N'awlins! Decadence!

Good lawd Jeezus I'm sho excited as a hog in heaven to head to Loozana this weekend and soak up some Southen Decadence. It's been over a decade since I've visited the Big Easy, and what better time to see the city of jazz during the gayest weekend of the year! 

New Orleans serves as hostess Labor Day weekend for a series of dances, parties, and overall debauchery. The roots of Decadence go back to August 1972, when a group of 40–50 friends started a party and gave it a theme. They called it "Southern Decadence Party: Come As Your Favorite Southern Decadent." Guests and everyone who attended were required to come dressed as a decadent Southerner.

This weekend, I'll be flying out with my amazing friends Sash and Brandon and we plan to embark on a gorgeous mission of fabulousness and a weekend of thrills and drills!

 Once we arrive, mi bonito amigo Shane will join us for cocktails on Bourbon and two other fantastic friends, DJ and Halim, will surely be meeting up with us at some point to murder some drinks and destroy the dance-floor! (In a metaphorical, non-hurricanian way.)

New Orleans--get ready. The French Quarter won't be the same after we leave. Because we are coming big but we aren't coming easy!

Oh Captain, Our Captain

People have asked me before to choose a decade to live in. You know- would you want to be a hippie? A flapper? A Downton Abbey tea snob?

As an out gay man with a motor mouth of opinions, I doubt I would have lasted long in any of those decades. Nope. For some silly, messed up reason, I have no desire being alive in any other time period but now.

The world is certainly a messed up place. The Middle East is again erupted into war. People are fucking kicking innocent animals off the Grand Canyon. And Robin Williams is no longer with us. But I wouldn't trade being alive today for anything.

I'm grateful that we live in a time where we don't solely have to rely on our memories to really treasure and cherish the contributions the people we have lost have given to the world. We are still able to watch videos of them and hear recordings of the moments that really made their lives extraordinary.

Last night I stayed at home and cried off and on during the night. I watched videos from movies like Aladdin, What Dreams May Come, Patch Adams, Jumangi, Good Will Hunting, Mrs. Doubtfire, and of course Dead Poets Society. I guess when you grow up with someone your whole life and look at them as inspiration and enlightenment, it is truly hard to let them go. I was just a kid before the Happy Days days, but we did have Nick at Night. The second I saw Mork from Ork in Mork and Mindy I thought he was weird, unique, determined, and kind-- I knew I had found a TV role model to look up to.

But his role as Professor Keating is what does me in everytime. In comparison to the rest of the cast, it's actually a smaller role in the film, but his antecdotes and poetry dropping will always be inspiration to me. Dead Poets Society is and will always be one of my top 5 favourite movies. The message behind it are of living, life, and love. I wish Robin Williams had known more of that himself.

My favourite lines from the film:

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."

"No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world."

"There's a time for daring and there's a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for."

"They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary."

"Why do I stand up here? Anybody? I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way."

"Boys, you must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Don't be resigned to that. Break out!"

"Now we all have a great need for acceptance, but you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go (imitating a goat) “that’s baaaaad”. Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference."

“Laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling, Gotta do more, gotta be more. Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming, Gotta be more, gotta BE MORE!"

"Oh Captain, My captain!"

"Only in their dreams can men be truly free. It was always thus and always thus will be."

***IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW IS DEPRESSED OR NEED HELP, please reach out to friends, family, or call the national suicide prevention hotline:

1-800-273-8255

You. Are. Loved.

RIP, my captain. #RobinWilliams

The Dry Cleaner destroyed my blazer

The Dry Cleaners destroyed my blazer.

It's not what you think:

I'm actually not that upset about it. 

Sometimes life happens and accidents happen. Sure, it was this gorgeous blazer that I bought in Milano and in one of those cute little boutiques by Duomo. Sure it's probably a one of by some fabulous Italiano design houses. Sure it was navy with cute blue and white sailor stripes on the lapel. And yes, it fit me like a glove--I found it within seconds of walking into the store.

Now it's been bleached to smithereens. And you know what? It's gonna be ok. Life moves on. I had some gorgeous little moments in that jacket in Rome and here in LA. But it was just that: an article of clothing. The world keeps turning and I'm alive today, so should it even matter? 

