I watched “Milk” tonight and I came to the realization that my brother set many landmarks that influenced the person I am today. I never completely understood his motivations for the things he did, but it seems clearer now. I think, in his own way, he was clearing the way for me to be accepting and non judgmental. And, he did it in a way that was acceptable to me – he moved me towards acceptance and tolerance in a manner that wasn’t offensive – I didn’t realize it was happening.
As a 16 year old, I thought we went to drink and play pool at The Black Crow because they didn’t card me. We could drink and play pool and be cool. Sure, there were a lot of fags there, but we were just drinking and playing pool, and they let us.
As a 17 year old, we went to Darcelle’s to watch female impersonators because he liked music and pageantry, what did I know? Between Darcelle’s and Rocky Horror, it was all the same shit – I was just hanging with my big brother.
His fascination with the assassination of Harvey Milk never clicked for me. We were watching it on TV and he surmised that Dan White was a closet homosexual when he murdered Milk and Moscone. But he was obsessed with it. I kept going to fag bars with him – they were the only places that would let me drink underage.
Much later, I moved to his town. He was thinner, cleaner and more private than I was used to. I adopted many of his habits – they just made sense. It was humid, hence the excessive use of baby powder. We swam to stay thin, rode bikes to be healthy, groomed ourselves to be clean. I never suspected.
When he came out to me on his porch, over a Camel Light and a Bud Light, I wasn’t surprised. It really didn’t matter to me, he was my brother and I loved him. “I really don’t care, I love you.”
“I know that. I have always known that. But, what you don’t realize is that I am afraid of being fired. I am afraid mom and dad won’t love me. I am afraid of not having kids, of being persecuted because of who I am, and I have been this way ever since I can remember. You read Sports Illustrated, I looked at the pictures.”
That conversation initiated an internal journey of discovery for me. I began to analyze my relations with other people and other cultures. I took to “chaperoning” my brother to gay bars – disco and bear bars. He tended to prefer the bear bars. The guests thought we were a couple and were shocked to find out that we were brothers – I think it gave him a distance to cruise without being engaged.
For me, I found it liberating to hang with gays without being objectified. Sure, some dudes hit on me, I’m not a troll after all, but I had an in, my brother. I find now that I am always looking for the in – I want to be accepted in different cultures; black, Hispanic, gay – all of them.
Middle aged white man wants to be accepted in all cultures – that’s my personal statement. I still powder post shower, shower religiously – sometimes three times a day, trim body hair, use cologne – I am well groomed. The grooming thing is a part of the legacy my brother left me. Regret for using perjorative terms – that’s the rest of the legacy.
Peace!
Spike
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I Write!
My friends ask me if I still write, now that I am busy teaching and stuff. I agonize, but I conclude...
I write these days. Sure I do, I write. “Lacks development of key ideas - suggest you organize before writing.” Sometimes I write “your conventions are not up to an appropriate level for this class. I suggest you down track.” Other times I write “refer to the rubric - your meaning is unclear.” Often, it is just “Lacks a controlling idea.”
What is the point? I still write! I may not write myself, but I write. My writing may not be an expression of my own ideas, my own thoughts and dreams dribbling and drabbling onto paper, it may not be fulfillment of my ideas rolling out of my brain with the tick, tick, tick of the computer keys signifying a stream of my consciousness, but, I write. I may lack the joy of ideas rolling out of my brain like the waves of a noreaster piling up on Jones Beach, or a jag of writing about things that make me pause and say, what the hell? But, I still write.
Sometimes writing is just writing. Just expressing yourself, putting words on paper, as it were, is still writing. It doesn’t have to be development of a novel, or another chapter in the memoir; sometimes writing is just about writing. And, sometimes, telling my students to organize first is all the writing I do. And, that is okay.
Sometimes. Sometimes.
But not now. I feel an itch. I will scratch!
Spike
I write these days. Sure I do, I write. “Lacks development of key ideas - suggest you organize before writing.” Sometimes I write “your conventions are not up to an appropriate level for this class. I suggest you down track.” Other times I write “refer to the rubric - your meaning is unclear.” Often, it is just “Lacks a controlling idea.”
What is the point? I still write! I may not write myself, but I write. My writing may not be an expression of my own ideas, my own thoughts and dreams dribbling and drabbling onto paper, it may not be fulfillment of my ideas rolling out of my brain with the tick, tick, tick of the computer keys signifying a stream of my consciousness, but, I write. I may lack the joy of ideas rolling out of my brain like the waves of a noreaster piling up on Jones Beach, or a jag of writing about things that make me pause and say, what the hell? But, I still write.
