Birthday

Baby G in Schenectady, 1971

Seeing as my birthday is Monday, Oct. 26 I figured it was a good time to reflect on the past year.  Almost exactly 1 year ago there was a fire at my job at High Voltage Tattoo.  It seemed, at the time, like it was the end of an era and that I'd have to embark on a new journey of, gulp, job searching.  Never been my forte.  I made a few resumes and applied for a few interesting jobs and even had an interview for a very high-end clothing store.  I didn't really want to be looking for another job but I wasn't sure when and if i'd have a job at High Voltage - if it would ever reopen.  

    As luck or fate or destiny or all of the above would have it we were able to stay open at our space next door and, really, I was only out of work for a very short time which I treated like a summer vacation.  The actual shop is just about to be finished being renovated and it looks so friggin beautiful I cannot wait until I go to work everyday in that space.  Luckily, the high-end clothing store didn't pan out because no one really wanted me to leave, nor did I.  I am blessed with a large amount of freedom that my job affords me.  Freedom I would never have in a corporate environment.  I am able to go away whenever I want and even leave work to run to an audition - it's pretty awesome.  I even booked an awesome Slim Jim commercial which is currently airing.  It was a super fun job and the 1st commercial I booked in a while - hopefully, the start of many more bookings.

     Unexpectedly, the year started out with me falling in love with someone 1/2 my age that I met on the interweb.  I broke all my own rules with this one but it taught me a valuable lesson - rules are for chumps. LOL.  Really, though, never say never because I stated out loud after my last break up that I would NEVER do a lot of stuff and I had to eat most of those words (at least words have no carbs or calories.)  This relationship is the opposite of my last one in all of the best ways.  There's a level of intimacy and passion that I was lacking for a very long time.  The kind of intimacy that I craved even though it scared me senseless.  It's hard to admit or even realize that we are the authors of our own destiny and all those jillion years when I was single and miserable I was unable to see the cause - me.  It's hard to work on yourself and to look at the past and see how it affects the future.  Hard but necessary to progress and to free yourself from the baggage that weighs you down.  The good news is that it's always possible and never too late to make positive changes in life.  That's one of the beauties of being human.

     A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of seeing Grace Jones at The Hollywood Bowl for the 2nd time.  She is an astounding and gorgeous force of nature and a true inspiration.  Sexier and wilder and more fashionable than ever and she's somewhere between 60 & 70 - she states in her new biography that even she doesn't know her exact age and also that she doesn't care.  Who says we have to slow down and give up as we age?!  Those are some archaic and outdated ideas for sure.  I will be 45 but I feel like in 25 most days - except when I have to wake up 2 times a night to pee which is the only post 40 thing that I have noticed!!  On good days I still look 32 also - at least that's what my "people" say, hahaha.  People love and respect Grace Jones for who she is & she has never wavered or shrunk away from expressing herself,  All I know is that after that show I have totally redefined my definition of 'aging Grace-fully!"

Stay Weird

Dressed as a Cockette for Halloween, 2014

I've always been a weird kid.  Well, maybe, way back in the beginning (like 300 BC) when I was born I was a normal kid.  I enjoyed bike-riding, skateboarding, climbing trees, drawing, painting, playing dress up, putting on shows for friends and family - ya know, normal kid stuff.  It wasn't until I got to school, more specifically 1st grade that people started to let me know I was different.  I never watched, participated in, or enjoyed sports and worst of all, OMG, wait for it...I was friends with girls!
     I even went to an alternative school where all the grades were combined and we called the teachers by their 1st names and did things like make our own root beer and put on Renaissance Faires.  Still, the taunting and teasing began in 1st grade.  I think it was because there were kids from 1st - 11th grade in the same class which even in some hippie utopia is a recipe for disaster.  The older guys started calling me fag, gay-bait, queer-bait, homo - all those lovely labels - long before I even knew what they were talking about.  It was pretty clear that I was different and what that meant to most people was bad, no good, deserving of punishment.
     The thing about verbal abuse is that it's the worst kind - it's effects last much longer than a black eye or bruised rib.  Physical pain is forgotten but those words echoed in my brain for most of my life. I'm not sure how I had the wherewithall to make it through each school day when it was literally torture for me.  I internalized most of my pain and it came out in destructive ways like vandalism and shop lifting when I was really young and then drugs and alcohol when I was older.  Somehow I managed not to commit suicide or shoot up my school and then by the time I got to college I was fully flying my freak flag as high as it would soar.
     I contemplated death often as a youth and became obsessed with dark stuff - music, literature, art, clothing.  That's not necessarily a bad thing as it got me through my most painful moments and also allowed me to know there were others of my ilk out there in the stratosphere somewhere.  Embracing my darkness let me appreciate the light later on in life and now I giggle at my morbid humor.  For sure the main reason why I never really attempted suicide was my mom.  I didn't give a shit about my self but I couldn't bear to do something that awful to my mom - she could never live with that pain and I saw the selfishness in that act.
     I often fantasized about killing all my classmates - not so much with a gun as that wasn't really a thing in the 70's but when I saw "Carrie" I was like "Oh yeah - that's the shit right there!!!!" If only I could inflict the torture back on the culprits with just my mind!!  I don't even think I could have got my hands on a gun when I was a teen although I did see one once in the gym locker room in 11th grade.  I always picked a locker way deep in the corner of the last row of lockers in the boy's dressing room to avoid all the kids I hated.  There was a guy that looked and seemed to be about 20 that was still in my class and one day I accidentally say him placing a hand gun into his locker.  He calmly looked at me and said " I KNOW you're never gonna tell anyone what you just saw" and I immediately shook my head "no" and scurried away.
     Anyway,  now I love the things that make me different.  I embrace the odd and unusual and love to appreciate things I don't understand.  Who the hell wants to be "normal" anyway and what exactly does that mean??  Anything is normal if that's what you love.  As long as you're not hurting others or preachily trying to inflict your views on others then do what thou whilst.  I say stay weird and eventually you will be loved and appreciated for it.






