Nothing Is Lost Forever

General Conference, the HRC and Suicides....

2010-10-05T09:37:00.003-04:00

After Elder Packer's....eh hem...words about homosexuality, gay marriage and whatever at Conference on Sunday, coupled with the recent run of suicides of young gay men, and of course all the Prop 8 hoopla, you can bet that Joe Solomese and HRC had something to say about it.

I got a mailer in my inbox from Joe yesterday which led me to read/listen to Boyd's...eh hem...words, which led me to post this on Facebook yesterday:

"Trying to decide who's better at inciting anger, spreading pain and just making me plain sad- Joe Solomese of the HRC or Boyd K. Packer of the 12. I think its a tie..."

I got several responses and "thumbs-up-likes", but one friend from the Holy Western Valleys with whom I've had little contact sent this:

"If you know they incite those kind of feelings, why listen to them in the first place?"

It was quickly deleted by the friend, however. I only saw it because Facebook sends immediate updates to my Blackberry every time anything happens on Facebook. Thank. God.

Anyway, I decided to respond anyway and sent this:

" I got your message on facebook, it was sent to my email account, but I see you must have deleted it from my page. I'm assuming you thought better of it, but I wanted to respond quickly anyway. Your comment was so short and brief that it would be impossible for me to genuinely discern its true intent--whether it was meant as a rebuke, as a snide and terse remark, or as a sincere question. Because of its hasty removal, I feel compelled to think it was one of the former and your better judgment dictated you delete it. Despite this, I want to respond to it as a sincere question--I listen for 3 simple reasons: 1) because in this information laden age and culture it is next to impossible not to hear unpleasant, angering or saddening things about topics you care about; 2) because words spoken- thoughts and ideas shared- have consequences, they reverberate and send ripples through lives and I believe strongly that those consequences should and must be made known and 3) I listen in the, lets face it, rather dim hope that someone with whom I disagree may say something which will help me understand the troubled and beautiful world in which we all live a little better!"

You can read the HRC letter here (its actually the press release, and a little less emotive and carefully worded than the mailer Joe sent)

And of course, you can read, watch or listen to Elder Packer's...eh hem...words at lds.org

Am I wrong to listen? Wrong to comment? Wrong to care?

Save The Great Lakes!!!!

2010-06-25T07:51:00.000-04:00

Invasive Asian Carp Reach Great Lakes

Brilliant!!!!

2010-02-26T03:14:00.001-05:00

A new poem

2009-12-01T13:27:00.001-05:00

for michael

driven here by death, wind, rain and a lot of liberated restlessness
we’re far too soon too fast too fearful to be certain
but as breath begets more being
the driven eventually become the resting
if only for the seconds before the launch
and its in those moments perhaps
you and I breathe
in sync
and stop our restless driving

© 2009 Nathan T Wright

14 Little Lessons from Russia

2009-04-18T17:05:00.007-04:00

1) There is a lot of gray area between loving someone and trusting someone; best to steer clear of the gray...

2) There is a fine line between being honest and fair with others and being cruel and insensitive with others; its worth it to find that line...

3) The Russian words for cruelty and toughness are very similar. (жестокость / жёсткость )

4) Watching out for number one does not preclude watching out for my fellows; precious few are those who understand this...

5) Looking for the good and beautiful in everyone I meet is still a worthwhile way to live; perceiving the bad and the ugly in them is also very worthwhile; being able to see all of it and not judge them for it is hard...

6) Listening to those with whom I categorically disagree can be fun; trying to learn something from them is hard, but worth it...

8) When you speak a language more often than the one in which your character was formed, your character changes; be aware...

9) No matter what the conservative and moralists may say--moral and cultural relativism is a reality; it is impossible to understand and therefore judge others and other societies by your own personal and societal values; that said--some societies just don't get it...

10)It is nice--more than nice--to have people near you who have known you for many many years.

11) It is also nice--but not so nice--to live somewhere where no one knows who you are, where you came from, and why you are who you are...

12) It is easier to be kind in a society where kindness is valued and where that value is reflected in a society's history, art, business and government; where is that society?

13) Listening to Diana Ross and the Supremes (or anything Motown-ish) and letting the beat move you on the Moscow Metro can make tough and cruel Russians smile...

14) It is 100% true that everything depends on me; it is also true that everyday there are a million and one variables that are completely out of my control; the paradox has the power to paralyze a man; don't let it...

The Indigo Girls are heavy.....

2009-02-15T16:25:00.023-05:00

The Girls--Amy and Emily

Because I know many of you wonder why I have not blogged in nearly 2 months:

Not to be entirely cryptic, but I'll simply say that m'life life here in Moscow for the past couple months has been....hmmm....tough. And it's all my fault. Not that "fault" is something I am really into--at least I like to think I am not into fault and blame, but I do look for reasons in the way life turns out--reasons for life's situations and....and...and....stuff 'n stuff. Not for "meaning" really, just for reasons--like cause and effect. And because of this general view--because I believe that much in life depends on our own actions, I can pretty conclusively state that it is my fault that life has been...what did I say? Yeah, tough...

Why, you ask? Well, I think I have this self-defeating drive that compels me to make my life as complicated and as...heavy as possible. I do this in many diverse and disturbing ways.

Here's one example: I spent three plus years in New York City at Columbia working on an MFA in playwriting, building a network of contacts and colleagues in the theatre, receiving that MFA (not without, of course, going into enormous debt for that MFA) and then I promptly up and went to Russia to teach business English for an indefinite amount of time...hehehehe (coy, nervous laugh)...ha ha (short simply nervous laugh)....(long pause)....WHAT?

Mind you, everyone--and I mean EVERYONE (even my friends in Moscow) was like: "Now....whyyyyyy are you doing this?"

I had some really awesome, not- even- very-convincing, bullS**** answers prepared for such confrontations. I made it sound like it was financially really...umm....smart. Which maybe in some way, may have been true, but probably it wasn't....At any rate, I think I did convinced myself---sorta. Not really...

The real question is not some cosmological, fateful, search for the deep, eternal, heavy meaning in my life's experiences, but how do I actually stop myself, as the--let's face it--only person ultimately responsible for my own life's experiences, from making such lame decisions--which, the best I can tell, are designed (by myself) to make my life as complicated, circuitous, cryptic, and as unsuccessfully heavy as friggidy liggidy possible. Hmmmmmm.

Yes, one can say that every crisis is also a possibility and that we assign our own meaning to life's experiences. Yes, indeed. I agree! True dat! But tell me, o ye existentialists, why not avoid the crisis to begin with?

Am I making any sense? No? ...I know.

So--let me get to the Indigo Girls then:

When I was 16 or 17 I became acquainted with the Indigo Girls. They were awesome and they still are. I really dig 'em.

My favorite song was "Ghost" from the Girls' "Rites of Passage" album. "Ghost" is ridiculously lyrical and romantic and melodic and poetically stunning in that naive early-twenty-something in-love-for-the-first-time-with irony, allusion, alliteration, assonance, and just the beauty of language-kind-of-way. So, for a barely 17 year old junior in high school, listening to that song made me feel smart, deep, forward thinking and...heavy.

(I also think the eruption of bottled-up gay yearning resonated with me in some way...ya think?)

I remember Kathy Aitchison let me borrow their copy of the CD and I listened to it all the time in my bedroom on my new Sony 3-Disc CD changer. One time I made my Dad sit with me and listen to it--I think I even made him follow along with the lyrics in the CD booklet. So, we sat on the floor in my room and listened to it and both really enjoyed it and then we talked for while...

I remember at one point my Dad saying something like: "You know, these are really beautiful lyrics. But," he continued, "I remember listening to Dylan and Joni Mitchell and all those folk artists when I was your age and thinking 'wow, these lyrics are so deep'. Now, I'll go back sometimes and listen and I think: What does that even mean?" And he chuckled.

And I remember, nodding 'yeah' but also being kinda miffed. More so, I think my mind was a little blown because I knew he was right in some way.

At the same time, though, over the years, as I go back and listen to "Ghost" and as I think about the lyrics, I realize its actually a pretty explicable piece of poetry--(have a listen and explicate away--its fun)

Truthfully, it's the "Indigo Girls" later stuff that really makes you go "Now...WHAT are they saying?"

Ten years later, my friend Gretchen burned me a copy of the Girls' "Become You" album.

It was the summer I turned 27--It was the summer I did my first three triathlons and the summer I spent just about every spare minute I had rock-climbing, bouldering, running, swimming, or biking.

A guy I really thought I was in love with (it is so funny now-- it always is, right?) had broken up with me in April and in July I still wasn't over it.

I jammed my fingers and my unrequited love into the cracks of the Wasatch and into the sandy red-rock ledges of Moab and Maple Canyon with my friend Heidi.

I sliced that sense of loss and loneliness through the gray-brown waters of Pine View and Jordanelle and Deer Creek Reservoirs training with my friend Jeff.

Alone, on 90 degree plus afternoons, I'd run that yearning into the blacktop of side-streets in Clearfield or onto the rocky trails above the Weber State campus.

Never completely able to cover the 'real me' with the hours spent on the rock or in the gym or in the water or on the bike or running, I sang that pain like crazy at the top of my lungs and sang the f-ing hell outta the Girls' "Become You" lyrics driving in my air-conditioner-less 1988 red 2-door Honda Accord.

I drove back and forth between Ogden and Orem and Salt Lake and Moab and Zion and Maple Canyon and Jordanelle and Park City and I sang and sang the Girls' beautifully cryptic lyrics and my pain was either met or assuaged or both while I sang and the wind whipped through the open windows and tugged at the straps on my red climbing pack in the back-seat.

My favorite song from that album is " She's Saving Me" which is really...heavy. Most of it is so painfully beautiful it doesn't make one friggin bit of sense whatsoever.

Here's the first verse:

We were sittin' 'round a dyin' fire
Somebody lit incense
Somebody lit a cigarette
and passed the bottle around

It was just strawberry season
back-breakin' pickers in the patches
every thing's burnin' down to ashes
and down to the ground

I mean its gorgeous, right? But...what...does...it mean? The first stanza is pretty straightforward--its setting the scene. Beautifully, of course--very rustic, very earthy, very....lesbian-y . I like it.

Before I get to the chorus, I want to go--sorta unfairly, I suppose--to the 2nd verse. That's where you are really like: WHAAAAT?

I try to put it aside
but its too much bigger than me
There's a big brown hawk in the tree
lightin' and leavin'

And there's tea leaves tossin'
Its the pennies in my pocket
Dead star like a rocket
The arc of my grievin'

Right? Like excruciatingly beautiful, but.....WHAAAAT??????

So, maybe if I throw you the chorus that "magic access-point" into the meaning of every poem will appear.

She's saving me
I don't even think she knows it
It's a strange way to show it
as distant as last night's dream unravels

She's saving me
I'm a very lost soul
I was born with a hole in my heart
the size of my land-locked travels

Did it appear for you--that" magic access-point" to the deep heavy meaning?

It hasn't for me either, but I will say this-- the final two lines of the last stanza:

"I was born with a hole in my heart the size of my land-lock travels"

...These lines just about capture in poetry the best excuse I can muster for this morbid drive I have to defeat myself at every turn.

My travels lead me nowhere except away from my last journey and though the distance I cover and the dust I kick up is vast it still has failed to fill what I see as this gaping awareness since birth that I am destined to yearn for the unfulfillable. And since I long ago became convinced that the only destiny I have is the one I create for myself through my own choices and actions, I can't seem to understand why I constantly perseverate on that damn hole in my heart!!!

O' Stupid Soulful, Beautiful, Heavy Lyrics, why do you pull at my soul so? When I hear you, why do my neurons fire and why do the adrenaline and dopamine rush through my brain making me feel full of life and purpose and connection? In the end, you mean nothing more than the sum of these chemical reactions in my body propelling me on and convincing me that living another day as brilliant me is a worthy endeavor...

Tonight, after a rather pointless evening--after a week filled with heavy drama and complications of my own making, I walked home from the Metro contemplating these tough past two months. Bemoaning where they have led me and trying to come up with some reason for it all, I actually thought of this lame excuse:

"I was born with a hole in my heart the size of my land-locked travels"

I pulled my ipod out of my pocket, popped in the earbuds, scrolled through the artist list to the Girls', clicked on "Become You", toggled down to "She's Saving Me", pushed play and let the dopamine flow.

I sang as I walked through the dirty Moscow snow-rain and I indulged my pain. Instead of using that brisk walk to constructively think about what the f*** I can do to get me off this tough journey and onto something productive, I had myself a little cryptic, complex, beautiful and meaningless HEAVY!

I am pretty sure that Heavy is bad. So why do I always go for the easy rush that heavy and deep and complex and beautiful give instead of actually doing something?

I like to think that I don't have a problem with substances--no drugs, no cigarettes, no alcohol really (wine like three times a year)--but complicated, circuitous, heavy situations to make me feel that my life is full of meaning. Well, let me tell you--I need my hit!

But no more. I don't wanna use the same excuse I've been using since I first heard that painfully beautiful heavy lyric to explain away the choices I've made and I am too tired tonight to assign my own meaning to these past 6 months in Moscow and so...like any addict, I light up and throw back a few of the Girls' songs to forget about life for a while--I let heavy take me in his arms and I sing along...

OKAY--If any of you can assign any meaning to anything I just wrote I'll give 1000 rubles.

NOTE: current exchange rate: 36.50 rubles to 1 US Dollar.

I think I might be posting again more regularly soon.

Sweet Sweet Fantasy Poetry Saturday

2008-12-13T16:27:00.002-05:00

Another poem....

But, first I wanna take a quick moment and tell everyone thanks again for reading and sharing your responses. It really really means a great deal to me.

I want to say a particular thank you to those of you who I don't know personally (about whom I've recently become aware) but still read and comment.

THANK YOU!

So the poem for this week--its a little racy (to shatter the clean chaste image I know you've all held of me for so long)

Share your thoughts please and have a wonderful day!

Native tongue

A lot like the vowels in Finnish or Hebrew
None of them are mine
Not mine at all
But I try desperately
To form them
To remember one of you
To call the other to me
To find a little sound of one
On the lips of the other
To feel the touch of you
Escaping in the breath of the other
As if the meaning of a man
Is summoned by the way
His native tongue feels
Against my teeth…

© 2006, 2008

"Blown across the earth..."

2008-12-10T17:49:00.016-05:00

the Tian Shan Mountains in Kyrgyzstan

Last night on the Metro coming home, I couldn't help watching a young man, clearly of Central Asian stock, holding a train ticket. The ticket was immediately recognizable--by its pale orange and white coloring and by the gold reflective seal in one of its corners --as a Russian National Railway ticket. I have held several of these types of tickets myself when I've traveled long distances within Russia and most often as I travel to Finland and back. So, I was rather sure that this young man was getting ready to travel somewhere rather far.

Both the young man with the train ticket and I were standing in the corner of the Metro car as all the seats were taken. I was tired from my long day of teaching and was holding the metal railing and listening to NPR or maybe just some music on my iPod. As I listened and tried to mind my own business, I kept glancing over at the young man as he pulled the ticket out of its plastic cover and examined it--as he held it close to his face and read the block lettering on it.

The Metro came to a stop at the station before my own and several seats opened up. I sat down and the young man with the ticket sat next to me. I sorta tried not to watch as he continued to read and re-read his ticket. He ran his fingers across the paper and turned it over and read the small print on the backside--all the terms and conditions. When he turned it over again, I stole a quick glance at the destination. Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan.

Bishkek the capital of Kyrgyzstan

Before I continue maybe I should talk a little bit about Moscow and the people who make up a sizable portion of the city's various manual and labor-intensive workforces.

First of all, many Russians are fond of saying "Moscow is not Russia." What they mean is that Moscow is a different world--socially, culturally and most significantly economically--than the rest of Russia. In Moscow the average salary is really comparable--and in some instances better--than the average American salary. What you pay for lunch here is basically what you are gonna pay in New York--sometimes more. What you pay for an apartment here is basically what you are gonna pay in New York--sometimes more. Everywhere you look there are cranes and rising concrete and steel buildings. This just isn't true for the rest of Russia. In fact, the difference in salary and development between Moscow and the rest of Russia--and the rest of the former Soviet Union--is pretty staggering.

Moscow is booming (or was--we'll see what happens with this crisis) and there is work to be done and money to be made. So to Moscow from all of Russia and beyond flock those looking for work. Particularly visible-- among the construction workers, the street cleaners, the janitors and floor buffers at shopping centers, the restroom attendants, the buss boys and kitchen girls--are people from Central Asia--the former Soviet Republics of Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and Kyrgyzstan.

Many Russians are quick to point out that there is no racial discrimination in Russia--the Soviet Union was a united nation of many peoples and ethnicities-- but those same people are equally quick to laugh at jokes that are less than kind in their portrayal of "Tajiki" or "Kazakhi" and to point out how much the influx of Central Asian laborers--legal and illegal--has lowered the average salary.

If I had to find an analogous phenomenon in the US, I would point to the many workers from Mexico and other countries of Latin America who provide so much of the labor that keeps America going. In fact, if you want a shorthand for understanding the way Central Asians are treated and seen here in Moscow, just take a moment and think of the views and opinions expressed concerning your Mexican American neighbors. Of course, there are many details and specifics which differ, but I find myself feeling similarly about the plight of the Central Asian Laborers here in Moscow as I do about the Mexican Immigrants back home.

New Years is the holiday in Russia. A big 10 day holiday is coming up and as I sat next to this young Central Asian fellow holding his ticket--presumably back home--I, maybe rather romantically, began to imagine his family meeting him at the station in Bishkek. I began to picture his mother-- who probably sent him off to Moscow from the same station--smiling and hugging him as he got off the train. I wondered if he was bringing his family back in Kyrgyzstan presents or money. Maybe he had a girlfriend or wife back in Kyrgyzstan. I wondered, was he going home just for the holiday or was he going home to stay? I looked at his hands holding the ticket and guessed at his own feelings about going home. Was he excited? Did he miss Kyrgyzstan? Maybe he was going home out of an obligation? Maybe he wanted to stay in Moscow? He held the ticket up to his face again and ran his finger across the gold seal and I decided that he was excited to be going home.