Sometimes writing is just writing. Just expressing yourself, putting words on paper, as it were, is still writing. It doesn’t have to be development of a novel, or another chapter in the memoir; sometimes writing is just about writing. And, sometimes, telling my students to organize first is all the writing I do. And, that is okay.
Sometimes. Sometimes.
But not now. I feel an itch. I will scratch!
Spike
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Aging Ungracefully
Back from vacation, a few pounds heavier for the travel, but ready to get back to work...sort of. I managed to revisit a previous midlife crisis today and went out and bought a pair of Rollerblades. I'm about 6'4" wearing them and because I am so old and decrepit, I wear all the protective gear, including a brain bucket. The whole family had to come out and watch me try to make it down the street, various appellations such as "loser" and "dork" being bandied about as I trundled off.
It's much harder than I remember. Within one hundred yards my shins were burning, my stomach and back muscles twitching, exerting herculean efforts to keep me upright. I managed to make it around the block, my forehead slick with sweat, heaving to breathe. I couldn't get those skates off fast enough.
Cooked dinner, grilled salmon, couscous and brocolli, drank a beer and took another trip around the block, this time on the street instead of the sidewalk. Much mo betta! We'll see how long this lasts.
Late.
Spike
It's much harder than I remember. Within one hundred yards my shins were burning, my stomach and back muscles twitching, exerting herculean efforts to keep me upright. I managed to make it around the block, my forehead slick with sweat, heaving to breathe. I couldn't get those skates off fast enough.
Cooked dinner, grilled salmon, couscous and brocolli, drank a beer and took another trip around the block, this time on the street instead of the sidewalk. Much mo betta! We'll see how long this lasts.
Late.
Spike
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The Measure
A Christian to a Lion?
I’m off to be observed tomorrow. Two years of Graduate School in Education that resulted in a teaching credential, expertise in pedagogy ranging from Erickson to Piaget, two years for a Masters in English, from Walpole to Emerson, all to be judged in a 42 minute lesson. I either can or can’t, based on 42 minutes; tenure and career weigh in the balance.
Is this any way to judge a teacher? I’m ready to call it good and move on. I have a much better paying career waiting for me, but, I want to teach, so, I have to go through it. Do I have an appropriate aim? A valid Do Now? Is there a medial summary and a summative evaluation? Tomorrow will tell whether I can teach or not, 40 minutes to justify my existence, my continued presence on the payroll. Is this how we judge our teachers? Forty two minutes?
What about my student that won the Poet Laureate award? What about my student that won an essay contest? What about my student that connected topic sentences? What about them? What about that? As Allen Iverson would say, “We talking about practice?”
Forty two minutes. What about my ability to teach life as a former General Manager? As a Sales Rep? Does that count?
No. It’s all about forty minutes tomorrow. Hit it, or hit the road, the world of a teacher, untenured. Rock or walk. No child left behind, the Bush legacy.
I’ll rock it, then I might walk. I got a paycheck waiting, I don’t need this job. This job needs me.
Peace, and maybe, out for good.
Spike
I’m off to be observed tomorrow. Two years of Graduate School in Education that resulted in a teaching credential, expertise in pedagogy ranging from Erickson to Piaget, two years for a Masters in English, from Walpole to Emerson, all to be judged in a 42 minute lesson. I either can or can’t, based on 42 minutes; tenure and career weigh in the balance.
Is this any way to judge a teacher? I’m ready to call it good and move on. I have a much better paying career waiting for me, but, I want to teach, so, I have to go through it. Do I have an appropriate aim? A valid Do Now? Is there a medial summary and a summative evaluation? Tomorrow will tell whether I can teach or not, 40 minutes to justify my existence, my continued presence on the payroll. Is this how we judge our teachers? Forty two minutes?
What about my student that won the Poet Laureate award? What about my student that won an essay contest? What about my student that connected topic sentences? What about them? What about that? As Allen Iverson would say, “We talking about practice?”
Forty two minutes. What about my ability to teach life as a former General Manager? As a Sales Rep? Does that count?
No. It’s all about forty minutes tomorrow. Hit it, or hit the road, the world of a teacher, untenured. Rock or walk. No child left behind, the Bush legacy.
I’ll rock it, then I might walk. I got a paycheck waiting, I don’t need this job. This job needs me.
Peace, and maybe, out for good.
Spike
Friday, February 27, 2009
On Socialism and Our President
Whoooo, I said the S word. I must be evil, some bleeding heart liberal with an axe to grind. Let the proletariat get the means of production and make a better world, Robin Hood and all that Jazz…not.
