This day always reminds me of the American Playhouse presentation of The Fifth of July by Lanford Wilson, which aired on PBS in 1982. I was 16, and I had known I was gay for five years at that point, but I still hadn’t told a soul. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully explain what carrying around that secret did to me for so long when I was so young. It has had a profound impact on my self-esteem and my ability to trust.
Rarely did I hear gay men spoken about or see gay men depicted in a positive way. The culture was harshly and pervasively homophobic, so I heard about the faggots and the queers every day, but hardly anything affirming. Then I saw this play.
Richard Thomas played the lead character. I had grown up with the Waltons, so it was a shock to see him play a gay man, a pleasant shock. Jeff Daniels played his lover. Jeff was about 26 at the time, and he was cute as a puppy. Teenage Gary was smitten.
On those occasions when gay people popped up on TV shows or in movies, they were almost universally sad, lonely or even depraved. They were to be pitied or feared, and their sexuality was tragic. But the fact that both Kenneth and Jed were men was incidental. They had their problems, of course, but being gay wasn’t a problem. It was just part of who they were. Their relationship was a good thing, something they both needed and wanted. Their friends and family supported them.
I’m grateful to everyone involved in the production of this play.
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
The Many Faces of Extremism
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
—Martin Luther King, Jr.
Turkey is a predominantly Muslim country, and what happened there today is a reminder that the victims of violent extremists acting in the name of Islam are often Muslims. Yet many here in this country would have us believe that simply calling these extremist groups “radical Islam” is somehow an important step in addressing the problem. But that will only marginalize those who identify as Muslim, and Muslims are the primary victims of these extremists. There are those who would have us drop bombs indiscriminately “over there” as if that will eradicate the extremists. That would only result in the deaths of innocent people, and we would become no better than the terrorists. Terrorizing and marginalizing innocent people pushes them toward extremism, thus exacerbating the problem, not helping it.
The primary proponents of this simplistic approach—let’s blame them, those people other there, those radical Islamists—want us to turn a blind eye toward the extremism in our own midst. It appears the killer in Orlando was only tangentially associated with ISIS. He was an American, he was born here, and he was raised by a father who taught him to be homophobic, just as many Christian parents teach their children. All across this country, Republican politicians propose one anti-LGBT bill after another. The massacre in Orlando followed a season in which Republican lawmakers never stopped spreading fear of trans people in bathrooms. And for decades, they have been courting the votes of Christian extremists who never stop claiming we are worthy of death and that LGBTs are out to harm and recruit children, destroy the family and civilization.
The problem isn’t “out there” or “over there.” It isn’t contained within one particular group of people, one religion or one region of the world. The problem is hate caused by fear and a lust for power. It is a human failing, and we are all subject to it.
—Martin Luther King, Jr.
Turkey is a predominantly Muslim country, and what happened there today is a reminder that the victims of violent extremists acting in the name of Islam are often Muslims. Yet many here in this country would have us believe that simply calling these extremist groups “radical Islam” is somehow an important step in addressing the problem. But that will only marginalize those who identify as Muslim, and Muslims are the primary victims of these extremists. There are those who would have us drop bombs indiscriminately “over there” as if that will eradicate the extremists. That would only result in the deaths of innocent people, and we would become no better than the terrorists. Terrorizing and marginalizing innocent people pushes them toward extremism, thus exacerbating the problem, not helping it.
The primary proponents of this simplistic approach—let’s blame them, those people other there, those radical Islamists—want us to turn a blind eye toward the extremism in our own midst. It appears the killer in Orlando was only tangentially associated with ISIS. He was an American, he was born here, and he was raised by a father who taught him to be homophobic, just as many Christian parents teach their children. All across this country, Republican politicians propose one anti-LGBT bill after another. The massacre in Orlando followed a season in which Republican lawmakers never stopped spreading fear of trans people in bathrooms. And for decades, they have been courting the votes of Christian extremists who never stop claiming we are worthy of death and that LGBTs are out to harm and recruit children, destroy the family and civilization.
