Gayish.

Philadelphia Freedom.

On Saturday night, Earl and I decided to take a drive into Center City Philadelphia to take a look around. We were in town visiting the family for the weekend and the family activities had come to a lull so we figured it was a good time to get out and about.

I’m not super familiar with Philadelphia. Earl is a native of the area, so I let him do the navigating while I drove the myriad of streets in the “gay area” near Antique Row. I always find that area so charming. I particularly enjoy the narrow streets that are barely wide enough for two bicycles to fit between the sidewalks, let alone a vehicle of any size. Walking amongst the centuries old houses in this area is so peaceful. As soon as you enter one of these streets, the sounds of the city seem to fall right away, and there you are in your own little historical paradise, walking down a sidewalk with no traffic coming by. You can almost feel the history as you pass by the homes, a psychic sense of the clap-clop of horses from days gone by, the smell of wood smoke. There are times when I wishe we lived in such a house in Philadelphia. Something off the beaten path, a home rich with history where the doors aren’t particularly square and the glass in the windows is a little wavy. The stairs creak, the plumbing bangs (though is still quite functional of course). A location where I rely on nothing but my feet or mass transit to move about the area, whether its off to work, picking up groceries or meeting friends at the corner pub.

Of course, we haven’t hit the Lotto yet, so I don’t see that coming to fruition any time soon. But it’s always fun to dream.

The Maligned Mustache.

I was doing a search on Google for some good looking guys (who doesn’t do that from time to time?) and ran across George Eads from CSI. He’s a little too close to the “pretty boy” look for my taste, but nevertheless he is very attractive. Especially now that he’s grown a mustache.

Apparently fans of the show (especially those of the female persuasion) are fit to be tied because their little piece of cheesecake has fuzz on his face now. What a bunch of babies. The man looks great!

I don’t know why there’s this stigma attached to having a mustache. “He looks like a cop.” “He should be a porn star.” I don’t know if anyone has noticed but men naturally grow hair on their face. It’s the way nature intended it. Adult men are not naturally baby-faced and then one day decide to stick some hair on in an attempt to be stylish. It’s work to scrape it off each morning and a task that many men dread.

I once had a boyfriend who threw a fit whenever I grew my mustache. “It makes you look too old.” Who cares? You’re only as old as you feel and quite honestly, I felt better about myself when I had a mustache. So in that respect I was quite relieved when he dumped me. I grew the mustache and didn’t shave it off for a long, long time. When I did shave it off (just to change my look or whatever), I immediately grew it back. I felt naked without it. Years later when I lost a bunch of weight I thought I’d shave it off and go with the trendy “soul patch” under my lip. I didn’t feel trendy though, so I grew my beard.

I have noticed that there is more opposition to a mustache vs a beard. I don’t know why. Food is more apt to be stuck in a beard than in a mustache, so it’s not like there’s men running around with spaghetti hanging out of their mustache or anything. And it makes for such a soft landing spot when you’re planting a kiss.

I am looking forward to future pictures of George Eads with a big, bushy, fireman’s style mustache. I hope he’s an inspiration to men everywhere.

Next time your spouse, boyfriend, significant other, whatever decides to grow a mustache or beard, don’t close your mind to it, encourage him! It’s the way nature intended it to be and at the very least, you’ll save a mint by not buying Mach III blades.

George Eads with a mustache

Left Field.

I often pride myself on my gaydar. It’s tuned pretty well. I have a relatively easy time picking gay men and lesbians out in a crowd.

George Takei (Star Trek’s Sulu) however never produced a single blip on my gaydar, shields up or down, but there he is.

Pride In Yourself.

Today is National Coming Out Day, the day in which closeted gay men and lesbians are urged to come out of the closet and announce to the world, “yes, I am gay.” The tradition is led by the Human Rights Campaign, which has designated this day to show others that there is a huge support mechanism for LGBT folks.

National Coming Out Day started in 1988, three years or so after I came out to myself and started peeking out around the closet doors. Who am I kidding. I had always known of my attraction to the same sex. It was late in 1985 that I actively began admitting it to myself. I’m not going to go into my whole coming out story this year. If you’re interested in the sordid details, feel free to read last year’s Coming Out Day entry.