   

Mogadishu

Photo I took in Kenya in 1989

I had the rare and exotic opportunity to go to Mogadishu, Somalia - twice!  My Mom and step father moved there for 2 years for work just as I was going off to college in the fall of 1988.  The 1st time I went was a summer trip with my grandma and my 2 step sisters.  We traveled from NY to Cairo spent some time there then went off to a fabulous safari in Kenya.  After that we all headed to Mogadishu where we spent the rest of our trip.

     The timing of our travels wasn't great because Somalia which was plagued for centuries with civil unrest was, yet again, besieged in tribal war.  The fighting had made it's way into the capitol and our trip was thus doomed with a national curfew.  We were all pent up in the house from sundown to sunup, 3 antsy teenagers and 3 restless adults.  We got pretty stir crazy and even though our trip prior to Somalia was exotic and adventurous we were all bored to tears, and, also, sorta fearing for our lives.
     The next summer when the opportunity to go back arose I was the only one crazy enough or perhaps adventurous enough to go back.  This time I spent the whole summer there and got a weird job at the USAID offices setting up a document library in a shack like building filled with unorganized files and books.  It was perfect, I got paid to be alone all day surrounded by volumes of reading materials.
     To say going to Somalia was an eye opening experience is the understatement of the year.  No where on earth could be more of a polar opposite from Schenectady, NY.  At that point in my life I had never been to a Third World country and, certainly, Somalia has zero tourism - it does not top anyone's "must visit" list.  I fancied myself a very worldly chap in the late 80's, I had exotic hair and listened to music I was certain no one else knew of except my friends and I.  That being said there are some realities of life in Suburbia that don't lend themselves to truly understanding how others live.  For instance, it had NEVER occurred to me that it's not possible everywhere on earth to run to a convenient store if you desired a snack.  Sounds pompous but, really, it never crossed my mind that some places don't even have stores.  That simple observation changed my whole perspective on life.
     Mogadishu was lucky if the electricity worked on a daily basis.  Surely, most of the natives Somalians didn't even have electricity or running water and in our neighborhood - next to the other expats and dignitaries from around the globe - it was dodgy at best.  Also, in order to eat any fruit or produce locally grown we had to soak it in a 1% bleach solution due to the fact that human waste was used for fertilizer.  How would a new wave suburban boy ever know these things without experiencing them 1st hand? "Not taught in schools" could have been the theme to our trip.  I also had never, ever, EVER heard of female circumcision and I was horrified, shocked and utterly dismayed to find out that was a common practice in Somalia.  That subject is for a whole other blog - someday, maybe, I could muster up the gumption to write more about it.  Let's just say it's way worse and more barbaric than it sounds.
     One of my fondest and most vivid memories is of sitting on my parents roof in late afternoon reading books.  I found it highly prophetic that I was reading "The Temple Of My Familiar" by Alice Walker while sitting high up with a view of the whole city in East Africa.  As I read the book, which weaves a fantastical & magical tale taking place partially in Africa, I smelled the charcoal of the city wafting up to my nose.  There were no real restaurants but the locals would set up little straw huts with grills all over the streets cooking food with a very rich and distinctive smokey aroma.  I would also hear the meditative and ghostly call to prayer from the several large mosques in this primarily Muslim country.  The sounds made eerie by the outdated PA systems that they used creating a tinny and echo-y effect that made it seem as if it were coming from another time and dimension.
     I will never forget my time spent in Somalia as it literally expanded my horizons far beyond any experience I had ever had at that point.  One of the reasons why I think traveling is essential is because it forces the brain to see and experience things that are normally out of the realm of possibility.  It heightens all of your senses when you walk down a street in a foreign land.  The eyes see more, the ears hear more, the nose smells more and the brain expands in ways that cannot be taught otherwise.  Most of you will never so to Somalia, I doubt I'll ever go back, but I hope a lot of you are able to make it to some parts of Africa.  It's essential.