The problem isn’t “out there” or “over there.” It isn’t contained within one particular group of people, one religion or one region of the world. The problem is hate caused by fear and a lust for power. It is a human failing, and we are all subject to it.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
Pompous Fool Leaves the Mess He Helped Make Behind
It has been reported that George Will has quit the GOP now that people like him have been so successful in transforming the party into the unvarnished asshole party. I used to watch ABC’s This Week on Sunday mornings, and he was always a fixture. Over time, I grew to loath him. He was always, without fail, monumentally pompous. He always gave the impression that he firmly believed he was the absolute smartest person in the room and everything he said was pure gold. He routinely made references to historical events and quoted from famous books and people, but the relevance was often questionable. He just did it to make himself sound smart to people who didn’t know any better. And when you stripped away the bullshit, his arguments were often overly simplistic and even monumentally stupid.
Almost every week, he liked to claim that welfare was like a subsidy, and if you subsidize something, you get more of it…like welfare babies. He never showed the slightest ounce of humanity or any recognition that he was talking about babies. Babies! Poor babies. And when they did a segment on LGBT rights, he would make the same cold, heartless, brain dead argument, insisting that if the government and society recognized the rights of LGBTs, you would get more of them. I wanted to throttle him. What a disgusting and dumb human being.
Crazy Laugh
When my mother was deep in psychosis caused by her schizophrenia, she was often paranoid, fearful, angry, vindictive and cruel. She could also be giddy, talkative, sociable and charming. She would walk up to complete strangers and with a big, friendly, although extreme smile, launch into conversations without even an inkling of apprehension or self-doubt in the way a well cared for small child might expect all adults to be trustworthy and always up for a chat.
She could also be goofy and silly in a way that was somehow even more unsettling than her paranoid hostility. Oliver Sachs writes about this silly state in his book The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, and he goes on to say that a number of neurological disorders can cause this silly state to occur. The reason it’s so unsettling is because the patient has lost an emotional connection to the world so that the world has become meaningless to them, and they have lost a sense of self. It’s almost as if they are not there anymore, and what’s left is a shell that is only superficially amusing but is actually cold and devoid of human feeling. That’s why the crazy laugh is so frightening.
She could also be goofy and silly in a way that was somehow even more unsettling than her paranoid hostility. Oliver Sachs writes about this silly state in his book The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, and he goes on to say that a number of neurological disorders can cause this silly state to occur. The reason it’s so unsettling is because the patient has lost an emotional connection to the world so that the world has become meaningless to them, and they have lost a sense of self. It’s almost as if they are not there anymore, and what’s left is a shell that is only superficially amusing but is actually cold and devoid of human feeling. That’s why the crazy laugh is so frightening.
I’m not sure if extreme anxiety can cause this specific mental state, but when I’m forced to be in social situations for long periods of time, I get the sense that I’m losing my identity. It’s as if I’m forgetting who I am. And sometimes I will become silly and goofy in a way that’s not really me. It’s a shield, and my real emotions are being suppressed. After a while, it’s not even as if I’m hiding my true emotions because even I lose contact with them. What’s left is a goofy shell. When I’m like that, I need time alone. And I often do nothing but sit and stare for hours before I start to feel like myself again.
Saturday, June 18, 2016
Ward and John, the Dull Ideal
I think Alan Downs’ The Velvet Rage should be subtitled The Zen of Conformist Mediocrity. I’m sure that Downs is a good therapist who has helped many. He comes across as carrying, professional and considerate. And he has some good insights. But…
Downs claims that gay men grow up in a culture that doesn’t appreciate them and is often hostile toward them, and this leads to a deep sense of shame, and he concludes that this shame has a profound impact on the lives of gay men.
Downs believes there are three stages gay men pass through before they are free of the shame. First we are closeted. In this stage we can be intensely homophobic, secretive and dishonest. We might get married to a woman, have kids, but privately enjoy gay porn or have anonymous gay sex, or even have a sexual relationship with a man while insisting we aren’t gay. Then in the second stage, we are flamboyant, extravagant, outrageous, fabulous and extreme as we desperately seek external validation. Working for that perfect gym body, spending a fortune on designer clothes, being the absolute best at our jobs, making lots of money, taking exotic vacations…anything that’s over the top and out of the ordinary is a symptom of this middle stage according to Downs. Gay men in this stage might also be extremely defensive, sarcastic, bitter, alcoholic and drug addicted. The final stage is self-acceptance, and Downs believes that gay men in this stage settle down and lead quiet lives and mostly blend in.
