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| Cruising The Woods |
"They say that Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky was a homosexual. Truth be told, we don't love him because of that, but he was a great musician and we all love his music. So what?"
"I assure you that I work with these people. I sometimes award them with state prizes or decorations for their achievements in various fields. We have absolutely normal relations, and I don't see anything out of the ordinary here."
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| Vlad Playing Bikini Ping-Pong With A Male 'Friend' |
"Had the clerk issued marriage licenses to 12-year-olds in violation of state law, would anyone seriously contend that each 12-year-old . . . is entitled to a hearing on the validity of his 'license'?"Of course, this bit of lunacy masked as idiocy masked as policy got folks all riled up and now Corbett is backtracking on his comparison of adult gays and lesbians being allowed to marry and twelve-year-olds marrying one another.
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You don’t know who he is, or was? Darren Manzella was on the front lines in combat and on the front lines here at home in the fight to end DADT. A combat medic, counselor, U.S. Army sergeant and, as of just last month, a newlywed, Manzella died last week in an automobile accident. Manzella publicly challenged the military’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” — on national television, no less — and in doing so became the face gay servicemen and women. For his courage in speaking out, Manzella was discharged from the military in 2008 for publicly discussing his sexual identity. When DADT finally gasped its last breath in 2011, Manzella reenlisted as a reservist. Driving on a highway in Pittsford New York, last Thursday, Manzella’s car sideswiped another car. Manzella stopped his car, got out and began pushing it from behind when another car rear-ended Manzella’s car, pinning him between the two vehicles. He was pronounced dead at the scene. But let’s not remember how Darren Manzella died, but rather how he lived, and he fought, both here and at home for the freedoms of all Americans, gay and straight. In December 2007 60 Minutes interview Manzella came out publicly as a gay soldier — which violated that 1993 policy that barred gay servicemen and women from disclosing their sexual orientation; a few months later, he was discharged. And he began to fight harder and stronger for the rights of gay men and women to serve their country in the military, and to serve openly, like everyone else. Even his family stepped into the fray. In 2010, Darren’s mother Nancy asked for the repeal of DADT: “My husband and I live in rural western New York where we have made our home at a grape vineyard and have raised three wonderful sons. We now have beautiful daughters-in-law and grandchildren. We are proud to say that we are the all-American family. As parents, this law offends us deeply. ... Our sons and daughters should be judged on their performance, loyalty to country and bravery, not their sexual orientation.”  And that same year, Darren Manzella wrote his own letter to President Obama: Dear Mr. President, It was spring 2004. I had just arrived in Baghdad. We’d been there all but four days. Then it happened. It was an ambush. It ended with my good friend shot dead. I was overwhelmed by emotions of anger and sadness, but also confusion. At that moment, my perspective on life changed; I wondered, what if I had been killed in action and had never come to terms with who I truly was and, even worse, never had the chance to share it with my loved ones? There comes a point when acceptance is your only salvation—my return from Iraq was my moment. I served two tours of duty in the Middle East in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom as a Soldier in the United States Army. I was promoted to sergeant, was a team leader of a medical squad, and conducted over 100 12-hour patrols in the streets of Baghdad, treating wounds and evacuating casualties of sniper fire and roadside bombs. I applied for Officer Candidate School under the recommendation of two generals in my chain of command. But, today, instead of protecting my fellow Americans, I sit working in a university development office because I was discharged under “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT). When I came out, the first people I told were comrades, with whom I had just spent 12 months in Baghdad. To be honest, I was scared of their rejection more than the mortar and rocket attacks, ambushes, or roadside explosives. But, they showed immense understanding of what I had been going through and offered unconditional support. The response from my brothers and sisters in arms proved that the military is a family—no matter if you are man, woman, black, white, transgender, gay, or straight. What truly matters is whether you can trust the person next to you. And how can trust be built around a lie? One day, I received an email from a Soldier I had never met; it said I was being investigated under DADT and that I would be stripped of my rank and pay and eventually discharged. I tried to ignore it, but the emails continued and became more derogatory. Soon, I began receiving similar phone calls at