Thursday, June 27, 2013

I Bleed Rainbow

It's really easy for me to go on and on about things I love and adore and worship and what-have-you but in the long run, I know are not that important. Surface things. Important in their own ways, but not really, real-life important. You know what I mean. For example, SYTYCD gives me worlds--planets--of true happiness (the street dancers this year! That opening top 20 number! Aaron and Jasmine H.! Gushing fangirl et cetera-ness!), but it's just a show. It's easy to go on and on because it doesn't truly awake the passion beast or expose my vulnerable human belly like what I'm about to address. And though I don't want to live in a world where my view could be taken as controversial, there are people who don't agree with me. That's how it is, and I don't like it. But in case there was any doubt, this is my side.

Yesterday the Supreme Court struck down the Defense of Marriage Act and Prop. 8. And there was much rejoicing. Including by yours truly, I mean it was a major victory for civil rights. But the celebration is tempered because there's still so much more to do before we get there, if we ever get there. You know what I mean? Gay men and women now have their freedom to marry recognized as a constitutional right which is AWESOME. But. For starters, there's still plenty of vocal discrimination. And I have retroactive anger because, hey, why hasn't it been recognized all along? There have never not been gay people, and they've never not been human beings. So I guess it just makes me sad to remember that the world is so fucking hateful sometimes. I can't see discrimination as anything other than hateful.

I was reading someone's blog yesterday, and she prefaced by saying something like, "I'm about to celebrate the Supreme Court's decision, so if you don't want to read about that, skip today's entry. No judgment." And I was like, really? I judge. I judge the shit out of you. If you are the kind of person who can look into your heart and truly believe that gay men and women are not entitled to civil rights as citizens of the country, then I will not miss you reading my blog. Maybe we shouldn't be friends. I just can't extend my line of thinking to accept that someone can be loving and also be homophobic. I'm not afraid of angering someone by saying it here. And I don't actually think that any of the whopping dozen or so readers I have are in the category I'm talking about, but I'm just saying, why apologize for a belief that just makes sense? Would you apologize to someone who doesn't believe in interracial marriage? It is not one single iota different. I'm not saying you don't have the right to your beliefs or to talk about them if you supported either DOMA or Prop. 8. I just think your beliefs are terrible.

Anyway, you can understand how it's a bit more difficult for me to even make a start at an entry like this because it's not cute or funny. It's visceral and unshakeable in me, I have no sense of humor about it, and I'm beyond the point where I can have a rational discussion with someone who disagrees. Usually I'm a pleaser, I like to keep everyone happy and on an even keel. But not at the expense of something like this.

I am sorry to take something as beautiful as yesterday's events and cast a shadow over them with my rage cage. Please know that I am totally, totally thrilled with the verdict for the people I love who are gay and for all people. It makes my heart soar that HR will grow up in a society where marriage equality is the norm. That's the bottom line.

Let's dance!



Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Transformation

I've been very lucky to make some amazing friends in my adult life. And they are not second string by any means, they are dear to me as if they've been here all along, and even though I met them at a later point in my existence, most of them are already old friends. History is history, it just has different periods over a lifetime. When you lose one of your own from the olden times though, one that you knew from before you were a fully formed human in the world, there is no comfort like the friends you grew up with, who can practically read your mind. Being together helps in a way nothing and nobody else can.

This weekend I was surrounded by people I've known forever, who knew and loved Niki in the same way that I did, and to be together made a rough occasion a beautiful one. Nobody had to say anything in actual terms, it was assumed that we all shared the same sorrow and loss. Jumping back into our shared jokes and references was our way of saying "I'm sorry and I miss her and I love her and I love you." It was the funeral that we, the living, needed to move on. The laughter and memories and the few but genuine tears were cleansing for me. It was a gift to see friends with whom I haven't exactly lost touch, but just haven't seen in years. To meet their babies. To hug their parents, who are my parents in a way. To cast a gauzy, romanticized eye into the best of our past but also catch up, and see into each other's present, our future. We will always be friends. Family. And it is unfortunate that it becomes most evident at the most sorrowful times, but the thing is, that's when the reinforcement is really important. I could always, always do better, reach out more, be a better friend. But when it comes down to it, we will have each other. And I hope we do for many, many more years.