Downs believes that most gay men have difficulty maintaining relationships because they had shaming and invalidating relationships with their fathers, and he seems to think anything other than long-term, monogamous relationships are symptoms of unresolved shame.
It’s not that I completely disagree with Downs on every count. I recognized myself in much of what he has to say, and I recognize other gay men I’ve known. But he concretizes and generalizes about his conclusions, categories and stages to an extent that he presents gay men as stereotypes and gay caricatures: the closet case who sucks off men at truck stops, the closet case who hates gay men, the promiscuous gym bunny or disco queen, the boozy, jet set queen, the house beautiful queen, the insecure bitchy Boys in the Band queen. Yeah, we’ve seen men like that, but it’s just too simple, too tidy, too on the nose. Too reductive.
Aside from that, I think Downs does what many therapists do without realizing it, and that’s philosophize. He comes to conclusions about the way things should be and the way life should be lived, conclusions that I think are beyond the scope of psychology. He presents a kind of school of thought, and I think it’s rather tedious and boring, and he offers no solid proof as to why we should think his beliefs are universally valid. Downs seems to think that any early sexual experience is abusive. He seems to think that living alone is pathology. He seems to think that breaking up is pathology. He seems to think having a sex life others might consider kinky is pathology. He seems to think having an open relationship is pathology. He seems to think being too poor or too rich is pathology. Doing anything to stand out is pathology. Even going to gay bars, gay resorts or gay Pride Parades is pathology. I get the sense that in Downs imagination anything other than a quiet comfortable middle class suburban life with a unobtrusive man whom you have sex with twice a week with the lights off is an indication that things our out of sorts. The ideal he wants to impose on all of us is straight out of a 1950s sitcom. Ozzie and Henry, that dull, forgettable gay couple from down the street. They have a house that looks like every other house in the neighborhood. They have good jobs, but nothing too exciting. They might invite you to dinner, and the food will probably be pretty good, but nothing too exotic.
Is this self-acceptance or another kind of extremism, extreme conformity? And conformity to what? A Hollywood fantasy?
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being Ozzie and Henry or Ward and John, but I don’t think that if you dream of a masked man with a large dildo that it’s a sure sign that Daddy didn’t love you enough. I don’t think that every time you try to excel at something or try something new or unusual that it means you’re being down on yourself.
Downs claims that gay men grow up in a culture that doesn’t appreciate them and is often hostile toward them, and this leads to a deep sense of shame, and he concludes that this shame has a profound impact on the lives of gay men.
Downs believes there are three stages gay men pass through before they are free of the shame. First we are closeted. In this stage we can be intensely homophobic, secretive and dishonest. We might get married to a woman, have kids, but privately enjoy gay porn or have anonymous gay sex, or even have a sexual relationship with a man while insisting we aren’t gay. Then in the second stage, we are flamboyant, extravagant, outrageous, fabulous and extreme as we desperately seek external validation. Working for that perfect gym body, spending a fortune on designer clothes, being the absolute best at our jobs, making lots of money, taking exotic vacations…anything that’s over the top and out of the ordinary is a symptom of this middle stage according to Downs. Gay men in this stage might also be extremely defensive, sarcastic, bitter, alcoholic and drug addicted. The final stage is self-acceptance, and Downs believes that gay men in this stage settle down and lead quiet lives and mostly blend in.
Downs believes that most gay men have difficulty maintaining relationships because they had shaming and invalidating relationships with their fathers, and he seems to think anything other than long-term, monogamous relationships are symptoms of unresolved shame.