Of course, I could have been entirely wrong. I was clearly projecting onto this young man my own imaginings and fantasies. I was myself playing into racial and ethnic stereo-types. The whole narrative I'd created for this young man could have been utterly wrong. He could have very well been born and raised in Moscow, he could have been a young rising executive at a bank and was simply visiting Kyrgyzstan for pleasure. He could have bought the ticket for a friend...anything...who knows.

But, as I sat there next to him, I suddenly felt an unexpected kinship with him--or maybe just with the man I imagined he was. He and I were a like in many ways--that man. We were both working here in this big strange city hundred and hundreds of miles away from our families and loved ones. We were both foreigners who had come to another country for work that we somehow needed and now here--in Moscow--we were both subject to the opinions and perspectives of those we worked for and among. I considered how different our respective jobs might be and I also acknowledged that, perhaps, the opinions and perspectives which we daily encountered were also probably quite different.

Still....I thought and I remembered an incident that happened last week. There is some construction and remolding work being done in the building where my company's office is. One evening last week, as I was leaving the office, I was stopped in the dusky light by two police officers asking to see my documents. I showed them my Passport, Registration and Work Visa but they insisted that I needed an additional Work Permit ID Card. When I informed them that I didn't need a Work Permit ID Card because I was a teacher and by law my Work Permit was held by my employer and that I only needed to carry my Work Visa, the retorted that they didn't know of any such law and insisted that I needed a Work Permit ID Card. I said, well that's not my understating and I didn't have a Work Permit ID Card. One of the officers stomped over to group of young men standing a few feet off. I quickly noticed that this group was made up entirely of--what appeared to me to be--young Central Asian-looking men. The officer spoke to one of the young men and I saw the young man hand him a small card. The officer returned and in his hand he held a Work Permit ID Card and told me that I needed "one of these". At just this moment, my boss Yulia appeared and the problem was eventually solved--but not without a lot of huffing and puffing and posturing and squirming from the officers. They were quite disappointed. You see, they were hoping to get a little cash. That's how it works here. If you get stopped by a traffic officer--he doesn't want to give you a ticket--he wants 1000 rubles ($35). The construction happening in the building, no doubt, drew the officers to the site in hopes of finding some undocumented workers and some cash.

It made me mad--this incident--with the police officers. What right did they have to stand out there and wait for me and try to get a bribe off a poor American teacher? I was here legally and was providing a necessary service. I thought of the thousands of workers from Central Asia who were also here in Moscow working hard--building this city and cleaning its streets and washing its bathrooms and wiping clean its restaurant tables and buffing its shopping center floors all glossy and bright. I thought of all of these men and women from Central Asia who probably didn't have a boss like Yulia who would come rushing out to their aid when the police officers stopped them. I thought of their families back in Kyrgyzstan and Turkmenistan and Tajikistan--only a border away from Afghanistan--who most likely depended on the money they sent or brought home.

I thought of the millions of men and women in the United States from Mexico and from Latin America and from Asia and from Africa and from all over the world who were working hard and long days and nights to try to make a living and support their families.

I thought of my own ancestors--Irishmen on boats coming to New York and Boston--working in the slums of those 19th century American cities. I thought of them hungry and brave and strong and full of hope and struggle. I thought of them moving west to Michigan to work and work and marry and marry and bear children and more children and eventually me-- here in Moscow working next to a young man from Kyrgyzstan waiting with an orange and gold ticket back home for New Years...

The Metro came to a stop. Molodozhnaya. My station. I got up and exited and I noticed that the young man with the train ticket exited as well. I turned right to leave the station and he turned left and disappeared into the Moscow winter night and into the crowd. I was still thinking of his holiday train ride home and his waiting family as I walked the 10 minutes to my apartment building--wishing him well and wishing that I too was going to see my family back home.

Kyrgyzstan... pretty huh?

learn more about Kyrgyzstan here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kyrgyzstan

Sweet Sweet Fantasy "Poetry" Friday

2008-12-05T16:16:00.007-05:00

Train Tracks by Bob Dylan
(seriously...did you know he painted?)

So...I think I am going start posting some of my poems regularly....

Here is one I wrote like 4 years ago when I was on my way home to Utah from my Grad School interviews in New York City--going home on a train (which should be, from the home, pretty evident).

Anyway, I pulled it out a couple weeks ago and did some re-working. I like re-visiting poems and other things which I have written years ago. The old writing always makes me cringe and feel a little ashamed, naked and nauseated--which in turn makes me wanna fix it....

So, here it is....after some fixin' (in another few years it may get some more fixin')

please share your thoughts.

Ode to myself, reading on a train.

For fear of the luminous steel bird’s belly,
and bending to my tight-breathing tears,
I take the iron winding beast from Penn Station,
twenty two hundred miles across this country.

Through merging images on glass,
eagles on the Hudson and herons on the Colorado
fly away from the pages of my books,
always asking me who I am.

I am along the gray, green, windy waves of Michigan,
with the hazy, black towers of Chicago forward and beyond.
I am suspended on these rails above the fading grains,
rusting combines and turbines and dying cities falling away.

I am chasing silver foxes above Denver with my eyes
and mourning little metal bugs on nation-wide windows.
I am joining concrete and clay at Grand Junction,
touching bleeding earth and turning inking histories.

O Omaha, O Pioneers,
and Tennessee and Tony!
O Henry David, O Fyodor,
and Walt—the child of Joyce and Wilde!

I am not a real Irishman, Englishman, a Frenchman or American.
To be true, I am not, by generations, a good Mormon boy, either.
I am not a hunter-rider of the plains; a farmer of the Eastern forests
And I am not—yet—a willing member of that band marching forth from the Castro.

I am just along these amber green lands,
reading white and blustered skies.
A passenger for fear—and
counting every breath.

© 2005, 2008 Nathan T. Wright

Night Train by Kent Whitaker

I have a confession: It's about William Faulkner...

2008-12-02T02:54:00.012-05:00

I've never finished anything by William Faulkner.

Does anybody else have a problem with Faulkner?

William Faulkner, Pulitzer and Nobel prize winning American writer

I am sure he was a great guy, but....man...

I swear I have tried to read "As I Lay Dying" 12 times and only got half way through...Who is talking? Is it Jewel or Darl or Addie or Dewey or... Boo or Scout or Jem or Mr. Ewell.... I never know...

I've tried to pick up "The Sound and the Fury" because I just know there must be something by Faulkner I can get into. I know there is a huge gap in my literary understanding without at least having read Faulkner. I mean how can one claim to love literature--or worse, claim to be a writer, without having read this American 20th century Master? So, I started "The Sound and the Fury" and tried to get acquainted with these "unreliable narrators" -- but I was also reading "Ethan Frome" by Ms. Edith Wharton at the same time and I eventually I just chose to read about Ethan and his sick wife Zeena and her cousin up in stark turn of the century Massachusetts and therefore I never really got to the Compson family down in Yoknapatawpha County, Mississippi...

Is it just the stream of consciousness thing? I mean, I've got through some of Joyce. (A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) With difficulty, yes, but maybe his Irish setting and all that repressed- by- Catholicism -sexuality are more interesting to me than rambling less- than- literate- southerners burying their dead mother? I also genuinely like Virginia Woolf. Though I can't claim to have read a lot of her either, I have gotten through a couple of her books. Maybe Woolf's and Joyce's "streams" of consciousness are just more like my own stream...

James Joyce as a young man

Who knows?Virginia Woolf (she was pretty and sad...)

So, I've never finished anything by Faulkner. Until yesterday.

The last few days I've been shifting through, discovering, surveying and just straight up reading numerous American short stories as I prepare the curriculum for my Creative Writing Course. It is a lot of fun. In one of the American short story anthologies I have there is a piece called "The Old People" by Mr. William Faulkner...ever read it?

I didn't think so...

Anyway, "the Old People" is no more than 10 pages long. I kept skipping it as I flipped through the book, but finally this sense of guilt--or shame--I have about never having gotten through Faulkner got the better of me. I determined I would read it-- no matter what. " Come on, it's only 10 pages," I thought....

Listen, don't read Faulkner in bed, people.... unless you wanna fall asleep.

I am happy to report that I have both found a method for falling asleep and-- after three frustrating, but restful nights-- have finally finished something by Mr. William Faulkner!

Problem is... I have no idea what "The Old People" is about or what I read....

Faulkner. What is up with him?

Thank you for all your suggestions on sleep. I have been meditating, stretching, drinking tea, warm milk, and, of course, reading Mr. Faulkner in bed...

It is working!

Have a good day and please share your thoughts. Convert me to Faulkner.

Thanksgiving in Russia

2008-11-27T03:50:00.013-05:00

It is Thanksgiving Day.

November 27, 2008. Moscow, Russia.

Because there is no thanksgiving in Russia...hmmm...is that true?

this is the first picture that came up when I googled "thanksgiving in russia"...
hmmm.

Anyway...

let's examine that statement....

There is no thanksgiving in Russia...

...well at least there is no thanksgiving with a capital T, but I suppose on occasion a person or two has been known to give thanks while in Russia.

I am going to give a little thanks right now.

It is 11:50 am in Moscow. Right now I am going to write for 7 minutes straight. I'm going to make a list of ANYONE, ANYTHING and Everyone and Everything that comes to my mind when I think of things to be thankful for...

ready ....

set...

go!

Dad
Mom
Martha
Andy
Sarah
Cathy
Bobby
Tim
Pete
Blake
Brad
Trent
Heather
Matt
Coley-bug
Maragrete
Stella Bella
Travis
Cassandra
Matt ChappINa
Hank
Belle
Joanna
Alley Baiby
ECC
Jen
Norah
Lulu
Olivia
Maddie
Sarah Louise
Jesus
Mary Chapin Carpenter
Tatiyana
Masha
Andrei
Sasha
Ulia
Ulia Vtoraya
My apple
Blog(s)
Music
Paul
Frank
Adi
Heather Riggy Riggs
Syd
Kelly Jo
Amy Laurel
Amy Holt
KT
K.Fro
Grandpa ED
Erin K. Browne
Joanne Joanne Hudson
Nadia
Rebecca
Angela Boyle King
Tracy Callahan
Meg
Erin T.
Kathy
Al
Linda
Deb
Martha Dalluge
Juha-Mikko
Kimmo
Mikko
Howard
Juka
Stephan
Books
Music Sweet Sweet Fantasy Music
NPR
BBC
Barack Obama
Anne of Green Gables
iTunes
Larry Dooley
Cartherine Zublin
Ria Cooper
Jamie
KILA T'QUILA PACKETT
Anna Marshall
Molly Beth
Rachel Chavkin
Libby King
Jess Alamasy
Frank Boyd
Ryan Tresser
Tarter
Ashima
Jake Margloin
Jacqui Kaiser
Ruthie
Camille
Mikhael T Garver
Kristen Sieh
Sweety Jilly Jill Frutkin
the world
the world
the world is so beautiful
Matt Preece
Naomi Wolf
Stuart and Vicki
My cockatiels
clothing
Orange juice
green leafy vegetables
Whitney Houston
Jana
Laurie Bitters
Neal Barth
Mr. E
the scera
President Chappel
Bishop Horton
AMERICA
Domhnall
the Constitution of the United States of America
Russia
LOVE LOVE LOVE
Lake Michigan
the Great Lakes
the cottage
Old mission
xanx
water---
------

11:57am

I ran out of time....
That was fun and a little disturbing...
Hmmmm....

You should try it.

Start the timer and go for 7 minutes without stopping...

You don't have to post it. You have to be kinda crazy or insensitive to publicly post a list like this...(if I missed you--you should let me know...and if I did miss you its only because I was in free fall and just writing what came up! I love and miss you and am thankful for you whether you are on here or not!)

I wish I was at a thanksgiving dinner with any and or all of you right now!!!!
...and even though I am not, I am thankful for you just the same
(whether you got on my crazy list or not)

Happy Thanksgiving from Moscow!

I took this picture coming home from work the other night
snowstorm on the Ring Road

My Friend Matt

2008-11-22T03:36:00.072-05:00

First of all, I want to say thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who shared their wonderful suggestions on SLEEP!
I am definitely going to be trying them--and I will report back.
Thank you so very much for taking the time to HELP me!
Thanks, thanks, thanks. I knew I could count on you guys. I am lucky!

Second, my dear friend Heather Anna Corrigan Herrick of the Cake of Nutty Goodness Fame, took a moment yesterday to send me a quick e-note in which she expressed to me her great love AND, she said, she needed to inform me that m'blog--with the black background and bright multi--colored wording--is hard to read.

Now, as you may know, there are precious few opinions I value as much and to which I listen with such rapt and intent deference as those belonging to Heather Anna Corrigan Herrick O'Congf. (O'congf is Irish-Gaelic for "of the Cake of Nutty Goodness Fame)

But, because I am very fond of my current blog lay-out and spent a good 3 hours one night sifting and trying the various templates, fonts and colors provided by our tireless friends at blogger.com, I wanted to throw it out to the rest of you?

Is it annoying and trying on the eyes to read m'blog?

What are your opinions?

Please share. I will listen AND consider.

now THIRDLY, FINALLY and Importantly, we arrive at my actual post for today.

My friend Matt.
I have been trying to decide for a few weeks now whether I should post about Matt...
Not because there is really anything too controversial about what I want to say...

I've hesitated because of how quiet and personal my feelings for and surrounding Matt are...

(I know you're thinking: personal and private has never stopped you before, Nathan)

(true, oh how true)

It's made me think a lot about why I blog. (which is another discussion entirely) But basically, I blog for two reasons--

1) to share and stay connected with all of you--to let you know how and what I am doing--and to hear your responses to my thoughts, feelings and life. It's kind of like a journal with feedback, right?

2) to create a place where I can own my feelings, thoughts, opinions, decisions, journeys, travels and beliefs--to claim and to take responsibility for MY LIFE-- before the world.

I also think this is why I write plays and write in general.

Anyway, with this in mind, I decided its time I should try to write about Matt. I haven't yet.

So I am going to share some of my feelings about my friend Matt.

What I want to say is pretty is simple. But sometimes--a lot of times--even simple things take me a while...

As some of you may know, my dear friend Matt died a little over two years ago in Nepal.

In September of 2006 Matt began working for the World Wildlife Fund (WWF).

Matt loved environmentalism and conservation. He had a BS from Vanderbilt University in Environmental Science and a Masters Degree in International Sustainable Development from Brandeis University.

He worked all over the world studying and trying to sustain our diverse, fragile and beautiful world. He worked with farmers on the Altiplano in Bolivia; he worked with sea turtles all over the Caribbean and Central America. He did environmental work in Baja California and on the Galapagos Islands and completed a 9-month sustainable development internship in Bangalore, India.

During the five years I knew Matt, I was lucky enough to receive e-mails and photo albums from him as he worked and traveled.

Matt was the first guy I ever really dated. He was the first guy with whom I ever really considered being in love. He was the first guy with whom I really considered building a life...

Our actual "relationship" was pretty short, however. Six months. But--for a first "relationship"--it was significant.

Matt was in transition when we met.

He had graduated from Vanderbilt and after having done non-profit work in Bolivia for six months, had decided to come and stay with his parents who had recently moved from Albany, NY (where Matt was raised) to Layton, Utah.

Both his parents have Utah--Mormon--roots and are devout members of the Church, who are now serving a Service Mission for the Church in Jamaica.

Matt himself served a mission in Chile.

When we met, Matt was getting ready to apply to graduate programs and I was just about to start my first year at Weber State in Ogden.

My own move to Ogden from Orem was a last ditch effort for me in a lot of ways.

After returning from my own mission to Russia five years earlier I had struggled--struggled--struggled with finding a course for my life and discovering what I was gonna do with "this thing". I was in and out of therapy--some of it useful, some of it less so. I had studied at UVSC for two years and then transferred to BYU for a semester, which...ummm...didn't work out.
I had been working pretty consistently at different jobs caring for individuals with disabilities and had been, naturally, doing a lot of theatre. Through all of this I was always in contact with my Bishops, who were overall wonderful and loving, and with my family and friends (who were also always wonderful and loving) about "this thing". I was trying desperately to work out what I was gonna do with it and I knew that "it" just did not fit into the life I thought I must lead to be happy.

I had a lot anxiety. I was up and down. I made a lot of progress in a lot of ways. This was not a horrible time--just a time of struggle.

In 1999, I had been disfellowshipped and I was working the hardest I ever had to make my life what I knew it should be. I was back in therapy, I was reading my scriptures, I was praying like a mad dog, I was attending church and activities, I was always looking for ways to love and serve, I was meeting with my wonderful Bishop weekly, I was working in a job I found stimulating and worthwhile, I was living in an apartment with my best and most supportive friend, AND I was dating an amazing woman--seriously. She knew all about "my struggles" and still wanted to try and pursue a relationship. She was kind, loving, patient, fun, VERY smart and, of course, beautiful. She and I had so much fun and she became a permanent part of my closest friends' lives as well. And my family adored her. I felt like it was gonna happen and I was on my way...

This went on for 9 months. I was 25. It was 2000.

Then, it’s hard to explain how or why--but both she and I gradually became aware that there were problems. Something was missing. It wasn't the physical component that was missing. Perhaps surprisingly, we had a very active--but chaste--physical relationship and I was not finding it difficult to imagine a future in that department. It was the "being in love" part that was missing.

I loved her. I did. I did.

Its been a long time since those days and what I now qualify as "being in love" is quite different than the young naive ideals I held then. But the truth is, whatever "being in love" may mean, it was not present in my feelings for her.

However, I do think she "was in love" with me. It wasn't until later, when I really did "fall in love" and have that love returned, that I could truly understand how deep her pain and disappointment must have been. (Not because I was so great or anything, but because when you're in love and it doesn't work out, it really hurts) I still feel badly for that. But she is and was an amazingly wise and compassionate woman who has always offered her friendship and support to me.

At the time, the failure of our relationship seemed catastrophic to me and within a few months, I had really come to a point where I felt I could go no further.

I needed to change my approach. I felt like I had tried everything.

