Today I’ve taken my Pink Agenda over to Queer Landia, but it’s still just as rosy as ever! Here’s my interview with the crazy Nebraska woman made famous when her homophobic rant went viral.
Queer-Landia Exclusive: Interview with Jane Svoboda aka The Nebraska Cat Lady | Queer Landia.
I’ve briefly mentioned how the 2007/2008 crash put us in a terribly difficult financial position. I was economic with the details because I’ve always found whiny people quite annoying. We didn’t starve, our bi-monthly wine deliveries didn’t stop and the house was heated in winter- albeit only half the house. We sold part of our modern art collection, but not the Botero bust. Ha!
Approximately four years ago, one fateful event after the next, we realized our investments were goners. Dust. That meant we were stuck. Both our businesses depend directly on investment. We went to our bank manager at Banco Santander (notice the acronym is BS). We explained our losses, that we had sizeable assets and that we wanted to increase our mortgage to 50% of the value of Villa l’Africaine (something they’d offered us many times.) Without batting an eye-lid he said: No. Mike, composed as ever, went on to explain he has income from his royalties, that my art brokerage business pulls in quite decent sums every year and we had land and another house. At that point in time we also owned 1/3rd of a beach-front apartment in Marbella that had belonged to Mike’s mother. The bank manager listened and when Mike was done he said, but you have no money, the answer is no. He went on to explain that as things stood we represented no risk to the bank at all. In the worse of circumstances, if they foreclosed on us, there was no chance of them making a loss. If they helped us, they’d be taking a risk and it wasn’t the moment for risks.
Fast forward four years. With the help of a friend (and her personal finances) we were able to push ahead with the building of Villa Trianon, next door. Far enough along that the build & our digital impressions captured the imagination of a lovely British couple who as of yesterday are the new owners. We didn’t get a huge price like we used to in the height of the real-estate boom, but we got enough to merit the renewed attention of the manager at BS. Yesterday was the anti-climax. We signed the papers, we had the check, we were furious at the extra fees BS was charging us for re-paying our mortgage. We were both quiet throughout the afternoon, wondering if maybe we’d accepted too low a price. Then in the evening we got an email from the buyers which included the following:
Dear Mike and Edouard,
Half way through the first bottle of champagne! (only bottle and probably our last for many years ….)
Thank you for today – hope you are as pleased as we are at the outcome !
It was very touching. Sometimes, when we’re doing business, we forget there are real people with real lives in the middle. The buyers of Villa Trianon are a couple in their 60′s. He’s a Major in the British army so they’ve spent their lives being stationed here and there and everywhere. As they approached retirement they began looking for their “forever house”. We’re very happy they chose one that we were building. We had been thinking of the transaction as one more house, one more client, one more sale- but it was actually so much more. We built something that a family wants to spend the rest of their lives in. We sold it at a time when no one is able to sell anything. We got enough for it to not have to worry about money for a good long while. It was a victory. An important one because before we got to it we were casually shown who was on our side and who was not. Who delighted in spreading gossip about us having had to sell one painting or another, and who didn’t. We purged our lives of that BS, and today of another.
This morning Mike stopped in at BS. The manager invited Mike into his office and outlined all the ways BS would be pleased to assist us in handling our newfound portable wealth. Instead, Mike wrote down our account number at another bank and instructed him to transfer every last cent we had there. It was his Pretty Woman moment. I haven’t had mine yet, I haven’t decided who I’m going to use it on- So beware world, it’s coming!
I have to begin by saying I’m very happy today, my happiness began last night. As I’ve mentioned I’m a bit from everywhere, I’ve lived on three continents- but I only have one citizenship. Having grown up in America (legally), I was given the choice at 21 to become a citizen, or go. I chose to go because I always felt more at home in the EU. Before I was eighteen, because of family, I could have opted for Spanish or Brazilian citizenship- but in either case that would have involved compulsory military service (it was the law in both countries back then), and I’m not well suited to following instructions. 
You put me near a red button and tell me not to push it, chances are you’ll soon hear a BOOM! I’ll have started World War III, just because someone told me not to push a button. So I decided to be kind to the Spanish & Brazilian armies and save them from me. France was kind enough to give me a dispensation from military service. I explained that I drink, I smoke, I complain a lot, I’ve got a temper. Do you really want me handling weapons? They said they did, but then a kindly doctor agreed that my asthma was a good reason to let me go on my way. So my citizenship is French and only French and although I was too lazy to drive two hours to vote at the French consulate in Seville yesterday, my candidate of choice won anyway! My new President is François Hollande. I am what is known in France as a Socialiste Champagne, in Germany as Champagner-Linken, in Switzerland Cüpli-Sozialisten. In Italy 
we’re known as Radical Chic and in Portugal as Esquerda-Caviar. The criticism goes that we’re wealthy people who push left-wing ideas, and somehow that’s incompatible. I can say wholeheartedly it’s not incompatible. I do like my champagne and caviar on occasion, but I also don’t complain about paying 43% income tax. I do complain about my property taxes, but that’s a long story, one that would merit its own post.
A few weeks ago I discovered Bird. Not like a casting director would discover a starlet on his couch, but in that internet way. You click here, then you click there, then you’re reading about property prices in Bratislava and somehow you end up buying a Nicer Dicer. Bird is not a socialist, not the champagne kind or any other kind. We’ve never talked about it, but I’m pretty sure she’s a Republican. She’s also a Christian. Those two things alone mean that theoretically we shouldn’t get along. But in some weird way we do. Maybe it’s because I’m a left-winger who drives a huge SUV and knows how to shoot. In fact, I shoot better than Dick Cheney and my evidence is that I never accidentally shot a friend in the face. I did shoot my brother in the leg once, but it was a BB and I even managed to convince him it was an accident. Small harm, small foul. On the other hand Bird isn’t a typical right-winger. She’s got a strong libertarian streak. A don’t you get in my business thing. More than that, she’s got great compassion and she puts that compassion above ideology. She does her own thing and I love that in people.