I just know that someone, somewhere is doing a Google search on being gay today. Perhaps he lives in a country where he could be shot for his homosexuality. Perhaps she is being forced to marry a man because that’s how she was brought up, when she’d reallly like to marry her female teacher or pal from high school. You’re afraid. You’re afraid that you’ll be shunned by your friends, disowned by your family and burned at the stake at the next neighborhood barbecue. And I’m sorry you feel that way. The world is a scary place and there’s a lot of ignorance in the world. But know that you’re not alone. Know that while there is a lot of hate and negativity out there, also know that there is even more positive energy, love and acceptance, often in places that you wouldn’t expect to find it. We know that you didn’t *choose* to be gay, regardless of what others may say about that fact, and we know that you don’t have to live a certain lifestyle simply because you’re attracted to the same sex. Do what your heart tells you to do. Do what feels right to you. If you’re not ready to live your life “out loud” and admit to everyone and anyone that you are gay (I can just picture Billy Bob stopping Thelma the hairdresser on some rural street and saying “I like those queer boys!”) then just do one thing today, actually go ahead and do two things. Look at yourself in the mirror and be honest with yourself. Look at yourself long and hard, reach for your true inner feelings, without any masks, without any fear, without any worries of reprisal. Then say it out loud. “Yes, I am gay.” Then follow it up with “And that’s o.k.”. It’s a baby step. But you’ll feel better for being honest with yourself. Allow yourself that dignity today.

Cowboys and Indians.

It’s raining here in Upstate New York on this fine Monday morning. So instead of a little sunshine, I’ll just share a little eye candy.

Pernell Roberts as Adam Cartwright on Bonanza. I’ll be an indian to his cowboy anyday.



Where’s My Bow Tie?

I followed a link on my blog friend Terry’s blog that leads to one of the most idiotic pieces of film I’ve ever seen in my life. I’d get mad if I wasn’t laughing so hard at the absurdity of it all.

The feature film is an instructional piece called “Boys Beware”. Judging by the 1959 Impala in the film, I’m guessing it was made around 1959 or 1960. This film was shown in public schools to warn young boys of the dangers of the mentally ill homosexual.

This movie makes me cringe.

Apparently, I’m doing this whole homosexual thing wrong because according to this film I’m sick, perverted and should be stalking young boys at the playground and offering more than a piece of candy. And all this time I’ve been interested in older men or guys my age. Better yet, all the homosexuals in the movie wear bow-ties and/or have a mustache! Sacré bleu!

Mentally ill my ass. It’s so stupid it’s amusing. Small wonder the world is as fucked up as it is.

Please note: If you care to watch, keep in mind that it’s a pretty big download and requires Quicktime. Also, note the extremely ‘gay’ soundtrack. Fruity flutes and all.

If you don’t want to watch, there’s a hilarious write up here.

Rosie, You Still Rock.

Earl and I watched an interview with Rosie O’Donnell tonight. She was featured on “Birch and Co.” on the new “Here” network, one of the two all-gay channels we get on DirecTV.

I still love Rosie. I’ve complained about some of the choices she’s made. I thought she sucked up to some celebrities a little too much when she had her talk show. I didn’t totally buy the whole “Queen of Nice” thing she had going on. But overall, she has a heart that’s bigger than most people on this earth and she goes out of her way to help those in need.

Her interview with Ms. Birch was candid and it was refreshing. Rosie is like me in that “she just is” when it comes to being gay. It’s not a big deal to her. Well, maybe she’s a little more refined in that department than I am, so I’m out loud and proud, and she’s just out and proud. Maybe a little loud. She “tried on” being gay at 16 by saying out loud, “I’m gay” while driving in her Volare. I did the same thing in my ’76 Pontiac Astre when I was a senior in high school. It’s just the way she is and its just the way I am.

I grew tired of Rosie’s talk show a little after the Barbra Streisand appearance, but rejoined the fun late in the 5th season. I think Rosie may have tired of it as well. Who knows.

In a way I wish that I could be like Rosie in that I have millions of dollars that I can share with those in need. But alas, we haven’t won the lottery yet so right now “The JPnEarl Foundation” has $55 in it or so. Maybe we’ll donate that $55 to one of Rosie’s charities.

It was a pleasure to see you on television tonight Rosie. I wish that someday I could have the opportunity for us to sit down and have supper with you and your family, but I’m content with the little wave you acknowledged when we were in the audience in 1997 and the brief chat room conversation in AOL back in ’96.

Rosie, You Still Rock!

Camping With Flair.

Earl and I are spending the weekend camping at Jones Pond Campground, outside of the tiny village of Angelica in New York’s Southern Tier. Its our first time at this campground, which is a campground for gay men.

I think some people are surprised that there are campgrounds for gay men. There are many across the country, with four within three hours of our home. Back B.E. (before Earl), I frequented another campground, Hillside Campgrounds in northeast Pennsylvania, with my boyfriend at the time. He had a permanent site there, with an old Airstream installed in the woods high up on the hill. It was great.