Long before this--perhaps even before my own mission--I had given up the idea that I could somehow entirely rid myself of my homosexual feelings. I understood, even then, that through the Atonement and love of Christ I didn't have to be perfect. The Lord loved me as I was and He would aid and support me, despite my imperfections and temptations. All I had to do was do my best, give it everything I had and He would help me live the life He required of me. Even though I struggled so much, I had this inner and foundational peace--that I was loved and valued as I was. I understood that my homosexual feelings and identity were part of who I was, and the real struggle was understanding how they fit into my identity as a disciple of Jesus Christ and as a faithful member of His true Church.

Before the failure of my relationship with this woman and the subsequent turmoil, I would never have considered an approach to "this thing" that did not place the Church at the very center of my life.

I began to consider the possibility of living without the Church--without that support. Without the validation and surety it gave me that I was doing what God expected of me.

The thought terrified me. I was certain I would "loose the Spirit" and, worst of all I feared, I would loss my desire to do good. To live a loving life filled with good. I really wanted to do what was right. Could I be a good person without the Church?

I decided that I needed to finish my degree and I had a good friend who was studying theatre at Weber State so I went up and auditioned for a scholarship and received a full-tuition waiver. In June of 2001 I moved to Ogden to start a NEW LIFE! Ahhh Ogden! (New life may be pushing it--I needed a change. I needed to try something different)

It has proved to be a good choice. It really has changed my life immeasurably--in the exponential and untraceable ways that most decisions do...

I met Matt-- there in Ogden-- at the end of June. He and I were both 26.

Matt really was a big part of my life changing. Of course, I don't believe I thought about it too much at the time--how my life was changing--I was just trying to make my life work.

Both Matt and I were new to the area. We had no friends to speak of within 50 miles other than our families. Matt drove an old red Toyota Celica that barely moved and my own Honda Accord could barely make it from my apartment in Ogden to his parent's house in nearby Layton.

But we had so much fun. He introduced me to his family and cousins and he met my sisters who lived in Ogden. We went hiking all over the surrounding mountains. Matt helped me change a flat tire. We spent afternoons and nights together. We watched countless movies in the downstairs TV room at his parent's house, tangled on the couch, and when the movies were over we'd discuss and argue and laugh.

Matt's father, Stuart, was the Ward Boy Scout Leader and one August weekend he was taking his troop on a camping trip in the Uintah Mountains. Because Stuart wanted to get the best site possible, he asked Matt and I to take his car, packed with some of the equipment, up a few days early and set up a tent. So, Matt and I drove up through the Wasatch to the Uintahs and to Mirror Lake. We set up the camp and spent a couple days hiking the rocky cliffs and peaks--talking and laughing as we circled the glacial lakes and crossed the headwaters of the Provo River.

We laughed a lot. Matt was a smart ass and had a sarcastic streak, but he also had a kind and gentle humor. I say we talked and discussed, but mostly he listened and responded and took the piss out of my earnest opinions. I liked that.

This sounds hopelessly cliché, but Matt...had a laugh! Like any one's laugh, his was unique and indescribable. Matt's laugh belonged only to him and-- cliché again--I still hear it clearly. In fact it was remembering a joke we shared the other day--and the way Matt lifted his chin and chuckled so deeply-- that started me thinking it was time to write all this down.

Matt was happy. He had life in him. He was free and comfortable with himself in a way that I just was not yet. One night after classes had begun at Weber and I had made some other friends, we went dancing at a gay club in Salt Lake. Matt came with us. I remember being shocked and amazed at Matt's dancing. It was a crazy--yet somehow controlled--flurry of arms and legs and spins. I think he caught my almost embarrassed face and just smiled, happy in the freedom he found there-- dancing in his particular and joyful way.

Matt was free and full of action. He was a doer. At that point he had already served a two-year mission in Chile, spent a Spring Break working for Habitat for Humanity, a semester in the Caribbean tracking sea turtles and six months helping subsistence farmers in Bolivia.

I loved his stories and envied his exciting life. Despite his travels, Matt had a rootedness in him. I think it came from his wonderful family and from a knowledge that he was engaged in good works.

I was still unsure of so much. I know Matt must have been unsure as well in many ways. It's probably wrong to compare journeys, but he seemed so much farther than me.

I often found myself torn and confused about how to remain a good, decent, spiritual man even while I was clearly letting go of the very institution which had given me so much understanding of what Goodness, Decentness, and Spirituality meant.

I remember late one early fall night, after having watched a DVD, Matt and I were standing on the sidewalk in front of his parent's house in Layton. I love warm Utah nights in early fall. The sky was probably relatively clear, with a few big clouds, some stars and maybe a bright September moon throwing light on the giant Wasatch peaks making them glow in that familiar way. Matt and I were both raised good Mormon boys, we both served missions, we both had families who were active in and loved the Church. I told him it was hard for me to balance all of that. I told him that I still wanted to be a good person, that spirituality and God were still important to me and I told him that I was confused at how to manage that. I asked him what he thought.

He told me he didn't think about it too much. He told me it didn't bother him anymore. He said he had made a decision that he was going to be happy, that he was going to live an honest life and fill that life with goodness. He told me that, of course, he had questions. But, he said, he knew that if he spent his time doing good things--being happy--making the world a better place the best he knew how, all the questions would either work themselves out or, in the end, didn't matter.

I don't remember how or if I responded too much. I clearly remember what he said though.

At some point, several months later, Matt and I had "the talk". The talk where we mutually decided that "our relationship" wasn't going to "work out". He wasn't staying put for very long. He knew that he was going to Grad school within a year and would be moving about the world with the work he wanted to do. He had told me that he would settle down someday when he was stable.

I wanted something stable right then. Still, Matt didn't see why, while he was still living in Utah with his parents, we couldn't continue to date--without a commitment. I was very idealistic. I said, let's just be friends.

And you know what, we did become friends. We transitioned pretty smoothly to a genuinely supportive and good friendship. This was my first experience with what I have come to recognize as a nearly universal phenomenon among gay men: Ex gay lovers--partners--boyfriends--really do "stay friends". Often times, very good friends.

Matt got accepted to Brandeis and I continued to study at Weber. He moved to Boston. He called from school and kept me updated on his life, studies and dating. We talked weekly at first. He told me all about his roommates Melissa and Naomi, with whom I briefly chatted one winter evening when I called and Matt was not at home. In the spring, Matt came back to visit his parents. We hung out. He went back to Boston. I started dating someone else; he had his boyfriends. We talked about it all.

Matt went to India to do his internship. He loved that he was going to be in BANGalore, India. 'Nough said, right?

Our conversations turned to e-mails, supplemented by the hilarious group e-mails he sent about his life there. He sent pictures--wonderful pictures.

When he was back in the States, between non-profit jobs in Costa Rica, in Baja, or in the Galapagos Islands there were more phone calls.

I met Travis, graduated from Weber State and moved to New York City to start Grad school at Columbia University.

In the spring of 2006, Matt got a full time job with the World Wildlife Fund and moved to DC. He e-mailed to say; " I'm coming to New York this summer! And we are hanging out!" I replied that, sadly, I would miss him since I was going to be spending the summer at my family's Cottage on Lake Michigan with Travis caring for my grandfather and making money painting and roofing. He called me while I was at the cottage one July day and asked "Girl! How long have you and Travis been together?" I told him it was nearly four years now. He said, "And you guys are roofing?" I replied that, yes, we were. He said "Four years and roofing?!! You guys aren't gay--you're lesbians!"

He told me that his area of focus at the WWF was India and Nepal. He was working to create local partnerships to promote sustainable preservation of the habitat for elephants and tigers and the Red Panda. I told him I had always loved Red Pandas. He promised to send me a picture of one and we agreed that as soon as Travis and I were back in New York we would arrange a weekend trip to D.C. The next day I got an e-mail with a photo of a Red Panda attached.

A few weeks later, Matt called to tell me he was going to go on his first field assignment to Nepal and that he would be gone by the time I returned to New York. Our trip to D.C. would have to wait.

Then one late September morning back in New York, I was listening to NPR. On "Morning Edition" they reported that searchers had located the site of a WWF chartered helicopter, which had crashed the day before in a remote densely forested and mountainous region of western Nepal. There were no survivors.

It was a short news clip and I quickly searched the internet for more details. I found an article reporting the names of most of the 24 people who had been on board the helicopter when it crashed while returning from a ceremony where Nepali government officials and WWF officials had returned management of a conservation area to the local government. Of course, Matt's name was among those listed on board the helicopter when it crashed.

Somehow, it seems kind of silly to try to describe my feelings in that moment. I was not very well acquainted with death. I had never lost anyone this close to me. Matt was my friend. He was my ex-boyfriend. He was my first boyfriend. He and I were the same age. I hadn't seen him in years...

My grandmother had died when I was 8 and the summer before Matt's death, my high school drama teacher, Syd Riggs, with whom I was extremely close (she and her family were some of my closest friends), died unexpectedly. I hadn't been able to return to Utah for Syd's funeral and regretted it.

I was quickly contacted by one of Matt's high school friends who informed me that because there was little hope of finding Matt's remains, his family had decided to have a memorial service for Matt in Utah the following week. I determined that I would go.

The night before the memorial, I went to a party for Matt's friends held at his cousin's house in Salt Lake. I met his grad school roommate Naomi, who lived in Queens, and so many other people I never knew existed. Because Matt had spent so much of his life in such far-flung places, he had many friends who didn't know each other. Some of us of course, knew of each other, but most of us had never met. There we all were: Matt's cousins, his best friends from high school, his friends from undergrad, his friends from graduate school, and most of Matt's ex-boyfriends. Me included. It was awkward. It was emotional. It was overwhelming.

The next day, before the memorial, I stopped by Matt's parent's house in Layton. His parents had invited Matt's friends to stop by before the memorial to catch up or to get acquainted, as they had not met many of Matt's globe-scattered friends.

I hadn't been able to call and let Matt's parents know that I was going to attend the ceremony, and frankly, I was worried they wouldn't remember me. When Matt's mother, Vicki opened the door, there was a moment and then she smiled, threw open her arms and said, "Nate!" We embraced and she told me how touched she was that I had come and that, of course, she remembered me and always asked Matt for updates on my life.

Matt was my first boyfriend. I was not his. But I was--for Matt's parents--his first boyfriend. They had never met someone who Matt dated before me, and after me, his parents had only briefly met a few of Matt's other boyfriends.

Vicki called out to Stuart, who came from across the front room, filled with family and friends, and embraced me. He remembered me as well. There were so many people there and as Stuart and Vicki attended to guests, I stood in the living room for an awkward moment until Matt's sister Debbie approached me. Debbie lived in Shanghai with her husband and children and on her way to Utah, she had been able to stop in Nepal, where she attended a memorial service for all the victims of the crash. She said she had some wonderful photos and would send them to me. She took my e-mail address and turned to talk to another of Matt's friends.

I wandered, almost unthinkingly, downstairs. When I turned the corner at the bottom and saw the TV room--where Matt and I had watched all those movies--I was nearly buried by the palpable memory and emotion in that room. I sat on that couch, buried my face in it's cushions and cried.

Matt's family had decided to hold his memorial outside--not too far from Matt's parents house in Layton. It was fall in Utah. It was a bright October day. The scrub oak on the Wasatch peaks was orange and yellow and the sky beyond them was blue and endless.

When we got to the event center where the memorial was to be, I helped his family carry large photos of Matt standing on beaches in Costa Rica and Baja, on rocky cliffs in the Galapagos, in front of Hindu shrines in India, on mountains in Nepal, with his father on the rim of Crater Lake, with friends in a park in Albany, with his brother and sisters on a family vacation--so many pictures of the people and places that Matt loved. We carried them, along with other items from Matt's life and travels, to tables that surrounded rows of folding chairs.

During the memorial, Stuart and Vicki stood next to each other and expressed their thankfulness to all present, to the WWF officials who had traveled to be there and most of all for the life and blessing of their son, Matt. Stuart spoke about his son's work and life. Stuart, before a largely Mormon audience, said that his son had experienced attraction to members of the same sex and that Matt had shared his feelings and experiences with his family. He said that as Matt came to understand his own feelings and live his life accordingly, his family's compassion, acceptance and love increased. Stuart expressed gratitude for his son's choice to live honestly and openly.

Vicki, spreading her arms wide, said that "Matt walked through life like this. He walked with his arms open and gathered everyone that he encountered up in his arms, making friends of everyone. Matt made friends of everyone."

She then invited all of us--friends and family--to stand and share our feelings and memories of Matt. One by one people stood and spoke. Matt's mission president, his best friend from high school, his most recent boyfriend, and Naomi--his grad school roommate. They all stood and, in their own way, shared how Matt had changed them. I hesitated, but quickly decided to stand up.

I don't remember what I said exactly. I doubt it was particularly eloquent. I did my best to briefly explain that I had met Matt 5 years earlier here in Utah. That at that time, as a young gay Mormon man, I was struggling. I said Matt had been an example of peace and self-acceptance to me. That I, as Vicki described, had been caught up in Matt's arms of friendship. That because of Matt's goodness and his choice to live a life full of that goodness, I had been inspired. I thanked Matt's family and parents for helping instill in him that sense of unconditional love for self and others. I sat down and many others stood and expressed their love and gratitude for Matt. I don’t really remember doing it, but I know I looked up at the blazing fall Wasatch and the bold blue sky many times that afternoon. I wonder if I remembered that fall night in front of Matt’s parent’s house when he shared with me his intention to live a life filled with making the world a better place.

In November of that year, Naomi and I drove from NYC to Washington DC to attend a memorial service for all the WWF crash victims at the National Cathedral. The ceremony was incredibly moving. Because those who had died belonged to so many of the worlds many faiths, the ceremony consisted of short services, prayers, or readings representing many religious traditions. Besides the music and tributes, there was a Hindu Mantra, a Sikh Shabad, an Anglican Hymn, a reading from the New Testament, a Buddhist Meditation, and Matt’s brother read from Moroni 7 on hope and the pure love of Christ.

Later that year, while back in Utah visiting my own family in Orem, I drove up to Layton and sat with Matt’s parents in their living room. They are such kind, good humored, loving people—so honest and practical in their manner. It is not difficult for me to see Matt in their faces. Vicki told me how during the memorial in DC, as she listened to the beautiful and diverse expressions of faith in various languages, she realized how little separates us from each other. Stuart then asked me about my family, my studies, my writing and how being a gay Mormon had impacted my life. He explained that because of Matt he had become mindful of how much pain gay Mormon’s must experience. He wanted to know how I was doing. He listened as I told him that of course I have had my moments, but I was finding my way. I told him that Matt’s passing had made me think deeply about my choices and I knew that I wanted to recommit myself to making the most out of my life. Stuart said that Matt was honest and open with his family, but that Matt rarely expressed struggle, and if he did it was quickly followed by humor and laughter. Stuart said he wanted to understand his son and he asked me if Matt had ever talked about the difficulty of being Mormon and gay.

I started by telling them that my biggest fear when I chose to leave activity in the Church was that I would loose the "spirit" in my life--that I would no longer be able to be a good person.

I then told them about that fall night 5 years earlier in front of their house when I asked Matt how he managed so well. I said that Matt had told me he was at peace and that he was determined to focus on filling the world with good and making it a better place. I told them that Matt admitted he had questions, but that he was confident if he lived his life the best he could--filling it with goodness--it would all work out. I wished I could have said more, but that was really all Matt had said. He was a doer. He did things. He made the world a better place.

Vicki and Stuart thanked me and Stuart shared some very personal feelings and impressions he has had since Matt’s death. He then asked if it would be all right if we all knelt and prayed together. It was beautiful. I felt so understood, accepted and cared for by Stuart and Vicki. I have continued to communicate with Matt’s family and am blessed by their love and support.

Now, its 2 years later and I am sitting here in Russia writing this memory of my friend Matt. I started out by saying that what I wanted to say was rather simple.

And now 8 pages later I am still writing.

Clearly, I cannot sum up my feelings for Matt or what his life and friendship has meant to me in a few simple phrases. A life is a complex thing. Love is a complex thing—full of choice and responsibility.

I think Matt took tremendous responsibility for his choices and life. He loved life and he loved this world and its peoples. He chose to fill his life with goodness. He made the world a better place. He is a tremendous example to me. I am so thankful I knew him. I miss and love him.

Days before Matt's death, he and some of his fellow WWF workers chartered a small prop plane and flew over Mount Everest. The last e-mail I received from him was an invitation to view his photo album from that plane ride around the tallest point on earth. They are some amazing photos--solid gray peaks and ridges covered in permanent snow pushing up through cloudbanks and white fluttery trails.

I love thinking of Matt like that--up there looking down on the world he loved and worked to preserve. I love thinking of all that perspective in his eyes...

I guess I just wanted to record this here. To encourage myself and all of us, particularly those of us who may find ourselves cast in similar stories--Gay Mormons, families or friends of gay Mormons, Mormons and Gays, and just people who care—Do not be discouraged and disillusioned right now by this horrible, ridiculous near-sighted prejudice, anger and cruelty….

There is still love. There are good people—Gay and Mormon—who love each other and are willing to lay down the sword for a while and make the world a better place.

I want to make the world a better place too.

HELP!!

2008-11-21T07:53:00.004-05:00

This is a quick one:

So, I've never had a particularly hard time asking for help (...just ask my family). If I need help, I usually ask. If I don't need it,I don't. Sometimes I don't like it being offered, but I try to take it where I can get it...

So I need all of you wise and helpful readers, friends, and family to give me some advice on how to SLEEP!!!

Here's the deal:

I teach every morning at 8am in the Center of Moscow. I live like a 25 mins Metro-ride from the Center and from my house it's a 10 min walk to the Metro. So I really need to get up by 6:30am-- at the latest.

Also, I usually teach an evening class and don't get home from that until around 10pm...

I never have a hard time waking up.

(when I am up I am UP!)

I have a hard time falling asleep.

I'm not particularly anxious--don't worry--for those of you who remember my anxiety ridden early 20's, rest assured, those days have NOT returned!

I just have always needed a good 2 hours to wind down once I get home and then a good hour to really slip off into REM land...

So basically by the time I fall asleep its like 1am (if I am lucky) And...well, 6.5 hrs DOES NOT cut it for me...

