Rookies Versus Barbarians: East River Park

This Saturday, the ladies and I gathered for our first weekend of softball since the end of the Mesozoic era. For what feels like the last 200 years, it has rained every weekend. So, though this weekend past was Gay Christmas (aka Pride)…the Rookies sucked it up, sobered up, and showed up at the East River Park to play a double header versus the Barbarians.

When David and I arrived in the hot June son, my eyes were greeted by two Little League teams playing on our fields. Immediately, I had a PTSD flashback to Roosevelt Island. For a moment, I saw the ghosts of angry parents, public safety officers, and drama queens overlaying the Astroturf.

As the boys began trickling in, we set up camp behind a bench full of cheering parents to smack our gums. Surrounded by children, Reggie began talking about his early morning sexual adventures.

“Girl, this morning I was surrounded by cock…”

As Reggie’s voice trailed off as he realized that he had just taught several 1st graders a new word, Joe came to his rescue with an artfully placed…”-aroaches.”

With only a slight pause between the cock and the aroaches…we all breathed a sigh of relief that we had perhaps, this time, escaped creating a mob of parents angry not only that the faggotry were taking over their fields but also teaching their little ones the finer language points of power bottoms.

much fanfare, the Little Leaguers exited the field, and we took over. Now, I am one of the team’s pitchers (take that how you will). Before each game, I pray that Reggie will name me an extra hitter or that he will put me off somewhere in right field…preferably in Brooklyn. No such luck this week. As the game started, I took the pitcher’s mound, and started off with a bang.

If by bang you were to infer that I walked several people.

After a terrible first inning (neither the pitcher nor the fielders shone during the first 10 minutes or so), we all seemed to get our stride a little bit. At the end of the first inning, we had managed to bring the 10 run lead of the Barbarians into a 2 run lead.

My first at bat, I shocked the Hell out of myself and everyone else. I hit a home run.

When I say I hit a home run, I smacked that ball to the other side of the rainbow. I was so surprised that I almost didn’t run…considering that there were two other folks on bases, that would have really sucked. But, I managed to shoot around the bases, although I almost stopped and punched the shit out of the Barbarians’ 2nd baseman who said, as I passed, “Wow. I didn’t expect that from you.”

I contemplated running past home plate, grab a bat, swing by first and take out the 2nd baseman's knees.

I ran home to the cheers of my teammates, wish I tried to return, but I couldn’t breath.
As the game progressed, not only did we catch up to the Barbarians, we overtook them. My pitching improved slightly (very slightly), but the Rookies are a shit-talkin’ but loveable bunch and they cheered me through the process.

And I have to say the team was an offensive power house…Herrick, Joe, Scott, Tom Poteat, and Vinnie were pinging balls way oh way out yonder. Scott and Vinnie also hit homeruns! Almost every person up ended up on base, and the first game ended with a win for the Rookies: 16-15.

The game also ended with some drama. The catcher from the Barbarians decided, after we took the lead, to throw his glove. The Ump tossed him from the game, and then decided to both give lip to Blue and tell his own team that they should be ashamed of themselves.

He should have been ashamed to come out of the birth canal with that face.

In the end, the drama was resolved, the Rookies won, and we moved on to Game Two. But not before I reminded myself that damn....it ain't life or death...it's just gay softball.

Game two was much less eventful…there were some great hits…and both teams were fighting their asses off…so much so that we found each other to a stand still. The second game ended with a tie (12-12), and we ended our second best weekend of softball of the season.

Thank you to my teammates for the love and support out on the mound. The pitcher stands at the loneliest place on the field…and if I had been pitching for the Barbarians…the would probably have skinned me, built a raft, and sailed my fleshy carcass across the East River.

Idjku: Russia Has Lost Its Mind So I Be Strokin'

News Update: Jackass head of the GOP says that gay marriage will HURT small businesses...what the fuck?

There are those songs in the world...that when you hear them...they just raise your spirits...they get your feet to tappin' and put a smile on your face.

This morning, as I thumbed through the news...and heard about the 40-80 queer activists in Russia arrested and treated brutally for daring to put on a pride march...I had to stop...take a moment...put in my earbuds...and find some musical joy. Right now, as I muse on the complacency that so many queer folks in the U.S. feel...I am finding joy in Clarence Carter's Strokin'..and A Brand New Day from The Wiz. At the heart of Clarence Carter's song is a celebration of sex and sexuality for the joy of sex and sexuality...in a Brand New Day...Michael Jackson and Diana Ross, Nipsey Russell and Ted Ross are celebrating triumph over Evilene...the Wicked Witch of West Harlem...and the joy that freedom promises.

The beaten and jailed activists in Moscow took to the streets last night against the Wicked Witch of the Kremlin for the right to love (and fuck) freely.