Today she nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award. Quite appropriate as I’ve already got a Versatile Gay Man Award. This is the first award I’ve ever received that comes with instructions. I didn’t know awards came with instructions except maybe the Oscars. Under any Oscar statuette you’ll find the words “insert into anus”. Not every Oscar winner follows those instructions, but Meryl Streep did. Hence this look on her face:
The instructions for my award don’t involve inserting anything anywhere. They are:
I’ve done the first two things, so now 7 random things about myself:
1. When a conservative told me they were going to give me an award, I was expecting this:
2. I’m 5’9 and Mike is 5’10, so ever since we’ve been together I buy shoes from a website called Tall Men Shoes. So I’m taller than Mike.
3. I have a glass, I know my glass, I only like to drink iced tea and juice from my glass. It’s slightly misshapen. If you bring me a non-alcoholic beverage in another glass, I’ll go to the kitchen and pour it into my glass.
4. We lost a lot of money and some of our investments turned to dust when the financial crisis hit in 2007/2008, I thought our business was going down.
5. Four friends helped us. One transferred $130,000 into our account. The other three got together and gave us $30,000. We gave an expensive car we owned to the three, and tomorrow we’re paying back the last that’s owed on the $130,000. She never complained or asked for the money, not once.
6. When I was a child I didn’t want to be a fireman or an astronaut. I wanted to be a dictator.
7. I own a 19th century, French tiara. I say I bought it to complement my 17th century Italian Madonna bust- but if I’m home alone, I take it off the Madonna and wear it.
Now, who am I awarding this to? 15 or more bloggers? No way. But here’s your award, do with it what you will. My top picks in no particular order:
1. Sweet Mother Lover, because she’s funny and very versatile, she’s been with boys and girls, and she’s Irish-Colombian. Yes, seriously, Irish Colombian. What’s more versatile than having a gun in one hand, holding a rosary in the other and transporting drugs in your stomach?
2. God and Son, he’s not very versatile, but he is very funny. It’s atheist humour, so if you’re a Christian, I don’t recommend you visit his blog. Stephen Fry says he’s like that kid with the magnifying glass killing ants.
3. My Life with Tits, you don’t get more versatile than Eli. He’s smart, he’s cute, he’s trans and he’s just bought his first suit.
4. Free Penny Press, totally versatile. There’s poetry, there are pictures, there’s even Basquiat- and genealogy and jazz funerals.
5. Colinology is my favourite mini-gay. He’s seventeen, extremely intelligent and embarking on his first great adventures in life and love.
6. Angry Ricky, he’s my Mormon. Not actually my Mormon, but the only Mormon I know. Some days Mike asks me, how’s your Mormon doing? His versatility comes in the form of reconciling sexuality and religion. He does it through critical thinking (most of the time.)
and finally
7. Caption America, totally versatile, totally random and totally funny.
So there… awards given. Done and dusted. This took ages. Don’t anyone even dream of giving me another award. I’m exhausted. I’d pour myself a glass of wine, but it’s only 3:05, which means I have to wait another one hour and 55 minutes. That’s random fact number eight about me, on work days, I only drink after 5pm.
In the past few months you’ve probably heard of a group called One Million Moms. They were the group who tried to get Ellen DeGeneres fired from a JC Penny campaign. Having failed in spreading their anti-gay message the first time around, they’re giving it another go by calling for a JC Penny boycott once again. This time it’s over a catalogue picture that shows two women kissing.
Who are they?
Unlike their name implies, they are not a grass-roots organization formed by concerned parents. One Million Moms was created by an also inaptly named hate group: The American Family Association. You don’t know the AFA? Here’s what the Southern Poverty Law Center says about them:
American Family Association
Methodist minister Donald E. Wildmon formed the National Federation for Decency in 1977, changing its name to the American Family Association (AFA) in 1988. Today, the group, which was taken over by Tim Wildmon after his father’s 2010 retirement, claims a remarkable 2 million online supporters and 180,000 subscribers to its AFA Journal. It also broadcasts over nearly 200 radio stations.
The AFA seeks to support “traditional moral values,” but in recent years it has seemed to specialize in “combating the homosexual agenda.” In 2009, it hired Bryan Fischer, the former executive director of the Idaho Values Alliance, as its director of analysis for government and policy. Taking a page from the anti-gay fabulist Scott Lively (see Abiding Truth Ministries, above), Fischer claimed in a blog post last May 27 that “[h]omosexuality gave us Adolph Hitler, and homosexuals in the military gave us the Brown Shirts, the Nazi war machine and 6 million dead Jews.” (Ironically, the elder Wildmon was widely denounced as an anti-Semite after suggesting that Jews control the media, which the AFA says “shows a genuine hostility towards Christians.”) Fischer has described Hitler as “an active homosexual” who sought out gays “because he could not get straight soldiers to be savage and brutal and vicious enough.” He proposed criminalizing homosexual behavior in another 2010 blog post and has advocated forcing gays into “reparative” therapy. In a 2010 “action alert,” the AFA warned that if homosexuals are allowed to openly serve in the military, “your son or daughter may be forced to share military showers and barracks with active and open homosexuals.”
Gays aren’t the AFA’s only enemies. In late 2009, Fischer suggested that all Muslims should be banned from joining the U.S. military. “Islam is a totalitarian political ideology,” Fischer added in August 2010. “It is as racist as the KKK. … Allowing a mosque to be built in town is fundamentally no different that granting a building permit to a KKK cultural center built in honor of some King Kleagle.” A little later, according to the Huffington Post, Fischer said that whatever the government does to “to make it unthinkable for America’s youth to join a white supremacist group,” it should also do “to make it as unthinkable for a resident of America to embrace Islam.” Around the same time, the Huffington Post said, he blogged that Muslim values are “grossly incompatible with American values,” and therefore no place in America should allow a mosque to be built.