Never has...I tend to get...sick...and fat...and less productive...

So, I am asking for your generous advice! Whatever it is! Give it!

(I want to avoid drugs....my little dusty orange bottle of xanax is only for special airbourne naps--and extreme emergenicas!)

Can you help?

Thank you! Thank you!
I love you all!

"Heal the Crystal!" Can't we just heal the crystal, y'all?

2008-11-19T03:26:00.003-05:00

Jen healed the crystal and all sorts of good things happened...

The world was reborn all green and shiny, Kira got resurrected, and the evil nasty Skeksis and the good peaceful Mystics got super-sonic-laser fused into new beings--who all looked like an elongated Bob Dylan from his Afro days decked out in white Christmas lights..

So, lets heal the crystal y'all.
LET's HEAL the CRYSTAL !!!!
...and then maybe things will get better.
Maybe then all the old mean white men will fuse with all the young angry gay men and make crazy glowing beings who vote for equal rights and see the world as a place to be shared--maybe they will join and become wise benevolent beings who don't vandalize property, don't send white powder in envelopes to churches, but calmly and firmly demand to live in a country where their lives and relationships are counted as equal ....

yeah?

HOPE!!!

2008-11-15T07:57:00.007-05:00

I found this through a friend on facebook.

Please watch this well edited 2 minute clip, but first:

Over the past week, in my anger, frustration, disappointment and disillusionment over Prop 8, I've felt like saying--concerning some of the "bad" things people have been doing in response to the vote--I felt like saying:

"Well, what did you all expect?"

I've been really disoriented and unsure about where to go. About how to move forward.

Then I watched this video ten minutes ago and was reminded about what I really believe.

Here's what I think:

We need a little less of the angry people shouting in front of Temples, a little less boycotting of Mormon businesses, we need fewer people feeling they must resign because they voted YES on 8, we need NO white powder in envelopes, and NO MORE people whining about being "victimized" on both sides, and we need A LOT MORE of this kind of HOPE!

We all have been victims at one point or another and we all know how it feels.
We also know that it is within our power to rise above victimization!
In fact it is our only choice.

I'm not saying we don't protest, I'm not saying we don't get angry, I'm not saying we don't demand change--but I'd like to see it happen from our side with a little more compassion and civility.

Particularly where we have been so marginalized and our position so misrepresented , ignored and maligned--we should respond with that much more interest, respect, and compassion.

Where they refuse to acknowledge the legitimacy of our lives and feelings, we MUST respond with a demand, an unwavering belief and a HOPE that all people's lives and feelings can be legitimized and acknowledged in this great Nation.

Watch and let me know what you think!
I was really really really moved!

(Harvey Milk was the first openly-gay man to be elected to public office in the US in 1977. His most recognized speech, "You Cannot Live On Hope Alone," was given in 1978, shortly before he was assassinated. ...)

moon over moscow

2008-11-13T08:43:00.005-05:00

moon rising in moscow

This is the view looking west right now...

...its 4:45 pm here in Moscow...

...just thought I would share...

...pretty, huh?

...in that Moscow kind of way...

Thanks to all of you have read and commented/shared your thoughts on BIRTHRIGHT...

some of you have confirmed something I had been concerned about--
the language can get a little too colorful and drippy--circuitous and heady--
so I am reading Hemingway for a lesson in sparseness...and editing...

You've also said good things

and I am thinking a lot about your ideas

THANKS

keep reading

3 Things

2008-11-10T15:41:00.009-05:00

1) This is my friend Kristin. Kristin and I got some MFA's in the Playwriting at the Columbia U. SoA together...She is a fantastic playwright--witty and insightful. Kristin sees the world in a very unique and satisfying way. I love spending time with her because, besides being a great friend with whom I have stimulating and productive conversations, I laugh me a@# off with her. This woman is FUNNY!
So, here in Russia--I've been jonesin' for some Kristin. The other day I found her blog: Baroness VonFroberg. Go there! She reviews movies--mainly bad ones. Its fun. She kept me up laughing out loud the other night.
Thanks Kristin.
(you can click on the link above or find another link in my sidebar)

2) As promised, I have begun posting my serial novel/fake memoir/thinly veiled semi-autobiographical story/ excuse to talk about my favorite hot button issues in the form of an exciting narrative/thing-y.

It's called BIRTHRIGHT
and you can also get to it from the above link or find it in the sidebar just below my profile.

I would really like it if you would read it--at your leisure (the first installment is about 16 pages long-single spaced times new roman) AND give me your feedback.

As you may know, I have-- for the past 5-6 years-- focused almost exclusively on writing plays-- some poetry and academic essay stuff thrown in here and there--OH and blogs...

and I wanted to try something new and have some FUN with it--so I came up with this idea to write and post--and to get FEEDBACK as I go along...
Not the normal way one writes their first GREAT NOVEL--
but is an experiment!

It has been interesting writing prose narrative again.
I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm learning and discovering my style--trying things--I do a lot of editing as I write and even after I've posted.

Here in Moscow, it seems, I have less opportunity for intellectual discussion and debate-- in English at least--and this story thingy has become a place to put all that thinking to use...
I also think an interesting story is developing.

A little about it:
It takes place here in Moscow--right now and about 13 years ago.
Part of the story takes place in Illinois in 1844.
Part of it takes place in northern Ireland in the early 17th century.
There are former Mormon missionaries in it.
There are gay people in it. (surprise!)
There is a lot of talk about political theories and history.
There is a lot of talk about current events.
There are some moral dilemmas...
There is some romance...
(most of it gay...not too elicit though...but it may be tricky for the more conservative reader...JUST A NOTE...ya know...
a warning!)

For the literary--and not so literary-- folk, here are a couple other works that I think have been informing me as I write:

1) Baldwin's "Giovanni's Room"
2) Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises"
3) Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Bulgakov and to a lesser degree Chekhov
4) Kushner's "Angels in America"
also--this may be horrible, but 5) Mitchel's "Gone with the Wind"
and, of course, 6) the current global and political landscape

Please let me know what you think!

You could seriously help me by being honest and REALLY telling me what you think--about it all:
the opinions my characters express
the language and my use of it--is it working?
the developing narrative structure
the questions it brings up for you about the many issues I am exploring and generally b.s-ing about =)

Do comment and help me out--encourage me to write....
or not...

3) I had something--a piece of dust or dirt--stuck in my eye for like 4 hours today and it HURT so bad!
It is my least favorite thing in the world.
something in the eyes!!!!

UGGHHH!!!

...its better now.

Thanks for reading!

A Poem THING

2008-11-08T10:58:00.009-05:00

I am posting this poem I wrote last week...

I'm not sure if it means anything, really.

Besides being mind trippingly circuitous and parenthetical (like most of my writing) I think it is an attempt to exorcise some of my frustration with certain things that went down on Tuesday.

(a one certain thing which I wish could just be swallowed up in the MOMENTOUS BEAUTY and WONDER of such an HISTORIC, HOPEFUL, INSPIRING and NEEDED MANIFESTATION of the POWER of CHANGE and DEMOCRACY with which we were blessed Tuesday night.)

But if this poem reflects some of my feelings, it certainly does not reflect how I feel all the time. Further, I am not sure to whom it is addressed. If you think it may be addressed to you, please don't take it personally--I was just rolling with some words and feelings, okay?

Also it may be kinda smug. But, hey--I am human; From time to time, I am susceptible to feeling various negative emotions--like....smugness. Besides the smugness, there also may be something honest and worth exploring in it...

(okay enough analysis of my own writing)

Here 'tis:
I have been you
but you have never been me:

I have looked at the world as you do
without the benefit of seeing the world as I do
—I have looked at the blue green sphere
divided in two:
peopled by those within the circle like you
and those without like me
and when I saw as you do
I counted myself blessed to be within that knowing ring
but now without it
I see spinning singing light-tracing lives
worlds without end
with no safely placed lines of “like me/like you”…
just humanity—just people
like me
and
like…you
and not like me and not like you…

I have been you
but you have never been me
and having become me
I could never go back to being you
but you will always be a part of me
—whereas I am no longer a part of you
for I have become me…

(I kinda look chunky in this picture, don't I? I was a little chunkier--note, I'm not saying 'fat', just chunky...maybe its just the haircut and angle...I just look round-ish....whatever. =))

LOVE and MISS you ALL!

YES WE DID!!! the end of cynicism...

2008-11-05T02:27:00.023-05:00

Any lingering cynicism in me has been vanquished! The idealist in me has won!

I am so so so so happy!

Barack Hussein Obama is the President Elect of the United States of America!

It's 10:31 am here in Moscow...(2:31 am in NYC)

Last night at 8:45pm here, I took some xanax (just .05 mg. I had to--you know me--I was so excited I could not sleep) and went to bed and was up at 5am (10:00pm in NYC) to turn on the KCRW (California NPR station) Simulcast on iTunes and to watch the Yahoo! News Dashboard, the CNN Live News Feed and to talk with friends on gchat and facebook to be connected to this great moment!!
The Internet is amazing, right?!!!

I am so so so SAD I am missing the celebrations in NYC right now and wish I was in AMERICA, but can, with no cynicism say--I love AMERICA and I am proud to be AMERICAN today!

I cried during McCain's lovely and respectful concession speech--it was really really great and I loved it when he asked his supporters to join him not only in congratulating, but in supporting President Barack Obama!

Thank you, John!

Your kind and gracious words of unity are needed and moved me a lot!

and THEN! Oh and THEN during Barack's speech-- I wept, cheered and threw my arms in the air in joy over and over!!!!

I loved it when he said: " I will listen to you, especially when we disagree..."

and I literally sobbed when he said:

"Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope."

and this:

"And while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress.

As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, we are not enemies but friends. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection."

and this:

" (this movement)...drew strength...from the millions of Americans who volunteered and organized and proved that more than two centuries later a government of the people, by the people, and for the people has not perished from the Earth."

YES WE CAN!!!
(we DID!!!!)

(I just cried again when I pasted it in there...)

and I was inspired by these humble, wise and true words:

"This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were."

This part was important to me, too:

"It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. "

( we are accounted for, yippee!!!)

You guys this is a great day!

A new day...
Nov. 5, 2008. 10:30 am. Moscow, Russia
(looking west toward America from my window here in Moscow)

Especially today, I love and miss America --and what it represents-- so very much!

AND I miss and Love all of you!
(me this morning, very happy, with the westward facing view behind me)

God bless you and God bless AMERICA!!!!

(now--about Prop 8.....hmmm... sad sad sad...but that's a blog for tomorrow--today is all about JOY!
Oh HAPPY DAY!)

One Day More!

2008-11-03T02:32:00.036-05:00

I think we should vote for Barack Hussein Obama because he is.... black.

Yes.

I said it.

The fact that Obama is "a person of color", of "mixed race", a "member of a racial minority", a "son of immigrants"--blah blah--all of that puts him at the top of my list!

Of course you all know--because you read all of my "Gone with the Gays" post-- that I think the very existence of "race" as something definitive is, most likely, one of numerous merely linguistic and largely arbitrary conventions we human beings use to describe what we perceive as differences between groups of people.

In other words--who cares what color a person's skin is or where he comes from or who his parents are!

Honestly, I do sincerely believe that when it comes to a person's character, intelligence, ability--anything--the above factors don't tell me, or anyone, anything definitive.

So why do I say that I think we should vote for Obama because he is black?

Well, of course, I'm sorta kidding--but as the Russians say "в каждой чутке есть доля чуткы" (v kazhdoi shutke yest dolya shutki) which translates to something like "in every joke there's a little piece of a joke".... think about it.... aaaaaand....Ok. Got it?...Ok. Good. Moving on.

So basically, there's something quite serious about what I am saying about my reason for believing in Obama's presidency.

And why do I say that?

I think I say that because a) I am an idealist and because b) I'm a cynic.

I believe someone once said that every cynic began as an idealist, but I am actually both at the same time.

Let's start with b).

I am a cynic because, or rather because I am a cynic, I actually don't believe Presidents really do that much.
Particularly American Presidents.
I don't think they have as much power to bring about sweeping changes, as they--or we --like to believe.
I am disinclined to really get behind the idea that a lot changes in government or the lives of people simply because someone new takes office.

With a few notable exceptions, Presidents tend to be little more than points of reference on the history charts.

(Those of you who are real history buffs--please call me out on this--but I think you take my point, that with a few major exceptions, Presidents simply are one part of much larger social, political and historical movements and, at best, respond to change rather than affect it.)

I am also cynical, when it comes right down it, about whether Obama's approaches to our Nation's crippling ailments are VASTLY better than John McCain's. (Lets all pray that they are because I am voting for him and so are you!!!)

I hardly consider myself a real Democrat, and when I do consider myself a real Democrat, its only because I think its the better choice, not the RIGHT choice.

Here's--hopefully--the bottom line when it comes to my cynicism regarding American Presidents: I am cynical about people in power. I don't trust them.

I mean-- what kind of human being really wants to be President of United States of America? I can't really answer that, because I don't know anyone like that, and that kind of scares me....

Maybe I could be a better President?

Personally, if you're looking for good people, I think Allison Dawn Green Moschetti should run for office.

All this said--there is this little part of me that wants to believe in Obama's story--that he is a candidate of HOPE and CHANGE. His personal story--and remember we all tell our stories the way we like them told--is pretty f******** amazing. (I mean--have you read "Dreams From My Father"? The whole thing. Not just the excerpts you got in that e-mail from Uncle Chuck up in Coeur D’Alene )

So this leads us to a) the idealist part of me.

I believe in people.
I believe in love.
I believe that everyone who has ever walked on this earth and the anyone who ever will is worthy of love and deserves some respect.
I believe that we are in fact responsible to each other.
I believe in a broad and literal interpretation of these words from the Declaration of Independence:

that all men are created equal and endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights... ...that Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

And in this phrase from the Preamble from the Constitution:

We the people of the United States...

And in Lincoln's interpretation of the above phrase from his Gettysburg Address:

...that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth...

The more time I spend in a nation where there is little to no real access to power for the average citizen, the more I value these ideas.

The idea that government should literally represent the people--that a government should, in fact, be its people. This is a lofty and most likely unattainable goal. But for me, what The American Experiment stands for is the commitment to that ideal--that despite its unattainably, we will continue to try to make it a reality.

Now, back to Presidents.

If a President does anything at all--he represents the American people. Not only does he represent the American people to the world, but he also represents the American people to themselves. And when I say, "represent" I don't mean in a demographic way--I mean in an ideological way.

Let's remember some of the Presidents that represented a needed and, retrospectively, important shift in the way we, as Americans--as the government--wanted to see ourselves and the world:

George Washington, to start with... Abraham Lincoln (a Republican) F.D. Roosevelt (a Democrat) J.F. Kennedy (a Democrat) Ronald Reagan (a Republican)....surprised? But I love his "its morning in America" quote.

...And how about a couple bad ones:

Richard Nixon (a Republican) George W. Bush (a Republican)

All of these Presidents have come to represent an ideology and general feeling--and for better or worse, some real changes--about the time in which their Presidencies occurred.

I am looking at my passport right now--it’s got like three big Russian Visas covered with orange and blue entry and exit stamps and other similar stamps from the UK and Finland and Estonia and Norway. If I had my old one--it would have stamps from Romania and Hungary and Germany too...

As an American abroad, I can tell you--at least in these places--every one's got an opinion about America. America represents something to everyone.

America represents a lot to me, too. I hope it represents a lot to you too.

The idealist in me loves the United States of America very much.
The idealist in me doesn't care at all whether America is the greatest military or economic power on earth, whether our foreign policy is dominant in Latin America, the Middle East or anywhere. I don't even care how abysmally low the current state of our Health Care system is ranked in the world by the United Nations !!!34th!!! (Although I do care a lot about the actual state of our Health Care system)

I do care enormously about how we Americans see ourselves and thereby how we interact with the rest of the world, because--take it from Jesus--do unto others as you would have done unto you--love thy neighbor as thyself-- and, from less godly sources-- what goes around comes back around...

The prevailing opinion of our neighbors, the best I can see in my current neck of the woods, is that America is not a good neighbor... that America really isn't living up to--even for its own people--its lofty ideals.

You see, I want to believe in an America where we really really do believe that every human being is equal and where we can and do strive for a government for the people, by the people and of the people.

America is a land of incredible diversity--we are a nation of immigrants and displaced peoples--we are a nation that while founded on the ideals of equality, has--right from the start--struggled with a horrible inability to truly realize this ideal.

We are a nation whose early economy was largely based on the labor of slaves! Human beings who were not, contrary to the beautiful and elegant language in the Declaration, considered equal--legally!!!

We have come a long way in changing this--I am always moved by the realization that we have made so much progress--but there is still so much to be done.

We are a nation where each subsequent wave of immigrants--whether your people came from Ireland, or Italy, or Sweden, or China, or Japan, or England, or India, or Mexico, or Puerto Rico, or the DR or India or Kampuchea or Sudan (.... I LOVE AMERICA!!!....)--Each wave has had to and continues to struggle to be fairly represented in our national and political life.

I want to believe in this American ideal--that we really can build a nation where everyone is equal and has access to government. Where the government is truly for the people and by the people. I want to be able to turn to my friends in other nations and say, “ Look we really are making good on that promise...it can really happen!”

and I want to look with you, my fellow citizens, on a nation that believes in its own ideals and is committed to the constant improvement and implementation of these ideals.
You guys, it's time--it's time--it is time to take another big step in, at least representationally, following through with the implementation of this ideal.

I want the next President of the United States of America to represent the idea that "government for the people, by the people, and of the people shall not perish from the earth" in a way that no previous President has.

When Barack Obama becomes the next President of the United States of America it will not mean that we have overcome racism in America--or that now immigrants and disenfranchised people have a definitive voice.

It will just be a HUGE representation of the fact that America really believes in such ideals.

If it seems like I am dismissing the "real" issues like the Economy, the War, National Security, Health Care, Education...well, I am a little. Not because they are not important, but because, I don't believe it makes a lot of difference which of the candidate becomes President when it comes to these issues.

While I hope and am putting my money behind the idea that Obama will do a better job with the issues, I don't think either of our candidates are disasters....