*Life lesson there, kids!*

A Name by Any Other Rose

I don't often share my literary work on my blog, but thought I would offer a sneak peak at my short essay:

A Name by any Other Rose



...I'm sure that normal name keeping civilians believe that changing one's identity is some kind of easy process or simple task. It most certainly is not. It takes a lot of money, mounds of paper work, months of waiting, and a lot of anxiety. I say I changed my name like it was some easy feat, when the amount of forms alone could drown you in a sea of tree slivers.
 
One has to have copious amounts of dedication to the cause that is you. Some of the things required of any new name seeker are four copies of your birth certificate, an ad placed in the paper declaring your intention to change your name (that you pay for), piles of affidavits and documents that often have to be hand written and even more often notarized, stir in hundreds and hundreds of dollars later—and you have got yourself a new nombre. 

I guess it's good that our country makes it's citizens go through leaps and bounds to make sure every Tom, Dick, and Sally who get wild hairs up their arses don't go running to the courts every five seconds in search of a new "them" like Snoop Dawg. 

Your day in court is really only the beginning: imagine having to contact every single business, every single person you've met, and every single organization you've ever been involved with informing them that you have just legally changed your name. The list can be up in the hundreds if not larger. Years after our court date and us name changers are STILL filing and officially changing our names with entities long ago forgotten from our previous lives. On top of all of that, just sitting in that court room on our day of judgement was stressful, embarrassing, long, and tediously boring. I was grateful for the trans women because they made the very uneventful day colorful for a few minutes. But I was even more grateful for their bravery and their relentless fight to own who they really are.

I couldn't even conceive what it meant to be Charlotte: what she had experienced nor the struggle that she must've gone through. But I knew this woman was strong.  I always thought being gay was hard enough, yet I can't imagine what it would have been like to be born into a different sex than what I really truly was meant to be. Being gay versus being trans, I'd always considered myself “lucky” to not be "confused" with who I really am nor a disassociation with the body I was biologically born into. I'm sure making the decision to come out and begin the process to claim one's own gender identity is an uphill battle on all fronts. Friends and family that knew you previously as one gender would now be made aware of the fact that you were taking ownership of a new gender. And a truer you. 

***

(thanks for reading! Look for the release of my book Dancing in my Underwear to be released later this year!)

Penis mightier than the sword

God bless the US of A! Only in a country like America would I be able to feel completely physically free, content, and happy playing a silly sport we li'luns used to play in grade school, then immediately be called out, embarrassed, and slammed for my physical appearance and attire. This weekend, the word of my penis and its proportions spread like a ripple on a proverbial pond. 

I typically love to wear as few clothes as possible, and when I'm playing kickball, that is not an exception. It was particularly hot and muggy in LA this past Saturday, so I planned on wearing my skimpy booty shorts from the moment I woke up. I may have walked out of the house in what puritanical America deemed as scandalous, but I was feelin good about myself and wanted to be free while playing my game. Isn't that what America is all about? Freedom of self expression?!? And aren't our bodies the temples of our selves and image?

Apparently our lovely, over sized- Hawaiian shorts clad umpire didn't think so. That ump took one look at my junk and deemed my short shorts a no go. I was almost KICKED OUT OF MY GAME DUE TO MY PENIS!!!

Let me rewind and explain:

Some people are born tall. Some are born short. Some are born white. Some gay. Some with blue eyes. Some with big boobs. Some with deep set vaginas. And some, like me, were born with a big penis. We/I cannot help it. I don't mean like elephantitus big. Or horse big. But just nice and big-- especially compared with average men. It's like goldicock: not too thick, not too crazy long, but just right. I don't think I am the first person born with a beautifuly big, banger. Nor will I be the last. 

So I guess I shouldn'ta been so surprised--when I shoved my meat into some pink little briefs and then into those shorts on Saturday--that I got so much attention. For me, my clothes are art and I'm just the walking billboard. At my game, I felt like being as loose and free as I was feeling emotionally at the time.

As I said before- that ump was not having it. Like Gladys Leeman from Drop Dead Gorgeous, "There are KIDS in the audience." Sure at one point on the outfield my pink undied package slipped out under the leg of the shorts, but that was in the heat of a play. The umpire was so perturbed at my Janet Jacksoning at the game that he took a time-out to tell our coach that I was outta there if my otter came out again! As if my bare badger itself had flopped out for the free world to see! I may have been dressed skimpily, but let my dang dang hang out? I would not. I've a reputation in this town!