And then there are the promiscuous. On his May 26, 2010, radio show, Fischer recounted the biblical story of Phineas, who used a spear to kill a man and a woman who were having sex. Citing the nation’s “rampant sexual immorality,” Fischer said, “God is obviously looking for more Phineases in our day.”
The Fischer mentioned by the SPLC is the same Fischer you’ve been hearing about in the news recently:
He’s also the one who quoted Martin Luther King, Jr.’s iconic “I Have a Dream” speech to argue in favour of discrimination against the LGBTQ community.
Follow the money & the numbers:
The AFA as a whole claims to have 500,000 members. A far cry from what their One Million Moms and One Million Dads groups hope to imply with their names. 500,000 people is the population of Fresno, California. That means that California alone, with a gay population estimated (conservative estimate) at 1.5 million people, there’s a gay population that’s three times higher than the number of people the AFA has in the entire country. Their claim to represent the majority of Americans is a manipulative pipe-dream, it’s a con job.
Their 2010 income statement:
| REVENUE | |
| Total Contributions | $18,370,870 |
| Program Service Revenue | $0 |
| Total Primary Revenue | $18,370,870 |
| Other Revenue | $1,229,871 |
| TOTAL REVENUE | $19,600,741 |
| EXPENSES | |
| Program Expenses | $19,106,095 |
| Administrative Expenses | $880,914 |
| Fundraising Expenses | $818,811 |
| TOTAL FUNCTIONAL EXPENSES | $20,805,820 |
| Payments to Affiliates | $0 |
| Excess (or Deficit) for the year | $-1,205,079 |
| Net Assets | $36,737,464 |
So how do they keep this cash cow going? How do they get their members on radio shows and giving interviews on television programs? There’s only one answer: CONTROVERSY. This is an enormous organization that depends almost exclusively on the LGBTQ community. They depend on demonizing us to fund-raise, to exist, to keep themselves in the spotlight and fund cushy salaries.
These groups are not about ideology, they’re not about protecting children, they’re not about making people’s lives better. They’re about greedy, ignorant people. They’re about con-artists and fraudsters who use junk science and myths to line their pockets. All that money you see mentioned up there, it doesn’t go to help people losing their homes, it doesn’t go to helping feed the poor, it doesn’t go to help educate children. It doesn’t go to help struggling single mothers. It doesn’t help the homeless, it doesn’t fund medication for the sick. All that money goes on funding campaigns that are AGAINST one group or another and to keeping the directors of these groups in the spotlight so they can sell their books and peddle their snake oil.
Richard Grenell, Openly Gay Romney Spokesman, Resigns – NYTimes.com.
What you see on the right is an internal memo from the Austin Independent School District to all of their principles concerning the Day of Silence. I found myself breathless yesterday as I read their instructions to staff. They begin by explaining that the Day of Silence is a day of protest against the bullying and harassment of LGBT students in schools. They go on to say: “Students may voluntarily engage in this activity as long as participation is not disruptive to instructional activities or in violation of the Student Code of Conduct. School staff should keep in mind that students are particularly vulnerable to peer pressure and should be sensitive to the possibility that a student may face ridicule 
or peer pressure by non-participation.”
Yes, you read that correctly. The Austin school board is concerned that people who do not oppose anti-lgbt bullying are going to be bullied!!! In response to The Day of Silence, they have not sent out a memo about the grim statistics related to anti-gay bullying, statistics that range from dangerously high suicide rates to the possibility of permanent psychological damage.
In case you haven’t been following us and don’t know the statistics I’m referring to, here’s a reminder:
The Austin School District believes the appropriate response from their staff is NEUTRALITY.
The memo goes on to explain The Austin School District’s policy on neutrality:
“School personnel should neither encourage nor discourage a student’s participation. Because school personnel are generally quite influential in developing the thoughts of young children, it is important that school personnel avoid even the appearance of endorsing a particular position or belief on behalf of the school. Personnel should avoid publicizing their beliefs to students for this reason. If students inquire directly about a staff member’s beliefs, staff may answer the question simply and briefly but should avoid answering in a manner that could be construed as proselytizing. School personnel may participate provided they do so in their free time, outside the presence of students, and do not impose on non-participating employees.”
Since I first read this yesterday, I’ve been wondering if The Austin School District has a similar policy regarding other non-discrimination campaigns. Before Martin Luther King Day, do they send out neutrality instructions regarding anti-racist bullying? During Domestic Violence Awareness month, do they send out a circular telling staff that they must avoid answering questions in a manner that could be construed as proselytizing?
I have decided to send a letter to The Austin School District asking for clarifications, and if they do indeed insist their staff be neutral on the bullying of any other part of their student body, or if their neutrality is only reserved for anti-LGBTQ bullying.
I might be tempted to re-enact the wire hanger scene from that movie about Joan Crawford
If it annoys me, I might do this
I’d be a terrible example
Really Terrible
Really, Really, Terrible
I’d probably send it out to buy cigarettes
I’m too lazy to follow a gayby around the house
I don’t like noise
I might forget it somewhere
More than once
Disclaimer: I don’t always wear my glasses. The television is always on, but we’re not necessarily paying attention. The television in the bedroom isn’t a big screen. If you ask me a question, I’ll always give you an answer, even if I don’t know the answer. The answer will never be: “I don’t know”. Cross racial identification is notoriously unreliable.
The Scene: It’s midnight on Monday, I’ve run into the bedroom before Tara, our Irish Wolfhound, has a chance to jump on the bed. If she gets there first, she spreads out, hogging most of it, and leaving me on a ledge. If you’ve ever met an Irish Wolfhound, you know what I’m talking about… They’re HUGE, extremely friendly, but huge. It’s no use kicking her off the bed, she’ll wait until we fall asleep and then get on top of us, which is worse.
Mike comes out of the bathroom and lays down.
Mike: What are we watching?
Me: Piers Morgan, I’m waiting for Law & Order.
