She Puts the Amour in Glamour

Nea Marshall is more man than most men on this planet could even dream of being. Bebe Zahara Benet is more woman than the most voluptuous, femme, fierce glamor puss born with a vagina. Together, Bebe and Nea make up one of the most brilliant, beautiful, geniune, sweet, kind, fierce and loving people I have had the honor to meet.

Last night, David and I, after trekking to the Upper West Side to hang out with our friend Jack, and then shooting down to the East Village for gongyo with Oshen, hauled our cookies to ther Lower East Side (after a side trip to SoHo due to my poor navigation skills) for a fundraiser to celebrate the work of Ru Paul's Drag Race winner and Minnesota drag legend, Bebe Zahara Benet. We arrived to the event about a half an hour later than I expected, both of us were soaked due to the ridiculous Noahian rainstorm that had homosexuals marching two by two down Spring Street, and David was in a foul mood...cuz sugar melts in the rain and that one is sweet from crown to toe jam. And I had a cold sore forming on my lip that made me look like Oscar De La Hoya after Tito Trinidad used his jaw as a stress reliever.

We arrived to find a chic club filled with lovers and fans of Bebe. We checked in, and I had dollars ready in my hand, only to discover that Nea had put David and I and our friends on the guest list. Talk about feeling like a rock star at a party full of A Listers. Eat your heart out Kathy Griffin. The woman at the door informed me that one of my friends had arrived, and we scooted inside to find Natasha full up on the free wine from Barefoot (one of the amazing sponsors of the party). Tash had brought a gaggle of friends out to support Bebe (at least five), and for that I love her love her love her.

Now I have told David that I am known for my punctuality, and he never seems to believe me. So, when we walked in late, Tasha was about to have a fit, and the first thing out of her mouth was, "Ummm you are NEVER late. I thought your roommate had gone crazy and took an axe to you." I smiled triumphantly, and instead of assuring her I was just fine and that Jason Voorhies hadn't tried to take me out, I made her repeat her statement about my gift of punctuality to David.

I convinced her that the Dark One hadn't tried to shank us on our way out of the house. She then told me that she had met Bebe, they had bonded as kindred black girls, and then she told me I was to march directly back to the dressing room and present myself to the Lady of CamerOOOOOOOOOOOn.

I walked back, with David in tow, and squealed with joy as Bebe (all 19 feet of her) jumped up and gave me a hug and kiss. I introduced her to David, and the first thing she said was, "Why are you late? You are never late. You had us worried."

I turned a wicked smile on David and said nothing. It was enough to bask in my moment of triumphant glory.

We kissed Bebe again, and left to watch the show. Let me tell you it was BRILLIANT. Bebe is so damned elegant, such a great performer, and has such a wonderous story. So many people connect with her from some many different life paths, that it is amazing to watch an ethnic rainbow crowd scream, cheer, and clap for this amazing African immigrant.

The MC for the night was the fantastic Mimi Imfurst, who also threw down in the performance arena. But the crowning moment of the night was when Bebe took the stage and spoke to the audience. Bebe spoke from the heart about her experience as a performer, about the love she has given and recieved from her fans, and about the movie that is being done about her life. It is important to note that this documentary has been in the works (and filmed) for three years. It just so happens that Bebe won Drag Race during this time period, in all truth that was icing on the cake of her necessary documentary. In the film, she explores what it means to be a performer, a drag queen, a black man, an African immigrant, and a Cameroonian. She spoke of the need to understand the realities of queer folks in Africa, of the struggles of faith and family, and of the need to hear, again, from Drag Queens...gender queers...the people that are so often reviled yet have so often LED our movement (GOD BLESS SYLVIA RIVERA).

And she needs our help.


The film is almost completed. They are moving into the final phase of post production and final shoots. Over the next six months, the documentarian, a sweet and beautiful woman by the name of Emily Branham, will be working to finish the film and raise the $25,000 needed to get it done the right way. So many of us watched Drag Race and cheered Bebe on. The room last night was filled with fans and folks that clapped and loved her performance. Bebe has given everything to us. It is TIME for us to give back. Please give a gift to the non-profit organization that is making this film. Your gift is FULLY tax deductible. You can give online to Fractured Atlas (the folks making the film) by clicking here. For those of you that have deep pockets and the means to give in a larger way, anyone that gives a $1,000 or more will be listed in the film credits as an Associate Producer. I personally plan on giving $75-$150 a month, each month, for the next six months to support this film and Bebe's work. As a queer person of color, I NEED to see and hear the voices of people from MY community that LOOK like me that SOUND like me that KNOW what it means to move through this world as a person of color that is queer. I want queer brown kids not yet born to have a piece of their stories present and available in a way that our stories, right now, are not. If you watched Drag Race. If you cheered Bebe on. If you have been to a live show at the Town House in St. Paul or the Gay 90s in Minneapolis. If you have seen her this summer on her Absolut Vodka Pride tour. If her life, her story, or her art has touched your life. PLEASE GIVE TODAY.

I love you Nea Marshall. Thank you for the gift of joy, beauty, and realness you bring to our lives.

To see a trailer for the film, The World Needs A Bebe, please click on this link.

The World Needs Bebe Benet: Come Out Tomorrow And Party with BeBe

Two and a half years ago, I met and fell in love with a consummate performer by the name of Bebe Benet. Through our interactions, I also came to respect and adore a man named Nea Marshall. They are one and the same. Bebe Benet was the winner of the first season of RuPaul's drag race, and she is someone that I am very proud to call friend.

Bebe has touched the lives of so many people, not least my own. Though she doesn't know it, one winter night, as I was in the grips of my addiction, a chance word and a sweet text message from Bebe, after running into her at a bar in Minneapolis, lifted me out of the place I was and gave me the strength and spirit to step onto a different path. Now I have a chance to give back.

Tomorrow night, from 7pm-11pm in New York, there will be a fundraising party (details below) to support the post-production of a documentary concerning Bebe's life. To get in is cheap as can be...and $15 to support a Cameroonian-Minnesotan that has changed my life and changed the way we think about drag is no price to pay at all. Come out, meet Bebe, bid at the silent auction and help me begin to pay Bebe back for her friendship and love.

EVENT NAME:

"The World Needs a BeBe": Fundraiser Party for BeBe Zahara Benet Documentary

EVENT DATE & TIME:

Wednesday, July 29 2009. After work: 7-11pm.

VENUE:

BLVD - 199 Bowery at Spring Street. 21+ only.

COVER:
Cash at door: $15 or $10 with RSVP to: party@workandserve.com

WEBSITE:
www.bebedocumentary.com

FACEBOOK EVENT PAGE:
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=227938460712

TO MAKE A TAX-DEDUCTIBLE DONATION DIRECTLY:
https://www.fracturedatlas.org/site/contribute/donate/2367
EVENT DESCRIPTION:

Drag superstar BeBe Zahara Benet will be on hand to perform

World Premiere of our new fundraising trailer

NYC drag celebrity Mimi Imfurst will MC and perform alongside other special guests
DJ Barney Iller will spin

Barefoot Wine will be offering wine tastings and open bar for the first hour of the event
Amazing silent auction items available - bring your checkbook!


PARTY SPONSORS TO DATE:
Barefoot Wine, M.A.C. Cosmetics, Om Factory Yoga, Devachan Salon & Spa, D'mai Spa, Molton Brown, and Village Apothecary

FILM SYNOPSIS:

Nea Kudi Marshall is a goofy young Cameroonian man by day, and the staggeringly beautiful drag queen BeBe Zahara Benet by night. Since discovering his talent for female impersonation when he moved to Minneapolis from Africa only a handful of years ago, Nea has put everything he’s got into cultivating his craft. He his not a typical drag queen - his unique blend of dignity, spirituality, charisma and ambition set him apart from the others. Since 2006, we've been documenting his struggle to attain success on his own terms – while working to reconcile his unconventional career path with his family’s traditional values.

