Just Stop.

As Carlos and I are in sunny Miami for business and pleasure, I thought I’d do something I’ll call “On This Date In ISBL History” and repost some things from back when the blog was new, and newish … this was originally published January 10, 2011:

Stop. Just Stop.

The shooting has been everywhere; it's all over my TV, all over the web, on every front page and everybody's mind. I try to wrap my head around the idea that someone can shoot someone in the head at point blank range, for any reason, least of all different political views, or simple dislike. I try to wrap my mind around the thought that someone can simply open fire and shoot at anyone and everyone in sight.

And I wonder, how many fingers pulled that trigger that sent a bullet through Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords’ head, how many fingers discharged the bullets that killed US District Judge John Roll, Gabe Zimmerman, Gifford’s director of community outreach; Dorwin Stoddard, a pastor at Mountain Ave. Church of Christ; Christina Greene, a student at Mesa Verde Elementary; Dorothy Murray and Phyllis Scheck.

I know there was one gunman, and maybe an accomplice, who will achieve no sense of notoriety by having their names or photographs mentions or shown in this space, ever, but there are more to blame. More people around this country who have been spouting hate, and promoting violence as a means to get their viewpoint heard.

Teabaggers who've said that any means necessary should be used to take back the country. Take it back from whom? People with a different idea? Why is there this need for using such hate-speech against a rival political group? Why is violence the answer they seem to promote so often? I am not a fan of Teabaggers, or of most Republicans or most conservatives, or most religious wingnuts, but I would never suggest violence, never suggest death be the answer to my problem with other people.

And, while we hold the Tea Party even partially responsible, let's also lay some blame squarely at the feet of Sarah Palin. I don't use her name here often, as I refer to call her the Mama Grizzly Bore, but today, her name must be used, because she has blood on her hands.

When you use words and phrases like putting someone in your 'crosshairs' exactly what do you think that means? Crosshairs. Guns. Violence. When you ask that your followers reload, instead of retreat, what are you telling them? Take up arms. Shoot. Take up arms, and take the lives of people with whom you disagree, even if one of them is a nine-year-old girl, and others are grandmothers.

This has to stop. We cannot become a nation where violence is the means to sway the vote, and gain momentum for our cause. This has to stop. It's time for people like the Tea Party, and their minions, and Sarah Palin, and her minions, to accept responsibility for their words.

Words have power; words create violence; words incite. Whether the words are aimed at the LGBT community, or a Muslim community center, a liberal, or a conservative, the words must stop inciting violence.

Different is good. Differing opinions are good because they create dialogue. But putting someone in your crosshairs, and threatening to reload, sends the message that violence is the answer.

It isn't. And it's up to us, all of us, liberal and conservative, Democrat, Republican, Independent, whatever political affiliation, religious affiliation, non-religious affiliation, gender, ethnicity, orientation, color, age, education, socio-economic standing, to stop this speech.

Stop it. Or start getting more body bags.

Sadly, the Mama Grizzly Bore™ is still yapping and carrying her guns and acting the fool, while Gabby Giffords resigned from Congress after the shooting to focus on her recovery and has since become an outspoken proponent of gun control.

Huh, who to believe, the gun-toting loon, or the victim of gun violence?

On This Date In ISBL History: My Two Cents: Guns v Cars

As Carlos and I are in sunny Miami for business and pleasure, I thought I’d do something I’ll call “On This Date In ISBL History” and repost some things from back when the blog was new, and newish … this was originally published January 8, 2015:

My Two Cents: Guns v Cars

I’ve told this story before, but, well, Carlos posted something to Facebook about guns and got some vile responses so I’ll talk about it again.

It all began when we learned that Kroger stores in areas where open carry — being able to carry a gun, rifle, assault weapon openly in public — is legal, and one day, while shopping at our Kroger store, we expressed our displeasure at their policy.