Mike: I hate Piers Morgan. Who’s he interviewing.
I squint. It’s a good looking, African American man, he’s doing Streetcar on Broadway. I know the names of attractive black actors, but Denzel Washington is the only one that comes to mind, so it must be Denzel.
Me: It’s Denzel Washington
Mike: No it’s not.
Me: Yes. It. Is.
Mike: Then why does the banner say Blair Underwood?
Me: The banner must be wrong. Blair Underwood is a girl.
Mike: I think it’s that guy that used to be on Grey’s Anatomy.
Me: No it isn’t. It’s Denzel Washington. Blair Underwood is probably coming up next.
Mike: I’m sure it’s not Denzel Washington. You’re terrible at stuff like this. You’re the only person in the world who confuses Al Pacino and Robert DeNiro.
Me: They look the same
Mike: They do not, look the same.
Me: Blair Underwood is a singer. She won American Idol or America’s Got Talent. Was it Al Pacino or Robert DeNiro who was in Angels in America?
Mike: Oh my god. You ask that same question four times a year. It was Pacino.
Me: They look exactly the same. Big nose, floppy black hair.
Mike: If you wore your glasses more often, you’d find they do not look the same.
Me: Yes they do, and there’s that other one that looks like them too.
Mike: Who?
Me: Dustin Hoffman
Mike laughs
Me: You’re an idiot.
Mike: Why would Denzel Washington be doing Broadway? He can’t need the money. Why would he put himself through that?
Me: How do you know he doesn’t need the money? Didn’t he have a big unpaid tax bill a while back. I think he was even going to go to prison.
Mike: That was Wesley Snipes.
Me: Who’s Wesley Snipes?
Mike: He was in that Wong Foo movie with Patrick Swayze.
Me: That was RuPaul.
Mike: RuPaul only appears in a cameo.
Me: Oh, I know. He’s that basketball player.
Mike: No, he’s an actor, not a basketball player
Me: Then he was a basketball player before he was an actor. He does all sorts of things. Remember, he wore a wedding dress once, he’s a cross dresser.
Mike: Dennis Rodman?
Me: What?
Mike: Dennis Rodman is the cross-dressing basketball player.
Me: Then who’s Wesley Snipes?
Mike: I’m going to read now.
Me: Just because you hate being wrong. Now we’ve missed the whole Denzel Washington interview.
Mike: When you get up tomorrow google it. If that’s Denzel Washington, I’ll walk the dogs for two weeks by myself.
Me: Shush, Law & Order is beginning.
Recently a fellow blogger called me brutal, he is absolutely right. My brutality is the result of impatience for stupidity. LGBT activist Melanie Nathan, wrote a response yesterday to Dustin Lance Black’s absurd (not to say imbecilic) threat to withdraw support from President Obama. Mr Black, in his Hollywood Reporter article, offers us a diatribe which includes:
“So until the president publicly puts his wheels down on the side of full equality, he must be passionately engaged, confronted and protested for maintaining his prejudiced, hurtful public position. If his evolution continues to fall short, then those interested in equality in this country must abandon their support. Hope should never become delayed disappointment.”
My brutal message to Mr. Black is quite simple: Gay Marriage is by no means the panacea of equality he and other gay activists would have us believe. In fact, the passing of marriage equality in countries like South Africa have in no way diminished homophobia or prevented the genuinely brutal practice which is corrective rape. True equality can only be achieved by education, by dispelling pernicious anti-gay myths and by fighting for respect rather than tolerance. By putting so much weight on gay-marriage, we are setting aside issues which are sometimes deadly. I’m sure Mr. Black might be overwhelmed by the idea that he can’t yet be married on the Malibu beach-front, surrounded by scores of his Oscar-party going friends -but- there are over two million LGBTQ youth who are homeless, at high risk of being exposed to AIDS, drug abuse and death. Anti-LGBTQ bullying is a pandemic in schools.
The minorities in our minority, African-American & Hispanic gay men are at absurdly high risk of contracting AIDS and other std’s. So pardon me, Mr. Black, if I find your inability to get married in Malibu shouldn’t be our exclusive priority as activists or as a community. But, who knows, perhaps you’re right, abandoning support for the party that has consistently supported diversity might be the clever thing to do! While we’re at it, why don’t we all sign up for the military, buy guns, and join GOProud, that way we can join Republicans in promoting a message that excludes from society anyone and everyone who doesn’t conform to their 1950′s ideal of acceptable identity and family.
If you’re a gay person travelling through Spain there are few words you need to know. The first is: Ambiente. Literally translated to English that word means environment/atmosphere, but as gay slang, it means: A place with some gay atmosphere, girl! Well, it means anything gay, person, place or thing. If it’s from the environment, it’s gay.
Below is my place of atmosphere, it’s called Passion. The video has Rebeka Brown performing live (then, being interviewed at the end). It also has a guy I know embarrassing himself by giving a drunken interview at 1 minute 50 seconds into the video. I’m not judging, I’ve often embarrassed myself there, but no one seemed to mind because I looked like that. Oh, and watch out for the Go-Go boy wearing a mask on the vid!
Okay, I know that’s cheating, I shouldn’t just post pictures of myself where I look good. So here’s one where I’m actually at Passion. The eyes have been censored for reasons only known to other drug users. And before you ask I have no idea how that little person got into the picture. And I am too Latin, albeit a pale version!
So now you know to go searching for The Ambiente when you get to Spain, but what next? Well, the Ambiente is very friendly which generally means many heterosexuals walk amongst us; So the next word (or question) you need to know is: ¿Entiende? You may already know that that word means Understand, but in gay slang it simply means: Gay. If you understand, you’re gay! So now you’re understanding and in a place of atmosphere. What else do you need to know?
Buga/ doesn’t have a non-slang meaning / heterosexual
Chupachochos / chocho sucker / not to be confused with the Chupacabra, It means lesbian.