BeBe was recently named “The Next Drag Superstar of the World” by RuPaul himself as the winner of a new reality television show, RuPaul’s Drag Race (Logo/MTV Networks). BeBe now has an opportunity to move beyond lipsyncing to share his own voice with a huge new fanbase – but is his motherland ready to hear it?

PURPOSE OF BENEFIT:

The benefit is being held to raise finishing funds for our documentary film - specifically, enough to get us through our rough cut stage, thus putting us in a better position to attract distribution and finishing funds so that BeBe's message of positivity and self-acceptance can get out into the world.

BEBE: A DOCUMENTARY FEATURE FILM is a sponsored project of Fractured Atlas, a non-profit arts service organization. Contributions in behalf of BEBE: A DOCUMENTARY FEATURE FILM may be made payable to Fractured Atlas and are tax-deductible to the extent of the law.

NUMBER OF GUESTS EXPECTED:

appx 400-500

TYPES OF GUESTS:

Professionals in filmmaking, media, the arts, advertising and the GLBTQ community.

The Homerun That Almost Wasn't: Rookies vrs Renegades

So, this past weekend, we played our last games of the regular softball season. Let me tell you, this summer has seemed to sprint by. It has been as if Lady Summer got up on some methamphetamine, smoked some crack, and shoved some speed up her butt while riding the Energizer Bunny across the last few months. It's seems only the day before the day before the day before yesterday that I was on a cold Astroturf field in Chelsea, in 55 degree weather, freezing my ass off, trying to pitch a ball with frozen fingers (and testicles) during softball try outs. Now, it's hotter and wetter than Carnie Wilson's coochie up in here, the softball season is over, and we are staring down the sweaty throat of the playoffs.

We ended the season with a whimper...then a KABOOOOOOOM!

The first game was about as special needs as it could get. First of all, my arm seemed to have decided that it didn't give a fuck what my brain was telling it to do. It was going to throw the damn ball wherever the hell it wanted to throw the damn ball. I tried chanting on the pitcher's mound, I called up my ancestors, I invoked the Spirit of God, and my hand flipped me the bird and pitched the ball to center field. Thank GOD Reggie pulled my ass off the mound. After doing a great infield shuffle, I ended up spending the rest of the first inning at first base (foolishness).

Fairly quickly Reggie realized his mistake by putting me on first. I was then banished to right field. The Renegades saw a weakness..and to their credit I did miss two balls that they smacked out my way. The third ball, however, and I caught and they learned some respect (though it was temporary).

The Renegades are a very good team, and they are a sweet team. They don't give attitude, they smile when they are beating us, and have almost as much fun as we do. I like them.

After one particularly terrible inning, we found ourselves down by seven runs. Thank GOD Mason showed up. I like when Mason gets real angry (but not at me....ooooooooooooo not at me)...and after they tried pullin' some shenanigans...all of a sudden Mason was flipping and rolling on the ground, catching balls like they were flying at him off the Rock (God Bless Dwayne Johnson's fine ass).

It was during the first game, that I hit the home run that almost wasn't. I got up to bat, and I smacked the ball all extra hard. I was sure one of the bionic bitches in the outfield was going to catch it...but they pulled a me...it hit the tip of some one's glove and kept going...and so did I. I ran right up to and OVER first base without touching it. I realized my mistake and tried to run back, but Mason started screaming for me to run. Now, Mason is possible the God of Softball, and he knows all the rules, so I thought...damn maybe there is some special rule that you don't actually have to touch 1st base, so I kept on running. I got to third and started to slow down, and Reggie almost punched me in the face. I kept going and basically danced around the catcher to make it home. Thank GOD no one from the Renegades saw that I had missed first. The next pitch went and it was a moot point. The run stood, and I was a lucky mo fo.

The second game was magical. Everyone on our team was doing their thing. Mason was killing it in the outfield. Lenny pulled some magic in the in field. Scott was pitching fire and struck out MULTIPLE people. And Steve Herrick was doing some Go Go Gadget bullshit in the outfield and was making my penis get mightily erect. Of course, every one's favorite heterosexual ANThony...was doing it to it too. And....lo and behold by the Grace of Softball God (Mason), we BEAT THE RENEGADES!


Miss Reggie walks over and lets us know that we, by winning, kept the Renegades out of 1st place in our division. For about the time it takes for a neutrino to burst into and out of existence I felt badly...between the Renegades the the D!cks...I mean Demons, I would much rather the Renegades win. Of course...I would much rather US win most of all, and I take the win with a smile and a giggle.

In the end we had a blast, we played well, and it was so hot that soul got a sunburn (and so did Vinnie cuz the punk wouldn't put on sunscreen when I told him to do so).

I sure do hope we play fall ball.

The Gospel According to St. Thomas Leavitt

I have a great friend by the name of Thomas Leavitt. I met Thomas when I served as the inaugural chair of the National Lavender Green Caucus of the Green Party of the United States. Thomas had already been involved with the Caucus for some time, and he served as an officer of the caucus as well. Over the years, Thomas has been a kind voice and loving supporter of my work. He is someone that I admire for his politics, his compassion, the way he moves through the world, and for the way that he cares for his family.

In my recent post Fading Hope or Reality Check?, I questioned the media spin on Obama's recent poll numbers, and, of course, spoke some damn truth about the Republican Party aka the GOP (Grand Old Party). My friend Thomas made a comment on the post that I thought was as true as gospel. I also thought it needed to be brought front and center. Thomas said:

"The Republican Party is good at just one thing: fucking things up, and they're doing their damndest to fuck up Obama's presidency. Fuck the truth: if it takes making people think Obama's an illegal alien secret Muslim communist Maoist fascist tool of the international Jewish-Communist crypto-conspiracy to lower his numbers, then that's what we'll tell him (never mind the self-contradictory nature of half the accusations). We'll put words in people's mouths that they never said."

And he ain't never told a damn lie. The GOP will spin sunshine into shit and shit into rainbows in order to reclaim power or keep justice from taking place. The Republican Party is quite literally watching their entire power structure crumble around them. For more than 20 years they watched their star ascendant, abused the power that they amassed, acted with complete license in their public and personal affairs, and when their self-serving policies, dismantling of the social safety net, and lies turned in on themselves, the party imploded (and continues to implode...see Governor Sanford, Governor Palin, and assorted philandering Senators and Congresspersons indicted on fraud and other abuse of office charges).

The GOP has not yet learned the lesson that if they ACTUALLY adhered to the basic philosophy of their party (small government, personal responsibility, low taxes, strong defense) and did not stray from those things, their message would resonate solidly with people. Please note, I think their core philosophy is soulless and lacks community responsibility, but I understand it. But, at least, if they stuck to that, it would lead to many less regressive decisions than those that they have made. And let's be clear. I don't believe that Cheney and half of those Republican Party actually are against queer marriage, hate black people, despise the poor, or are happy as a bug in a rug to send young people off to die in wars. What I do believe is that they have no problem with doing ANY of those things if the outcome is higher personal profits, greater politician gain, and more corporate earnings. It comes down to such a amoral hedonism that it makes me want to beat them with their Torahs and Bibles (cuz the Orthodox and Conservative Jews in elective office are just as regressive and heinous as the Conservative Christians). I truly believe that while Cheney was sending troops to die in Iraq he felt badly...but he wanted power and personal gain to such a point that he was willing to sit with and live with the guilt over sending folks to die in a senseless war.

The crime of ambivalence and choosing evil as an ok trade off for personal gain and privilege is more heinous to me than someone like Fred Phelps, who is a hideous excuse for a human being, but he honestly and truly believes the hate he spouts and the way of life he espouses. He isn't try to gain power, he is trying to save souls the way he believes they need to be saved. I can forgive him his idiocy while condemning him for the impact his idiocy has on the communities he targets. I can not forgive Cheney, Rove, Boehner and the rest that choose opportunism and expedience over the lives of the working class, queer folks, women, and children.