While I don't very much agree with McCain on anything and I tend to agree with Obama on a lot more, I think both--as leaders, as human beings are probably...hmmm...equal--qualified--whatever....

(hell, I even kinda like McCain. Did you see him on SNL?)

But AMERICA! AMERICA! Needs something more than just a likable or qualified President--it needs to be able to see itself as a nation that believes in and makes good on its ideals...

...And whatever way you shake it--Obama represents that in a profound and real way.

He represents change that is founded in our dearest ideals of equality and true government "for the people, by the people and of the people."

So, to circle back to my opening statement, do I really think that voting for Obama because he's black--or mixed--or whatever--is a good reason.

No, of course not.

Not in a country where we REALLY believe and REALLY ACT in away that reflects the belief that all human beings are created equal and thereby entitled to the same rights and same access to government....

...but are we that country?

I want us to be.

All things being equal--even if the candidates are--in all other regards-- "equal"--the fact that Barack Obama better represents the ideal of equality, makes him a better choice for the office of President.

The world is entering--has entered--a new era, where I think America has to accept the reality that it needs to take its place as an equal among the nations--not as the great leader of nations.

This doesn't mean we cease to be the incredibly unique nation we have been and hopefully still will be, but it means we have to be willing to change and grow in new ways.

It means that we have to think long and hard about what it means to be an American and to work hard at making what this means a reality...

and I think most of us believe that the ideals of equality and a government that genuinely represents its people and their ideals should be its foundation.

For me, Barack Obama as President will represent this type of thinking best...

Among the many many things to think about before, as and when you step into that booth tomorrow, I hope you will consider what I've said!

I start to cry a little every time I think about not being there tomorrow!

I really think America is stepping up to the plate, you guys!

Let's do it! Let's make good on those promises!!!

Thank you!

2008-11-01T05:16:00.011-04:00

(The view from my bedroom window here in Moscow the other night)

I just wanted to say thank you to my readers!

Most of you know me, so you most likely know that my whining about low comment tallies or declining readership statistics is mostly all in fun.

But being so far away from all of you--usually with out even telephone contact--makes your comments even more special.

(Evening in the center of Moscow)

...so THANK YOU!

Particularly thanks to those of you who have commented and shared your responses, agreements and disagreements on the last several "intense" posts.

It means a great deal to me to read your thoughts, feelings and ideas.

In reference to the "gone with the gays" post--I really was touched by how many of you, my friends and family, expressed your love.
Thanks for taking the time--a significant amount, I know--out of your lives to read and comment!
Please know it means a great deal to me!

Thank you!

Also, I know that MANY of you read but don't often comment.
I want to definitively say:
That is OKAY!
Honestly, I know that not everyone is driven by an intense and overwhelming need to comment on EVERYTHING and ANYTHING
ANYONE
ANYWHERE
as
EVER
said...

(do I know anyone like that....? hmmm? ...........hmmmm? Wait...wait...
wait...
there was this one guy I knew...who...
now....who was it....?
hmmm.... )

(Me in Moscow)

Once again, thank you thank you!

and no worries--Obama!! post is coming soon!

Happy Halloween from Russia where they don't give the children candy...

2008-10-31T07:54:00.009-04:00

Apparently, here in Russia, they really don't celebrate Halloween in that "happy, lets- make- this- ancient- Celtic New Year Celebration -which- besides-honoring -the -end -of- harvest- was -also -quite- literally a- night -of -the- living- dead (see wikipedia article here)-fun-for-little kids" kind of way...

Here they really wanna scare the kids--and the adults...

These are some posters for some Halloween parties in popular clubs here, where people can get scared out of their minds by that--Egyptian Joker furry collared half Ram half dead man thing in this poster...

I hate scary things...

In these clubs you can also dress up like the devil and "baby hookers"

or this one:

(note: if your young children are watching over your shoulder-cover their eyes--anime black lace masked evil mooning woman alert! )

Huh?
I really am ashamed to be posting this picture...
but...
what
does it mean?
How does this poor bare-assed woman have anything to do with the Eve of Destruction?

Halloween is weird.

But I like the idea of Samhain...sorta... look it up here!

So another WARNING:

for anyone who is still following my blog, I am going to be posting, in the coming days, a couple of posts that maybe I should warn you about...( I know my readership has declined in the past weeks since I've gotten...umm...political...not to mention long winded... you think I don't check my statistics?)
....anyway--I will be posting one post VERY soon about why I really, sincerely feel that this election is SUPER important and that you really should consider voting for Barrack H. Obama...
and!
And!!!
AND!!!!!
You GUYS!
I'm going to start posting a serial!
I'm writing a novel--memoir--prose-- sorta thing and I'm gonna start posting installments on here!
Its sorta kinda a thinly veiled, but still filled with lots of made up stuff, account of my emotional, political, theoretical, artistic and spiritual journey here in Moscow...
and it might be kinda intense sometimes...
so
just...
ya know...
WARNING you!

I Thought You Might Like to Spend a Few Minutes of My Last Day in Helsinki with Me...

2008-10-28T06:12:00.020-04:00

...So, I took you with me on some of my errands for the day. You remember, of course, that it was a beautiful, bright October Finnish day--but I was so busy getting ready for the trip back to Moscow that we didn't get to go to any particularly interesting and beautiful places like the harbor or the city center or to some of the Helsinki's amazing parks, but at least I got to show you the neighborhood where I stayed and we got to hang out for a few minutes...

Here's the video we took:

Here are a few photos of the places we wanted to go, but didn't have the time to see:

A sunlit cobble street in the center...

The stately Cathedral of Helsinki taken from Tähtitorninmäki, a lovely park above the harbor

Sailboats moored at the city Harbor

The vibrant fall sun over the Baltic

A lonely soul looking out at the windy sea...

That naked guy I'm always telling you about...

Whatever....okay...I'll stop talking about things that really matter...

2008-10-23T08:13:00.017-04:00

Since I can't seem to generate a lot of discussion with my posts about the precarious state of the Great Lakes, or the intersection of gay rights, Gone with the Wind, religious....umm...fervor, and racism, I thought I'd return to the silly and sweet that has proved safer for you all and me....

Here are some videos:

First:

Heart's biggest hit of 1989 "All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You"

I really hope you enjoyed that as much as I did...

Now, I don't want to draw any attention away from what a fine example of late 80's Butt Rock Pop Videography we have here. ( I mean Ann Wilson's big dark top heavy tendrilled hair all back-blasted with light and her red pencil-defined lips wrapping around this melody are all just thrilling. Really! And Nancy Wilson's own love making there to her guitar at the end is pretty steamy. Isn't it?)

But let's talk about these lyrics for a moment, shall we?

I have to say my favorite line--really the fusion of melody and lyric-- has always been the build up to the immortal hook ( i.e. all I wanna do is make love to you):

Here is that build up:

I didnt ask him his name,
This lonely boy in the rain.
Fate, tell me its right,
Is this love at first sight?
Please dont make it wrong,
Just stay for the night.

All I wanna do is make love to you....blah blah

But how about in the second verse?

He brought the woman out of me,
So many times, easily...

Umm...I'm blushing, Ann. Really.

And then--this is killer. Really:

I am the flower you are the seed
We walked in the garden
We planted a tree

Yuck.

And then in the late- 80's-synth-electric guitar-break-it-down bridge when she coos:

We made love...
Love like strangers...
We made laaa--uuuv....

That's pretty damn cool, too.

So. If you didn't catch it from the video, let's make it clear what this song is really all about?

It's about her having sex with this hot stud she found on the road so she could have a baby because apparently her man didn't have the seed for her flower to grow a tree....

And I thought it was about straight up dirty hotel room fornication!!!

Okay another video:

Second:

Travis sent me this video about the struggle to prevent Asian Carp from entering the Great Lakes ecosystem, because he really cares. Just kidding--I know a lot of you do!

Here are people really working to save the Lakes! The video is interesting... Thanks Travis!

(also, bear in mind as you watch this that what is being shown here ARE NOT the GREAT LAKES, but the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers, beautiful in their own special way, but nothing like the Lakes!)

Gone with the Gays

2008-10-20T06:49:00.089-04:00

IMPORTANT NOTICE ( 10/22 11:47 EST) : I did yet another revision on the end and added some VERY important clarifications. I think you should read it. Its the most important part... BUT because I fear most of you are, understandably, a bit daunted by the task of ingesting this mammoth post, I am going to post some of that revision here. Maybe it will persuade you to read the whole thing. If not, as I said, this is the most important part:

I am exhausted with, not only this post, but also this struggle.

I NEED the love of my family and friends so much, even those who love me but hate my sin.

But I wish that both Uncle Peter and I could say:

If that's the kind of love you give, then keep it...

I want love that respects all of me not just the definitions you chose to acknowledge as legitimate.

But we rarely are afforded such luxurious desires when it comes to love.

Love, REAL LOVE-- genuine concern, care and interest for the well-being of another individual--this type of real love is such a rare thing, and is almost always imperfect in practice.

It is so rare that we'd all be fools not to accept what little of it we can get. However, imperfect it may be.

This truth--that love is precious and rare and should be valued above almost all else-- is an idea that I try very hard to place at the center of my life.

For this reason, I am willing to accept imperfect love from others but also bewildered as to why others would so desperately want to limit the expression and legitimacy of others' love.

Love is rare. Let's try to make more of it. The best we can, eh?

And I am not so arrogant and foolish to believe that I have reached such a high level of love production in my own life that I am beyond censure....

So...if my beloved family and friends will keep trying, so will I.

WARNING:
this is a very long post. quite definitely the longest I have ever done. and there are NO pictures. just me talking and some hefty sections of Gone with the Wind. Also it begins quite strong and clear, but in the 5 hours I have been writing...my logic and resolve weakened before the task of tying many ideas tightly together . And toward the end it gets a little turned over on itself. Still, I think it's worth your time.
Read it in sections, like a serial or a novel...
I hope you will read...

NOTE (10/21 7:45 am EST) : I have done some re-editing and re-working since first posting this essay. If you began earlier, you may want to go back and re-read...sorry...
but 'tis betta now...

Some of you may know that over two years ago now I began working with a theatre company known as the TEAM.

The subject of this post has little to nothing to do with the TEAM-- ( they are great and are really going places and working with them was a fantastic experience. Check them out at theteamplays.org! )-- but I begin my story with this fact because as part of the work I did with the TEAM in creating their current play "Architecting", I read Margaret Mitchell's "Gone with the Wind" for the first time.

Now, as I've been kinda sorta stuck here in Finland, waiting for my Russian Work Visa, I decided to re-read GWTW...

It's provided an interesting back drop for a lot of the current political issues we as a nation are debating and under its lens my own thoughts and struggles, during this heated political season, have been brought into a more acute and painful focus.

From the post title you may have guessed that the subject of the post may have something to do with "the Gays".... whom I know you all love and respect. I mean " some of (your) best friends are gay " aren't they?

More on that later, however I am going to throw a question out here for you all to chew on before I launch off in what might seem like an entirely tangential direction.

The question is:

In what ways are race and sexuality analogous and in what ways are they not so analogous?

So basically, how are sexuality and race (and the issues surrounding them) similar and how are they different?

Just dropping that in here at the top. Okay?

Okay. Back to "Gone with the Wind"...

Well, if you haven't read GWTW--or if its been a long time--or if you've only seen the film--I'll talk a little bit 'bout what I think the book is about.

First, the title "Gone with the Wind". So exactly what is gone with the wind? Well, in my opinion, many things are gone with the wind. A civilization--a way of life--a world view--the Old South. It's basically the tale of how a civilization was swept away--how a way of life passed away.

This is all very dramatic--this is what makes it so irresistibly tantalizing, right? Despite the--well... almost trashiness of it all. No one wants to acknowledge this novel as a real piece of literature.... right? I kind of agree...

I think the popular idea of GWTW as a romance is accurate in the sense that it is a romantic portrayal of the past--it is a romanticized view of something. But it is not a romance in that its prime subject is love. Yes, a major arc of the novel is Scarlett's irrepressible love for Ashley Wilkes, but even that is gone with the wind in the end. Despite its cheesiness and schlockiness, there is some real social observation and criticism going on here. Its worth reading and examining.

One of the most troubling and interesting aspects of the book is its portrayal of this "swept away" civilization's attitudes about race. The most revelatory incidents on race relations from the book were all effectively expunged from the 1939 film. Still, in watching the film, one can clearly see that even in 1939--well, it was a different world.

An incident which only appears in the book (which, incidentally also appears in "Architecting"):

After Atlanta has fallen to the Yankees and Scarlett has struggled to maintain Tara, she eventually returns to Reconstruction-era Atlanta and buys a lumber mill. She is a successful business woman, partly because, unlike the other defeated Confederates she willingly deals with the occupying Yankees and their families who have moved into Atlanta.

As she goes about town doing her business, she is driven by Uncle Peter, a former slave who has stayed on with her dead husband's family.

One day several Yankee women stop Scarlett in need of her advice on a subject. One of the women asks:

"My nurse, my Bridget, has gone back North. She said she          wouldn't stay another day down here among the 'naygurs' as          she calls them. And the children are just driving me          distracted! Do tell me how to go about getting another          nurse. I do not know where to apply."                    

"That shouldn't be difficult," said Scarlett and laughed. "If you can find a darky just in from the country who hasn't been spoiled by the Freedmen's Bureau, you'll have the best kind of servant possible. Just stand at your gate here and ask every darky woman who passes and I'm sure--

The three women broke into indignant outcries.

"Do you think I'd trust my babies to a black nigger?" cried the Maine woman. "I want a good Irish girl."

"I'm afraid you'll find no Irish servants in Atlanta," answered Scarlett, coolness in her voice. "Personally, I've never seen a white servant and I shouldn't care to have one in my house. And," she could not keep a slight note of sarcasm from her words, "I assure you that darkies aren't Cannibals and are quite trustworthy."

" Goodness, no! I wouldn't have one in my house. The idea!"

"I wouldn't trust them any farther than I could see them and as for letting them handle my babies . . ."

Scarlett thought of the kind, gnarled hands of Mammy worn rough in Ellen's service and hers and Wade's. What did these strangers know of black hands, how dear and comforting they could be, how unerringly they knew how to soothe, to pat, to fondle? She laughed shortly.

"It's strange you should feel that way when it was you all who freed them."

"Lor'! Not I, dearie," laughed the Maine woman. "I never saw a nigger till I came South last month and I don't care if I never see another. They give me the creeps. I wouldn't trust one of them. . . ."

For some moments Scarlett had been conscious that Uncle Peter was breathing hard and sitting up very straight as he stared steadily at the horse's ears. Her attention was called to him more forcibly when the Maine woman broke off suddenly with a laugh and pointed him out to her companions.

"Look at that old nigger swell up like a toad," she giggled. "I'll bet he's an old pet of yours, isn't he? You Southerners don't know how to treat niggers. You spoil them to death."

...Scarlett felt, rather than saw, the black chin begin to shake with hurt pride, and a killing rage swept over her. ...the knowledge that they had hurt the faithful old darky with their stupid remarks fired her like a match in gunpowder. For a moment she looked at the big horse pistol in Peter's belt and her hands itched for the feel of it.

"Uncle Peter is one of our family," she said, her voice shaking. "Good afternoon. Drive on, Peter."

She glanced at Peter and saw that a tear was trickling down his nose. Instantly a passion of tenderness, of grief for his humiliation swamped her, made her eyes sting. It was as though someone had been senselessly brutal to a child.

"Peter," she said, her voice breaking as she put her hand on his thin arm. "I'm ashamed of you for crying. What do you care? They aren't anything but damned Yankees!"

"Dey talked in front of me lak Ah wuz a mule an' couldn' unnerstan' dem--lak Ah wuz a Affikun an' din' know whut dey wuz talkin' 'bout," said Peter, giving a tremendous sniff. "An' dey call me a nigger an' Ah' ain' never been call a nigger by no w'ite folks, an' dey call me a ole pet an' say dat niggers ain' ter be trus'ed! Me not ter be trus'ed! Why, w'en de ole Cunnel wuz dyin' he say ter me, 'You, Peter! You look affer mah chillun. ' An' Ah done tek keer of her good all dese y'ars--"

"Nobody but the Angel Gabriel could have done better," said Scarlett soothingly. "We just couldn't have lived without you."

"Yas'm, thankee kinely, Ma'm. Ah knows it an' you knows it, but dem Yankee folks doan know it an' dey doan want ter know it, Huccome dey come mixin' in our bizness, Miss Scarlett? Dey doan unnerstan' us Confedruts."

Scarlett thought: What damnably queer people Yankees are! Those women seemed to think that because Uncle Peter was black, he had no ears to hear with and no feelings, as tender as their own, to be hurt. They did not know that negroes had to be handled gently, as though they were children, directed, praised, petted, scolded. They didn't understand negroes or the relations between the negroes and their former masters.

Now if you are still with me and I haven't lost you because you just weren't counting on reading so much when you clicked on my blog...

...if you are still here, you are probably experiencing some of the same emotions I felt when I first read, and then saw this scene played on stage:

confusion. sadness. anger. discomfort. guilt. dismay. more confusion...

First, if you haven't read the book, yes, Ms. Mitchell insisted on writing all the slave and black characters' speech "in dialect". And neither her editors nor publishers appear to have a had a problem with that...

Anyway.

So. What's going on in this scene? Clearly we have some racism. Yeah? And not just one kind of racism. I am not attempting to guess at Ms. Mitchell's intentions in writing this episode--but one type seems to be not so cool and the other seems to be okay.

So clearly the women from the North are just hateful awful racists, right? They don't understand and don't want to understand. Black people, to use a more accepted phrase than the ones they employed, are not even to be considered in their world view. And how ironic that the Northerners freed them, right? Hmmm...

Now Scarlett, however, views "negroes" with what I would safely say is a certain amount of respect. She respects them as beings with capabilities and feelings. She respects them enough to be aware of these capabilities and feelings and she even values them, doesn't she?

But, her attitude is racist nonetheless, isn't it? She doesn't see them as equals. She doesn't respect them and their capabilities as equal to her own. Their worth is not equal to her own. How does she see them? Like children that need to be praised, taught, scolded...