Saying goodbye at the end of the evening was the hardest part, because next time any of us meet, it will just be the post-Niki world. There's a new shorthand to be learned to encompass that. To Niki's mom and step-dad, to her cousin and the rest of her family, to her husband who has been in her life only a short time less than I have (and, whether he likes it or not, will always be one of us): thank you for everything you did for Niki in her life, and all you will do to keep her memory alive. I love you all, and you are family and that doesn't go away. To our mutual friends, and to my own family, who claims Niki in their way, to Mike, who got to know Niki over the past 15+ years and form shared memories with us, I couldn't weather this without you.

This is a hard time for every one of us, but because of you, my broken heart is also full. I'm not at peace with Niki's death, not even close, but the denial is over. The next step begins. I know who will be there to catch me when I fall back, just as I'll be there too, for whoever needs it.

I have more thoughts about the occasion: about my own issues with the church made anger a stand-in for grief during some parts of the service, about how strange it is that my parents should be spending their 40th anniversary at the very site of their wedding and reception, but with a tragic bent, about how HR will grow up only knowing Niki in the past tense, and how I don't yet have the words to explain where she's gone. How unbelievable and unfair it is that she died at all. But that's not where I want my focus to linger. When I think back upon this memorial, all I want to keep in my mind's eye that Niki was present. I am not a person of faith, but I do believe in some things, and the power of love is the cornerstone. I believe that all the love for Niki in one space at one time summoned her. We couldn't see or hear her, but she was there in every breath, every tear, every snort-laugh, every color of the jell-o shot rainbow.

Niki is love, now. And love is here.


Monday, June 24, 2013

Hearts and Hearts

I have a million thoughts and feelings about the weekend, mostly very warm and positive. But now that it's over, I have to say I'm adrift. I'm feeling pretty lost, empty, not entirely all right. It's not that I'm worried about this becoming a lasting condition, I think it's normal, but while I'm down in it, it's hard to look up.

Tomorrow I will write about the experience of Niki's celebration. Today, I'll seek distraction. Work helps some, former members of New Edition help more.


Thursday, June 20, 2013

Dumb Stupid Love

I'm rooted in moody nostalgia today, and I don't expect that to let up anytime soon. This weekend is Niki's memorial. I'll be going to my childhood home to attend, and also to see my family, and as I prepare it's making my heart do all kinds of swirly things. Because of distance I've been able to remain in semi-denial about my friend's passing for the last six months, and I think the service, and seeing Nik's husband and her mom and other family members, as well as my own homegrown mutual besties, will be a major shock to the system. There might be a start at closure, but more likely this is just going to start bringing everything up for really real. It's a good thing, a healthy thing, but I don't have a handle on how tough it's going to be. It's not like I can rehearse for grief or be ready in any way, just gotta take it as it comes and let it wash over me and let us all work on healing together in our company and shared remembrance. I expect a lot of laughing, a lot of crying, a lot of reminiscing, a lot of drinking, a lot of unknown.

The thing about love is that it's the worst, because when you lose the ones you love it hollows you right out. The love for that person will never go away, but for awhile it becomes displaced, inverted, a jackhammer gouging at your soul, leaving you marked. Every time it happens it attacks in a different, awful way. But love is also the best, the only and the essential. It can't fill in the craters of loss or make the marks disappear. It can't bring anyone back. But it can turn the scars into luminous tribute. It can whisper into the heart and tell it, "Hey, you're not alone. We'll get through this together." Because so many people loved Niki, the love we all share keeps her alive in some way. It's not the same as having her here, not by a long shot. And my life would be easier, less painful right now, if I'd never known and loved this woman. But baby, that's the trick of love. It's worth the pain, in the long run, to have had Niki's shining star in my life. It's better to have felt the loss of a deep and lasting friendship than to never had known it at all. It doesn't mean my friend's death isn't still the awfullest thing. It  is, to me. But I've got to go on, we've all got to, and love is what's left to work with.