It’s not that I completely disagree with Downs on every count. I recognized myself in much of what he has to say, and I recognize other gay men I’ve known. But he concretizes and generalizes about his conclusions, categories and stages to an extent that he presents gay men as stereotypes and gay caricatures: the closet case who sucks off men at truck stops, the closet case who hates gay men, the promiscuous gym bunny or disco queen, the boozy, jet set queen, the house beautiful queen, the insecure bitchy Boys in the Band queen. Yeah, we’ve seen men like that, but it’s just too simple, too tidy, too on the nose. Too reductive.
Aside from that, I think Downs does what many therapists do without realizing it, and that’s philosophize. He comes to conclusions about the way things should be and the way life should be lived, conclusions that I think are beyond the scope of psychology. He presents a kind of school of thought, and I think it’s rather tedious and boring, and he offers no solid proof as to why we should think his beliefs are universally valid. Downs seems to think that any early sexual experience is abusive. He seems to think that living alone is pathology. He seems to think that breaking up is pathology. He seems to think having a sex life others might consider kinky is pathology. He seems to think having an open relationship is pathology. He seems to think being too poor or too rich is pathology. Doing anything to stand out is pathology. Even going to gay bars, gay resorts or gay Pride Parades is pathology. I get the sense that in Downs imagination anything other than a quiet comfortable middle class suburban life with a unobtrusive man whom you have sex with twice a week with the lights off is an indication that things our out of sorts. The ideal he wants to impose on all of us is straight out of a 1950s sitcom. Ozzie and Henry, that dull, forgettable gay couple from down the street. They have a house that looks like every other house in the neighborhood. They have good jobs, but nothing too exciting. They might invite you to dinner, and the food will probably be pretty good, but nothing too exotic.
Is this self-acceptance or another kind of extremism, extreme conformity? And conformity to what? A Hollywood fantasy?
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being Ozzie and Henry or Ward and John, but I don’t think that if you dream of a masked man with a large dildo that it’s a sure sign that Daddy didn’t love you enough. I don’t think that every time you try to excel at something or try something new or unusual that it means you’re being down on yourself.
Thursday, June 16, 2016
Haters are haters no matter their religion.
This country’s Religious Right and the Republicans have steadily given us a diet of toxic homophobia for years. They have screamed in the public square that we are sick, we are sinners, we pose a threat to children, the family, even to civilization. They have blamed us for earthquakes and floods. They’ve even blamed us for the death of birds. It would be laughable if so many didn’t take them seriously. They have worked tirelessly to demonize us, to block our civil rights and to criminalize us. Recently, no less than three Republican presidential candidates attended an event where a Christian extremist minister called for the death of LGBTs.
It is outrageous that these same homophobic bigots would attempt to capitalize on the massacre of LGBT people in Orlando by pointing their fingers at another group they hate.
It is outrageous that these same homophobic bigots would attempt to capitalize on the massacre of LGBT people in Orlando by pointing their fingers at another group they hate.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Persona Non Grata
About twenty-five years ago, I attended my last college party. I never felt very comfortable at those parties, so I only attended a few. It was hosted by a young man I liked and was rather friendly with. He was a little thin, not muscular, a little short, kind of nerdish and a bit femme. In other words, he was just my type, and I thought he was gorgeous. I assumed he would never be interested in someone as low and unworthy as me, but I was content to simply be his friend. I chatted with him on campus, at the local gay bar, in town, at the student LGBT club…wherever our paths crossed. I was a little nervous about going to his party, but I went because he was hosting it.
At one point, I was standing on the porch, and he was in the kitchen making snacks for his guests. We chatted through the open window, and suddenly he unexpectedly leaned over, poked his head out of the window and asked me for a kiss. I was quite taken aback. I wasn’t used to cute boys asking me to kiss them. But I assumed he wanted a nice, friendly kiss. So that’s what I gave him, a sweet little peck on the mouth.
A couple of hours later when the guests were leaving, he asked if I’d like to see his bedroom. He lived in a pretty good sized rented house that he shared with several other guys. He had the attic room, so we climbed two flights of stairs to get to it. He had a cozy room. Lots of character. Slopping walls and a dormer window. I looked around and made several complementary comments. I honestly liked the room, and I appreciated him showing it to me. Then I politely thanked him for his hospitality and left.