Clóset / closet / means someone is closeted. Use: Mira el clóset / one would think you’re telling someone to look at a closet, when in fact you’re telling them to look at the closet-case
Daddy / daddy / means sugar daddy
Elvis / Elvis? / means bi-sexual
Heteroflexible / means they’re straight, but if you get them drunk enough you have a chance
Inter / means they’ll do anything in bed
Jotera / hetero token woman who’s part of a lesbian group
Julio Iglesias / older lesbian trying to look young
Leñador / lumber-jack / lesbian
Marimacha / Mary-Macho / masculine lesbian
Muerdealmohadas / pillow biter / gay man who is only passive in bed
And finally be careful with your masculine’s and feminine’s. Pollo means chicken, Polla means something else…
A more complete list is being compiled and will be posted soon!
The USA seems to be the only country in the civilized world where the miscomprehension (Is that a word? It is now) of Freedom of Religion still exists. It still exists primordially because religious zealots have successfully 
mangled logic and reason beyond any possible recognition; But all is not lost. There’s a simple way to explain it to them using something that is almost universally sacred to most of us with European origins: Bacon. Yes, I just said bacon. I’ll even let you choose, you can refer to the British meaty kind, or my favourite which is the fatty Oscar Mayer kind.
Freedom of religion, like most freedoms afforded to citizens of the civilized western world, is an individual freedom. What does that mean? It’s actually very simple. An individual freedom is one I can apply to my own life, not one I can force other people to apply to their lives. If I did, I would be interfering with their right of freedom of religion! In regards to religion, it means each one of us can:
A) Choose a (any) religion freely
B) Choose how often (or not) we participate in religious rituals
C) Follow as many religious regulations (or not) as we choose
D) Change to another religion at any given moment
And here’s where the bacon comes into the story. Orthodox Jews and Muslims have something in common other than fighting over (bad) Middle-Eastern real-estate. Both groups forbid the consumption of bacon. In free countries both groups also have the right to follow their religions. Now, in my eyes, a life without bacon would be a life not worth living, but here’s the great thing, freedom of religion means I don’t have to follow their religion and end up on a ledge contemplating death. They can’t make me follow their religions. I can spend the rest of my life looking forward to bacon with eggs, on salad, in sandwiches- and that wonderful smell!
So here’s what freedom of religion is not:
A) It’s not the right to make other people live by the tenets of your religion
B) It’s not the right to force other people to obey the rules of your scriptures
In practical terms that means:
So what’s this rant all about? It’s about freedom. You have the right to choose and follow your religion, and I equally have the right to be a Hitchensian/Dawkinsian Atheist. You have the right to spend your Sundays in church, and I have the right to spend my Saturday nights wearing an I Believe in Evolution t-shirt whilst dancing to I Will Survive in liberal San Francisco, surrounded by my fellow gays (if I so choose). Stop interfering with other people’s individual freedom of religion by trying to impose your beliefs on their lives!!!!
No, my father didn’t actually hit me, ever, but he did say that. I was around nine years old and still remember it as if he had said it to me this morning. He also enrolled me in Jiu-Jitsu classes, somewhat against my will. I was by no means the macho-super-jock he had hoped for and his expectations in my pre-adolescence marked the death of our relationship. He was but a reflection of his culture. Men were supposed to be strong and tough. We’re supposed to chase girls. We’re supposed to take care of ourselves and fight our own battles. Yesterday, as I was detailing anti-gay bullying to a school principle in Florida, she asked me: Why didn’t he come to me sooner? Why did he let it go on for over a year? The answers were so obvious in my mind, I didn’t understand how they wouldn’t also be clear in the minds of others. In an effort to clarify the goals of Project ProteKT, I’m examining these issues in more detail and looking for a way to articulate them clearly. Bullying results in fear, shame, embarrassment and guilt which increase progressively whilst the bullying goes on. The victim isn’t just being confronted by the bully, he’s also confronted by the social expectation that he be a man, and the expectations he has of himself.
Catch 22: By asking for help the bullying victim feels he’s weak, he’s giving in, he feels the bullies must be right.
Shame is a powerful and painful emotion. So powerful it has been used by religious groups & sects to control their flocks for millenia. It’s caused primordially by a combination of a strong sense of guilt and embarrassment. It originates from the basic human sense of right and wrong. If you do something perceived as wrong, you feel guilty and ashamed and develop the belief that others will judge you for your alleged transgressions and finally that you merit punishment. This is a particularly dangerous aspect of anti-LGBTQ bullying because what’s perceived as wrong and meriting ridicule is an integral part of the individual’s identity. That means victims can begin to question the value of their own existence. The many recent LGBT suicides, from Kenneth Waishuhn to Eric James Borges to Tyler Clementi show us the devastating effects different forms of bullying can have on the youngsters in our community.
We are talking about a dangerous cycle where the shame imposed by bullies generates a secondary cycle of strong feelings based on a belief in having done wrong, whether or not that belief is correct. Compounding the situation even further is the sometimes permanent damage to the bullying victim’s psyche. In a recent conversation with my psychiatrist friend, Dr. Anita Harris, she explained that she has a patient that’s still dealing with the horrible reverberations of being relentlessly teased during his adolescence. What Anita describes is PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), which is manifested by a sense of unworthiness, undeservingness and non-entitlement. Bullying destroys self-confidence and self-esteem. It is unfortunately all too common for anyone being bullied to feel undue amounts of shame. That is a pattern assisted by society’s tendency to blame victims. The bully, noticing he has found a vulnerable target, then heaps on the guilt, increasing the belief in their victim that they (the target of abuse) are deserving of all the bad things that are now happening to them. This is the cycle we must find a way to stop. The first step to any victim’s rights campaigns is to remove the shame that is caused by victimization. Any ideas on how that can be done?