I would even say she loves Uncle Peter in her own way. She cares very deeply for, not only Uncle Peter, but many of the slaves who have cared for her and served her. She indeed views them as part of her family. Much like parents must see their children. Good parents respect their children--they love them too. But they don't really see their children as equals--at least not while they are children--how could they? They are not. They are not intellectual, emotional or physical equals. Yet.

Good parents must necessarily view their children as their responsibility--to be cared for, taught, and directed. Children aren't ready to be entirely and fully responsible for their choices, to fully direct their own lives, to fully stand as equals in the world...they need to be guided.

But eventually, doesn't every good parent have to let their child become responsible for their own choices? To grow up? To become an equal? Don't good parents do everything to help their children reach this point?

Now Scarlett, and by association, at least in Ms. Mitchell's mind, many Southerners viewed the "negroes" as child-like beings in need of care and direction.

But here's the rub: Uncle Peter wasn't a child. He was a grown man. He was not a child. Nor were any of the millions of grown men and women who were kept as slaves in America during this shameful period.

I believe Scarlett loved Uncle Peter. Sure. I believe many owners of slaves loved their slaves... as strange as it may sound. As incomprehensible as it sounds to us.... we may even say "that's not love... that's not respect... that's .... that's...." what is it?

Its messed up. That's what it is. Its just another form of racism. A dangerous one because it is hidden in "love".

And just to drive home how messed up this idea really was/is, lets look at something else in GWTW that was conveniently left out of the film... the Klan. The KKK. Hmmm hmmm...

Ms. Mitchell gives us her perspective on the formation of the Ku Klux Klan throughout GWTW.

During Reconstruction, Scarlett is living and working and struggling in Atlanta.

Now, as you may know, Reconstruction was, to be blunt, the occupation of the former Confederate States by the Federal Government. This occupation was ostensibly justified by the need to bring order to the war-torn south and to create State Governments that were more in line with Federal Policy.

This meant many things.

One thing that it meant was allowing former slaves to vote and participate in the political process.

Well, as you can imagine. All those former owners who loved their former slaves as children were not too happy about this.

One night Scarlett, coming home from one of her lumber mills, encounters a group of the respectable men of the town in front of a bar. They are discussing and arguing and shouting. Scarlett, always curious, hears something about the State Legislature and asks some of the men she knows for clarification on the subject.

She says:

"What's the legislature been up to now?"

"They've flatly refused to ratify the amendment," said Grandpa
Merriwether and there was pride in his voice. "That'll show the
Yankees."

"And there'll be hell to pay for it--I beg your pardon, Scarlett,"
said Ashley.

"Oh, the amendment?" questioned Scarlett, trying to look intelligent.

Politics were beyond her and she seldom wasted time thinking about
them. There had been a Thirteenth Amendment ratified sometime
before or maybe it had been the Sixteenth Amendment but what
ratification meant she had no idea. Men were always getting
excited about such things. Something of her lack of comprehension
showed in her face and Ashley smiled.

"It's the amendment letting the darkies vote, you know," he
explained. "It was submitted to the legislature and they refused
to ratify it."

"How silly of them! You know the Yankees are going to force it
down our throats!"

"That's what I meant by saying there'd be hell to pay," said
Ashley.

"I'm proud of the legislature, proud of their gumption!" shouted
Uncle Henry. "The Yankees can't force it down our throats if we
won't have it."

"They can and they will." Ashley's voice was calm but there was
worry in his eyes. "And it'll make things just that much harder
for us."

"Oh, Ashley, surely not! Things couldn't be any harder than they
are now!"

"Yes, things can get worse, even worse than they are now. Suppose
we have a darky legislature? A darky governor? Suppose we have a
worse military rule than we now have?"

Scarlett's eyes grew large with fear as some understanding entered
her mind.

Here we have a group of men terrified by the prospect of a world out of their control. And not just the men, Scarlett too.

The most frightening and infuriating thing to them is this idea that these "nergoes" would dare assume a place of equality with them.

People had their place. They didn't hate the "negroes", right? "Negroes" were to be cared for and directed BY them. Not their equals. And definitely NOT their leaders, God forbid!

They just couldn't imagine anything so terrifying as world in which this proper order would be disturbed.

Earlier Mitchell describes Reconstruction-era Georgia like this:

Only the negroes had rights or redress these days. The Yankees had the
South prostrate and they intended to keep it so. The South had
been tilted as by a giant malicious hand, and those who had once
ruled were now more helpless than their former slaves had ever
been...

...The negroes had not yet been given the right to vote but the North
was determined that they should vote and equally determined that
their vote should be friendly to the North. With this in mind,
nothing was too good for the negroes. The Yankee soldiers backed
them up in anything they chose to do, and the surest way for a
white person to get himself into trouble was to bring a complaint
of any kind against a negro...

...they conducted themselves as creatures of small intelligence might naturally be expected to do. Like monkeys or small children turned loose among treasured objects whose value is beyond their comprehension, they ran wild--either from perverse pleasure in destruction or simply because of their ignorance.

Neither life nor property was safe from them and the white people, unprotected by law, were terrorized. Men were insulted on the streets by drunken blacks, houses and barns were burned at night, horses and cattle and chickens stolen in broad daylight, crimes of all varieties were committed and few of the perpetrators were brought to justice.

But these ignominies and dangers were as nothing compared with the
peril of white women, many bereft by the war of male protection,
who lived alone in the outlying districts and on lonely roads. It
was the large number of outrages on women and the ever-present fear
for the safety of their wives and daughters that drove Southern men
to cold and trembling fury and caused the Ku Klux Klan to spring up
overnight. And it was against this nocturnal organization that the
newspapers of the North cried out most loudly, never realizing the
tragic necessity that brought it into being.

So essentially Ms. Mitchell is attempting to justify the formation of the Klan. In her mind, or at least in the mind of her protagonist and the Southern characters, nothing could be more terrifying than "negroes" who were not under their care and direction.

These "negroes" were getting out of hand.

Only chaos and evil and ruin would come upon a society where this order was overturned. Where to them the NATURAL ORDER of things was not respected...

An even worse and more terrifying thought was the idea that those "negroes" would be IN control.

So, of course the Klan had to be created to teach those "negroes". The men of the South who formed and then operated the Klan were simply trying to take back control. Right?

Seems reasonable, right?

They had lost control of their world. It had been taken from them and now every sense of order and meaning that they understood had been turned up side down.

To them a moral and ordered world had been destroyed and replaced by an immoral and unordered one.

In that light, as terrible as it may sound, I can almost understand why the people of the South felt they had to take matters into their own hands...

Almost.

Almost. You see what I just can't understand is how they thought their previous world was a moral and ordered one.

I don't mean to imply that EVERYTHING they valued about their world is beyond my comprehension. Certainly, what they were really afraid of losing was their way of life--and in that broad idea is contained many dear things: family, home, the land upon which they lived and from which they made their living.... AND... wait... how did they make their living from that land?

By and large by the labor of SLAVES!!!

So, how is that moral?

To them it was--because the slaves were there to be directed, cared for, scolded, and praised.... like children?

Slaves...?

I'll never understand it. I don't want to understand it--but I have been trying to because they effects of this period are still with us today.
Anyway--

So, if you are still with me, what does any of this have anything to do with "the gays?"

Remember the question I asked at the beginning? Have you been considering it?

Are race and sexuality analogous?

My short answer is "NO".... no, they are not analogous.... they are not entirely analogous....

They are two very different things.

But, then again, there are some interesting similarities aren't there?

Interesting similarities in the way we have been dealing with the issues both legislatively and socially, right?

I often think that for people who are morally opposed to homosexuality there are basically two ways of dealing with individuals who are "gay".

The first is to deal with them in a way not unlike the Yankee women Scarlett encountered. Gay people are sinners, they are going to hell, they are unclean...."I don't want anything to do with them, get them away from me and my family."

To be honest, I have never encountered this type of response personally. At least not that I know of.

I think this is good. I wouldn't like that.... I have seen it in the media. I have heard about it from friends who have experienced it, but gratefully, I have never had to endure this type of...well...I'm gonna say it: hatred.

The second way is to deal with them in a way not unlike Scarlett herself. The "love the sinner but hate the sin" kinda way.

If there is anyone still reading--an uncomfortable and indignant gasp of shock has most likely erupted from half of you...

I apologize, but that's kind of how I am feeling right now.

I have encountered this type of reaction often. Though, admittedly, few have felt the need to tell me to my face that they love me but consider any actions of mine relating to the expression of my homosexuality as well...sins. Still, I know that a large number of my friends and family practice this type of love.

And recently, in a very public way, the Church has used this philosophy to justify its hefty and vocal support, financially and otherwise, of a particular ballot proposition in a particular state.

I think at this point, we should return again to the question: Are race and sexuality analogous?

Can I really be comparing Scarlett's attitudes to her former slaves to the attitudes of my dear friends and family concerning sexuality?

Well, lets examine the question more closely.

I do think that sexuality can be compared to race effectively in many ways--but it gets complicated. It gets complicated because it gets right to the crux of the issue for a lot of people.

Race, if you believe in its existence at all, is an immutable characteristic. What does that mean? Well, it means that it’s something that cannot be muted, right? It’s something that is not a matter of choice and cannot be hidden. Most of us would not argue the fact that people cannot choose their race--we are born that way and though we may choose to express our "race" in whatever way we choose...we will always be of that "race".

Well, most of us wouldn't argue that point. But there is a growing movement, which argues that, theoretically, race may not even really exist.

What? Race doesn't exist?

Well, what is race? Think about it? Is it skin color? Is it ancestry? Is it genetics? Is it where you were born? When you were born? Where your parents were born? Who their parents were?

Basically, the argument is that race is simply a linguistic and arbitrary category we human beings create to account for differences we perceive between groups of people. But when those perceived groups of people have been inter-marrying and producing offspring for millennia what happens to those categories? Really what becomes of the idea of race?

Another thought, in Brazil, a country that also has a long and tragic history with slavery, there has been a somewhat different approach to the idea of race than here in the US. Here we have tended to talk about Black or White. But in Brazil there is a vast and broad spectrum used to categorize people with varying degrees of European, African and Native ancestry.

I've heard this phenomenon likened to the varying ways one can relate to an avocado. In North America we tend to think of an avocado as a vegetable, we eat it in salads with salty and tangy dressings and salt and pepper it as we would a raw tomato. In Brazil, however, it is considered a fruit and used in milkshakes and deserts.

In this way, someone of mixed "race" in America may be considered black, but in Brazil this same individual could be "pardo" or "moreno" or even "moreno-claro". Just like an avocado may change its definition by crossing borders, so can a person change his or her race by doing the same.

Further, consider our next President of the United States of America, Barrack Obama. He is black, right? Huh? He is African-American, right? Well...his father was from Kenya and that's in Africa. His mother was from Kansas and Hawaii and was...white. So what is he? What is his race? Well, to me his race is whatever Barrack Obama chooses.

He's American--whatever that may mean.

But race matters in America. Or at least mattered. If you doubt that, should we return to Scarlett and her Klan-creatin' gentlemen?

Sadly, horrifyingly, it has mattered a great deal. And for many of us, it still does...

...for many reasons. All arguably good or bad...

Point is--race is one element by which we, human beings, (Americans in particular) chose to define ourselves and others...

Despite how truly indefinable race really is, we use it to define ourselves. And we, as a nation, have decided that this type of definition plays a significant role in many aspects of our lives. In fact we are so aware of its importance that we have legislatively codified the idea that no one has any legal reason for denying us certain rights based upon our "race". We have gone to amazing and astounding lengths to protect against this type of denial. We call the denial of basic human rights based on what we perceive as someone's race discrimination. Essentially, what we are really protecting is an individual's right to define themselves racially as they chose and protecting this choice from discrimination.

Likewise, sexuality has become one way in which we choose to define ourselves.

They argue about the "immutability and mutability" of sexual orientation in the courts and geneticists and psycho-therapists are falling all over themselves and each other to prove that sexual orientation is inborn or learned or a complex psycho-physio phenomenon, but in the end, like race, it comes down to how an individual chooses to define and express his or her sexuality.

So, at least in this sense, yes. I think that race and sexuality are somewhat analogous.

There are many other ways in which, in my opinion, sexuality and race are and are NOT analogous, but--if there is anyone still reading--I will spare further descents into my circuitous and complex musings and cut to the chase...

How does Scarlett and the Klan and Gone with the Wind come out as Gone with the Gays?

Well, if you remember back--I know it is a long time now--back to when Scarlett encountered her gentlemen friends who were all whipped up about the 13th Amendment?

If you remember, the fact that the "negroes" would soon be voting and enjoying "equal rights" with them was what really pissed these men off. I think they were terrified--so fearful of where this path would lead. And, on some level, I can understand their fear.

If you were to read the recent letter from the leadership of the Church outlining their opposition to the unnamed proposition in an unnamed state, you will see that it is largely written in fear of the legal and social implications that will follow a legislative codification of the idea that everyone has a right to marry whomever they chose. (you can read the letter here )

It may surprise you, but I agree that there is some cause for alarm. Many of the fears and scenarios to which they refer have already been realized. They also have a great link to an NPR page (yes National Public Radio) where some recent collisions between same-sex marriage legislation and religious organizations are outlined. (that link is here)

Now, simply because I agree that there is some cause for alarm does NOT mean I agree with their position. Not at all. I simply recognize that any and all legislation should be carefully analyzed and passed with the understanding that it sets a legal precedent upon which further legislation will be built. We do not live in a legislative vacuum.

This is nothing new. Every law that has ever been passed has created a precedent or at least been based on a precedent. It is impossible to foresee all the possible outcomes of any given legislation.

The Church, in my opinion, instead of waging a campaign based on fear of possible outcomes, should be prepared to defend and supported in the defense of their rights as a religious institution in the United States. I, as a citizen, am prepared to defend their rights as well.

I don't believe that their fears, whether founded or not, justify the denial of the right to marry to an entire segment of the population. The denial of rights based on a category of definition so fundamental is simply not an American value.

Or at least has ceased to be an American value... speaking of precedents, Scarlett.

I think, though, when its all shaken out in the wash: The real fear for these people is that their world is being turned upside down. It's being blown away...however, slowly. The are seeing their moral and ordered world changing and that is scary, isn't it?

It is. Who can disagree with that?

Like Scarlett's gentlemen friends and the Southerners of this period in their attitudes toward former slaves, those opposed to same-sex marriage don't hate the gays...

They will even tolerate them...a little.

But the idea that these gays think they could be granted the right to marry??!!

That the gay identity could be so legitimized and accepted as to be granted an equal status in the form of marriage is terrifying!

To put gay relationships on an equal footing with their own spells a definitive upheaval of their ordered and moral world.

Their fear is that this will lead to the ruin and destruction of their very society.

I guess I can understand this fear... a little. ...a very little...

It will bring about some major changes. But you see, I think those changes are good.

I think my relationships ARE as valuable to not only me but to society as a whole.

Like my feelings concerning Reconstruction and the Klan, I have to ask: Maybe some of these ideas should be gone with the wind? You know? Maybe racism, even the "loving" kind Scarlett seemed to practice needed to pass away and...get gone...

To try to sum this all up--I know impossible, right?-- here is a quote taken from the above mentioned letter on the Church's position on unnamed proposition:

"We can express genuine love and friendship for the homosexual family member or friend without accepting the practice of homosexuality or any re-definition of marriage."

I have to say, it’s hard to argue with this statement, right? Of course people should be able to disagree with the practices and politics of family and friends and still love them. Totally...

But, if I were to argue with it....

I would point out the mind-boggling disconnect contained in the idea that you can love a homosexual and not accept the practice of homosexuality.

What does that mean? Is that what they mean when they say "love the sinner and hate the sin"?

Because I guess sinning makes me a sinner and the sin is what I am doing as a sinner so if I am defined by the sin as the sinner than I guess....WHAT?!!!!...and where do you draw the line between the sinner and the sin?

Can you love a person of African American descent and not accept the practice of being African American? (whatever the HELL that means...)

AND...what is a homosexual supposed to DO with that part of their identity if not practice homosexuality?

And I am not JUST talking about SEX people!!!! For the last friggidy liggidy time, being homosexual is not just about who you have SEX with!!!! You know? I mean...come on!

Isn't identity about many things? About how you choose to direct your life? Isn't identity about how you choose to IDENTIFY yourself? In this case, about who you choose to love and all the wonderful ways that colors and shades and defines your world...

But to them...to them THAT is NOT what it means....to them, I'm afraid, it means little more than the fact that this particular person wants to have sex with individuals of the same gender....and why someone would want to do that....well that's just beyond them, but "...we love you anyway!"...

.... So that is what's really at work here. It's subtle and you may miss it.

It's not unlike the way Scarlett sees her "darkies". You see to her, being black-- being "negroe" is being a slave. It is being that child-like being who is so incapable of understanding the world that its only place is in her service and care.... its just a given for her.

Now, it’s kind of the inverse of this idea when it comes to the Church and sexuality--but bear with me--homosexuality is not a definition to them. At least not a legitimate one...its more like a condition to them...

Where Scarlett looks at her black slaves and sees nothing but the definition, the Church and those who " love the sinner but hate the sin" look at the homosexual and REFUSE to see the definition....

They pay lip service to the idea--they concede that there are people who chose to define themselves as "homosexual", but to grant this choice any legitimacy is impossible and terrifying...

And to them, what is the ultimate bestowment of legitimacy?

Marriage.

They cannot let that happen...

if it does their world might be Gone with the Gays in no time at all!

Now...

I am exhausted with, not only this post, but also this struggle.

But we rarely are afforded such luxurious desires when it comes to love.

Love, REAL LOVE-- genuine concern, care and interest for the well-being of another individual--this type of real love is such a rare thing, and is almost always imperfect in practice.

It is so rare that we'd all be fools not to accept what little of it we can get. However, imperfect it may be.

This truth--that love is precious and rare and should be valued above almost all else-- is an idea that I try very hard to place at the center of my life.

For this reason, I am willing to accept imperfect love from others but also bewildered as to why others would so desperately want to limit the expression and legitimacy of others' love.

Love is rare. Let's try to make more of it. The best we can, eh?