work. Unsure of who to trust, on edge every second, and losing more and more sleep each night, I approached my supervisor. I was a Soldier who lived by all seven of the Army values, including honesty. I refused to have someone else end my career. He offered a sympathetic ear before reporting me to the legal department. After an investigation into my statements and the harassment, I was told I was an exceptional Soldier and to “drive on” with my work. It was a great a relief to break the silence. My colleagues suddenly understood why I had always been so detached and began asking me to join them in activities outside of work. Later that year my division deployed again and I served the entirety of the deployment as an openly gay Soldier. I no longer had to lie if someone asked if I were married or had a girlfriend, I didn’t have to write my emails in “code.” I no longer feared being “outed.” I finally was able to be honest. After arriving in Iraq for the second deployment I was promoted once again and served my division as the medical liaison officer in Kuwait. It was there that I participated in an interview with Leslie Stahl for 60 Minutes with the focus being on a out gay Soldier working in a combat zone. I gave voice to the tens of thousands of men and women who serve everyday under the fear of DADT. The interview also ended my career. I was honorably discharged on June 10, 2008. While I sit in a safe and comfortable civilian office, former comrades and friends continue to serve, leaving their families for a third, fourth, or even fifth deployment. Why am I not able to stand in the place of my battle buddy who has left his wife three times to deploy and missed the birth of his new born child? Why are exceptions being made to enlist individuals with subpar mental and physical standards? And why are serious convicted felons granted waivers to serve while I was pushed out the door? Mr. President, last year you restored my hope that this discriminatory law will be repealed, but I must admit that my spirit has been shaken because DADT still exists. Every day, we lose dedicated and capable service members while other Marines, Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Coastguardsmen sacrifice more than their share. My experience demonstrates what matters most is competence, trust and ability. Why then should we wait another year or another decade to do what is right? Sincerely, Former Sergeant Darren Manzella United States Army New York Senator Charles Schumer, who opposed DADT, remembered Darren Manzella upon his death: “We will always remember Sgt. Manzella as someone who had the courage both to fight for his country and to change it.” Darren Manzella, after being discharged form, the military for saying he was gay, moved back to Rochester, New York and began working at the Canandaigua V.A.’s crisis call center. He married Javier Lapeira-Soto there on July 5. He fought for us on battlefields here and abroad, for the rights of all Americans to be free. RIP Darren Manzella. You fought the good fight. The march goes on ….
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“I think it will be one more statement that people who love each other and want to live together should be able to enjoy the blessings and the strife in the marriage relationship. … It won’t be long before there will be another [performed by a justice].”
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 from the HuffPo Gay Voices by Sarah Hankel-Hoffman, wife and straight ally ___________________________________ Sarah Hankel-Hoffman legally wed her husband Jason Hoffman in March 2013, but they will hold a second ceremony and reception Sept. 7, 2013, in Des Moines, Iowa, where it is illegal to practice bigotry and, even worse, immoral. ________________________________ It is our lifetime conviction that all people are created equal, and it is our belief that good people subscribe to the "golden rule" that has resulted in our decision to withdraw our reservation to hold our wedding reception at the Görtz Haus Gallery in Grimes, Iowa, on Sept. 7, 2013. This measure is in response to the decision by Görtz Haus Gallery owners Betty and Dick Odgaard to turn away two men who wished to hold their wedding and reception at the lovely venue. Jason and I and our family and friends find it impossible to celebrate our nuptials at a place where such hurtful behavior occurred. While Betty Odgaard has stated several times that "there is no hate here," their decision was reactionary and, at the very core, discriminatory. The way they have chosen to run their business is not in line with our morals, what we believe, or what is laid out in Iowa state law. While Jason and I have not yet secured another location for our wedding reception, we will find a place where, for just a few hours, that "fairytale wedding" moment can occur and we, along with our family and friends, can believe in the power of the goodness of humanity and feel assured that all is right in the world. For the most part, this decision was fairly easy to make. We made it the moment that we first heard about the Odgaards' position that gay marriage is inferior to heterosexual marriage. While Jason and I immediately felt that moving forward with our reception at Görtz Haus Gallery was unacceptable, we did pause for thought. The