Powerless

Hieronymus Bosch

One of the hardest yet most poignant lessons to learn in life is that we cannot change anyone except ourselves.  This is especially tricky when addiction is involved since people suffering from that disease do need a lot of help to recover.  The problem is that you cannot force someone to change or even to want to change.  Recovery is for people who want it and not for people who need it.  The best thing to do is lead by example and hopefully, somehow, someone thinks what you have is desirable and seeks it out also.
     I have a few situations in my life at the moment that are heartbreaking but I am powerless over them.  There are 2 important people in my life who are suffering from the ravages of addiction and the poor choices one makes when embroiled in it.  I have watched the absolute downfall of some of the most fantastic and creative people and it is absolutely unbearable.  At what point do you let go and just hope for the best?  What can you do for a grown man that goes through depilating, open-heart surgery just to land back in intensive care by refusing to change his ways?  What can you do for a grown woman who lets a drug fueled mind allow her to invite a very well known woman beater to live in her home?  People have to live with and in some cases suffer from the choices they make.  Why is it that some people have such a deep down, spiritual desire to change that they find their way to freedom from active addiction?  I suppose the answers aren't really important or possible to come by.  Why is never as important as how - how can I make myself and my life better?  There's the million dollar question.
     I think back to the days when I was struggling and killing myself with drugs.  I see now so clearly how my actions, that I was certain were only affecting me, were affecting all of my friends and family.  Phone calls from concerned friends to my mother, tough love lectures from loved ones, rehab, outpatient group counseling, therapy - none of these things got me sober.  I wasn't ready or willing to give up my bad habits and commit to any kind of change.  So, I totally get it.  Because I can see these situations from both sides it has made me almost zen about them.  Of course, I have empathy and concern and sadness and tears but I know that all I can do is offer love and support.  You could point a gun in the face of someone who is waist deep in addiction and they'd still, most likely, reach for the drugs.
     The only reason that I am sober almost 14 years now is because I was lucky enough to hear a voice way, deep, down inside of me that was telling me I'd never amount to anything if I didn't change my ways.  Actually, it was more like a knowing that I would never find any peace or happiness in life if I stayed a party monster.  I've said it before but I knew that I was the only person building a road block between me and the person I was meant to be.  I could see myself slathering the cement on brick after brick literally building a huge wall in the middle of my own path.  No one else was stopping me from being happy - it was all on me.
     I wish there was no such thing as addiction.  Surely, it would be one of my 3 Aladdin wishes if I was ever really able to rub that magic lamp.  It affects so many people and causes such suffering and is still wildly misunderstood and demonized.  I had no choice but to be affected by it and it's something that will be in my life in one form or another until the end.  For now, for today, as I type this things are right in my world and I'd be a fool to not see the many blessings and luxurious that I am afforded in this life.  I hope that the people that I love that are still or yet again suffering can get to that place too.

Freedom

Frida Kahlo - The Love Embrace of the Universe,the Earth,Myself,Diego and Senor Xolotl, 1949