In the end, it is just as dear Thomas states, "Fuck the truth: if it takes making people think Obama's an illegal alien secret Muslim communist Maoist fascist tool of the international Jewish-Communist crypto-conspiracy to lower his numbers, then that's what we'll tell him (never mind the self-contradictory nature of half the accusations)."

I only hope that finally...FINALLY...America has grown hip to the social warfare and identity assassination politics of the GOP and the deep seated greed and megalomania that their lies are attempting to cover up.

Cooking with Justice

Food is something that is and has always been important to me. As a child, I would stand around in the kitchen, watching my Mom fry, chop, broil, and bake. The smells of homemade bread often filled our small apartment, and, though I grew up dead damn broke and on welfare, my Mom made low cost sumptuous fare...and she was so adept at it that she fooled us into thinking common dishes, like buttered egg noodles, were expensive delicacies to only be eaten on occassion.

From my Mother's kitchen to my Grandmother's kitchen, from watching my Step-Father cook to learning to avoid my Birth Father's cooking at all costs, I learned how to experiment, recreate, and create anew old time recipes and create new recipes of my own.

Please note, I am not in anyway a trained chef. As a matter of fact, I am a writer. My recipes usually come with stories. I cook at home for my partner, and it is the greatest honor I can think of bestowing on a loved one to cook for them. Knowing that I have created a palate pleasing recipe that sustains the amazing people in my life, gives me a deep glowing satisfaction that is spiritual in nature.

This is also an issue of justice. Massive food manufacturers and the fast food industry target poor and low income families, convincing them that stopping by for a burger from the dollar menu is better, quicker, faster, and more satisfying than spending that dollar on low-cost, good for you foods, that you can make at home and will sustain you for more than one meal. Not to mention the fast food and manufactured food companies do not include that by feeding yourself and your family off of the dollar menu, you are also feeding them a recipe for hypertension, heart disease, obesity, diabetes, and a whole host of other avoidable health issues.

Because I believe we need food that sustains us, celebrates our cultures, and are good for the body and soul, I have started a new blog called The Fairy Chef.

My recipes, as much as possible, use fresh products that you can get cheaply and that will feed you for more than one meal.

While I now live a comfortable life, I am in no way a wealthy person. And so it is important that I am able to make good food, with fresh ingredients, cheaply. I understand how difficult that can be in a fast food world in a fast pace life when individuals, let alone families, juggle a million responsibilities on ever shrinking budgets. The recipes you will find at the Fairy Chef should run you no more than $5 to $20 in ingredients, and, since I grew up in a large family, all of the recipes you will find at the Fairy Chef will make more than enough to feed two to four people (depending on your appetites).

Starting today, I will post one new recipe a week. Some will be oldies but goodies and others will be new experiments I've whipped up and force fed to my beloved partner David. He didn't know he was signing up for guinea pig duty when he signed up for the life time gig with me. The various recipes I have posted here at My Feet Only Walk Forward, have already been posted at The Fairy Chef.

So, grab your oven mitts and strap on your favorite cooking gear...cuz it's time to cook it up with the Fairy Chef.

Brandon's Pork Chop Ramen Fabulous

Any of y'all that grew up broke or went to college or went broke in college or went to college broke or broke down while broke in college cuz you had to grow up...will know of the great and powerful $.25 meal called ramen.

Now when I was a kid...all I knew about was Top Ramen and Smack Ramen and Cup-o-Noodle Ramen. By adulthood, I had discovered an entire world of imported ramen from China, Japan, Thailand, and Vietnam. I once believed that ramen came only in pork, chicken, beef, oriental, and shrimp flavors. Only to discover, thanks to many an Asian grocer, that there is roast duck flavor, hard boiled egg flavored, and some flavors that don't even have a translation in English.

Now that I am officially too old to actually eat a package of ramen as a meal. And, considering I personally made several ramen manufacturers extremely wealthy as I packed away two packages of ramen AS A SNACK through most of my teen years, I thought I would combine my love of ramen with my love of half-way good for you food.

So, I created this recipe, and let me tell you...it is so good that I am going to ask the Ramen Gods to include it on the backs of all my favorite brand's packages.

Brandon's Pork Chop Ramen Fabulous

3 Packages Chicken Flavored Ramen
3-4 small to medium sized pork chops, lean cut, with some marbling
4 cloves of garlic
1 tablespoon seasoning salt
1 tsp salt
1 bunch of scallions
1 large sweet red bell pepper
1 large jalapeno
1/2 cup soy sauce
2 tbsp olive oil

First, lay the pork chops in an oven safe cooking pan. Sprinkle the seasoning salt and salt on the pork chops, then pour the soy sauce over the pork chops. Cover the dish with tin foil and bake in the oven at 375 degrees for about 30-45 minutes. Turn once about half way through cooking.

Once the pork chops are done, remove the pork chops from the pan but SAVE THE JUICES in the pan. Slice the pork chops off of the bone and then dice into strips or bite size pieces. Set the bones aside.

In a sauce pan, bring six cups of water to a boil. When you put the water on to boil add the pork chop bones to the water. Once the water begins to boil throw the ramen noodles into the water and let them boil up for two minutes or until al dente. Drain the noodles into a strainer, and then remove the bones from the noodles in the strainer.

In a large wok, heat olive oil, then add garlic (minced), jalapenos, and onions, allow to sizzle and snap and fry up for a good three to four minutes. This allows the onions and garlic to caramelize and sweeten. Then add the noodles. To this add TWO of the three chicken flavoring packages from the ramen....DO NOT use all three or it will be tooooo salty. Stir the noodles, onions, jalapenos, and garlic together. Then pour the juice from the baking pan into the mixture. To that add the sweet bell pepper, cut into bite size pieces, and the chopped pork chop meat to the mix. Keep the dish stirring for about 3 minutes, just enough time to let the bell pepper soften up a bit...and then get you a bowl, put some of the food in it, and eat it up. Lemme tell you...you ain't NEVER had ramen like this before.

An Open Letter to Officer Joe

Inspector William Matusiak
18th Precinct
306 W. 54th Street
New York, NY 10019

An Open Letter to the 18th Precint
Midtown North

Dear Inspector Matusiak:

A couple of months ago, I had the unfortunate opportunity to step inside of your precinct. It was unfortunate in that the situation that prompted the need to go to the police was difficult. For the second time in a month period, the same individual verbally attacked me in my home.

There was no danger of physical violence; indeed, if it ever came to that point, this particular man would be calling you for support, as the difference in our physicality is such that I could easily and heartily defend myself. Thank God my Mother raised me right.

I digress.

I am writing to you because the choice to walk the few short blocks to the precinct wasn’t an easy one. I am a person of color, and I am gay. Every aspect of my life, for my basic survival, has been influenced by a rule: steer clear of the police. While elementary school taught us the men and women in blue are there to help us, life taught me that more often than not the men and women in blue were enemies, people to avoid. As I grew older, I realized, of course, that for every Amadou Diallo incident, there were a thousand incidents of good cops doing the right thing, unfortunately, the bashings and beatings and Oscar Grant shootings are stories that make the news. And the stories happen frequently enough, and are substantiated often enough, that to err on the side of caution is to err towards a course of survival.

Let me be clear, I present to the world as a well educated, well groomed, individual. I have never been subject to harassment by the police. As a matter of fact, my one run in with the cops was leaving a bar and making the stupid decision to drive. I received a DUI, and I have to say that through the entire incident, from the arrest to the police house, the deputies on duty were not only kind but extremely supportive. Never before and never since have I had any violation on my record. My personal, direct experience with the police has been quite positive.

Yet not all of my indirect encounters have been quite so upbeat. I quite literally have been walking down the street, in between two black men that presented “thuggish,” and though these two men did not know each other, based on their appearance, they were called over and harassed by the police, while I was waved on.

My little brother, who is engaged with Hip Hop culture, was regularly targeted by the police as a teen for doing nothing more than looking a particular way and standing on our front porch.

So to choose to make a complaint, against a white man, as a person of color, and as a queer person in a domestic dispute (the man was my partner’s former partner), I was nigh on terrified to make a complaint that I had a legal and moral right to make.