But, I do see an issue with the current state of affairs in America. I’m no Einstein, but I have come to the conclusion that the current system isn’t working, so I am not adverse to Obama making fundamental changes in government. Orwell warned of the dangers of totalitarianism and his take was that any vast disparity in class, be it caused by money, intelligence or power, created an opportunity for exploitation. We have been rapidly approaching a two class society in the last twenty years. This week the NY Times wrote about the recent concentration of wealth in the upper classes. I’ve always believed in Laissez Faire and the free market economy, but it appears the free market is a little too free.
So, what am I saying? Eat the rich? Not at all, but, I do think the current system of taxation is inequitable. When the middle class is paying 25-30 percent of their adjustable gross income in taxes and the upper class is able to shelter income and pay a much lower effective tax rate, the tax is regressive. It is neither fair nor moral. It needs to change.
That’s my rant for the week. Rock on.
Peace.
Spike
But, I do see an issue with the current state of affairs in America. I’m no Einstein, but I have come to the conclusion that the current system isn’t working, so I am not adverse to Obama making fundamental changes in government. Orwell warned of the dangers of totalitarianism and his take was that any vast disparity in class, be it caused by money, intelligence or power, created an opportunity for exploitation. We have been rapidly approaching a two class society in the last twenty years. This week the NY Times wrote about the recent concentration of wealth in the upper classes. I’ve always believed in Laissez Faire and the free market economy, but it appears the free market is a little too free.
So, what am I saying? Eat the rich? Not at all, but, I do think the current system of taxation is inequitable. When the middle class is paying 25-30 percent of their adjustable gross income in taxes and the upper class is able to shelter income and pay a much lower effective tax rate, the tax is regressive. It is neither fair nor moral. It needs to change.
That’s my rant for the week. Rock on.
Peace.
Spike
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Musings Regarding My Navel and Other Important Shit
Epiphany alert – yes, I know what the definition of epiphany is. To clarify, I will paste dictionary.com’s definition here: a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.
It is interesting that I assume that is the primary definition, yet it is listed as the third definition on the website, after a Christian festival and an appearance of a deity. It’s all good. I guess that after you see god, or a deity, you have a sudden, intuitive perception or insight into reality.
My epiphany was the realization that I can be a miserable fuck, and I am tight with a buck and “in London you’re a gonner.” I can’t substantiate the rumor about the English sense of humor, but I can tell you that I get fixated on dollars and lose sense. My misses and I make good coin, yet my house is a meat locker because I am paying close to $400 monthly in oil to heat it. Compound that with a $300 LIPA bill, electricity for the uninitiated, and that is $700 monthly for lights and heat. And, it’s prime location for dry aging beef. What is wrong with this picture?
Top pay in my milieu is around $115K per year. That’s in the top 10 percent of income in the country. Almost $11k monthly. After taxes, $8,000. Average home price is $380K. With ten percent down, your purchase price of the average home is $342K. At 6% interest, assuming you qualify, That is a mortgage payment of $1900 per month. Add taxes and insurance, $3000 monthly. Add day care for two kids, now it’s $4300, plus the aforementioned heat and electricity, $5000.
Two cars at $300 each, plus gas and insurance, $1000. Life insurance, phone, groceries = $750. Cars, gas, insurance, life, phone and groceries = $2050.
Take the $5K from two paragraphs ago, add the $2050, $7050. That leaves a negative cash flow without contributing to kids college funds, savings or retirement. Epiphany!
Or, better yet, I was stuffing my face with potato chips in the basement and one fell. My initial response was to let it go, but, Long Island, rats, mice, roaches and ants went through my head, so I picked it up.
Obama, Obama, wherefore art thou Obama?
Deny thy party and refuse your platform;
if thou wilt not, be but sworn my protector
and I’ll no longer be a Republican.
Life is expensive. I chose to live where I do for several reasons. I am not at the top of the food chain so my numbers are much more dire than the picture I painted. But, don’t cry for me Argentina. Just recognize a need for a paradigm shift in America. It’s time we stopped compensating those in power with ill gotten gains and wild bonuses. The money needs to be redistributed to the middle class. I’m not talking wild ass shit about the proletariat, though they need to get their share too, but, it’s out of balance. Let us all be able to own or afford a home, have health care, if working and earnest, and to eat meat once in a while…oh yeah, and heat our house.
Is that too much to ask?
It is interesting that I assume that is the primary definition, yet it is listed as the third definition on the website, after a Christian festival and an appearance of a deity. It’s all good. I guess that after you see god, or a deity, you have a sudden, intuitive perception or insight into reality.