We were told by the manager that what Kroger has is a ‘neutral policy’ on open carry which we then explained was really a ‘We don’t care’ or ‘We look the other way’ policy; we made the suggestion that maybe a sign could be posted in store windows asking that people refrain from bringing weapons into a grocery store when they stop for a carton of milk, and, again, we were told Kroger’s policy is neutrality.

Since then our policy has been to shop anywhere but Kroger because I have this aversion to asking someone to move their AK47 so I can get some eggs, but that’s just me ….

And, when on Facebook, I often repost stories from Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America; I also reTweet some links from the group. Well, Carlos shared a photo from the group one day and was inundated with all kinds of gun nuts who basically told him to STFU … funny, they want their Second Amendment rights protected while seeking to deny Carlos his First Amendment rights but what do you expect from people who want to carry a loaded firearm into a grocery?

Anyway, one nut suggested that cars kills more people than guns and does Carlos want cars outlawed? I commented that with cars you have training and licenses before you drive, two things you don’t always find in the homes of gun nuts. I also said that, with cars, most people carry insurance, so that if they hurt, or goddess forbid, kill someone with their car there is some form of restitution to the victims. Not so much with guns; if you are shot by a gun nut because, well, their gun just happened to go off, or maybe someone nudged them or ... whatever ... there is no form of restitution for the victims.

Plus, and I’ll say this again: cars were not invented as a weapon; guns, however, were. And it bears repeating that people who own guns, who carry guns, intend to use them … to shoot at something; maybe a tin can on a fence post; maybe a deer in the woods; maybe a bird on the sky. But they intend to put a hole in something, or someone. People who drive cars are not intending to kill anyone.

Still, I don’t want guns taken away from people — at least not those people who are mentally sound and don’t have a criminal history; I understand some people feel the need to have a gun for protection; I get that.

But we need to remember that guns are designed to kill, or maim, or injure, while cars are designed to move us from place to place. If someone gets hit by a car, or hurt in a car accident, it’s because a mistake has been made; something’s gone wrong. If someone gets shot it because the gun was being used in the way in which it was intended.

Guns are for killing; cars are for driving. Big difference.

I still have not changed my mind ... I still cry when  I read about gun violence—I was gonna say “senseless gun violence”—but that seems unnecessary as all gun violence is senseless. 

On This Date In ISBL History: Would It Be So Schocking?

As Carlos and I are in sunny Miami for business and pleasure, I thought I’d do something I’ll call “On This Date In ISBL History” and repost some things from back when the blog was new, and newish … this was originally published January 7, 2014:

Would It Be So Schocking?

Y’all know Aaron Schock, right? The Illinois Congressman with the flashy wardrobe? I mean, come on, who pairs a turquoise belt with white pants and red gingham shirt unless they have a savvy sense of fashion? Well, maybe a gay man because we all know that The Gays are very fashion forward.

So when that picture came out the internet was flooded with the stories and theories and gossip that Schock was gay; shocking because he’s also a Republican and they are not known for being all that gay-friendly. But soon the idea that Schock was a Friend of Dorothy’s settled down, but then he appeared shirtless on magazine covers and in photographs and the rumors started again.

Then last week, amidst new rumors that he is gay, Aaron Schock closed his Instagram account — which he has used to post so-not-gay photos of himself — to the public after journalist Itay Hod posted his thoughts about a Gay Aaron Schock on Facebook:

here's a hypothetical: what if you know a certain GOP congressman, let's just say from Illinois, is gay... and you know this because one of your friends, a journalist for a reputable network, told you in no uncertain terms that he caught that GOP congressman and his male roommate in the shower... together. now they could have been good friends just trying to conserve water. but there's more. what if this congressman has also been caught by tmz cameras trolling gay bars. now what if you know that this very same guy, the darling of the gop, has also voted against repeal of don’t ask don’t tell, opposed the repeal of doma, is against gay marriage; and for the federal marriage amendment, which would add language to the us constitution banning gay marriage and would likely strike down every gay rights law and ordinance in the country?