Then I met Officer Joe.

In hindsight, I should have asked for Officer Joe’s last name and badge number. All I can tell you is that this particular evening, he was working at the front desk when we came in. I was with my current partner, and we approached the officer to ask him how to file a complaint. Officer Joe asked what happened, and I told him the story. Not only was he emphatic but also he directly asked my partner how the heck he could get away with having his current partner and ex-partner living together. He added a moment of levity to a difficult situation, and my assumption is that Officer Joe is straight, has received great training, and is comfortable in his skin. Officer Joe’s demeanor, engagement, and respect did more to change my perception of police than all of the posters hanging in the precinct that, frankly, come across as slightly condescending in their attempts to downplay the role of police violence.

Police violence against people of color and queer folks, particularly trans folks, is real and has a long history. Posters will not change the minds of those impacted by the actions of a few, rotten cops. The thoughtful, jovial, and forthright actions of individuals such as Officer Joe will.

I worked on a political campaign, once, for Deputy Chief of Police Lucy Gerold. Lucy was the first civilian Deputy Chief in Minneapolis. She then chose to go to the academy and now serves as the Third Precinct Captain. I once told Lucy that she was the first and only cop that I had ever met that I trusted. I now trust many more. I have confidence, at least, in the 18th Precinct. I appreciate the training that your officers have obviously received, and I apologize to you and your men and women for the fears I have had related to police, generated by the actions of a minority of officers, yet none the less projected onto folks that are just trying to do good work in our community.

I appreciate you all, and the work that you do. Please note, I will be posting this letter to my blog, www.myfeetonlywalkforward.blogspot.com. My blog receives roughly 2,000 to 3,000 readers per month. I am happy to be able to offer a story of cops doing good in a time when most of the news about people in uniform isn’t the best.

Thank you.

Fading Hope or Reality Check?

So, I read today that in an Associate Press-Gfk Poll the general fountain of hope that Obama inspired has turned from a gusher to a sprinkler. His approval rating is still 55%, which is very good, but in many areas the euphoria has worn off and he has seen double digit drops in various confidence ratings in various areas. Though, in my most cases, a majority of Americans still believe that he is doing the right thing in the right way.

Basically, I want to go out and find those folks that truly believed that Obama was somehow going to magically with a wave of his Presidential dick make everything all better, and smack them in the face. Instead of electing a President, they thought they were electing a Fairy Godfather who could kiss the booboos of the Regan/Clinton/Bush years...the trickle down economics...the Bush trillion dollar tax cuts...the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq...the decline in American prestige...the global economic meltdown...the health care system...the education gap...the housing market...and the credit market...and make them all better. Whip out a bottle of neosporin and a great big old band-aid and in seven days it will heal right up.

B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T

Since stepping into the White House, Obama has done something that the last four presidents have not done. He has told the damn truth. He has said...look people...this shit is going to be tough...it is going to be rough...and if you all really want it to be fixed...you are going to have to dig deep into your pockets and your privilege and make it better. Those that have immense wealth that THEY DID NOT EARN...are going to have to pay a share relational to their income to help make things work again in this country (and P.S. no one and I mean no one does any level of labor that is equal in value to a million dollars a year...NO ONE). He said that to fix health care, we are going to have to do something radically different than has ever been done before. He said to end the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and to restore confidence in America, we are going to have to close Guantanamo, end torture, and start valuing civilian lives overseas. He said in order to get the economy back on track, we are going to have to get real hands on. A free market without oversight and without regulation is exactly what got us into the mess we are in...and so it is going to take money to fix a money problem and regulation to fix a regulation problem and not a wishin' and a prayin' and magic bean buyin'.

But time and time and time again it is a Republican and conservative lobby and coalition of regressive wealthy ignoranmi that are hell bent at protecting their own asses and fighting to regain political power at the cost of AMERICAN lives, AMERICAN health, AMERICAN prosperity, and on the backs of the working poor. Ain't not a damn thing changed on the right. So it is time for the left to step the fuck up and be unafraid to confront the bullshit head on.

It is time for the majority in Congress to use the damn nuclear options. Shut out the voices of Deep South Senators that openly engaged in acts of White Supremacy and yet have the nerve to accuse Judge Sotomayor of playing racial politics when all she did was speak the damn truth. It is time, right now, for Obama to be brave. He needs to pull a Lyndon B. Johnson and hold his party's ass to the flame. He needs to make it clear to any Blue Dog Democrat that breaks ranks that he will, without question, use his position and popularity on behalf of a primary challenger to replace their fucked up asses come the mid-term elections next year. It is TIME that those that believed there was an easy solution to decades of excess, waste, unchecked capitalism, and unregulated corporate greed and community rape to wake the fuck up and become part of the solution instead sucking on the rotted tit of media spawned regressive hype and fear mongering by the GOP and its minority conservative core in America.

Obama will fail if we haven't matured enough as a nation to realize that the people out of power want to get back into power no matter the cost even if the cost is YOUR health insurance, the life of YOUR child sent to the desert or the mountains to die, YOUR job because deregulation and the maiming of unions has led to massive outsourcing, and your home because a lack of oversight allowed mega banks to gobble up bad assets knowingly and use outright deception to make a quick buck on your back.

Wake the hell up America. Obama is NOT our hope. WE are our HOPE, and if we HOPE to not slide back down the Regan-Clinton-Bush I and II road...then it is high time that we step up, let Obama know we are here and ready to do the work, make the sacrifice, and BACK HIM THE HELL UP, so he can get our nation and its people...meaning ALL OF ITS PEOPLE FROM THE HOMELESS TO THE KARDASHIANS back on its feet.

Faith without works and hope without courage are empty words and empty minds fill able by those willing to lay you down to build their own foundation.

Rippin' Gender and Writin' Sex: An Interview with Rosalind Lloyd

At the end of June, I was honored to be one of a fantastic line up of readers at Charlie Vazquez's Double Pride Panic reading series at Nowhere Bar in the East Village. One of the reader's that completely blew my mind (and whose story made me harder than a porn star on viagra) was writer Rosalind Lloyd.

After Facebook stalking Rosalind, I asked her if she would agree to an interview about her writing, and she graciously agreed. Let me tell you folks that this interview is going to blow your mind. Rosalind's work not only engages gender, race, and sexuality...but also makes them have sex with each other and give birth to new ways of being and celebrating multiple layers of identity. She does all of this in a context of joyful, hot, sensuality that proudly embraces humanity as inherently sexual beings. In an age that is beginning to make the 1950s look like a giant swinger play party, Rosalind's writing and subject matter is a just the dildo to our collective orifices that we need to jolt us back to an awareness of ourselves that includes a fierce sexuality without shame or condemnation.

Lord I done made my own self hot just thinking about this woman's writing.

Here's the amazing interview with Rosalind. And, please go to Amazon or to her website and buy her work.

When I met you, you read from a hot and steamy story about a tranny that I would love to meet in a dark alley. Why choose a transgender protagonist? How does the gender and sexuality of your character mirror your own?

I LOVE that Patti Smith quote – “As far as I'm concerned, being any gender is a drag.” I’ve always been fascinated by gender identity – particularly within the “community.” I feel we’ve not really freely explored the fluidity of gender because in ways we feel on a base level it conjures up stereotypes, plus, it so easily coincides with sexual identity. It’s still sort of a taboo area – fucking around with gender – refusing to go beyond, to dig deeper than drag queens, drag kings and transgenderism. Many of us are so linear in our thinking because as gay folks, we’ve been persecuted for so long. But delving into our gender and sexual queerness just gives us even more layers and more diversity and that’s a beautiful thing. I knew this person about 15 years ago, a beautiful boi. She would only hang out with gay men and she looked just like one of them – tall, tight hair cut, and rocking the hottest designer fashions for men – I mean gorgeous. She never paid women any attention – she just wasn’t interested. And so the whispers started that she was actually interested in and actually having sex with gay men – although this was never really verified. Naturally a lot of dykes who knew her were sort of disgusted by this and questioned her sexuality – but I found her totally fascinating.