A Life with a Soundtrack
Our Own Mess
So Mike said: si tu me dices ven, and I answered ven. Bliss did not ensue. We had no idea of the turbulence that was about to encounter. Our first and biggest problem was one of clashing personalities. He’d been living by himself for many years, most of his relationships had been brief (with two exceptions) and he was used to being in charge. Mike wasn’t just in charge of himself, when his father became ill, he moved to Spain to give his mother a hand. When his sister had financial issues, he stepped in to help. His brother and his young family spent their holidays at Mike’s place in the mountains, he was his own little sovereign nation. He was what Bush II would call: The Decider. The problem was, so was I. I’d gotten into a terrible habit of only pursuing relationships where I had some form of upper-hand. I can’t explain this without sounding like a total jerk, but in my defence, I only realized what I was doing with my 20/20 hindsight. My many successive relationships were exclusively with people who I believed I could control, whether it be because I had more money, I looked better, I was better connected or… whatever. I now understand it was a result of insecurity, a way of fooling myself into believing that if I had the control, it would ensure whomever I was with would never leave me. As there was an age gap between Mike and myself, I presumed young & pretty me would be the boss-man. T’was not so. We were gearing up for Villa l’Africaine’s very own Napoleonic wars. We fought from Monday to Friday. I blasted Thalia’s version of A quien le importa from one side of the house, and from the other side he blasted I am what I am (It was probably a Shirley Bassey version because he’s Welsh). Thursday nights we had a mediator, my late and great mother-in-law, one of the great allies I’ve had in life. Saturday was going out night and we kissed and made up, then I’d spend the evening flirting with everyone/anyone to annoy Mike and try to score points on our invisible score-card. Neither one of us admitted the power struggle was of an emotional nature, and that we were both deathly afraid of giving anyone our hearts to hold in their hands. We took childish to new heights and that’s when we began The Design Wars.
I wanted this
And he wanted this
So he bought these chairs behind my back
and I bought the Directoire secretaire in response
This went on and on and on. It went as far as one of us putting up a painting and the other taking it down, various times throughout the day. We were so involved in our fabricated war we hadn’t realized clouds had been gathering above us. We were in our own little world, dedicating all our time to arguing and the house. As our work load diminished we had time to rejoin the outside world and start getting to know the residents of our new community and get back in touch with the people who had been part of our previous non-coupled lives. This was when all hell broke loose.
Other People’s Mess
Some people have said that Villa l’Africaine looks like a fort because of the entrance tower. It’s 30 feet tall and has little windows which would be perfect for snipers. It was a comforting thought because we realized we were under attack. Both of us, up until that point, had been sought after guests. I was the life of the party, the snarky, risqué guest that no hostess could do without. The one that guarantees there’s no lull in the conversation at her table. Mike was the charming, former actor with the amazing voice and stories of his encounters with all sorts of interesting people. He worked with Ava Gardner three times, he knows Omar Sharif and acted opposite Maximilian Schell in Russia. He and Nureyev once rehearsed in adjoining spaces and Nureyev once goosed him as he was climbing up stairs. Then suddenly it hit us. Our first clue was from a Mrs. S. and came in form of an invitation that went something like this: When you two are on your own, that’s different, but together it’s kind of obvious you’re gay; But since it’s a garden party and there’ll be a lot of people, you’re welcomed to come. Or, why don’t you two alternate, each one of you comes to an alternate event on your own! What? Mike was in shock, he’d been part of the (progressive) arts world since his days doing drama at Oxford, which meant homophobia was practically alien to him. Principled man he is, he declined that and any other future invitations from Mrs. S.
But that was just the beginning, soon we realized it wasn’t just the more conservative sectors of polite society who thought we shouldn’t be together. Many of our friends agreed. But what happens when two obstinate guys are told by the world at large that their relationship can’t possibly work? They stop blasting Thalia’s version of A quien le importa and Shirley Bassey’s version of I am what I am from opposite sides of the house. They pull all the loudspeakers together (so the whole neighbourhood can hear them) and choose a new track. The new track is called Vámonos (Let’s Go)… because the two guys know that it doesn’t matter that one of them is a younger, spoilt, toff and a cad, and it also doesn’t matter that the other is an older, more conservative, homebody. What matters is they want to be together. But it wasn’t all bad, there people who stuck by us as well. The acting/artsy set: Sarah Porter, John McAndrew, Allan Corduner & Jane Bertish and a branch of the society set: Karin, Igel, Angelika & Andrea. Those were the main players who took up arms in our defence, and we’re very thankful for it!
I’ll only translate the important parts, because I’m lazy, scroll down to the second paragraph, but listen to the song to, just because the gently defiant tone is so wonderful.
ESTOY A PUNTO DE LLORAR,
DE TANTO RECORDAR, LAS HORAS QUE VIVIMOS..
ESTOY FORZANDO AL CORAZÓN,
QUE CUMPLA CON VALOR, LO QUE NOS PROMETIMOS.
A VECES, QUISIERA IRTE A BUSCAR,
A PUNTO DE LLORAR, NO SÉ CÓMO ME AGUANTO.
ES TAN DIFÍCIL DE OLVIDAR,
CUANDO HAY UN CORAZÓN,
QUE QUISO TANTO Y TANTO.
QUE NO SOMOS IGUALES DICE LA GENTE, They say we’re not the same
QUE TU VIDA Y MI VIDA SE VAN A PERDER, That our lives will be lost
QUE TÚ ERES UN CANALLA Y QUE YO SOY DECENTE, That you’re a cad and I’m decent
QUE DOS SERES DISTINTOS, NO SE PUEDEN QUERER.That such different people can’t love each other
PERO YO A TI TE QUISE Y NO TE OLVIDO,But I love you and never forget you
Y MORIR EN TUS BRAZOS ES MI ILUSIÓN, And to die in your arms is my wish
YO NO ENTIENDO ESAS COSAS I don’t understand these things
DE LAS CLASES SOCIALES,these social rules
YO SÓLO SÉ QUE ME QUIERES,all I know is you love me
COMO TE QUIERO YO.as much as I love you
VÁMONOS Let’s go
DÓNDE NADIE NOS JUZGUE,Where no one will judge us
DÓNDE NADIE NOS DIGA QUÉ HACEMOS MAL.Tell us what we do is wrong
VÁMONOS…..