My epiphany was the realization that I can be a miserable fuck, and I am tight with a buck and “in London you’re a gonner.” I can’t substantiate the rumor about the English sense of humor, but I can tell you that I get fixated on dollars and lose sense. My misses and I make good coin, yet my house is a meat locker because I am paying close to $400 monthly in oil to heat it. Compound that with a $300 LIPA bill, electricity for the uninitiated, and that is $700 monthly for lights and heat. And, it’s prime location for dry aging beef. What is wrong with this picture?
Top pay in my milieu is around $115K per year. That’s in the top 10 percent of income in the country. Almost $11k monthly. After taxes, $8,000. Average home price is $380K. With ten percent down, your purchase price of the average home is $342K. At 6% interest, assuming you qualify, That is a mortgage payment of $1900 per month. Add taxes and insurance, $3000 monthly. Add day care for two kids, now it’s $4300, plus the aforementioned heat and electricity, $5000.
Two cars at $300 each, plus gas and insurance, $1000. Life insurance, phone, groceries = $750. Cars, gas, insurance, life, phone and groceries = $2050.
Take the $5K from two paragraphs ago, add the $2050, $7050. That leaves a negative cash flow without contributing to kids college funds, savings or retirement. Epiphany!
Or, better yet, I was stuffing my face with potato chips in the basement and one fell. My initial response was to let it go, but, Long Island, rats, mice, roaches and ants went through my head, so I picked it up.
Obama, Obama, wherefore art thou Obama?
Deny thy party and refuse your platform;
if thou wilt not, be but sworn my protector
and I’ll no longer be a Republican.
Life is expensive. I chose to live where I do for several reasons. I am not at the top of the food chain so my numbers are much more dire than the picture I painted. But, don’t cry for me Argentina. Just recognize a need for a paradigm shift in America. It’s time we stopped compensating those in power with ill gotten gains and wild bonuses. The money needs to be redistributed to the middle class. I’m not talking wild ass shit about the proletariat, though they need to get their share too, but, it’s out of balance. Let us all be able to own or afford a home, have health care, if working and earnest, and to eat meat once in a while…oh yeah, and heat our house.
Is that too much to ask?
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Self Interest
There are times when I feel that blogging is an onanistic pursuit, a written pounding of the pudendum if you will. I’ve been blogging for a while and the only evidence of my production is the less than prodigious progeny of an ill equipped producer of dreck.
Be that as it may, I will continue my Sisyphean efforts to push my rock up my hill, and hopefully those that devour my liver won’t choke on its toxicity or its girth, We’ll see.
It is a sad state of affairs when a New Yorker is looking forward to traveling to Spo-vegas, but that is an accurate description of my life. Pickling upstairs with a Long Rifle 22 in my hands, cigarette at the ready, beer in hand, hunting the ubiquitous Wile E. Coyote, Genius, from a balcony, sounds oddly inviting. Four big screens, a well stocked bar, grandma and grandpa at the ready, is also inviting. Maybe the west coast isn’t so bad?
I will go, I will drink, and I will shoot. I will smoke, I will talk smack and I will enjoy. I will forget this week with 150 essays, with endless proctoring assignments, with snow and difficult commutes. It will all be the past and I will have passed it, like a kidney stone that really makes your cock hurt, but is transient. The bleeding stops, I hear. After all, life is just a series of people kicking your dick, right?
Thanks for witnessing me polishing my proverbial sword, for watching me tickle my literary pickle, for witnessing me jerkin’ my ideological gherkin and, for watching me wrestle my bald headed philosophical bastard. I think my alliterative and metaphorical work is done.
Spike
Be that as it may, I will continue my Sisyphean efforts to push my rock up my hill, and hopefully those that devour my liver won’t choke on its toxicity or its girth, We’ll see.
It is a sad state of affairs when a New Yorker is looking forward to traveling to Spo-vegas, but that is an accurate description of my life. Pickling upstairs with a Long Rifle 22 in my hands, cigarette at the ready, beer in hand, hunting the ubiquitous Wile E. Coyote, Genius, from a balcony, sounds oddly inviting. Four big screens, a well stocked bar, grandma and grandpa at the ready, is also inviting. Maybe the west coast isn’t so bad?
I will go, I will drink, and I will shoot. I will smoke, I will talk smack and I will enjoy. I will forget this week with 150 essays, with endless proctoring assignments, with snow and difficult commutes. It will all be the past and I will have passed it, like a kidney stone that really makes your cock hurt, but is transient. The bleeding stops, I hear. After all, life is just a series of people kicking your dick, right?
Thanks for witnessing me polishing my proverbial sword, for watching me tickle my literary pickle, for witnessing me jerkin’ my ideological gherkin and, for watching me wrestle my bald headed philosophical bastard. I think my alliterative and metaphorical work is done.
Spike
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