What is it that causes emotional pain?  Is it when reality doesn't coincide with the script we have written for ourselves in our brains? Is it when we idealize our pasts and remember them as idyllic even though they were far from it?  Is it when we project with fear about future outcomes and circumstances in our lives.?  Actual trauma obviously has lasting effects on us as humans but it's what our brains do with the information that causes the hurting. You cannot change your past but you can change how you see yourself and you can even go back and heal the child within.
     Dr. Arlene Drake who is one of the most amazing therapists and women I have ever met taught me that re-parenting myself was possible. When trauma happens we often are stunted and part of us stays frozen in that moment forever.  If trauma happens as a child that child is still trapped inside in that moment and needs to be rescued, healed and loved.  Pretty lofty stuff but it makes complete sense.  I know for me I would often re-tell and re-live circumstances from my childhood and 1/2 the time it was my subconscious bringing these moments up like an old movie playing on a loop. I couldn't escape them and much of my actions as an adult were a direct result of trying to stamp out these memories.
     I was fortunate enough to find my way to Arlene when I was actually ready to deal with and conquer my demons.  I had been sober about 5 years but I knew that I needed to delve deeper in my issues than a 12 step program could provide.  I wasn't happy and I kept picking really unavailable people to date - I was the one who was truly unavailable though.  One night I went to a large dinner party and the table was so big and loud that it was impossible to strike up a conversation with anyone who wasn't sitting directly next to me. I was seated next to my friend Debbie and for some reason I was very honest and open with her about what I was going through.  She related and told me about the intense and life changing therapy she had with Dr. Drake.  I knew I needed therapy but the task of finding someone good was daunting to say the least. Debbie gave me Arlene's card and I called her the very next day.  I was truly ready and the teacher truly appeared.
     The experiences we have never leave us but we can work on ways to not have them rule over us like a nasty warlord. In a strange way I am grateful for all that I have been through even the really painful shit because it made me into the person I am today.  Somehow, I didn't let myself or my experiences completely destroy me.  Something in me had the willingness and the desire to become a person who can honestly enjoy and even love myself and my life.  I know that I was not put on earth to be a sad and lonely person - no one is.
     Some of these ideas may seem esoteric - inner child and re-parenting, but they are the core fundamentals of overcoming trauma and childhood pain.  It's amazing to actually visualize the hurting child within and to talk to him and lead him out of the darkness.  After all, its the subconscious running the show and issues that are ignored only grow and morph into deeper issues if they aren't dealt with.  There's no such thing as emotionally sweeping things under the rug, it isn't a solution that actually works.  Instead you will create a large and dangerous emotional, dust monster that will rear it's ugly head and attack your sanity at any given moment.
     Somehow, deep down I understood that I was the only one in charge of my own happiness and sanity.  I was spiritually drawn to finding a way to deal with my pain and sorrow.  As I said above I was ready and through some miraculous (some might say) experiences I found my way to a person that could help me get over my shit!  I am forever grateful for that and now even though I still have some bad days and some residual emotions that try to drag me back down to hell I can recognize them and I don't let them take a hold of me anymore.  Me and my inner child are trudging the road of happy destiny hand in hand.

Choices

Dad & me, 1974

My Dad just had major heart surgery.  You know, the kind where they saw open your torso and pry open your skeleton like a side of beef at a butcher shop.  He was advised by doctors that he needed this surgery 11 years ago but was reluctant to do so.  I get it.  No one WANTS surgery, unless it's cosmetic.  I too would be hard pressed to just hop on the operating table if I was told by western  medicine that I needed to.  I would immediately embark on a journey of healing through nutrition, exercise, meditation and herbs.  That's me.  That's not what my Dad did.
     My Dad is an alcoholic.  So am I which is why I work so hard to maintain my 13+ years of sobriety.  My father has never stopped drinking and I don't even know if he's ever wanted to or tried to.  I haven't seen him in more years than I can count but the last time I did he pretty much subsisted on caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol.  When I talk to him now he sounds the same as he always has albeit a little less sharp with his verbal communication and there's a lot more hacking involved.  He decided to get the surgery because his wife of 30 years died pretty suddenly a few months back and now he has no real reason to stay alive - those were his words not mine.
     For me I think things would be the exact opposite.  Wouldn't you want to get as healthy as possible  to sustain longevity for the person/people you love?  The point of any intense surgery is to prolong life or at least improve the quality of it.  Because open heart surgery is clearly a huge gamble, in his eyes risking death at the doctors hands while he was still married seemed out of the question - now that he's alone the outcome is unimportant to him.  Alcoholism surely clouds, rots, and warps the brain among other things.  One of the main reasons I wanted to get sober.  I wanted to be clear in my life and know that the things I was doing were coming from a real or pure place and not one mired by toxins.
     My Dad is pushing 70 and to be quite frank I'm surprised he has made it this far.  There doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason as to when your time is up.  When I called the hospital after his surgery the nurse said she had a touchy equation to ask.  She wanted to know if my Dad was a big drinker.  Alcoholism is a deadly disease and it can wipe you out fast as a plague or it can kill you slowly and meticulously like an incurable cancer that eats away at you until you are a shriveled husk of your former self.  You could be sober and get hit by a bus or you could drink away your life into your 90s.  For me it came down to quality of life.
     Originally, I got sober because heroin was bound to kill me fast the way I was going.  When I started drinking again a while after rehab I never went back to heroin but I partied like it was 1999 most nights of the week.  That was the myth in my head that BIG, BAD, HEROIN was the culprit and not me and my destructive behavioral patterns and choices.  I ran with that for a long time.  I looked fine, I worked at least 5 nights a week and always had a fat pocket full of bar tending money.  No one was pointing their fingers at me telling me I had better change or else but...deep, down inside I knew that I was spiritually empty and that my life was pretty hollow.  Just a series of nights and mornings that all blended together with some fun in between but mostly just a cycle of getting wasted, sleeping it off and repeat.
     I'm not sure if my Dad is happy.  I know that of late he is in mourning but beyond that I have no idea.  I don't know if he had dreams that all fell by the wayside and goals that were left in a heap like yesterday's trash.  For me, I knew that alcohol was a self-imposed road block to the real me and that if I had any hopes of finding my way to that person I had better change my ways.  I got sober for me which is the only reason why I think it's worked this time around.  I really wanted to find out where I could go in this life and who I could become and to know what it truly meant to love - especially myself.
     I hope my Dad recovers and feels better.  I have long ago lost hope that he would ever lead a different life style.  I'm not sure what the quality of his life will be post-surgery.  His wife is gone, his health is hanging on by a thread and the worst part, for me at least, is that that the adventure is all gone.  I want to be like my beautiful Grandma Molly who was robust and curious up until her 90s.  I want to feel good and look good and continue to learn and grow and explore this beautiful, vast planet.  If I was still drunk I wouldn't have any of those choices.  I want to continue to go to sleep every night fully aware of the things I have done and the day I have had and not try to black out to ease the pain and shame of my behaviors.  For me self love is my top priority and that's exactly what sobriety is.