ALEJADOS DEL MUNDO,
DÓNDE NO HAYA JUSTICIA, NI LEYES, NI NADA,
NÁ MÁS NUESTRO AMOR.
To be continued: Part III, how we lost the first battles but won the war!
Most people would probably be surprised to know that Mike and I only got to know each other because he made one of the most cringe-worthy mistakes in all of human history.
Our lives didn’t intersect in Torremolinos which was my gay-world, instead we met in Marbella. It was a winter evening and as I did in those days, I was searching for flashing lights, in the hope of growing my collection of pictures of myself in magazines. I know, I had unusual hobbies. Mike approached me, we had a casual, pleasant conversation mainly about there not being many openly gay people around. We made loose plans of him maybe coming with me to Torremolinos (where he’d never been!) or maybe having lunch. We exchanged emails and phone numbers and I thought that was that, I thought no more of it as I went home. The next morning when I woke up, my cell phone was flashing, there were six nervous messages, all of which included different variations of the following phrases: I’m sorry; Please don’t open your email; Let me make it up to you; I didn’t mean it!
I couldn’t resist, of course, so I opened my laptop and there it was in my inbox, a message from Mike. I opened it, it wasn’t addressed to me, but simply to J. The letter described his meeting with a toff. If you’re American you may not have heard the term, but basically it’s British slang for a haughty, upper-class fool. You’re wondering who this fool was? It was moi. I know, I was as surprised as you!!! He went on to compare my suit to one that would have been worn by the son of a wealthy mafioso, and he was furious about my coat. Furious it had a 
black fox fur collar. Furious it was real fur, and even more furious that when he asked me about it I made jokes about him and his hippy/actor friends pelting me with tomatoes. He asked J: Who in the world would wear a coat with a fox collar in the south of Spain? The rest of the email criticized my choice of home, my choice of car and basically the offence that was my existence. I didn’t call him back or answer the email. I wanted to torture him a little. We’d barely met and yet he seemed mortified and desperate to apologize in the voice-mail messages. He thought I’d be angry, but in reality I found his message hilarious. I’d laughed all the way through it. Not nervous laughter, but real, from the gut laughter. It was the best and funniest description of me I’d ever read, albeit in a caricaturesque sort of way.
When I got home from lunch, he was waiting outside my building, and began an apologetic monologue of how he hadn’t meant anything he had said. He wanted to make it up to me, take me to lunch, invite me to spend the weekend at his place… please, please forgive me. I invited him in, explained everything was fine and he was perplexed, incredulous I could just brush the whole thing off. I accepted his dinner invitation, and suggested the restaurant where I ate most nights in those days, El Gusto. I caught him by surprise by 
waving away the bill when it came, I had a tab there. He insisted on paying, but I told him it wasn’t up for negotiation. We were fast friends. It turned out our wildly different surfaces were disguising our wildy similar minds.
He found my excursions into escorting fascinating and advised me against doing porn, as that would go on my permanent record. He told me about his life in acting, working at the RSC with Ian McKellen and Judi Dench. Becoming friends when he was a young man with Mia Farrow and being the godfather of two of her adopted children (see what I meant about his hippy actor friends pelting me with tomatoes)… and how he’d given up his career after spending a holiday at his parent’s house here in Spain. I told him about my childhood, my first disastrous relationships, my move to Spain. We started emailing regularly, as friends. I visited one weekend taking with me folders of cd’s and he burnt copies of my Maria Dolores Pradera, Los Panchos and Frank Sinatra (and burnt copies for me of his Maria Dolores Pradera, Los Panchos and Frank Sinatra). BTW, If you like sentimental Spanish music, Pradera is queen. For a good long while he was watching out for me as I roller-coasted dangerously through life. At the lowest point, just as I was de-railing, ready to give up- he sent me an email with five words: Si tu me dices ven
Boy, did I cry. I mean, except for the Duchess of Windsor and myself, I don’t know anyone who was able to extract that sort of emotion from one of her Majesty’s subjects!
If you’re not an aficionado of this sort of music you probably don’t know the song. So here it is, this is a bad and loose translation, but you get the picture. If you listen to it in the video, you can perhaps capture its intensity.
If you tell me, come, I’ll leave (drop) everything.
If you tell me, come, everything will be for you;
My darkest moments
I’ll also give to you
My secrets which are few
will be yours too
If you tell me, come, everything will change
If you tell me, come, there will be happiness
If you tell me come , if you tell me come…
Don’t stop the moment…
To unite soul with soul, heart with heart
To laugh with you during times of pain (lit. before any pain)
To cry with you, to cry with you
it will be my salvation
But if you tell me, come, I’ll leave everything
Don’t let it become too late..
and find yourself (wandering) on the street
lost, without anywhere to go…
If you tell me come, I’ll leave everything…
To be continued… with the story of how our first year together was absolute HELL!