I went home thinking the night hadn’t been all that bad. I was still glowing from the kiss, and I enjoyed talking to my friend and a couple of other people. I was relieved that I had made it through the evening without anything embarrassing happening. I thought this, at least, would not be a night that haunted me.
I left town for several months, and in that time, I applied for Disability Social Security, and I was quickly approved. I was happy to have a steady income even if it was small, but I feared I was approved so fast because I was a certifiable weirdo. I was still in my twenties, and I was walking around with a Medicare card in my pocket. I felt separate and different from everybody else.
When I returned to Morgantown, I ran into my friend, and I happily greeted him, told him I had been out of town for while and that I was glad to see him again. A vague smile appeared on his face, and he told me he didn’t remember me and walked away.
I was horribly hurt by that. For several days, I was even suicidal, or more suicidal than normal. And for years every time I recalled that encounter, I felt deep shame and humiliation. I took it as confirmation that I wasn’t worth so much as common courtesy, much less genuine friendship or affection. I considered that he might have been telling the truth and that he genuinely didn’t remember me, but we had talked numerous times over the course of a year, and he had invited me to his house. How could he not remember me? It was a snub, and I knew it. But why? What did I do?
I was in my forties before I figured that out. I was so insecure that I could not imagine anyone being interested in me, and like many insecure people, I was slow to think about the insecurity of others. This sweet boy had probably been flirting with me and trying to drop hints for weeks. He had even kissed me and led me to his bedroom, but I was totally clueless. He probably interpreted my actions as a rejection, and he was probably hurt. No wonder I had become persona non grata. If he only knew how honored I would have been to hold him, kiss him and make love with him.
At one point, I was standing on the porch, and he was in the kitchen making snacks for his guests. We chatted through the open window, and suddenly he unexpectedly leaned over, poked his head out of the window and asked me for a kiss. I was quite taken aback. I wasn’t used to cute boys asking me to kiss them. But I assumed he wanted a nice, friendly kiss. So that’s what I gave him, a sweet little peck on the mouth.
A couple of hours later when the guests were leaving, he asked if I’d like to see his bedroom. He lived in a pretty good sized rented house that he shared with several other guys. He had the attic room, so we climbed two flights of stairs to get to it. He had a cozy room. Lots of character. Slopping walls and a dormer window. I looked around and made several complementary comments. I honestly liked the room, and I appreciated him showing it to me. Then I politely thanked him for his hospitality and left.
I went home thinking the night hadn’t been all that bad. I was still glowing from the kiss, and I enjoyed talking to my friend and a couple of other people. I was relieved that I had made it through the evening without anything embarrassing happening. I thought this, at least, would not be a night that haunted me.
I left town for several months, and in that time, I applied for Disability Social Security, and I was quickly approved. I was happy to have a steady income even if it was small, but I feared I was approved so fast because I was a certifiable weirdo. I was still in my twenties, and I was walking around with a Medicare card in my pocket. I felt separate and different from everybody else.
When I returned to Morgantown, I ran into my friend, and I happily greeted him, told him I had been out of town for while and that I was glad to see him again. A vague smile appeared on his face, and he told me he didn’t remember me and walked away.
I was horribly hurt by that. For several days, I was even suicidal, or more suicidal than normal. And for years every time I recalled that encounter, I felt deep shame and humiliation. I took it as confirmation that I wasn’t worth so much as common courtesy, much less genuine friendship or affection. I considered that he might have been telling the truth and that he genuinely didn’t remember me, but we had talked numerous times over the course of a year, and he had invited me to his house. How could he not remember me? It was a snub, and I knew it. But why? What did I do?
I was in my forties before I figured that out. I was so insecure that I could not imagine anyone being interested in me, and like many insecure people, I was slow to think about the insecurity of others. This sweet boy had probably been flirting with me and trying to drop hints for weeks. He had even kissed me and led me to his bedroom, but I was totally clueless. He probably interpreted my actions as a rejection, and he was probably hurt. No wonder I had become persona non grata. If he only knew how honored I would have been to hold him, kiss him and make love with him.
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