   

Wisdom

Beautiful Mom & Grandma, 1981

The other day while talking to my mom I heard something I had never heard before. She said that people who struggle and struggle their whole lives but never seem to get past their troubles are younger souls. They haven't been around for enough lifetimes to get past their obstacles. The people that conquer their turmoils and learn to flourish despite obstacles are older souls.  They've been around many lifetimes and have had more time to grow.  Wise words, indeed.  I firmly believe that we are reincarnated again and again in order to learn the lessons we are meant to. Perhaps when we truly become fully evolved beings our souls are then set free and our time on earth is done.
     The idea of reincarnation was never unusual to me. As a very young boy my Grandma Molly told me about reincarnation and I belived it.  Molly was also a very wise and spiritual woman and she opened my mind up to a lot of ideas that would be considered esoteric to some.  After learning about that I was 100% certain that I was King Tut reincarnated, I was beyond fascinated with Egypt and Egyptian mythology - perfect for a future goth.  When my mom got me tickets (2 years in advance) for the King Tut exhibit at The Metropolitan Museum of Art I was never happier. Grandma Molly lived waking distance to The Met and I always loved spending time with her in that magical place.
     Every time I talked to my grandma I felt like I learned something new. Even in her 90's she was still learning things about herself and was open to the fact that there is always more knowledge out there.  In fact, she taught me that we actually know less as we get older or, more accurately, we learn that we are just a small piece of a vast universe and many questions have no answers.  The same goes for my mom now.  Sometimes she just has a lovely insight into a situation or puts something into a perspective that I hadn't thought of. She's an amazing listener which leads to greater insight - when someone really hears your words they understand them more.  Most people are too busy thinking about what they are going to say next to actually hear what you are trying to convey.
     I've always felt a deeper connection to the matriarchal side of my family.  My whole life I've had a closer and more in tune relationship with women.  Even though I'm gay I've had a harder time communicating with men.  Maybe it's because the examples I had of who was actually around physically and emotionally were the women in my family.  My Grandpa was a very hardworking and loyal man and was always supporting us financially but I never felt close to him and I had a hard time having conversations with him.  At one point when I was a kid I had 5 grandmas (including 2 great grandmas and a step grandma) and 3 of them I was very close to.
     Now, every time I talk to my mom and even my dad, on occasion, I find that I gain some kind of insight or new perspective.  When I talk to my dad I usually learn something about myself and, often, the conclusions I come to are slightly uncomfortable.  With my mom though, besides the comfort and love I feel from her I also tend to hear pearls of wisdom and insight on how to navigate the rocky waters of life.  I try to be more like her all the time by being a better listener and trying to be more gentle - especially with myself.