Are we still not allowed to out him? 

let me ask another question... doesn't the media have an OBLIGATION to expose his hypocrisy? if he had done something so hypocritical and he wasn't gay, wouldn't we demand journalists do their job? but they can't... because we won't let them. you're not allowed to out ANYONE, we tell them. 

we've created a situation where even though news organizations know this guy is gay, they can't report it because he hasn't said so on twitter. 

if we keep saying that being gay is genetic; ergo, it's no different than having blue eyes or blonde hair... than why are not allowed to mention it? why do we need anyone's consent to talk about their sexuality? are we not allowed to say someone has blue eyes until they post a fb message telling us they are in fact blue?

So, someone, someone, caught Aaron and a buddy showering together, but that someone isn't speaking directly. And someone, someone, says Schock trolls gay bars but I don't see those pictures on the web. And, really, does going to a gay bar make you gay? I have straight friends who go to gay bars because The Gays always have the best music.

And where is the arrest for Aaron Schock? You know, like Larry Craig, of the bathroom stall wide stance, foot tapping , under the stall low-fiving? Where is that? So far, all we have is someone telling someone and someone putting it on Facebook. Again, that doesn't make you gay.

Aaron Schock vehemently denies he’s gay, and, well, his actions seem to suggest that he is, in fact, very straight, very anti-LGBT, or else a deeply shamed closeted self-loathing homosexual. But we don’t know which because no one is coming forward to say they’ve had a sexual relationship with Aaron and Aaron ain’t talking.

Unless he’s spouting off about his disapproval for marriage equality; in fact, Schock supports a federal amendment banding same-sex marriages; he also opposed the repeal of DADT; opposes the repeal of DOMA and voted against adding sexual orientation to federal hate crimes statutes. If Aaron Schock is gay, he certainly has made it clear that he hates us and himself.

So, is he or isn’t he? Well, my response is the same response I have used at my job; being the only openly gay male at work, I am always asked, by the Heterosexual Contingent, if a certain male employee or client is gay because of my natural GayDar. I generally reply that I don’t know because, well, my GayDar isn’t the best and also because, as I say to my co-workers — and excuse my language — “I haven’t f**ked him yet.”

See, that’s how we’d know. A gay man has sex with men, or is at the very least sexually attracted to men. And a turquoise belt, while certainly flamboyant and a daring fashion choice, doesn’t make a man gay. Neither does having a hot body that you like to show off, though most gay men do like to show themselves off while they’re looking good.

And having someone say someone’s gay on Facebook doesn’t make you gay; having Mike Rogers, who loves to out gay politicians, say “Anybody who knows Aaron Schock, anybody who has half of a brain cell, knows he's gay” doesn’t make him gay.

Aaron Schock will be gay when, or if, he comes out as a gay man. And who knows, he might; he might become the GOP Gay Poster Boy, marching in parades in rainbow leather chaps and no shirt. He might fall in love with the boy next door and hope to marry him one day. Who knows?

None of us knows until Aaron tells us. And again, when, or if, he does announce his gayness, I’d like to hold off on the National Day of Gayness Recognition, and hold off on the awarding of The Gay Agenda and the Official Coming Out Toaster Oven to ask him why, why, WHY he was so anti-gay in his politics; was it self-loathing? Was it trying to shine a light somewhere else so the disco ball doesn’t shine on him? Or does he really believe that the LGBT community is just a bunch of second class citizen who don’t deserve the same rights and privileges bestowed upon heterosexual Americans?

I don’t care if Schock is gay. I don’t care if anyone is gay. I’d just like to like in a world where people can be honest about who they are and who they love and why they chose that belt.

In November 2016, former Illinois congressman Aaron Schock was charged in a 24-count indictment Thursday, alleging that he defrauded the government of more than $100,000 by falsifying vouchers for reimbursement for personnel travel, and filing false tax returns. 

Schock had resigned from Congress in 2015 after federal investigators dug into allegations of the lawmaker's questionable spending on air travel and office decor.