invitations had gone out just two days earlier. What about our family and friends who will be coming, some from long distances, and some of whom don't know the area and will have difficulty getting around without a tediously drawn map created by the best local graphic designer (my sister, Tierney Millhollin, of course)? Should we just suck it up and march forward? Should we take the advice of Donna Red Wing at One Iowa and "gay it up"? Jason and I both had some consultation with family and friends, and long ago, before this current controversy, we decided that we do not want wedding gifts. You see, Jason and I are both in our 40s. This will be our first time (and likely our last, because we don't believe in "pop-culture law" marriages, which Betty Odgaard seems to think include gay marriages). We have a house full of stuff. So we decided almost 18 months ago that instead of registering for new matching towels or a pair of electric nose trimmers, we would select three organizations to receive donations from our guests. We have our passions! So we selected the Pet Project Midwest, Iowa Public Radio (because we're kind of geeks) and -- get ready for it -- One Iowa. It was after that decision, and out of a love of art and all things eclectic, that we chose the Görtz Haus Gallery as our reception site. It was also a somewhat personal decision, as one of my mother's dear friends (rest in peace, Diane Foster) used to show her artwork there. We booked it nearly a year in advance, and I paid not only the advance deposit but the full lump sum for the space reservation. (To be fair, the Odgaards have indicated that they will give me a refund.) We've spent hours planning and arranging our perfect day there. It would have been so easy to just shrug our shoulders and look past the Odgaards' refusal to host a gay wedding, but I thought of all the times I had had the opportunity to volunteer and go out in support of gay rights and all the resources that I could have provided to one event or another but came up short on either time or money. This had to be my penance. I'd take it. So this is our stance. We stand in solidarity with all those who have had to fight for equal rights or hide because it was too dangerous or scary to be who they really were. This is for all the other injustices that came before the 21st century. This is our one small contribution, but it's a big one to us. In the end, our actions are not just about standing up for gay rights but about standing up for human rights, as Americans and as Iowans. It's about the basic tenet of "do unto others and you would have them do unto you." We give our sincerest thanks and love to our parents, family and friends. |
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originally posted Tuesday, December 01, 2009 This is an article written by a very good friend of ours, detailing his odyssey through illness and hospitals and health care as a gay man. It first appeared in the Bottomline magazine HERE. Swine Flu, Love and Health Reform By Rick Vila
My husband, Ken Lyon, and I planned a two-week vacation in New England several months ago. We were excited to make the trip, relax in Provincetown, visit the famed mansions in Newport, Rhode Island, and drive up to Montreal to visit friends via picturesque Vermont and New Hampshire. We left Palm Springs feeling upbeat, looking forward to getting away from the desert heat and full of excitement. Little did we know that our vacation would turn into a 23-day odyssey that left us weaker, yet stronger; fearful, but more valiant; dumbfounded yet wiser; shaken at our core, but more in love. Two days into our trip I felt sick with flu-like symptoms: chills, fevers, body aches, headache, coughing. I stayed in the condo we had rented for the week in Provincetown for three days, thinking if I rested, drank fluids and took over-the counter medications I’d improve. For two days I did feel better so we ventured out and about Provincetown, which was full of visitors due to it being Carnival week there. That Saturday, we drove to Newport, Rhode Island, to see the famed mansions on our way to Vermont. I was feeling pretty good, though still a bit fatigued from the flu I thought I had just gotten rid of. While touring the Breakers, the old Vanderbilt mansion, I attempted to climb the lovely staircase to the second level. Suddenly I realized I was out of breath and couldn’t get up the stairs. A young man, also on the tour, said to me, “Sir, are you all right? You look very sick.” I was startled by this comment from a total stranger. I told Ken I was out of breath and wanted to go back and rest in the car while he finished the tour. We checked into a hotel in Providence, RI, and by morning I knew I was very sick. Ken asked about a local hospital and we were referred to the Miriam Hospital, a small, Jewish teaching hospital for Brown University’s medical school. Within one hour of arriving in the emergency room, I had been diagnosed with double pneumonia, had been admitted and put in an isolation chamber private room. What followed was a total decline of my health to a level I had not known before, despite my age (55) and many previous health issues (HIV/AIDS, accidents, etc.). The second day in the hospital I was put in Intensive Care for six days, and developed two additional infections: clostridium difficile (which causes uncontrolled diarrhea and vomiting), and a yeast infection covering my buttocks and thighs that made me itch constantly. As it turns out, I was told I had a confirmed positive diagnosis for the currently notorious swine flu. The state of Rhode Island’s health department quarantined me and anyone entering my room was required to wear gloves, gowns, masks and plastic shields over their faces. I was the first swine flu case for the particular medical team to which I was assigned and as such was studied by doctors, residents and medical students exhaustively. I had at least two very dark days in I.C.U., where my very existence became tenuous. My oxygenation was declining and the doctor wanted to put me on life support. I pleaded with her to give me four or five hours before she did so, to see if I improved, and she agreed to respect my wishes. I realized I needed to release the enormous amount of anxiety I was feeling, and went into a very personal and private contemplative place to find internal light and strength to help me improve. I thought of Ken and how much I wanted to live to be with him, and how much I loved him. My sister had flown up from Florida to be with us, and her presence, love and strength nourished me deeply. We have always been close and I knew I wanted to be around to grow old with her. Miraculously, as I surrendered control and anxiety and moved into a place of love, quiet and acceptance, my breathing improved. For six days in ICU I had an oxygen mask, three IV’s, a heart monitor. I was and felt dirty, not being able to shower, or clean up, and having constant diarrhea into a bedpan and having to urinate into a plastic bottle because I was too weak to get out of bed. My beard grew long and gray, my skin became scaly and itchy. My energy level nosedived to zero. I could not eat, stand, or even move, and nothing interested me, except the love and presence of my husband and my sister. I lost 30 pounds in the course of my hospital stay. But it is not the darkness of those days that I want to focus on or the reason for my writing. I’m writing to honor the values of love and gratitude. For those skeptics of gay love, I have a story to tell. My story is that my husband, Ken, never left my side. I’ve loved him since we met, and always known him to be an excellent human being—now he is in my stratosphere. He slept in the hospital every night with me, including six nights in a chair in the I.C.U., and another six in the hospital room sofa bed. He cared for me lovingly, attending to every detail, dealing with all the logistics, advocating on my behalf, respecting my every wish, listening to me, and loving me unconditionally. He cleaned me, and comforted me as I shook with fevers, fear and despair. He hugged me and kissed me, when everyone else was masked. I think the hospital staff early on understood the power of love in our relationship. We were lucky to be in Rhode Island, where gay marriage is recognized (though not yet legally performed), and not in another state where things could have been very different. I really got close and personal to the spirit of New Englanders: respectful, caring, independent, wise. My nurse in I.C.U was a man named Gary, who disclosed to me in conversation that he was a Seventh Day Adventist, and that he and his family’s priorities and life revolved around their church, where he was an elder/minister. I visited that religion’s website later and read of their condemnation towards homosexuals. Yet Gary could not have been more caring towards us, more respectful towards Ken (knowing full well of our relationship), or a better nurse. He even came up to my room after I was out of ICU to visit and see how “we” were doing. Ken and I always refer to each other as “husbands,” which is what we are. And I believe the natural love we demonstrated openly towards each other was so transparent, and so beautiful, that no one could repudiate it. I think in the face of truth and love, human-crafted religious edicts lose out because nothing is greater or more imbued with truth than the power of love. The “Gary” lesson for me is to be cautious in the future about stereotyping people with too wide a brush. There are good, respectful, decent people of all religious, philosophical and political persuasions. I got stronger every day and each day felt closer to normal. When we arrived in Palm Springs, the mountains had never before looked so beautiful to me; our house felt more grandiose than the Vanderbilt’s Breakers; our dog Lily’s wagging tail became a grounding bolt of what really matters. I spent the week feeling grateful. Grateful for Ken, for my sister, for the extraordinary care I received in the hospital, for the hundreds of friends and family who called, texted, sent flowers, cards, prayers and filled our refrigerator at home with homemade food, and put flowers and cards in our house to cheer us up upon arrival, and for my immune system, which fought back from a very weak place. Since then I’ve enjoyed emptying the dishwasher and folding the laundry in ways I never have before. Ken asked me if I had felt any anger at what had happened and the fact that we missed out on our vacation. I thought about it, and said, “No.” The anger I feel is for the fact that millions of people in this country