The main character in the piece I read, Troi, – does her gender and sexuality mirror my own? In her queerness – yes – because she is totally left of center. Troi is a dom and I’m not necessarily - but there is a fluidity with respect to her sexuality that can’t be denied and I wanted that reflected in the piece. In fact, I would go as far as saying that Troi might not even be a hot tranny as you’ve described him. If you remember, there is a scene where Troi is discreetly cruising the young brothers at that club – the ones with their jeans hanging low, all that rough swagger. She could have been peeping them on the low. Although she hooks up with this incredibly sexy young lady, why not look at the more ambiguous target (the young brothers) as a possibility? This would actually make Troi queergendered. But I didn’t want to push it that far.


In person, you present as very femme, yet, the character in your story is the epitome of masculinity. How does your perceived gender and the way you write gender intersect?

There is a huge intersection there. If a feminine woman straps on – does that make her any less a woman? If a dominant woman wants to be penetrated, does that make her any less a dom? Same question for men, regardless of their sexual and gender identity. I’m a strong believer that gender – just like sexuality - is fluid. Writing about dildos is not necessarily an overwhelmingly receptive topic for many lesbians because anything male identified, anything with a masculine identity, any phallic symbols are highly problematic not only because it’s male, but for some, it also challenges our sexual identity as women. I felt it was necessary to challenge that notion in my writing. Looking at this another way – I know this “straight” married couple. Very hot. She’s a beautiful, high fem and her husband is this tall, strapping, manly-man. One Valentine’s Day, she dressed up in a corset and strap on and he was totally into his wife making love to him like this. To me, that’s hot. What’s unfortunate is that there are segments of society that might have a problem with people expressing themselves in this way. Some might want to push this type of desire in little boxes – in closets. That’s a shame.

Often times, women with a powerful and overt sexuality are both objectified and reviled. How does your work address stereotypes of women and sexuality?

Well, I don’t feel like I’m addressing gender stereotypes in the heteronormative sense. But in a queer sense, I feel that female gender shifting – gender questioning, aggressive women, butch/dominant women are never revered. Yes, hot fems continue to be more socially and politically acceptable as popular culture finds feminine girl-on-girl action sexy and accessible while feeling threatened by strong, masculine, dominant women whether straight or otherwise. The same goes for bisexual women in a smaller sense because they straddle a certain divide – not really being accepted anywhere completely. Women who can openly declare their bisexuality gets major props from me. It’s well known that lesbians don’t find them attractive targets (and some men think they find bi-girls attractive until that 3-some doesn’t go in their favor). Anyway, to be emboldened by your ‘queerness’ is sexy to me. Women wonder why many bi or bi curious women lie about their sexuality? Because some lesbians feel overly threatened by the maleness of their competition and their male sexuality and identity. Same goes for gender questioning/gender transitioning women. Many lesbians I know say they would never date a gender diverse person. There’s that visceral response to maleness. When transgendered Thomas Beattie (who gave birth to his second child just last month) was mentioned - the press wasn’t above making its share of insensitive comments relating to his gender and sexuality. There is SO much power in this man giving birth – in the 21st century – the actual power in his femaleness AND his maleness - it made America take an honest look at how complex gender really is and how gender and sexuality intersects no matter how much conservatism wants to sanitize it. Gender, anatomy, sexuality – all delicious ingredients that makes us who we are and how we identify. We should learn to fully embrace that freedom without restrictions.

You ain't white...and in Amerikkka that means your racial identity is front and center whether or not that is where you want it. How does your racial identity come out in your writing?

In my piece Cop-Out, racial identity is obvious due to the hip hop element, Troi’s dark fudge skin, using terms like red-bone, etc. But actually in many of my other works, although the subject is usually an attractive black woman, I intentionally write the story from a 1st person perspective where the reader - of any race – of any gender/sexual identity can actually place herself/himself as the protagonist. When I first came out, most of what I saw in the erotica section were works involving non-people of color. I remember what that felt like and I wanted to make sure that I, a woman of color, was reflected so that a sister growing up in middle-of the-country-America could pick up an anthology and find a little of herself in it. Also – I wanted it to be okay for a white girl, or an Asian girl, a Latina, a native American, a mixed race or a gender-questioning person to pick up an anthology with a story I’ve written in it and say to themselves, yes, this black woman is hot, she’s beautiful, she’s desirable – and its perfectly fine to feel this way about her.

Your writing is fierce and joyful in its realness. When you write, what is your main goal, what do you want a reader to walk away with when they read a Rosalind Lloyd piece?

To be open. To free yourself from the restrictions of gender and sexuality. To explore yourself and your desires and not to be blinded or intimidated by stereotypes and the boxes people sometimes like to push themselves and others in. Let’s enjoy that aspect of our lives to the fullest.

Where can folks that want to check out your work or you and your work find you?

First I would like to note that I should be searched under Rosalind Christine Lloyd. There is another Rosalind Lloyd out there is cyberspace and – we ain’t the same person….LOL!

There’s my blog: Scribevibe – www.rosalindchristinelloyd.blogspot.com
I’m also on Facebook and Twitter so please “friend” and “follow” me. “Cop-out,” the piece I did at the reading is in three anthologies and I just got word it is coming out again, in a fourth release in Sometimes She Lets Me: Best Butch/Femme Erotica edited by Tristan Taormino and published by Cleis Press coming out in 2010 – but you can find it in Best Lesbian Erotica and Best Lesbian Bondage. My Blog will have more info on it. Lately, my work in anthologies has been centered around spanking. In August, I have a piece called “Soror Sister,” in Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories, published also by Cleis and edited by Rachel Kramer Bussell. But you can also go to Amazon and search under Rosalind Christine Lloyd for some of my earlier work.

Well spank me Ms. Lloyd cuz you are a fierce woman, and it was a pleasure to hear you read and to meet you. Thank you so much for your work and for agreeing to this interview.

Rosalind Christine Lloyd is a contemporary fiction and erotica writer (and occasional poet) whose work has appeared in over fifteen anthologies including the Best Lesbian Erotica and Best American Erotica series. She has worked with some of the most prominent names in women’s erotic-lit like Tristan Taormino and Rachel Kramer Bussel. Her latest piece was published last year in Spanked: Red Cheek Erotica and another slated for release late this summer in Bottom’s Up, both edited by Kramer Bussel. Rosalind has two novels in progress, one of which she hopes to publish as an e-book. She’s also compiling a collection of her published short fiction and has one completed screenplay. She lives downtown with her queer version of a nuclear family.

Rookies versus Saints: Parking Ramp Softball

Yesterday morning, before the cock crowed, and before my morning wood had time to fall…I was already up, showered, slathered up in Icy Hot, and on a train heading down to Hudson Park to play some gay softball.

I followed the directions from the softball league’s website, which led me first to the Spring Street stop off of the C/E. Let me tell you, the far western edge of Manhattan, at the northern border of the West Village and the Southern limit of Chelsea on a Saturday morning is as dead as Walter Kronkite. God rest his soul.

Walking a block off the West Side highway and it being quiet enough to hear the voices in my head scream at one another was damned spooky.

Now, I have to begin this by saying thank you to Rookie Joe who had the foresight (I almost typed foreskin) to warn the Nookies on our team (aka me and Vinnie)…that the fields we would be playing on this week…were on the piers…meaning actually sitting above the river…and indoors.

Huh?

Sure enough, as I turned down Houston, I caught sight of what looked like a giant parking garage that had Pier 40 emblazoned across the top. I asked the bored looking female guard in the security station where I might find a gaggle of softball players, and you could see the visible strain and summoning of energy it took for her to thumb over her shoulder deeper into the parking garage.

I thought she might be high, which, considering she was on security detail, would have been very irresponsible of her.