To this day Aaron Schock maintains he is full-on heterosexual.

On This Date In ISBL History:CBS Films Straight-Washes 'Pride'

As Carlos and I are in sunny Miami for business and pleasure, I thought I’d do something I’ll call “On This Date In ISBL History” and repost some things from back when the blog was new, and newish … this was originally published January 6, 2015:

CBS Films Straight-Washes 'Pride'

It was hard for a gay when I was a kid. I mean, I didn’t see myself on TV — there was no Will & Grace and Ellen or Cam and Mitchell, no Queer As Folk or Looking. The only remotely gay-ish characters were generally played by Terry-Thomas onscreen or Paul Lynde on television, so I thought being gay meant I had to wear paisley and ascots and velvet smoking jackets and talk with a lisp and call myself a “confirmed bachelor.”

That wasn’t me, but those are the only images I saw because The Gays were often scrubbed from movies since it was assumed that Mr. and Mrs. America didn’t want to see that kinda stuff when they went to the picture shows.

So it was common for gay characters and gay stories to be scrubbed clean of The Gay; gay characters were changed to straight, or the fact that they were gay in the books on which the films were based, was simply left out of the film adaptation altogether.

Like Corporal Fife in Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line. In the book by James Jones, you find Fife bunking in a shelter tent next to Private Bead, and the two decide to, ahem, “help each other out” one rainy night. Not so much in the film.

And what about Justin McLeod in The Man Without A Face? In Isabelle Holland’s book, the disfigured lead character was definitely gay, but when it came to selling the book to Hollywood, and noted homophobe Mel Gibson, who would direct the film and play McLeod, the character was suddenly heterosexual.

And we cannot forget the character of Ruth Jamison in Fried Green Tomatoes. In Fannie Flagg's 1987 novel Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe there is a very clear intimate lesbian relationship between Ruth and her girlfriend Idgie but suddenly in the film Ruth is hung up on a boy.

Even Ben-Hur was supposed to be gay! When it came to writing the script for the chariot epic starring Charlton Heston, Gore Vidal made note of a romantic connection in Lew Wallace's 1880 manuscript between Ben and his friend Messala. But, according to a letter Vidal received from Heston, he and director William Wyler wanted the gay erased from the script. Heston would not be playing gay.

Paul Newman’s Brick in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof was alleged to be gay, grieving the suicide of his ‘friend’ Skipper’ but the film remains ambiguous; Newman’s Brick is just a drunk.

And what about Celie in The Color Purple? In the film, Celie and Shug steal a kiss, though Whoopi Goldberg, who played Celie, says the kiss was simply about “love and tenderness ... It has nothing to do with lesbianism. It has to do with, her eyes are opened, now she understands." Funny then, that Alice Walker's novel takes the relationship a lot further than a kiss.

See what I mean, though? The Gays have been straight-washed from films for years; made straight, or maybe just made lonely and desperate for affection so they might share a kiss or a hand job to stave off the isolation. But times have changed, right? There are all kinds of gay characters in films; hell, there are entire films made about The Gays, and it’s a good thing.

But then, please to explain this: an LGBT film, with real LGBT characters, based on real-life LGBT people, has been closeted for its DVD release in America.

The film is a British import, Pride, based on the true story of a group of English gay and lesbian activists who stood in solidarity with coal miners during a 1984 strike. But the artwork, and the synopsis, for the film have been straight-washed for the American public for some reason.

The original synopsis for release in the UK, says:

“PRIDE is inspired by an extraordinary true story. It’s the summer of 1984, Margaret Thatcher is in power and the National Union of Mineworkers is on strike, prompting a London-based group of gay and lesbian activists to raise money to support the strikers’ families. Initially rebuffed by the Union, the group identifies a tiny mining village in Wales and sets off to make their donation in person…”

But the synopsis on the US DVD box says: 

“PRIDE is inspired by an extraordinary true story. It’s the summer of 1984 and much of blue-collar Great Britain is on strike. For one tiny Welsh village, the strike brings unexpected visitors – a group of London-based activists who decide to raise money to support strikers’ families and want to make their donations in person.”