and this world don’t have access to the care I did, don’t have loved ones to care for them, don’t have the means or the voice to defend themselves during their most vulnerable times. As the health care argument plays out on national television, I have a recent personal experience to relate. Despite having excellent private insurance, and sufficient personal resources to access the best care, Ken and the nurse case manager at the hospital spent over six frustrating hours on the phone making arrangements for my post-hospital care. When the logistics had finally been worked out, the contracted healthcare provider became a prime example of waste in healthcare. They delivered an oxygen converter machine, six oxygen tanks and more tubing than I ever needed to our hotel in Boston, not to mention reams of paperwork that I simply threw away. I didn’t use even a third of the quantity they brought, but I’m certain they will bill my insurance for it at top rates. No wonder healthcare costs keep soaring. In the hospital, which offered me top-of-the-line medical care, I was given an excessive number of toothbrushes, creams and bottles of Keri lotion, none of which I ordered, and no clear instructions on how to put a stop to that wasteful supply. Is reform needed? Yes, a resounding YES. And people who think otherwise are either burying their head in the sand, or are simply selfish and unconscious in their thought process. I don’t know what the right path is to reform, but I do know what all parties need to put into their decision-making: the consciousness of love, dignity towards every living being, respect for the frailties of others, and simple smarts that uses available technology to keep waste to a minimum, costs contained and better accountability. We also need computerized medical records that can be quickly accessed nationally, and a system that offers top tier and seamless care to ALL Americans, with minimal bureaucracy. My experience was very humbling, and I hope to become a better person because of it. I don’t know how I will do that, but I’m going to start by practicing being more loving and more compassionate, more forgiving, more conscious of the suffering of others, more cautious in my thinking, and more tempered in my response to the little things in life that in the end matter very little. |
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 by Kevin Burrows, for HuffPost Gay Voices Last Friday, while surfing through the major Broadway websites, I came across a feature entitled "''Til There Was You': Broadway's Best Showmances." It was a collection of stories of 18 Broadway couples who fell in love while performing in or working on the same show. As I scrolled through the slideshow with the love stories and images of these couples -- most of whom I know -- I started feeling uneasy. And by the time I got to the end of the article, I was astounded. Of the couples depicted, not one of them was a same-sex couple. How could this be? I mean, I'm pretty sure most people are aware of this (and even if people aren't, this major Broadway website certainly must be), but there are quite a few gay individuals in the Broadway community. I know, shocker, right? I can easily rattle off a long list of same-sex couples who met on shows in New York or while in touring productions, including me and my husband. And most of these couples have been together for years, jumping at the opportunity to wed when the state of New York was brave enough to vote on and pass marriage equality into law. The irony of being excluded from this piece was not lost on me. After all, we're not included onstage, so how could we possibly be included offstage? While many of the depicted romances occurred between men and women who were portraying couples, not one of the same-sex couples (again, including my husband and me) were afforded that opportunity. Aside from a small handful of gay-related shows, there are very few same-sex love stories being depicted onstage. This pissed me off. In fact, as I ran down the list of the same-sex couples I knew, I realized that none of us had been romantic pairings onstage. Our love stories included a Shark and a Jet, a stage manager and a chorus dancer, a musical director and a showgirl, and, in my own case, a straight, male-chauvinist cartoon character and a fork. (Perhaps the editor of the piece was concerned that my own pairing was a little too close to that marriage equality "slippery slope" we keep hearing about?) Are our relationships somehow less than because we didn't have that magical opportunity to fall in love while pretending to do so onstage? Or worse: Is there some reason that our committed and loving relationships should be hidden away from theater-going audiences? I thought about that gay, theater-loving kid in some small town somewhere -- this website offering him some hope and a connection to a potentially bright future -- seeing this feature and not seeing himself represented in any way. Once again, something is making him feel different, other, alone. I want that kid to know that we are out here. And not only are we out here, but we are out here in huge numbers. We have fantastic, successful careers, relationships, marriages, and kids! That's what I want the next generation to see:
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