And just because this is one of the greatest lyrics ever, here’s Maria Dolores Pradera singing
We’re in the process of closing a big (to us) deal, which means I have some free time lately… That’s why I started this blog just over three weeks ago. There was no concrete intent. My time was normally spent scouring auction catalogues from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed looking for sleepers. You probably don’t know or care what a sleeper is, but let me explain anyway, because this is my blog and I can be as boring as I like. Auction houses have general experts and work with a massive amount of items, which means 
it’s impossible for them to be right all of the time. I look for their mistakes. For example, they may catalogue a painting as an 18th century Flemish derivative work (loose copy), but a little bell rings in my head that says certain characteristics of the painting in question may be similar to an important work, but other details lead me to believe it is not a copy of the important work that’s being referenced. I research and if I feel I’m correct I purchase the item, authenticate it and put it back on the market. Interesting finds in the past year have included a portrait of Charles II, the last Hapsburg King of Spain which I got from a Dutch auction house and an 18th century Aubusson Cheval Fondu tapestry which had gone to auction with no identification whatsoever (other than antique tapestry). Anyway I digress…
I’ve discovered a few things in these few blogging weeks. The first being that there are incredibly funny, interesting, fascinating people out there. There’s Comedian Becky Donohue of SweetMotherLover and Tony Cavanagh, a gay acrobat who found his other half (who also happens to be a gay acrobat!). There’s Angry Ricky, who I quite adore reading, because he’s thoroughly cultured, writes beautifully and I get to see the world through the eyes of someone who was a married, conservative Mormon and who’s come to terms with being gay. Finally, I’m coming to my point, thank you for your patience. I had no idea thousands and thousands of people (a grand total of nearly 10 thousand as of today) would be interested in what I had to say in the past three weeks. I won’t lie and say I feel humbled, no one who knows me would believe it anyway. Rather, I feel puissant (yes, that is a word in English too, not just French). I think if like minded people get together, we can effect change, real change.
There’s a wonderful project called Just a Bit Radical that LGBTQ activist and HuffPo blogger Catherine Oliver is trying to get going.
In her words: “Just a Bit Radical is a magazine with a simple mission: to provide lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning, intersex, and asexual (LGBTQQIA) youth and their allies ages 13 to 30 with a publication that discusses ideas and issues that are important to them. We look to increase positive LGBTQQIA awareness in media and in print, and portray a positive and honest view of LGBTQQIA individuals. We look to foster hope in today’s youth, to show them that they can make a difference and that things will improve. Just a Bit Radical is a place just as its name states, a little radical — forward-thinking, bold, and edgy.
I know what you’re thinking: WHAT? 13 to 30? Is she calling me old? Don’t worry, I’m sure you have an online dating profile where you’re between 13 and thirty!!! She promises not to discriminate. But anyway, for this to happen, money is necessary, and as she told me, if 450 people donate 10 dollars, we’re there. Donations can be made on Kickstarter and all you need is an Amazon.com account, which I presume most people already have. I have put my money where my mouth is and donated $150, but if all you have to spare is $5, it’ll make a difference! I’d love to find out that this blogging thing can actually translate into something that’s not only positive for society, but also for our LGBT community. There are 15 days left for the project to be funded, let’s do it! Re-blog, tweet, facebook or do what I plan to do which is invite your friends to dinner and don’t let them leave without making a donation! The minimum donation is $2, so there’s really no excuse for anyone not to participate!!!
On Carrie Bradshaw’s Block, Romance Over 6 Decades – NYTimes.com.
The house where Carrie Bradshaw lived, supposedly on the Upper East Side but actually at 66 Perry Street in the West Village, still draws a steady stream of “Sex and the City” fans. They snap photos of the row house, which was built in 1866, as if to partake in the fictional life of a New York writer and the foibles of her quest for lasting romance.
But a real New York romance played out at the house next door, No. 64, whose plainer facade served as Carrie’s building for the first three seasons of the show, said Tim Gunn, the fashion executive who lived in an apartment there for 16 years. It lasted almost six decades, linking two men from their first meeting at the Rockefeller Center skating rink during World War II until one of them, Harold Eliot Leeds, an architect and professor of interior design at Pratt, died in 2002.
A Tuesday evening at Villa l’Africaine. We’re watching Mad Men on Sky Atlantic.
Me: Have you seen my Russian glasses?
Mike: What?
Me: The opaline glasses, from the Imperial Factory?
Mike: What are you going to do with those glasses at 10:30 at night?
Me: Do you know where they are?
Mike: Why would I know? Maybe they’re in the guest kitchen.
Me: Only if you put them there. I would never put those glasses there for guests to use without my supervision.
Mike: But why do you want them now?
Me: I’m going to set the table.
Mike: What for?
Me: The valuation lady from the bank is coming tomorrow at 1:30
(If you’ve been following the story you know our mortgage needs to be amended)
Mike: Are you planning on inviting her to stay for lunch? (sarcastic tone)
Me: Of course not. I just want her to think we’re busy and that people like coming to lunch here.
Mike: That’s ridiculous.
Me: Where are the glasses?
Mike: Are you really going to go through the trouble of setting the table to impress someone we don’t even know? She’s not going to grade your table setting abilities, she’s coming to value the house, measure rooms.
Me: It sets a tone. It’ll intimidate her. I mean, she’s a bank valuer, how much could she make a year? I bet she’s never seen stuff like this. The more important she thinks we are, the higher value she’ll put on the house.
Mike: I don’t think that’s how they do the calculation.
Me: How about the Paris Porcelain plates? The ones with the pink border? You know nothing of how the human mind works.
Mike: Can we please watch Mad Men?
Me: It repeats all week long. Don is going to leave his wife in a parking lot. She’s going to be furious and get a ride home. I read it online.
Mike: I can’t believe you just did that. I’m watching it. Why do you read things online before you watch them?
Me: I don’t like surprises. Is the neighbour from across the street here or still in Geneva?
Mike: She’s not here. Why?
Me: Because if she’s not, I’ll steal some of those pink flowers from her garden, to go with the pink plates.
Mike: (mumble) …planet crazy.
Me: Fine, I’ll look for the glasses myself. Can you get me 2 inhalers tomorrow?
Mike: I got two last week.
Me: I think I accidentally threw them away.
Mike: Both?
Me: No, one, butI like to know there are extras. What if one was defective? You want me to die?
This is a 3 minute 30 second comedy film by Juan Fernando Andrés Parrilla and Esteban Roel García Vázquez. It was a finalist in the 2011 Jameson Notodofilmfest and it’s HILARIOUS. Don’t worry, it’s in Spanish but subtitled in English!!! It’ll give you a very accurate idea of how bureaucracy works if you ever plan to live in Spain, Portugal, Greece, France, Italy or any part of Latin America…