Wednesday, June 19, 2013

SYTYC Recap? Not Really

Conspicuously missing from my blog this season: "So You Think You Can Dance" recaps. It's not because I don't want to write them--I actually think the build up to this year's top 20 episode has been uncommonly entertaining and talent-packed--it's just that by the time I get around to watching the episodes, who even cares any more? The top 20 was revealed last night, and I won't get to watch the show until tomorrow so for those fellow enthusiasts please don't spoil it for me, OK? I know the "green mile" is filled with terrible fake-outs and it's a relief when all that rigamarole is through, but the suspense in real time is part of the fun for me. Also if Fik-Shun or scrunchy face Katie Holmes or the big guy tapper who has made it all the way to the last round the last couple of years don't get picked I'd rather not know about it just yet. Thanks babes.

I realize how very else little I've got to say, so here's some Naughty by Nature to make it worth your sticking around (if you did).


Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Little Rich Little

HR does one celebrity impersonation, and it's of this guy:



Charles Osgood, dapper bespectacled host of "CBS Sunday Morning." I've related my affinity for this show in the past, but now my child has signed on with his own seal approval. Until recently I thought the show was just the background part of our lazy Sunday ritual, him enjoying the intro with the Chuck Mangione horn solo (he calls it "The Trumpet Show") and me picking and choosing which segments would warrant my attention. This past Sunday though, when there was a fill-in for old Charles, HR was devastated. His favorite story for the past three days is reliving the moment when another person dared introduce the show. It's hilarious to me, and obvious that I'm raising my child to be kind of wiener, both in him liking the show and obsessing over the seemingly innocuous story. Oh, and the impression, which is basically him holding up a pair of fake glasses to his face and saying, "I'm Charles Osgood."

Wiener or no, I think the kid's got a bright future.












Monday, June 17, 2013

Oh Brotha

I don't like to talk about the particulars of my job, and I won't change that policy today, but I have to say my jaw is on the floor from the perfect storm of gnarliness that awaited my arrival this morning. I have not been personally wronged, there's just a whole lot of wrong in the air and we're doing our best to deal with it and move on.

Luckily I'm fortified with goodness following a weekend that included an hour long massage, a Greek festival (with loukemades to go, of course), beautiful weather, a book I can't put down and lots of time to hang out with my dudes. Go on and throw it at me, I am titanium.

Still, I'm really looking forward escaping to Maine this coming weekend, can't say I don't wish I were going today.


Thursday, June 13, 2013

Comedown

And so, it is over. And it was fine, even kind of fun in parts. I'm happy I don't have to work this sort of thing every day, but it's not like I was digging ditches. Everyone was pleasant and well behaved, based on initial reports we made some decent fundage, and I got home in time to spend a few minutes with HR before he had to go to bed. Plus I had the best diet coke of my life from the bar (I don't like soda much at all, the combination of thirst and caffeine withdrawal made all the difference) and I got to see a rainbow on the way home. The little things, you know.

Today is sort of chill, and I appreciate that most of all.

Have you ever seen the movie D.E.B.S? It's admittedly stupid, but I love it. And it has a great soundtrack. I think of it whenever I hear this legitimately great song.




Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Maybe I Should Re-Watch Caddyshack, For Professional Reasons

I just accidentally ate the entire order of thai basil and garlic chili sauce veggies over rice that my wonderful bosses bought for me. The dish made me do it, really, because it was so delicious and I just knew that no amount of reheating would restore that level of deliciousness. No regrets. Thai Binge 4 Life.