Earl and I haven’t been to a gay campground since 1997 and this is our first time at Jones Pond. I was a little bit nervous about the whole thing because that’s what I do, but my nerves were quickly dispelled once we got set up and started getting friendly with the natives. Last night we danced like we haven’t danced in years with friends from Buffalo and Rochester. It was all good.

Like Hillside, Jones Pond has many seasonal campers here. The sites are beautiful with the campground on the side of the hill in the middle of the woods. Gay campgrounds differ from others in some ways. For example, there’s a party barn with a big dance floor (complete with video screen) that pumps out high-energy dance music every Friday and Saturday night. It’s BYOB which is fine by me. There’s also a raging bonfire at the same time and since it’s a gay campground, we can actually snuggle up near the bonfire without Mr. and Mrs. Bushamerica flipping a tacky yellow ribbon over the whole ordeal. It’s also clothing optional for those so inclined and there are those that do pick up the option. (And no, I haven’t yet; the whiteness of my skin and the remaining vestiges of my childhood ginger-red hair are sometimes just too much for some to take in.)

The seasonal sites here are elaborate affairs with a judicious use of colored lights, ribbon, Christmas balls, flowers, palm trees, pink flamingos and other gay fabulosity.

It’s very relaxing in a comfortable way, and Earl and I are enjoying the whole experience immensely. We’re making new friends and just being ourselves without any need to put a guard up. This is all good.

Married. Again.

I want to get married again. I want Earl and I to celebrate our 10th anniversary next year by renewing our vows and inviting our families and friends to witness the event. I want a big party. I want to wear a tux. I want to be a legally recognized couple in the Empire State. I want to file taxes together. I want to be able to walk hand and hand down the street with my husband, and yes, I used the term husband for a change, letting everyone know that “yes, I am married to this big bear of a man and I have never been so happy in my life.”

Earl and I have been watching “First Comes Love”, which I guess was originally titled “My Big Fabulous Gay Wedding”, on the new Logo channel (that’s the gay channel that’s run by the same people that run MTV). I’m really not that keen on the show. It’s about the flamboyant Scott Thompson being a couple’s “wedding fairy” where he and his group of wedding experts put on a big, lavish, outrageous wedding for a same-sex couple in love. It’s legal and all, because it takes place in Canada. You can tell by the accents, the use of metric measurements and the lack of toothless people waving signs that say “those two fags can’t get married” in the background.

Though I’ve only seen two episodes, the wedding ceremonies are way too far over the top for my tastes. Fa-fa hor d’oeurves. Art galleries. Botox. Shirtless dancing men in the aisle. “Theme weddings” based on the couple’s heritage. I think Earl looks hot in a kilt. Especially when he’s doing handstands (just kidding), but I don’t know if I can see him standing in front of a Justice of the Peace exchanging vows with me in a kilt just because he’s 1/10th Scottish. What the hell would I wear? I’m Scottish, Irish, French Canadian, Welsh, German, English and God knows what else. Do I wear a dog collar to represent the mutt that I really am? Maybe I’m too traditional, but I think tuxes are more appropriate for a wedding ceremony. But I guess to each his own.

It’s not like our wedding back in ’96 was anywhere near traditional. We wore dress clothes and looked decent enough, but we exchanged our vows in front of Earl’s step brother Rick and Rick’s girlfriend Helen on Penns Landing in Philadelphia. There was no big crowd; just the four of us, the day after Christmas, after dark, in the cold, exchanging our vows and our rings. A boatload of Marines passed by. There were cheers. We couldn’t have been happier. I wouldn’t exchange our wedding for any other type of experience. It’s just what we wanted and it still brings a lump to my throat to this day when I think about it.

With our 10 year anniversary just 18 months away, I need to start saving money now if it’s going to be a big affair, after all, I’ve mentioned how much I suck at saving money before. The problem is, I want our union to be legally recognized. I want a Justice of the Peace to conduct the ceremony. I want our partnership to be certified. Is that too much to ask? Our families have been supportive. There are those that may not completely understand our relationship, but I believe that they respect us and still love us. Why can’t our country, the country that we pay our taxes to, respect, celebrate, mourn for and would die for if necessary, show us the same respect?

It falls on deaf ears.

Regardless, I think we’ll have that big celebration next year. And as outrageous or traditional as it turns out to be, it will still be one Fabulous Gay Wedding (er, Renewing Of Our Vows).

Monday Pick Me Up.

Everybody needs a little eye candy on a sweaty, sultry Monday.


Stephen Caffrey as Fuzzy in the 1990 movie “Longtime Companion”.