Was it the pink briefs mistaken for flesh tone? Was it jealousy due to him mentally comparing our two packages? Who knows! What I do know is I bitched to my friend and my teammates about my "indecent" exposure, but kept my mouth shut for the game. The Koelen in his 20s would have told that referee where he could stick a kickball or mooned him in my pink panties. But I wanted to stay in the game. Sometimes, yah gotta take one for the team.

What I found interesting in this whole experience is total freaking out over a part of my body. I play in an all gay league, so one would think I would be welcomed with open arms for properly displaying my manhood. But I wasn't. People pointed, snickered, touched it, talked about it, and I was almost thrown out of the game- all for being well equipped!

There is such a double standard when it comes to sexuality and the open display of our bodies. It's really quite silly, actually. Women- on one hand- have achieved a level where they are more able to openly bare their bodies without complete and total slut bashing by society. Though, that stigma still exists, women are more than ever able to wear next to nothing and get away with it, despite whatever cheek or mound is showing.

Men, on the other hand, are almost immediately slut slammed if they attempt to wear anything at all in equivalent to that of the skimpy swimwear and lingerie that women can get away with wearing. Why is it, for instance, that women can wear tiny, tiny little cocktail dresses or even a skirt with a tiny tube top out to clubs in Hollywood or in Whatever City, America but men wearing shorts is completely forbidden? In fact, men wearing shorts in general are seen as only a "spring/summer" look and are deemed as casual attire at best? This is such a double standard! Sometimes I feel like men's fashion has reverted itself back to the age of Downton Abbey era women: men can hardly show their ankles, let alone their lower legs, without someone turning their nose up at their "informality". Women can wear tiny little spaghetti strapped bandanas across their noonies but men can't wear a tank top without someone assuming he is gay, a 'roider, a gang banger, or wife beater!

Why is their such a fear of the male physique? Even in movies male nudity is 10/1 less prevalent than with female nudity. Would a woman have been thrown out of my kickball game for even a bare nip slip? Doubtful. Why are we so scared of naked male bodies? Is the US afraid that its citizens will develop such an appreciation for the male form that everyone will start being gay? Or maybe by taking the focus off of the exploitation of female bodies onto males that masculinity and male dominance will diminish? 

And why are we trying so hard to protect our children from nudity in the first place? Did anyone ever think that maybe part of what is wrong with America is that we are so repressed and withdrawn about our sexuality that we unleash it in feverish displays in intermittent parts due to feeling so oppressed in regards to our bodies? Maybe we should go back to the days of the codpiece and really put our bad boys on display! 

All I know is I will continue to hold my head high about my size. I love the body that god gave me and am so lucky to have features that I enjoy. As for kickball, I stayed in the entire game and later got permission from the head of the league to be able to wear my shorts again. So the internal debate is going on in my head as to whether or not I want to "expose" myself like that again. I love my penis, but do I want to subject myself to the scrutiny? 

I love to be free. And my penis likes it, too!

Fuck SUVs and the drivers that drive them

May I please just ask the online community a serious question?

Why oh why does anyone drive or own an SUV? I don't get it. I really just do not get it. 

You're so big no one can see around you. You don't get good gas mileage. Parking is a nightmare. So is traffic because you're so big you can't easily maneuver in and out of lanes. You pollute more. You tear up the road more. Your carbon footprint is awful. Your likelihood of tipping your vehicle is increased 50%. It costs more to operate and more to register your vehicle. Most of the time you act like a bully to other cars simply because you are bigger and can get away with it because not enough of us are speaking out. Your level of inconsiderateness is insurmountable.

So I ask again: why in 2014 does anyone EVER own an SUV?

And yet, most SUV drivers act like they own the road and like everything should be entitled to them because the vehicle they drive is so gargantuanlly large.

When I lived I Sydney, the city passed a law taxing SUV drivers more because of the reasons above, but mostly because the impact driving an SUV places on other drivers and the system of transportation was deemed so strained that the city saw no other way to curb the absurdity. The result? No more SUVs. Because people do not need them. There's never a need for anyone to own an SUV.

Europe has very few SUVs because why? There's no fuckin room for them!

Most of the people driving SUVs in LA are driving them ALONE. Sans passengers.

Hope your huge mistake was worth it. Meanwhile the rest of us have to deal with probably even further stupider mistakes you've made in your life!

(but I mean really...why was this car ever made? It's not like you're hauling lumber in LA...)

End rant.