And what about the artwork? The UK version — at the top — clearly has a sign about LGBT support of the miners, but the US version — at the bottom — has the sign removed; erased. No gays.

A rep for CBS Films, which acquired US rights, said the company is looking into the situation — which reads as ‘Oops, we got caught and now we’ll back-pedal” — and makes note that their website for the film keeps the LGBT in it.

How is it that we’re in 2014, and a major film-distribution company wants to straight-wash the gay references from a film that is based on a true story about gay people? And don't think the irony of straight-washing a film called 'Pride' is lost on anyone.

We think we’ve come so far but we’re still being marginalized by some folks who wish, maybe, we didn’t exist; at least when it comes to making them some money.

We saw this film on Showtime recently and the film is very gay, and by that I mean, it is the story of a group of LGBT activist who stood up for, and with, the miners.

But you’d never have known that by the CBS Films description.

Vacation Repost Roulette: Morning In Smallville

Originally posted Monday, February 16, 2009

Scene: A yellow kitchen somewhere in Smallville, with green cabinetry; a small round table; early morning, soft light comes in from a window on the right. There is a toaster on the table; two cups of cafe con leche, a bowl of oatmeal, a loaf of bread, a half-stick of butter, and a jar of Krogers Apple Butter. Two men ... two gay men ... are sitting at the table, talking ... 

Bob: So what happened on your show last night?

Carlos: Oh yeah! Well, Rebeca went to LA to see her father--

Bob: New York.

Carlos: New York. Yeah. Whatever. But she won't tell her father why she's there.

Bob: Why did she have to go to New York? There was no one in LA she could talk to.

Carlos: I know.

Bob: Of course, it gives them a chance to have Ken Olin on and he's cute.

Carlos: Anyway!

Bob: Right.

Carlos: Justin keeps calling Rebeca but she won't answer. And then her mother doesn't know where she is, so she...what's her name--

Bob: I don't know--

Carlos: --goes through Rebecca's computer and finds the contract that Tommy left. She reads it but doesn't get what's wrong with it. She takes it to her--

Bob: Holly.

Carlos: Holly. That's it. She shows it to her lawyers who tell her that Tommy is trying to get her out of the family food business--

Bob: Ojai Foods.

Carlos: Uh-huh. But now Holly knows Tommy's plan--

Bob: The writers are going to send him to jail because they all want the actor off the show.

Carlos: Who?

Bob: The guy that plays Tommy. Apparently he had a very public affair with Sienna Miller last summer and left his family. But then I also heard he had a drug problem--

Carlos: Tommy?

Bob: No, the guy that plays Tommy. Anyway, they're writing him off the show. They'll send him to jail so that way he can come back if they want him, or they can just forget about him, like they did Richie and Joanie Cunningham's older brother on Happy Days.

Carlos: What?

Bob: Nothing.

Carlos: ANYway, Holly showed the contract to the gay uncle, Ben-- 

Bob: Sol.

Carlos: Ben. Sol. Whatever. He pretends like he doesn't see what Tommy's doing, but then he goes to warn Tommy.

Bob: He's going off the show.

Carlos: I know. Then Nora goes to San Francisco to see the stepson--

Bob: Bastard child.

Carlos: Ryan. Only he doesn't want to see her and then they talk and she gives him a ticket to come see her in....where do they live?

Bob: Pasadena.

Carlos: Pasadena

 The scene drags on and on until I get the full Carlos recap of last nights episode of Brothers & Sisters because I went to bed early.

How was your breakfast?

Vacation Repost Roulette: I'll Have The Moo Goo Oh My God!

originally posted Monday, June 15, 2009

I must start off this post by saying that I love Carlos to death; I adore him; he makes me laugh leap cry curse moan scream bitch rant sing dance.  But … and ain't there always a but … Carlos is what I like to call The Absentminded Professor, or as they say en Espanol, Profesor Distraido. He has a lovely habit of not listening to me when I speak, or to most people, when they speak.