But, sure enough, when I looked down what I had thought was a parking ramp but turned out to be a broad pedestrian tunnel, I saw that the parking ramp was hollow in the middle and contained a massive chemical green Astroturf multi-use field. One of those rubberized numbers, with the fake grass growing up out of the Dupont dirt that had all kinds of lines crisscrossing it so that it could be any number of sporting surfaces. Like me, it was very very versatile.

Only a tiny bit tardy, I showed up (before the coach I might add), and immediately fell in love with Rynnie…Scott’s adorable niece visiting her uncle. Rynnie was a softball player, a cutie patootie, a fierce Southern Baptist that had a wicked giggle and loved her big old gay uncle. How could one not fall in love with her instantly?

Immediately, folks asked me where oh where was Vinnie. To which I said…am I my neighbors keeper?

The bitches said yes.

It was then that I checked my phone and discovered that Vinnie hadn’t woken up until around 8:30 am (the games started at 9)…he said something about an unfortunate wax accident involving the dining room table, some candles, and lots and lots of Grey Goose.

Vinnie should have brought the candles to light a fire under our asses cuz we could not wake up for that first game.

We were playing the Saints, and, bless their hearts, they are the last place team in our division. They have solid fundamentals, but they just don’t have much power. Well…Saturday morning they were the motherfucking Electric Company and shocked our asses by pulling out a win in the first game.

Alas, they had no idea that once the sun truly passed over the Prime Meridian that all their earlier victories would come to naught. Once the sunlight cleared the horizon…the Rookies were on that ball like Reggie on…well…balls.

First of all, Noah had returned from exile in New Jacked Up Unemployment Rate City aka Detroit. And you know Miss Noah may wear a corset, but instead of the vapors she channels her antebellum feminine oppression into her bat. Combining that with Tom Ward, who was once again acting like Derek Jeter was a bitch compared to his batting, and with some 50 and loving it acrobatics by Joe…we were feisty and swinging our low hangers way out into the field.

In one inning we scored 10 runs. I almost peed on myself with joy. As a matter of fact, I did. But I blamed it on Noah’s dog Ludo. Them’s the breaks when one person can talk and the other one can only bark and look guilty.

In the end, we had a blast. Rookie-in-Absentia Eddie Buggie was with us, cheering us on, and base coaching. And everyone acquitted himself mighty well. Great games Rookies. Heyyyyyyyyyyyy.

A Little Bit About Me

My gal pal Divine Grace sent me one of these ridiculous questionairres via Facebook. Her answers were, well, hilarious. I figures since 1) it's nice sometimes to share a bit about myself with my readers that isn't angry or overly deep, and 2) I am exhausted after playing gay softball from 8am until about 12pm and then working out for an additional two hours, and 3) since I just made and ate a kick ass dinner, and 4) I am lazy as hell, I thought I would repost the survey I answered right here.

By the way...Divine has an amazing blog that is so so wrong yet oh so damn right. Click on her picture, and it will, like the song, take you there.

So here it is, the survey Miss Divine sent my way. Thanks Sugar...you owe me 20 minutes of my life that was sucked into a great Survey Hell Vortex.


1. What time did you get up this morning? 7:32am

2. How do you like your steak? If it isn't still mooing it's overcooked.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (I vomited 15 times during the movie)

4. What is your favorite TV show? Is that the box with the moving pictures that tells me stories?

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? In the land where Rivers are made of cosmopolitans and lakes are filled with fried chicken and collard greens.

6. What did you have for breakfast? A banana...big...thick....long...

7. What is your favorite cuisine? Hmmmmmmmm I love NOOOOODLES. Thai, Vietnamese, but not Chinese...too short.

8. What foods do you dislike? Dirt.

9. Favorite Place to Eat? (I almost peed myself at Divine's response to this one)...preferrable at the kitchen table.

10. Favorite dressing? Creamy Italian...or a Creamy Puerto Rican.

11.What kind of vehicle do you drive? I don't think riding the subway counts as driving.

12. What are your favorite clothes? If it doesn't have a hole in the crotch and soy sauce stains on it...I'm good.

13. Where would you visit if you had the chance? Uranus or any anus for that matter.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full? I prefer to take my fluids intravenuously.

15. Where would you want to retire? By the time I am old enough to retire...the retirement age will have been raised to "dead."

16. Favorite time of day? Dawn/Dusk...it's when the vampires know to wake up and go to bed.

17. Where were you born? Duluth, Minnesota...I can pretty much promise I was the only mixed race, black, white, puerto rican, and native american born there in 1977....or since.

18. What is your favorite sport to watch? Anything where the guys have round butts and small tight shorts.

19. Who do you think will not tag you back? President Obama

20. Person you expect to tag you back first? Michael Jackson

21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this? Chastity...I mean Chaz...Bono

22. Bird watcher? Only after I've had too much absinthe.

23. Are you a morning person or a night person? I only wake up at Noon and Midnight.

24. Do you have any pets? David.

25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share? I qualified for projecticle vomting for the 2012 summer games.

26. What did you want to be when you were little? A Vampire

27. What is your best childhood memory?Have you seen my childhood?

28. Are you a cat or dog person? Dogs....whether on two legs, four legs, or doggie style.

29. Are you married? I ain't got no ring yet...at least not one above my penis.

30. Always wear your seat belt? Man...I grew up watching those crash test dummy commercials. Heck yeah.

31. Been in a car accident? A fender bender.

32. Any pet peeves? PEOPLE WHO SMACK THEIR FOOD SHOULD BE GUTTED AND FORCED TO EAT THEIR OWN INTESTINES.

33. Favorite Pizza Toppings? Anything I can fit on top of it made of once living flesh.

34. Favorite Flower? Sunflower. What. I'm gay.

35. Favorite ice cream? Vanilla with chocolate covered almonds. Same way I like my men.

36. Favorite fast food restaurant? Burger Queen

37. How many times did you fail your driver's test? Never. Of course, I didn't take it til I was 23.

38. From whom did you get your last email? Lynne Serpe candidate for NY City Council from Astoria

39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Christopher Street Adult DVD

40. Do anything spontaneous lately? I just farted.

41. Like your job? Love it.

42. Broccoli? Love it.

43. What was your favorite vacation? College.

44. Last person you went out to dinner with? Nasia

45. What are you listening to right now? I farted.

46. What is your favorite color? Cash Money Green.

47. How many tattoos do you have? Uno...for now.

48. How many are you tagging for this quiz? A few.

49. What time did you finish this quiz? Unfortunately, it hasn't ended yet.

50. Coffee Drinker? I brew my own...it comes out if you squeeze my left nipple.

Health Care is a Human Right: FUCK RON PAUL!

I was thumbing through Yahoo's news today, as I am wont to do, when I came across some bullshit. Ron Paul, erstwhile Presidential candidate, and Libertarian tardo declared, with a straight face, and a net worth of between $2 million and $7 million dollars that health care is not a human right.

As a matter of fact, read his pure tardations for yourself or click here to listen to him spout his idiocy in an interview:

As far as the Texas Congressman is concerned, health care is not a right. "I don't have a right to medical care," he emphatically states. In his view, the constitution only guarantees citizens "life, liberty and (the right to) keep the fruits of my labor."

The Texas Congressman, of course, is Ron Paul. He is the type of bassackwards anal wart in power that makes my blood boil. But, thankfully, it is not only common sense, and my belief in the innate value of human life, that states that health care is a human right...so does the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the guiding document of the United Nations, of which, nominally, the U.S. is a member. The Declaration states: that every human being has the right to health, including health care.

Pardon me if I go ahead and get behind a guiding document acknowledged as the basis for global human rights doctrine and signed on to by every legitimate nation on the planet Earth versus the words of a hyper individualist college educated and medical school trained white man from the South, which basically signs him up for every form of social and political privilege and advantage available to a human being. He doesn't have to worry about little issues like human rights because his entire exists demands recognition of his right to determine what is or is not reality or just. I repeat: FUCK U.S CONGRESSMAN RON PAUL OF TEXAS. YOU FUCKING OVER PRIVILEGED JACKTARD ROTTED INVERTED SCROTUM HAIR.