And I am not so arrogant and foolish to believe that I have reached such a high level of love production in my own life that I am beyond censure....

So...if my beloved family and friends will keep trying, so will I.

If you are still reading, thank you! I love you all immensely.... however you chose to define yourselves!

Peace out and God bless!

Save The Lakes! Its a campaign issue now!

2008-10-17T05:24:00.061-04:00

Sunset over the Mackinac Bridge
which spans the Straits of Mackinac, the point where Lakes Michigan and Huron meet

Most of you probably know that I was born in Traverse City, Michigan and spent a good portion of most of my summers in Michigan, on the Old Mission Peninsula

Cheesy Touristy Poster of the Peninsula

Here is a picture from my own collection of photos ( I believe taken by Travis):

Sunset on my grandfather's beach at Old Mission with his sailboat the "Norah" buoyed in the harbor.

To be honest, I would rather NOT show you these pictures;

Lake Michigan at Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes National Lake Shore

Split Rock Lighthouse, North Shore of Lake Superior

Travis at Split Rock Lighthouse, Lake Superior

My older sister Martha and I playing on the Lake Michigan Shore

My mother during my parent's honeymoon on Isle Royale National Park, Lake Superior

I would rather NOT share this amazing beauty;

Fall on Lake Michigan's Door Peninsula

The Bruce Peninsula, Lake Huron

Sunset on Lake Superior, Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

I would rather NOT post the incredible facts about the Lakes, which I am about to post....

For Example:

did you know....

The Great Lakes from Space.

*...The Great Lakes contain roughly 22% of the world’s fresh surface water: 5,472 cubic miles or 6.0×1015 U.S. gallons?

Lake Michigan and Lake Huron from the Space Shuttle Columbia

*This is enough water to cover the 48 contiguous U.S. states to a uniform depth of 9.5 feet

Sunset over Lake Huron

*...The Great Lakes coast measures approximately 10,500 miles (16,900 km) and Lake Superior alone has over 2,750 miles of coastline?

(California only has 840 miles of coastline! (hehehe))

*...Lake Superior, the largest of the five Great Lakes, is by far the largest body of fresh water in the world by surface area?

Travis at Whitefish Point, Lake Superior

*It covers 31, 820 square miles.

(Lake Baikal in Russia only covers 12, 160 square miles! (Hehehehe ))

*....Lake Superior is 350 miles long?

(To give one an idea, the distance from L.A. to San Francisco is 347 miles!)

(Another example, the sate of Utah is approximately 350 miles long!)

*...Lake Superior is 160 miles wide?

(The distance from New York City to Albany is 148 miles!)

Me and Lake Michigan at Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore

*...Lake Huron is 158 miles wide and
Lake Michigan is 118 miles wide!

(Long Island is 118 miles long from Brooklyn to Mantauk!)

* The combined surface area of the Great lakes is approximately 94,250 square miles?

(That is nearly the same size as the United Kingdom...
and larger than the U.S. states of :
New York
New Jersey
Connecticut
Rhode Island
Massachusetts
Vermont
and New Hampshire
... COMBINED!)

A satellite image of the Great Lakes

I didn't want to share all of this because....

Well, you know when you get something really really good to eat? For example, when Heather Anna Corrigan Herrick bakes you the famed and fabled Cake of Nutty Goodness for your birthday.

Of course you want to eat as much of that amazing cake as you can, but you also wanna share it, of course.

You're a decent person. You'll share it with a couple people. People you care about and trust...

...But then they tell more people and those people tell more people and pretty soon the Cake of Nutty Goodness is all gone and most of those people just came there because some stupid travel magazine printed some article about how the Upper Peninsula of Michigan is one of America's best kept wilderness secrets.... ahhh ahhh I mean....they just came there because someone told them how good the Cake of Nutty Goodness is....

Fall on the Old Mission Peninsula, Lake Michigan

Point is:

...well, I don't want you to go there or move there and mess it up for those of us who already live or go there.

Travis, Me and my Mother on the Norah, Grand Traverse Bay, Lake Michigan

The Lakes have suffered enough from people using and abusing them.

Shipping on Lake Superior

They have been polluted, over fished and fished out, invaded by non-native species that mess up the food chain ...

Zebra Mussels, an invasive crustacean. They are EVERYWHERE!

...and the surrounding land, lakes, and rivers that support the health of the Great Lakes have been severely damaged and misused.

A Great Lakes freighter leaving Lake Superior and entering the Soo Locks near Sault St. Marie.

Winter storm on Lake Superior

But, I suspect after seeing these pictures and reading these facts and figures you might wanna go there and explore these vast amazing bodies of water and discover the beautiful wildernesses and fascinating towns on their shores.

A port at sunrise, Lake Superior

Mists over Lake Huron

Okay. Okay. I'll let you visit. You could even live there if you really wanted to.

But please please please respect them. Love them. Be careful with them and educate yourself about how fragile and important they are!

My brother Andy and I playing on the shore at Old Mission, Lake Michigan

You see I love them so much.... their water is in my blood like holy wine!!!!. (ooops.... sorry Joni, its just such a damn good line that it pours out of me from time to time)

Me talking to the seagulls near the Straits of Mackinac on our annual drive from home in Minnesota to the cottage at Old Mission

AND perhaps most importantly, take a minute, click on the link below, have a read and then you'll realize that even the Lakes have become connected to this election.

A lighthouse near Isle Royale, Lake Superior

So if you wanna save the Lakes, you know who you have to vote for....

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20081017/ap_on_el_pr/candidates_great_lakes;_ylt=Aql7W6.oj0_eENMwMdWOfOFsnwcF

THANK YOU so much for reading and caring!!!!

I hope you all have a place as loved and special to you as the Great Lakes are to me!

God bless!!!

Irony

2008-10-14T18:16:00.010-04:00

Isn't it ironic... don't ya think?
A little too ironic...
yeah I really do think....

I don't often use this blog to voice my passions, whether artistic, emotional, political or otherwise...

( most of you who know me, know that I can be quite vocal about those passions...)

But, I am not posting in order to assert my opinion as the correct one concerning certain propositions supported by certain churches in a certain state....

(most of you can probably guess my opinion on that issue)

But isn't it ironic that a Church that for decades faced horrible pressure from the federal government because of its controversial and unconventional definition of marriage is now the loudest voice of support for the banning of another group of people's controversial and unconventional definition of marriage?

Isn't that ironic?(1888. Utah State Penitentiary. Men serving sentences for the practice of polygamy. George Q. Cannon and Francis M. Lyman, members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, are among the men pictured)

I'm sure there will be many of you who will come up with a thousand reasons why the comparison is unfair and that a parallel like this cannot be drawn. Feel free. I would like to hear your responses. But please understand: I'm not a snippy, smart-ass, activist, angry ex-Mormon looking to ruffle feathers here or exorcise my anger.

I've done my homework and studied and written about this period in Utah and Church history. But I'm not posting to give a history lesson.

Many of you know--if you know me at all--know how much I love the Church and what it has given me. How grateful I am for the garden in which I was grown. For the richness and the love I am blessed with because of the Church in which I was raised. You know that I have an incredible passion for the study and the history of this incredible religious movement. That I have a deep love and respect for the struggles and sacrifices of its early members. That I have been positively impacted by the kind, loving, dedicated men and women who were my teachers and leaders while I attended this Church. You also know that I have devoted a great deal of my creative energy and writing to the honest, genuine, and hopeful exploration of my spiritual identity and heritage. You know that I do not shy away from difficult conversations about the Church--and that I am often accused by my, shall we say, more liberal friends of being too defensive and supportive of the Church considering particular aspects of my own identity.

Whatever. Blah blah blah...

Point is: I'm not bashing the Church.

All I am saying is:

Isn't it ironic?

Don't VOTE....or VOTE...Yes, VOTE VOTE VOTE! PLEASE! We have an EMERGENCIA!

2008-10-04T02:17:00.013-04:00

You GUYS!

I missed the absentee ballot DEADLINE! OMG! OMG! OMG! This is horrible!

As annoying as a lot of this video is.....

(Halle Barry? Ashton Kutcher?? Pretty people usually shouldn't talk unless they have a REAL script; DO NOT LET PRETTY PEOPLE DO IMPROV. But how about that Sarah Silverman? And ellen? They kinda help things out...)

....anyway. EMERGENCIA!!!

PLLLEASE PAAAALEEEAZZZZ! Please make up for my complete and utter failure--my hypocrisy--my laziness--my stupidity and VOTE!!!

THANK YOU!!!!!!!

(you should ONLY vote however if it is NOT for McCain/Palin...... just kidding...sorta....no really I AM just kidding....but the Russians have this saying: в каждой шутке есть доля истины--v kazhdoi shutke yest dolya istini--if you can figure out the translation for that you'll laugh!)

Food!

2008-09-18T06:24:00.034-04:00

So I am now in Moscow:

(This picture was chosen specifically for Kelly Jo and Heather because they have both commented on how much they like it when I do NOT smile in my pictures)

Behind me in the above photo, rising on the overcast horizon, are the famed and storied gothiс-like towers of МГУ (Moscow State University)

Built between 1948 and 1953, the МГУ building is the largest of seven similar structures in Moscow constructed during this period in what I call the "Soviet Neo-Gothic-lets-replace-all- the- Orthodox- Cathedrals- with- scary -and- impressive-but- similarly- religious- looking- buildings- only- taller" style!

It really is impressive. I actually really like the style. It's cool, isn't it?

So, yes, I'm in Moscow and blogging again--thanks for reading--BUT now, on to what this post is really about:

FOOD!

As many of you know, I love food. I'll eat anything. Really....(almost anything).

Below are some things I've been eating recently here in Moscow.

This is a Слойка с сосиской (a sloika s sosiskoi):

Yes. That's right, a pig in a blanket. Please note that in the above photo we have examples of both cooked and uncooked pigs in blankets.

Here are some more Слойки :

The above Слойки have cheese filling.

This слойка ,though you can't see it, has cherry filling.
Near any Metro station here in Moscow in many of the sometimes hundreds of kiosks you'll see as you exit the Metro, one can find numerous varities of Слойки for sale. They have слойка with cabbage, with cheese and potatoes, with apricot filling and with this gray and brown stringy filling that is called meat.

Since they are very cheap and since as I've aged I've lost all fear of ingesting the unknown and unlabled, I've been eating them a lot lately.

There is one thing here that I have not been able to bring myself to eat:

Холодец!

(kholodets)

As you are looking at the above photo and contemplating--asking yourself "What...is...that?", you will undoubtedly notice the thinly sliced hard boiled egg in the center.

Your keen eyes will quickly surmise that the green leafy garnish is surely parsely or dill.

And as you peer closer, below what you may perceive as a wet and liquid like surface, you'll discover expertly carved florets of carrot.

But you are still wondering " What...is....that?"

It's Холодец. But what is холодец? It's gelatin. Jello. That wet and liquid like surface is actually a food item so familiar to the Utah household, Jello. Gelatin. Meat Jello to be sure. And there, suspended in the cold, compact, jigglying lower depths near the serving platter...meat. Most likely beef.

Meat Jello.

Served with mustard!

Cold.

(холодо means cold)

Холодец is also often made with fish:

Try some today!!!

Returning to more North American perspectives, below is a link to an article I read in the NY Times online entitled:

"6 Food Mistakes Parents Make"

(I know I'm not a parent, but many of you are and I found it interesting so I wanted to pass it along...and I'm not pointing a finger at all...its just info. I mean, hey, you don't feed your kids pigs in a blanket or холодец do you?)
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/15/health/healthspecial2/15eat.html?ex=1379304000&en=916e6480bc36f917&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

Anyway, if it seems like I'm bagging on Russian architecture or food, I'm not. I love it all. Just having a little fun.

For those of you who have commented on what a glamorous life I lead traversing the globes northern climes, I'm in Moscow teaching English for the next little while....that's sorta glamorous, isn't it?

....and we're back!!!!

2008-09-06T17:05:00.061-04:00

Yes. I am blogging again, people.
We'll see how it goes.

I am now in Helsinki, Finland.

I am going to Moscow, Russia on Monday night.

Three and a half weeks ago I left New York and went to ......Edinburgh, Scotland...

...to the Fringe Festival. In Edinburgh, at the Fringe, a play by the TEAM (theteamplays.org)... ...on which I have been a collaborating writer, had its premier.

From Edinburgh... ...I took the train to London and... ... stayed with our dear friends ...the Aitchisons...Kathy and Al and their five sons: Xander, Ewan (sp) Lawrie (sp) Isaac and Oren!

The Aitchisons live in Whitchurch-on-Thames...

...which is not far from Reading... ...which is not far from London.

I shuttled back and forth between Whitchurch-on-Thames and London-town, where I stayed with my good friend and soon to be superstar......Eliza Wren Payne (elizawrenpayne.com) and her stellar husband Mr. Gavin McDermott.

From Whitchurch-on-Thames, I was driven by a very nice woman Xena, a friend of the Aitchisons (they were in Scotland on holiday), to Heathrow International...(below picture is not of the airport, but a grazing sheep in the neolithic stone circle at Avesbury).......where I took a British Airways flight to Helsinki-Vaanta International Airport.

On Monday, I take the train to Moscow. For six months...

A Day in Philly with Dad...

2008-01-29T17:49:00.000-05:00

I bet none of you knew that the ALA (American Library Association) had its mid-winter meeting in Philadelphia the 2nd week of January...

Some of you probably did know that my father, in addition to being an intrepid navigator of the Great Fresh Water Inland Seas ( which could conceivably now be supporting a breeding population of Bull Sharks)...

...and a fearless explorer of the wild, both lands upon the mountains and....

...upon the waters...

....and a former party animal and member of the counter culture movement...

...who is now a loving husband...

...father of 8...

...and grandfather of 6, soon to be 9...

...yes my father, Tom is all these things, but did you know that he is also

AN INTERNATIONAL LIBRARIAN of MYSTERY?

( I snapped this picture of him as he was stealthfully making his get away from the ALA mid-winter meeting through this darkened hallway)

You guys, Libraries are BIG BUSINESS! This mid-winter "meeting" filled the Philadelphia Conference Center:

(which is huge---this is just the ceiling of the atrium)

So Dad's official title is:

Collection Development Coordinator and Materials & Acquisitions Chair

at the Harold B. Lee Library at Brigham Young University

(I don't think this is classified information--its written on the card he was slipping all those database and information system pushers who were vying for his attention)

At any rate, before I left for Ohio, I took the train down to Philly for the day to observe a day in the life of this International Librarian of Mystery...
and to see some stuff with Dad...

It was a lot of fun...

I'd never spent anytime in Philadelphia...

This is Benjamin Franklin all made out of keys...

This is a dark Old World-looking alley where some multi-million dollar database deal went down... (I wasn't allowed to film faces...)

...and we got to see the Liberty Bell.

It is always good to spend time with Dad and to learn about what he does down in the basement of the HBLL...

Thanks DAD!

Trips...

2008-01-23T17:04:00.000-05:00

I was in Minneapolis last week-end.

This is a picture taken from the plane--either during the flight to Minneapolis from Columbus, Ohio or during the flight from New York to Columbus(I will explain why I am in Columbus presently)....I don't always have a clear memory after flights these days. The xanax has allowed me to become quite comfortable with flying--even to the point of peacefully enjoying the views the experience at 30,000 ft. provides--but I don't always remember that experience SUPER clearly. I love flying now. I love to be able to be somewhere so new so fast and I love seeing the world like that...I particularly love seeing the large cities as we land--I'd like to take pictures of those cities, but the cities are generally in such proximity to the airports that by the time the city is in view from my 3"x 5" window the head flight attendant has announced that "ALL electronic devices must now be placed in the off position." ALL electronic devices! I was trying to take a great shot of the Chicago skyline with my beloved Lake Michigan beyond as we descended into O'Hare when the otherwise pleasant blonde attendant snapped "Sir, you HAVE to turn that off NOW!"
GEEESH! (Maybe my memory is pretty clear)
So, here is one shot...more a little later

So, I flew to Minneapolis!

It was VERY cold. But being there was really fantastic. Its been nearly 8 years since I've been to "the cities", as Mpls/St. Paul were always referred to in my northern Minnesotan youth.

As you may know, I began working with a very exciting theatre company, known as the TEAM, as an Artistic Associate (writer/collaborator) last year. And ostensibly, it was work with the TEAM that brought me to "the cities". The TEAM's latest show was having a run at the new Walker Arts Center Theatre and we were also taking the opportunity to spend some time working on the current, in development, play ARCHITECTING, which I am helping to write and so blah blah blah....I came to Minneapolis (most of you who are reading don't really care much about the specifics of my writing career--just that I am doing it, right? If I am wrong, please let me know and I will explain further about the exciting things happening)

So, I came to Minneapolis. It was very cold, and I was so often concerned with keeping my extremities from this cold, that I too often did not take my camera out... I am much more disappointed in my self than you are in me...

At any rate--I stayed with our great friends, Linda and Deb (of Old Mission, Michigan fame) who live in south Minneapolis. They, and their two daughters, Kylie and Allie, were SO helpful and generous. It was great to see them and spend time with them. They picked me up from the airport, let me stay in the topmost room of their beautiful home, even let me use their mini-van on Saturday night to go see my best friend from the Crosby-Ironton Jr. High days, Maggie! Or, more accurately and currently, Dr. Maglina Lubovich, Visiting Assistant Professor of English Lit. at Drake University in Des Moines, Iowa.

I got to see her parents, Barb and Steve again. It was a great visit--always laughs with the Lubovichs...

I went to dinner with Maggie and her husband, Beau--a great guy from Duluth, who was born in Hibbing, Minnesota--for all you Dylan fans... in fact, Beau's grandma used to play bingo with Bob Dylan's grandma--or mom? At any rate, there's a connection there.
I say I went to dinner, but Beau and Maggie TOOK me to dinner. At a Russian restaraunt named "Moscow" and the food was reasonably authentic I must say. I had some great pelmini---

The food was good, but, of course the GREAT joy was spending the time with Maggie, Beau and their friend and neighbor, Lisa (?)--I feel like an ass for not remembering her name (your name if you're reading this) because we had some great laughs!