It's his thing, if you will.

Years ago, before I found him, or he found me, he had people at his house in Miami and they — there were three of them — decided to order Chinese Take-out. Carlos was the designated food, um, getter, and off to the restaurant he went to pick up dinner.

At the restaurant he told the cashier he was picking up an order for Carlos — just Carlos — and just the cashier told him the food would be $89.00, and he paid the $89.00 and was handed several boxes of food, which he brought home. It was then that he discovered he'd picked up, and paid for, another Carlos' food order, and my Carlos' food order was still at the restaurant; it cost $18.00.

You see, my Carlos didn't think there would be another Carlos in Miami ordering Chinese food, and didn't think that $89.00 for dinner for three was an issue. However, the $89.00 Carlos did have an issue that his dinner for eleven had been sold to someone else and he had a dinner for three waiting.

That's my Carlos. El Profesor Distraido.

Flash forward to yesterday. We were out looking for shades for the skylights in the sunroom, so we stopped in at Lowe's. Carlos had seen the shades at the Lowe's near our house, but because we weren't near our house, we chose another Lowe's.

Just our luck, they had no idea what we wanted. We talked with a woman for half-an-hour while she searched design books and order forms and computer websites, but she couldn't help us. So, we left, and then decided to stop at the Smallville Lowe's where they actually have the shades that Carlos had seen just the day before.

As we're driving, Carlos tells me that his car, a Chevy Malibu that he named Patsy Edwina after that AbFab gal, is a going to be a classic. I ask why it's going to be a classic, and he says that with GM closing some of its auto makers, Patsy will be a collector’s item, a classic, if you will.

I say, Really? Classic?
And he says, Well, then change the radio if you don't like it.
Huh? What? Huh?

He thought I was talking about the classical music on the radio, not his comment about a classic car — that we'd been discussing a nano-second earlier!

El Profesor Distraido!

We arrive at the Smallville Lowe's and sure enough they have the shades we need for our skylights. We begin talking with a sales rep, giving her the dimensions of the opening, the color we want, the size of the cell — I have no idea — and such. She prints up a breakdown of the costs for two shades, in our size and color, and asks if we'd like to submit our order. Carlos looks at me, and I shrug, saying Sounds like a good deal to me.

So the sales rep submits the order and then tells us we need to take the estimate sheet to the front and pay for the shades, and when they arrive we can pick them up. Carlos says, Pay first? and she says, Yes, always on custom orders. She asks if we want to apply for the Lowe's card and we can save an extra 15%; Carlos says we'll think about it, and proceeds to walk away. I think we're going up front to pay.

But he stops, and he gets this cat-who-ate-the-canary look on his face, this evil I-tricked-the-sales-girl grin, and whispers in my ear, We'll take this estimate to Neal,[one of the Round-The-Way Gays] and see if he can get us a better price.

I stop. Better price? We. Just. Ordered. Them.
Nooooooo.
Yes. That's what you did when you said "submit the order."

Carlos does the scramble and finds the sales rep and turns beet red and begs and pleads; she gets her manager and they cancel the order. There's a lot of apologies and red faces — okay, just the one apology, but two red faces: Carlos...from embarrassment, and me from laughing at my professor. The sales rep thanks us and off we go. Crisis over!

The next day Carlos finds out from Neal that we cannot order the shades from him, so he goes back to Lowes, finds another sales rep, and places the order for the shades we’d already ordered before we canceled them so he could get a better deal that never came.

Later that same day he nearly burned down the kitchen making his special Pollo en Fuego, but that's another Carlos-ism for another day. 

Please keep in mind, as I said at the onset of this post, I just love Carlos. He makes me laugh. A lot. 

Permission to submit this post granted by the interested parties.

Happy now, Carlos?

image source