Some of you may have noticed that my blogs, lately, have become a tad bit more angry than usual. I believe there is a direct relationship between an ending patience with certain people in my daily life, which, relationally, uses up any excess patience I have for assholes that have the power to vote yea or nay on my ability to life a full and healthy life. And, frankly, I don't give a damn if it costs 28 quadraseptabastanktrazillionplex dollars to ensure that every single person in this country has the same access to quality health care as the 535 members of the United States Congress that enjoy the BEST POSSIBLE HEALTH CARE PLAN ON THE PLANET EARTH. If a Senator sneezes they can pretty much get the Chief of Surgery to hold a tissue and said God Bless you, without paying a single co-pay, if it tickles their fancy or gets them hard. Hell they can get the surgeon general to be their personal fluffer if Viagra doesn't work.

Ron Paul, it must be hard to stand on top of a mountain of spaghetti, sucking down meatballs, all the while looking down from the mountaintop to the starving masses and declare, proudly, that they don't have a right to eat. You know what happens in that situation Mr. Paul? The motherfucking masses eat the damn mountain from underneath you and then eat your grizzly boney old ass as an after dinner snack.

Health care is a human right. It is a fundamental goddamn human right, and it is not only a shame but unconscionable that the richest nation in the history of the planet should have the WORST health care and the WORST infant mortality rate and the WORST life expectancy of any industrialized nation...hell of most nations. PERIOD.

Hope

Look. I ain't Barack Obama. I got no audacity of hope or a hope chest or the Hope Diamond (though I did see the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian...shhhhhinnnnyyyyy!). But tonight, I do have a slim sliver slight shaving shimmer of hope (yay alliterations!). David's ex...the Roommate of Darkness...declared openly that he is moving out on July 31st and that is his final answer (he IS the weakest link. goodbye).

As someone thoroughly trained in the scientific method (observation. empirical, and measurable), I am a fool to actually allow any itsy bitsy shadow of optimistic outlook to stain my cold, calculating hard science heart.

Pssssht.

I am a big old Renaissance softy that reads esoteric literature, speaks and reads several languages, believes in ghosts, fairies, and goblins, and jumps at any opportunity to believe that human beings are inherently good and ultimately redeemable. I spend a lot of time being disappointed. But golly gee I wear a smile while I pick up the pieces of my shattered expectations.

And poor David. He has been waiting almost two years to move on to the next part of his life. And, I have been waiting right along with him for most of that time. I am scared as hell to really embark on a fully open relationship, which I told my love had to wait until Lady GaDrama was no longer sleeping on the couch, and so the spectre of that life challenge is lickin' its lips and rearin' its Voldemort lookin' head at me. But, you know, I have seen enough perky asses from my window this evening to be willing to walk hand in hand with David down the path that ends with my penis firmly ensconsed in several of the aforementioned observed's booginas. How's that for a scientific method for ya.

Our beloved president, St. Barack Hussein "I Got a Fatty Dick" Obama commanded us all to hope, and let me not be the shmuck that fails to serve and obey the commandments of our Lord and Chief Executive. But, past precedent (sorry Mr. President) has taught me that crazy people that thrive on misery should not be trusted until one sees their bony behind walk out the door for the last time. So, I shall say I am cautiously hopefulmistic.

And you can bet a bitch is funna be chanting some nam-myoho-renge-kyo and prayin' to Jesus, Allah, Shakyamuni, Yaweh, and Scooby Fucking Doo to help this actually come to pass.

Amen.

Pinot Grigio

If I could, I would have my left breast surgically altered so that it spouted ice cold Pinot Grigio when I squeezed my nipple. If I could get away with it...I would get Pinot Grigio flavored Zoloft...name my child Pinot Grigio Lacy Berube...and write a love song called You Rubbed My Pinot Grigio The Right Way.

I LOVE me some Pinot Grigio.

A couple of weeks ago, a new wine shop opened up two blocks from my house (street blocks...not avenue blocks...FUCK avenue blocks...long ass bitches...you need a goddamn Sherpa and a star map in order to navigate two avenue blocks). I love this shop because 1) it is light and airy and filled with glistening bottles of wine, and 2) it's cheap as hell. Every time I go there I leave with a magnum cum laude degree in Pinot Grigo Science for only $12. Hot damn.

Though I do have to say that whenever I walk in and the little Asian girl is working...she sees me and starts to giggle. I want to tell her...this ain't Memoirs of a Geisha bitch. Stop gigglin' at me behind your fan.

But that would be racist and wrong.

Plus, she has a good reason for laughing. One day, in a galaxy just down the street, I was picking up a bottle of vino for my girl Denisse's graduation party. New York, unlike the rest of America, doesn't give a fuck about hygiene, so there are dogs in every nook, cranny, and orifice up in this piece. So this day, there happens to be a scary lookin' werewolf German shepherd up in the store. The dog had his back to me as I walked up to the counter. Now, perhaps the dog was old and deaf or a special needs dog...but he didn't hear me walkin' up until I was about a half a foot away, and then the damn thing jumped, spun around and started pullin' a Kujo...which made me jump and scream like a little biyotch. Everyone up in that piece got a good giggle out of that.

Bitches.

Yet not even rabid Old Yeller Rabie infested Hell Dog German Shepherds can keep me from my sweet sweet pinot grigio. Which, incidentally, means "A Grape So Good That You Will Drink It and Call Jesus' Name" in Italian. It's true. Ask the Pope.

So here is to my soul mate...Pinot Grigio...you don't have a penis...but I still love you.

Tilapia a la Prima Anitra

So, today my cousin, Miss Anitra Brown, emailed me to ask me if I had any recipes for tilapia...and if I posted my recipes any place. I was SUPER flattered that she would come to me for some recipes...as I am just an amateur cook up in the kitchen. So, I sent her a tilapia recipe...it was actually my ocean perch recipe, but it is just as good with tilapia.

Check it out:


Hey Cuz:

I sometimes post my recipes to my blog, but I haven't pooled them all into one place. I thought about starting a second recipe blog...maybe I will do that.

This is how I love to cook me some tilapia.

Tilapia a la Parilla (Grilled Tilapia) con Grilled Asparagus

Tilapia Fillets
3 cloves garlic minced
1 to 3 teaspoons butter
1/4 cup diced scallions
Crushed red pepper flakes
1 lemon cut into halves
Tin foil
Salt
Pepper
3 to 4 fresh basil leaves minced

Get your grill going real nice like...if it is a charcoal grill (which is the best)...get your coals nice and toasty. If you are using a gas grill, turn the heat to medium.

Lay your tilapia on a sheet of tin foil. Sprinkle on top of the fillets your salt and pepper, lay on each piece of fish a pat of butter. Sprinkle on top of the tilapia the scallions, red pepper flakes and basil leaves. Then, squeeze your lemon all over the fish.

Place another piece of tinfoil on top of the tilapia and seal the edges by curling them up.

Place the fish in the foil on the grill and cover.

Cook on the grill for about 5-8 minutes, then open the foil, flip the fish, reseal the foil, and then grill for another 5-8 minutes until the fish is done, is flaky, but don't overcook it or it will dry out.

Grilled Asparagus Recipe

This great served with roast corn on the grill or asparagus.

If you get some of those wooden skewers, you can line up your aspargus side by side...about six to eight pieces, then, near the tip of the asparagus, insert one stick through all six to eight pieces and then insert another stick through the asparagus down near the bottom. Brush some olive oil in a thin layer over the asparagus, and lay them bad boys on the grill. Let 'em cook for a good 5-10 minutes...and then eat 'em up.


You can do the same thing with the tilapia in the oven, if you don't feel like grilling. But the charcoal is fabulous. Also, poke a few holes with a fork into the top and bottom of the foil...not too many...but enough to let the grill taste get up in there.

Love,
Bill Jr.