Its hard to explain just HOW good it was to see Maggie, so I won't try too hard.
Here's a stab at it:
I am always a little unsure of what to say when people ask me where I grew up. I spent my childhood and Jr. High years in Crosby, MN and spent my High School years and the next few in Utah...
So, seeing Maggie--doing all that laughing and recalling all those memories, albeit rather foggily--like coming off of xanax a little--helps me feel more confident about including Minnesota when I am asked about where I come from. Its not just that I have a past there and that Maggie reminds me of that. That is part of it, yes. But more so, its that being there with her, sharing bits and pieces of our lives, seeing the beautiful woman she has become, laughing with her parents and listening to their advice and genuinely getting to re-know Maggie a little allowed me to re-see myself as I was 16 years ago in the context of who I am today...
I did a lot of changing and growing when we moved to Utah, and thankfully so, but who I am and who I have become has so much to do with those years in Crosby...some of the best of which were spent with Maggie as my best friend!

The rest of these pictures are, conclusively, from my flights from Minneapolis through Chicago and back to Columbus.... see these last two are of the southern Lake Michigan shoreline--all blue and white with icy flows...
oh and I remember taking that first photo now--I flew LGA to Kansas City and then to Columbus on the way here--that first photo is from that trip (yeah, Kansas City, MO...now there's a cool skyline, y'all)

And lastly, the view I see right now as I finish off this blog from the 2nd floor window of an old restored farmhouse in Gambier, OH, where I am assisting my good friend, Molly Rice, who is also a Visiting Assistant Professor, but of Theatre and at Kenyon College...which is in Gambier, Ohio....which is where I am...right now!

The Academics

2008-01-02T13:04:00.000-05:00

As some of you know, for the past three years I have lived a bit of a double life.
Back in the winter and spring of 2006 I became Bernard, the nerdy-maybe gay-English professor and keyboardist for the Academics, once or twice a week...
Along with fellow professors Oliver and Jules on the guitars, we rocked our fans in NYC and made them laugh with our sincere attempts at creating intellectual and witty music...

After a bit of hiatus, the Academics got together, perhaps for the last time, last month at a loft in Brooklyn to play for some of our most devoted fans!

HAPPY NEW YEAR to all! And look for a smashing photo essay of all of the holiday fun we've had this season in a few days!

Mice, The Former Capital of the Confederate States of America, the Kidlies and Chesapeake Bay at 6:30 am

2007-12-14T10:47:00.000-05:00

The blog title says it all--no need to explain these pictures now, is there?

Sorry it has been 2 days short of a month since my last post.... I just got back from Northern Europe and Russia and was instantaneously consumed in the busy life that awaited me back in NYC. (yeah, yeah, yeah--and I'm lazy)

Enjoy, and I vow to post some pictures of my band "The Academics' " last gig....

but for now: its just Travis taking care of the rodent problem in our apartment, Richmond in all its post-Confederate glory, my favorite New York under-five-ers and the view from 30,000ft over the Chesapeake at 6:30 in the morning!

Oslo and the Viking Ship Musuem

2007-11-16T09:56:00.000-05:00

So, after that raucous and irreverent descent into narcissistic revelry, I thought I'd briefly return to my recent trip to the Northern Nations and post a few pictures of my last stop. Oslo, Norway....this is for you Timand the Vikingskipshuset (Viking Ship Musuem) and the Forskningsparken (which I have to call the Naked Statue Park because I don't know exactly how it is in English... The Forsking Park? Tim?)

I really liked Oslo alot. I wish I had had more time to spend there--I was only there two days and I'm sure the city has a great deal to offer. But, right now, besides the Viking Ship Musuem and the Naked People Park all I really tell people about Oslo is how EXPENSIVE it was!--and how many prostitutes approached me every night on Karl Johhan's Gate (The main street in Oslo that runs from the train station to the Royal Palace--

Oh--also Henrik Ibsen, very significant to the development of modern theatrical form, is from Norway and has a street named after him just west of the Royal Palace.... Henrik Ibsen's Gate (Gate means street, right?)

Also--on the train from Bergen to Oslo I met three awesome young ladies who are studying for an semester at the University of Oslo--Frouke and Leida who are from Amsterdam and Kirsi from.....FINLAND!!!!

We went to dinner that evening and I got a burger for 108 kroner (1 US Dollar=5.1 Kroner....you do the math...okay, I'll do it--yes that's $21.00...and no, it wasn't an upscale restaraunt--just a little pubby place)

All the money issues aside, it was WORTH it to visit the Viking Ship Musuem and, of course, just to be in Norway--I've always been fascinated by the Viking period and the image of the beautifuly restored Oseberg ship resting in this elegant light filled white hall was something I'd seen in so many books--it was really moving to be there in that room....

There are actually three restored ships in the musuem in three adjoined halls, as well as displays of artifacts and items from the period found along with the ships....

Here are a few pictures from the Naked Statues Park

And getting ready to board Finair (the second safest airline in the world) Airbus home to New York.

I've been TAGGED!

2007-11-13T07:12:00.000-05:00

THE ABC'S of ME!!!

for Allison Dawn Green Moschetti and for those of you who are not blogger freaks--this is a little tag game that's being played through out blogdom...

someone tags someone else and they have to complete this ABC's of me thing...which is an opportunity to talk profusely about one's self and all the singular things that make one so...singular...

Allison tagged me and now I am doing it and am going to tag others, but you won't know who those others are unless you read through this alphabetical list of things about ME!

ATTACHED OR SINGLE?

Attached to Travis and A LOT of debt for the infinitely useful MFA degree I'm about to recieve from Columbia University....(so much in fact that its the first thing that came to my mind when answering this question and NOT Travis...this is sad, right? Why am I worrying about money above all else? Hmmmm....) Anyway-- Travis and Me!

BEST FRIEND...

Well, this is quite hard because I have never been able to honestly answer this question with out really listing like 15 people... yes, I am that luckly and tolerated by that many....

so here is the list in no particular order with explanations

(if you didn't make the list...I'm not sure what that means....ah, who am I kidding? Like 4 people read this)

Heather ( I live across the street from her and Matt and their children and see her almost everyday and have known her and Matt since I was 15)

Matt (above's husband)

My Dad ( he is the most like me...see the bit about worrying about $$$)

My Mom (she is the most unlike me...so we get along well)

Travis (of course)

Allison ( because she alone can pop zits in places that....its not appropriate for blogger land) (from what we are wearing in this picture you might think it was the mid to late 90's, but no....you'd be wrong...it was last year....)

Martha (my big sister because she actually calls me regularly and seems genuinely interested)

Matt Chappina ( my favorite Italian American from Massapequa, LI and a damn fine playwright and human being)

Cassandra Purricelli Chappina (above's wife and a better person and Italian American)

and a better picture of Cassandra because I want you all to see how beautiful Casey is, and not just how crazy she is AND it was another chance to post a picture of ME!

Heather Riggs ( also has known and tolerated me since I was 15)

all my brothers and sisters, who I will name later

and sincerely alot more and I am sure I have left someone off, but naming BEST friends makes me a little ill because there are soooo many who I am soo grateful for!

(please note that in most of these pictures, in addition to seeing an image of one of my BEST friends, you were also able to see another image of ME!!!)

CAKE OR PIE?

Are you kidding? Anyone who knows me knows I'll eat ANYTHING, particularly cake AND pie and if they have representatives from BOTH of these factions I WILL eat BOTH of them....at the same time...and it is quite possible that I will eat ALL of them... BUT if I had to be pinned down to ONE of them I would and could eat THE CAKE OF NUTTY GOODNESS as prepared by Heather Anna Corrigan Herrick for the rest of my days....
'tis a pity I have not a picture of this sweet sweet fantasy dessert...

DAY OF CHOICE

I've always liked Fridays....

ESSENTIAL ITEM

My legs and a pair of good running shoes...

this is ME!!! beating someone at the end of the Cherry Festival a couple years ago....

FAVORITE COLORS

Blue and Orange TOGETHER... last night I was playing with Mags and Cole and Margaret wanted to make fake pies (mmmmm) and this of course meant using the "pies" and "pieces" of pie from the Trivial Pursuit game... I made my tasty "fake pie" all blue and orange.... it was pretty!

GUMMIE BEARS or WORMS

See above expanation on cake or pie.... except I loved that Disney cartoon about Gummie Bears...well not so much the cartoon but the theme song.... "Gummie Bears bouncing here and there and everywhere, High Adventure thats beyond compare, They are the Gummie Bears!" You know you liked the tune, too.

INDULGENCES

(that's all you need to know about my indulgent side)

JANUARY or JULY

I'm very egalitarian and am able to see the merits of both these fine months...I love to snowboard and to swim.... (yes that's me in the Superman Speedo..... and Andy my bro, too....)

KIDS

My own-no. But I sure do love these two and spend a lot of time with them! They are leaving for Utah tomorrow for Thanksgiving and I just got back from Europe so I'm a little sad!

LIFE IS INCOMPLETE WITHOUT...

Love.

(This is called the Triangular Theory of Love and it is complicated and I don't know what it means--I found it when I image searched "love")

I like this theory of love alot more...

MARRIAGE DATES

....in Sweden or Canada or Finland or Massachussetts or somewhere someday...

NUMBER OF SYBLINGS

7! 4 brothers and 3 sisters! Martha, me, Andy, Sarah, Cathern, Bobby, Timmy and Peter... (now this IS the 90's...the Black Hills of South Dakota...1990 to be exact)

ORANGES or APPLES

It's sixes of the one, half a dozen of the other...it's a slippery slope...teach a man to fish and there's no i in team...

BUT I love OJ! I love orange JUICE alot more than I like apple juice!

PHOBIAS OR FEARS

This is the Airbus A380--the largest airplane in the world...it can seat over 500 people--it terrifies me...

but thanks to this----I may be able to fly on it someday!!!!

QUOTES

Love one another as I have loved you...

REASON TO SMILE

So so so so so many....all of the things listed above and below make me smile...but recently this place made me smile the most...
FINLAND!!

This is ME!!! in Helsinki, Finland

SEASON, SPRING or FALL

FALL!!!

I!!! (ME!!!) I was born in late August just in time to welcome the fall on the shores of Grand Traverse Bay...

TAG 3

Heather Anna Herrick, Heather Anna Riggs and Kelly Jo Horner Worth! (Now you can stop reading because I've got to the tagging part)

UNKOWN FACT

Everyone knows everything about me--I can't stop talking about ME!!!!

WORST HABIT

Besides being very prone to procrastination and very prone to spend money on things that are only gratifying and not investment-based and being very prone to spend the day exercising or cooking instead of writing like a good playwright I am far to prone to talk about ME!!!

X-RAY or ULTRASOUND

I had an x-ray when I was about 13 or 14 when Bobby (my borther of 5 at the time) tripped me and I broke my thumb....my mother, a very fine nurse, was convinced it was only dislocated and only took me to get it x-rayed when it became really painful (I may be exagerating--she probably took me right away)....it was broken and I got a cast...

YOUR FAVORITE FOOD

Once again...refer to the cake or pie question... I literally will eat anything and enjoy it... but lately I'm really into getting a bowl and putting raw almonds, walnuts, raisons, a little raw instant oatmeal, honey and some milk in it and eating it!

ZODIAC

Virgo the virgin...yes... (hey it kinda looks like Mariah...my indulgence) I just read that Virgos are supposed to be the critics of the Zodiac....that may be true but there is one thing I will never criticize....

ME!!!

So, those are the ABC's of me...and what is the lesson learned?

Never Nudge Nathan toward an opportuntiy to talk about himself, especially in a forum such as this where photographs are involved!

I look forward to reading and seeing the ABC's of those I tagged!

Bergen, Norway...

2007-11-06T16:47:00.000-05:00

Okay--so I actually am on at the Oslo Airport and I am posting the rest of the pictures from Bergen...amazing isn't it? Look at that view!

The city of Bergen is nestled right up against the walls of this fjiord and the homes just go up and up and then above them the trees, and rocks and lakes and waterfalls just go up and up ...
I started out early-like 8am Sunday morning--and just kept going up and up....through moss covered forests floors and watery runs full of enormous boulders grown over by pine trees and then the clear perfect lakes began and then incredible vistas opening up further and further--other fjiords north and south until you could see the North Sea beyond them...amazing

The city itself, down there on the shores of the fjord, was really beautiful and full of great archicture and things worth seeing.

Over all Bergen was a much more stunning, and considering the RIDICULOUS prices, worth the money! Very beautiful city....
( I will, very shortly, post some pics of Oslo and the couple of days I spent there...)

Stockholm....and Uppsala, Sweden...and the Ferry to Stockholm

2007-11-06T16:29:00.000-05:00

So I took the ferry and stayed a night in Stockholm...much bigger and cosmo and Euro-trashy (in a good way, of course) than Helsinki
These first two pictures, however, are from the city of Uppsala about an hour north of Stockholm...this is the city where the adaptation of the Ingmar Bergman novel I did with Nadia last year took palce, so I had to see it! I got there just as the sun was setting and it afforded me several interesting pictures of the big elegant Luthern Church in the center of the city....hmmmm, a Luthern Church in the center of a Scandinavian town...that's unique.... right?

The others are from the morning I arrived in Stockholm, fresh off the boat....the sun was literally filling every corner of the incredible blue sky and since the late fall/ winter sun in Scandinavia is so low it creates amazing shadows and opportunities...so I did my best...

I really liked Stockholm, but since I was there only a day and a half, found it a little lonely and also a city with a much faster pace and penchant for the hip than Helsinki. It is certainly bigger and deservedly calls itself "the Capital of Scandinavia..."

These last few are from the Ferry as we grew closer to Stockholm the next morning... what a beautiful place--and once again--the sun and its power fascinated me!

Good-bye Helsinki

2007-11-06T16:04:00.000-05:00

So, I took the Viking Line Ferry to Stockholm and left this beautiful and kind city I learned to love so much in the two weeks I was there. Here are some parting pictures of Helsinki and the generous and wonderful friends I made there. I love you all and miss you Helsinki...I'LL BE BACK!!!

Me and Kimmo, a friend I met in Helsinki who is really a fantastic guy..he came to see me off at the ferry... Sad to say good bye!

This is Jukka and Howard, the couple who were SO indredibly generous and helpful, they really took care of me and of course, insisted on driving me and my luggage to the ferry and along with Kimmo, made sure I got on the boat okay. These guys are GREAT!

Churches, Chruches, Churches...I really dig Scandinavian style in architecture--BUT, to be accurate and respectful, Finland is NOT Scandinavia...though its history and much of its culture is closely connected to the Sweden, and therefore the other Scandies. But its language, and in my opinion, its approach to others and itself are quite unique...I love it.

Anyway, this last Church, gray stone with green-I'm assuming copper-- roofs and trim is in Kallio, an area of Helsinki, where I satyed with Juha-mikko, another friend who you'll see momentarily. He lives there and so does Kimmo, who is pictured with me above. He and Juha-Mikko are best friends. Anyway, this church really drew me in....its beautiful in a way that is at once severe and contemplative....thoughts?

Kimmo and Juha-Mikko on a little trip to a cafe overlooking an old mill and dam.

A hockey match in Vantaa (Finland's second city), where Inkeri, my first host and her boyfriend Peteri took me.... it was a lot of fun--particularly this very yong fan who is concerned about preserving his hearing...good for him!
And Howard, who was born in Taiwan, who came to Helsinki to study 13 years ago, who, best I can tell, speaks fantastic Finnish and who hates to be photographed!
And then me against the Baltic and the sun. And below, Inkeri--a great friend who also happens to be a post-person(she delivers the Finnish mail) and is exceedingly generous and helpful!!!

Tallinn, Estonia... in 4 hours

2007-11-01T03:51:00.001-04:00

I took the Nordic Jet Ferry yesterday (October 31) to Tallinn, Estonia...it was a beautiful day in a beautiful city...

I really zooomed through Tallin.

I only had about 4 and half hours, but the old city, which is up above the harbour and sea on a hill, is very compact and really--I'm actually going to use the word delightful and be sincere about it now--it is very compact and really delightful to wander or race through and just try and capture on film and absorb some of the old, old architecture and unique history of the city...
Light has really been an inspiring component of the world for me lately--I'm always trying to capture it and how it changes ordinary objects and places...

Tallin, is old, so old that, and I may be off by a century or two, but it was first mentioned by an Arab cartographer as an important shipping century in the 9th century.... pretty cool, eh?

Visit Tallinn if you get the chance...its about an hour and 45 minute ferry ride from Helsinki...well worth the 50 Euros one would spend... I really was taken with it and sad I had to experience in such a rushed way...

Mina rakastan Suomea

2007-10-23T18:16:00.000-04:00

I cannot get over how beautiful and peaceful and balanced and still full of life and art and culture and food and....wow....Helsinki is amazing.... The Baltic Sea from the Island Fortress Suomenlinna--built to defend the city of Helsinki in the 18th century.
My host, Inkeri, took me on a 20km bike ride through the northeastern part of Helsinki along the Vantaanjoki (The River Vantaa) and through some beautiful woods full of pines and birches....past a public farm where the sheep adored me.... across bridges and past waterfalls and mills...

Ny next host, Howard, who is originally from Taipei and refuses to be photographed, took me on an amazing tour of the architecture of downtown Helsinki...these first few pictures are of this beautiful Luthern Church to which photos cannot deliver justice. It is built in a circle into the bedrock of the city--the sanctutary is a doomed circle of stone and copper and steel and light--the light is amazing! Oh--and the light in this city! The light! Oh the light!

THE church in Helsinki....towers above the harbor....beautiful...
Howard and Jukka's apartment....I know, right...
Some more pictures of the city--me trying desperately to capture--fumbling around, really to photograph some of the incredible detail and care and balance and beauty I see in the architecture, planning, art and the land all around me here...

Look at these details in the decoration of the buildings....or the care put into the window boxes or just the stunning harbor and the perfect sunset....I can't get over it...

(and if some of the pictures are, like, cut in half--please forgive me inaptitude with using blogger....just click on the pic and have a closer look)

Have I mentioned that I LOVE Finland and I am going to move here? I'm serious...