It's golf tournament central at the old workplace, as we gear up for our lone gigantic annual fundraising event, and though I disappeared into that gaping maw of preparation weeks ago, we're finally at zero hour. Or close enough. Tomorrow I'll be off site from dark until dark registering people and ringing up their silent auction purchases. There are two positives to this: 1) it'll be an interesting change of pace and 2) when the day is over, it'll be over. Until next year, anyway. Maybe there's even a third advantage, which the potential to get outside a bit. Other than that it'll be a long day, I might not get to set eyes on HR for its entirety, and if you have ever worked any kind of charity event you know there are always a few prerequisite entitled jerks. It just comes with the territory.

Oh bloody well. Off to find some breath mints (holy garlic!) and get my eyes back into spreadsheet focus.


Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Anatomy of a Treat

A treat, to me, is a hot fudge sundae. A pedicure. A much-awaited book and uninterrupted time for getting lost in it. Running is not a treat. Not usually. But last night I got to run home from work in the zero-humidity beautiful evening, and it felt like all three of those other things combined. I didn't even want to listen to my ipod, just enjoy my thoughts and the sounds of the city.

It's all in the context. The aforementioned treats are categorized as such because they are rare, and the outdoor run has become an elusive butterfly in my current situation. It's not a complaint, just what it is. There was one time in my life where I identified as a runner, but now I'm firmly in the camp of "person who runs for exercise." I still get joy from the movement here and there, I'm never sorry that I did it after I've run, but it's hard to get excited about jumping on the treadmill at 9 p.m. when the couch seems like so much more reasonable of an option. I do love my treadmill, both for its convenience and its pesky tendency to cancel out my excuses ("I just don't feel like it" overpowers the machine's pull about a quarter of the time) but I tell you, having a chance to break out of the routine really helps. I'm hoping to get out and run more this summer, once a week at most, and even that will take some creative scheduling. Maybe I can pull it off.

Either way, no1curr what I'm doing or not doing. I'm just saying that if you live in the Greater Boston area and you like to do your workouts in the out-of-doors, there's never been a better time than now. If you can do your thing outside whenever you want to, dedicate a run to me. And reward yourself with whatever qualifies as a treat to you.


Monday, June 3, 2013

The Fever

Every time I spend a weekend in Maine I come home and start half-heartedly perusing job listings up north. And every time I see my employment options, well, that straightens me out right quick. It is not practical for me to want to move to Maine, and there are lots of reasons I'm very attached to my current home, from the home itself to the city to the good friends we have made here. It's not just the job. Also, I don't want move farther away from Mike's family. But I can't shake the feeling that I belong back in the Pine Tree State. Not just because most of my family's there, I mean, that's a big part of it, but there is something about the place that has a hold over me for reasons I can't define and can't ignore. If I get to retire, maybe. Or if I win the lottery I'll establish a second residence. Barring those things, it's not all that far away, so we visit as much as we can. It's just always so dang hard to leave.

We had a really spectacular weekend up tha coast. To his credit, HR handled all the car travel pretty well, and has been solid as a rock with his potty training, even out of his element. We have to cart his duck potty everywhere because he refuses to entertain the idea of the Big Potty but I will carry that thing along until he's 20 until I have to because he uses it. I invite no superstition when I say that we've got us a housebroken boy.

Friday night we had a really fun night out in the city with my sibs and some friends, courtesy of the grandparental sitters' network. The rest of the time we hopped from one graduation party to the next, half enjoying/half complaining in the brutal heat and humidity. I think I might have drunk my weight in Miller Lite, and that's how summertime rolls. Mike had to come back to work on Saturday, which was a bummer, but I soldiered on in his stead, buoyed along by the kindness of my sister's hosting and my brother-in-law and father's driving skills. I'm so happy we had the chance to see everyone.

And now we're home and no matter how great it is to be in our own space doing our own thing, I'd always go back in a heartbeat. And actually, there are only a few thousand heartbeats until my next visit--a bittersweet, but much awaited one--for Niki's memorial.

All in all, I'm feeling good today, even on a Monday. At this point in my life, I've lived in Massachusetts longer than I lived there, but Maine will always be home to me. For the record, though, I'm not going anywhere, any time soon.