Rookies versus Demons

I finally figured out how to pitch a damn softball. Which, is hilarious, since I am one of the pitchers for my beloved team, the Rookies. Before yesterday, I thought I had it down. I had this habit of starting off a game throwing more balls than strikes. My old team used to call me, lovingly, one in five...meaning one strike for every five balls. Not a good average. Usually, around the second inning, I work it out so that I throw enough strikes that the opposing team can't risk not swinging. But, it was more luck and prayer than actually knowing what the hell I was doing (plus umpires that felt sorry for me out there...all alone...walkin' folks like they were in a parade).

Well, yesterday I discovered that if you actually hold on to the damn ball, firmly, and then release it...instead of letting it roll off your finger tips, the ball tends to go where the hell you want it to go.

I am a genius.

Yesterday, we played the Demons. The Demons (at least in attitude) lived up to their name. The first game was not a shining moment for our team. First of all, I was too terrified to pitch against the damn team. I chickened out right before we began, which put Scott on the pitcher's mound and me at 2nd base.

I had never played any base...let alone 2nd base...(outside of the bedroom) in my entire life. The first game was hilarious as both the umpire in the in-field and Mason, playing shortstop, coached me between almost every pitch. Mason, who I just adore, would tell me where I should throw the ball when it came to me. And come to me it did...a couple of times I did what I was supposed to do...a couple of times I sure as hell didn't. At one point, Dan made a minor error in calling time, and Mason, aka Miss Softball Rules 2009, let him know that he hadn't done it quite right..at which time the very loving “Blue” out next to me exclaimed...”See...it's a learning experience for everyone.”

Lord have mercy.

During the first game, we were the home team, which meant that we were entitled to the last at bat. By the time the 7th inning came around, it was 15-0. The Demons were shovin' their pitchforks in our collective culos.

At one point, I was on first, and Mason was the 1st base coach. He gave me the usual coaching around when to run and when to stay put and when to put my booty up in it and get on to 2nd base. Whoever was batting after me smacked the ball, and I sprinted to 2nd base...only to have the ball go foul...and I waltzed back...at which point Mason declared, "That's ok honey...they all wanted to see your ass when you run anyway."

Mason knows just what to say to make a gay's day. (David snapped a couple of shots of me bent over on base...and I can say with some pride that the lunges and squats are working their magic).

At the end of the 1st game, it was my last at bat, and I saw the pitcher beckon to the outfielders to move in closer. That, of course, pissed me off, and I whacked the ball away out into left field.

That'll show 'em.

And then, I believe it was Joe...though I can't quite remember... came to bat, whacked the ball good, and we ended the game 15-2. Someone from our team exclaimed...”Ha! So much for a shut out.”

And the Demons were pissed.

I mean come on people...you were beating our booginas into poontang dust, and you are going to get all uppity because we finally managed to score in the last inning of the game. It's only GAY softball people.

Oh yeah, that's right, more than half of their team was straight.

Well, at least we were playing gay softball. We have our token straight, Antony, but, you know, he's sensitive, so that doesn't really count.

The second game was much better. First of all, I was pitching...which was better for the infield since Mason, Dan, the Umpire, and the Lord Jesus Christ didn't have to spend half their time coaching me and the other half praying I would be where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there.

My first couple innings pitching sucked, then I had the revelation of which I wrote earlier, and from that point on, I believe I walked one or two people for the last six innings of the game. How about that!

My most shining moments came in the second or third inning of the second game when two line drives were hit directly to me. I snatched both of them up and managed to get them to 1st base without overthrowing it or takin' out any wildlife. My team, as always, was loving...and Reggie was catching and kept smiling even when I was throwing balls directly at the damn batters.

But, even more impressive than my bachata-ing while pitching, was the fact that we were giving just as damn good as the Demons. They were the 1st place team, and for almost the entire game we were never more than one or two points behind them. Going into our last at bat, we were three runs down and, thanks to some crazy shennanigans by Dan aka Speed Racer and Mason aka Mama's Boy...we scored two runs. The Demons looked mighty mighty pissed.

I repeat...it's only gay softball.

The day had some amazing plays, particularly by our returning Rookie Tom Ward...who kept running with Mason basically waving a stop sign in his face....just missed being tagged out...and politely hopped onto home plate. He scored...and I had to use the defibrillator on Mason.

Did I mention that I also caused several team members a minor heart palpitation when my third base coach waved me in...and I kept right on running...almost right into the catcher...who was holding the damn ball. I made it back to third, but I think I permanently damaged one of Scott's aorta.

In the end, we lost the second game 8-7, but we had a good time...and with only 10 people actually showing up to play....a bitch was real tired by the time we left.

Much love to Rich aka Pom-Pom McCooties and David aka Tight Booty Berube for cheering us on...and much love to the boys for the ride back into the city.

PS Steve Bowman also made some power plays...and once revealed his mean face over the Demons anti-social autistic antics...I love Steve.

An Open Letter to the GOP

Dear Grand Old Party:

You suck.

I don't mean in that gloryhole, backalley, 1970s pre-condom porn kind of sucking. I am talking about that drippy cheesy uncut leporitic yeast infected dick head kind of way.

Let me explain.

You are a party run by complete tit jobs that can't keep it in their pants or their ass in the country. Let's start with Governor Sanford. What the fuck? Let's see...if my Mom in her glorious job at Target at the Miller Hill Mall in Duluth, Minnesota, were to up and skip town, not tell anyone (including her bosses...in Sanford's case the people of the state of South Carolina) where she were going, they would bounce her ass from that job so fast she would leave skid marks on the surface of Lake Superior. Yet, jacktard adulterous over privileged white ass Governor Sanford chokes out a well acted out "I'm sorry," admits to having had NUMEROUS affairs, and then goes right on being governor.

White privilege is amazing. Republican White Privilege is fucking astounding.

Next, let's talk about Rush Limbaugh's Oxycontin addicted ass. This monkey bitch motherfucker gets up on the airwaves, spouting neo-Nazi regressive rhetoric, basically hates everyone that isn't fat, white, male, straight and more Conservative than Queen Victoria, and you all tremble in your soulless boots whenever he passes gas. Take this as a loving suggestion, when I say to you, GOP, that it's time to let your balls drop into your nut sac and let Rush know that if he SITS on his microphone instead of vomiting into it, he may find more satisfaction in this life.

Who should we talk about next? Let's see...Mitch McConnell can basically kiss my rosy black ass...I bet if you check his closet, you will find a white suit or two with a nice white pointy hood that goes remarkably well with the rest of the ensemble. Trent Lott showed his true colors when wishing Dixiecrat Strom Thurmond a happy 181st birthday, and Strom Thurmond (God help his soul, cuz you know he is in a place hotter than his black maid's coochie), was advocating for the segregation, subjugation, separation, and denigration of black folks all the while fucking his maid and paying for the upkeep of his mixed race daughter. Hmmmm integrity is a word that the GOP should look up in the dictionary. Then eat the page it was written...it's the only damn way any of you will get integrity into your systems.

And, of course, the coup de grace, George W. Bush. I will say that at least George H.W. Bush, asshole of a conservative that he was, at least had a well articulated philsopohy behind his regressive madness. His inept C minus son that snorted and drank his way through college and then pissed his way through his Presidency managed to single handedly wreck more havoc on the United States than any other president in the entire country's history. The Civil War did less damage to the fabric of U.S. society and created fewer long term causalities than George W. Bush's eight years in office mauling the country and sucking it spiritually, emotionally, and financially dry has done or will do. Somebody call the Nuremberg Trials back into session. Break out the rope. You missed one.

In this country, there are good and well meaning Republicans. But, as long as those Republicans continue to trade their financial security for their ethical beliefs...they are as culpable for the actions of the most idiotic and regressive of their party as if they were mouth shitting into a microphone or gutting social services or taking bribes themselves.

So, GOP, take a page from Sarah Palin's play book...know that your idiocy has led you to a place of consummate ineffectualness...resign...quit...cut and run...get the fuck out. You are so through.

Love,
Brandon