In the United States, in most (though not all) places, we take our right to freely assemble for granted. We take to the streets for Pride festivals as a matter of course. We know that if our festivals and demonstrations are denied, we have legal recourse that we can pursue. The road we walk isn't always easy but, in every major U.S. city, Pride parades and Pride festivals are generally found listed on city websites and generally raise few institutional eyebrows...though there are almost always pockets of religious fundamentalists on a couple of corners waving flags.



Nowhere in the United States in the last two decades have we had to worry about violent reactions from state authorities to our queer pride marches and rallies (the same can not be said for other more radical demonstrations addressing issues of racial and economic justice...America is better than some places but it also has a long ass way to go).

Each year, I endure the diatribes by people like Andrew Sullivan...that rail against the drag queens and leather daddies...the tit slinging dykes on bikes and the fetish queens as they march proudly down Mainstreet U.S.A putting sex in liberation and liberation in sex right out in public view and swirling all up in a gender stew. My blood boils when the regressivists and assimilationists get indignant and demand that we put our celebration and joy back in the closet.

(His Eye is on the Sparrow just came on....”why should I feel discouraged...” Truthfully...I don't).

It is in times like these, when I am reminded of how small our little blue planet really is..that I remember why...almost every year since 1995 I have marched in a queer pride parade no matter where I happened to find myself. While Minneapolis may be a welcoming place, and it might be chic to be a chick with a dick in NYC...there are plenty of places on this planet...where it is not.

When we fight for our own liberation and make ourselves visible...we are not just showing up for ourselves or our community...we are showing up for those that we have no idea are watching. We show up for those that are watching from behind the window shades or behind the old Iron Curtain. We are marching on a global stage to proclaim to a global family that no matter where you are...you have a right to be who you were born to be...without out apology and without violent repression from your government.

We take up arms, internationally, against the Word Trade Organization and unchecked globalization. We cry out against Buddhist monks being jailed and beaten in Tibet. We screamed loudly and with one voice against apartheid in South Africa, and when Slobodan Milosevic decide genocide was an answer....we posed a new question and went to the aid of Kosovo. It is about damn time that we show the same solidarity with those struggling for the right to love and fuck whosoever they choose without regard to gender or sexual identity whether or not they are on the next block or on the next continent.

This week has seen signing of a bill by the President of Uruguay to allow queers to serve in that nation's military. The NY State Assembly passed a queer marriage bill. And Russia struck down with a great fury on rights demonstrators. These things are part of one grand justice tapestry. When the weave is beautiful, but one part of the tapestry snags, the beauty of the whole is reduced. My heart goes out the Russian queer community. But, as Russia turns more and more to partnership with the European Union, it is incumbent on the EU to hold Russia to the same standards it holds its member states...namely requiring the elimination of state sanctioned oppression of queer and genderqueer folks.

Europe can not enjoy the immense resources of Russia while ignoring the human rights abuses of the Russian government and maintain any standing as a human rights crusader in other areas of the world. When economic interests trump human interests the gates of Hell open wider and the Devil rolls out the red carpet to all those involved and Heaven shudders on its foundations.

We are one family...let's act like one.

See Charlie Vázquez as Spittles the Clown @ Dixon Place and Brandon Lacy Campos reads at Double Pride Panic! @ Nowhere Bar

For my readers in the New York area. I got this today from my new pal and fellow artist Charlie Vázquez. Charlie's bio is included in this press release...but know that he is a talented writer and ya'll need to check him out and support his work. Also, there is info on my Pride reading, which is part of Charlie's Panic! series.

PRESS RELEASE FOR “LIPS LIKE MY SUGAR WALLS”

GUEST CURATOR: Edwin Ramoran

LIPS LIKE MY SUGAR WALLS promises an evening of world premieres by emerging artists working in New York City. As a curatorial concept “Lips Like My Sugar Walls” acknowledges the primacy of our outer layers, lips, foreskin, culo, mandala, epidermis, and labia. They propel us. We use them in so many ways. We spit, suck, sing, slurp, squirt, lick, fuck, eat, blow, flirt, and kiss. What can a post-punk, Prince-influenced mash up look, feel, sound, taste, smell like? Does it hurt, love, fear, accept? This performance showcase brings together a raw, innovative mix of New York artists. All are contemporary artists who use interdisciplinary practices to produce performative works in video, poetry, photography, and song.

The world premiere of Ivan Monforte’s short video "Tres Veces" reveals the artist and three other men in a racy interpretation of Paquita La Del Barrio’s ranchero song of revenge “Tres veces te engañé.” For the first time, Jayson Keeling collaborates on a slide show and text performance with the punk antics of Alison Ward and her rock group The Ruffian Arms. Bringing the immediacy of the edgy East Village scene, performance artists Karen Jaime and Charlie Vázquez, both dynamic writers and spoken word poets who recently performed for Hispanic PANIC! at the queer bar Nowhere, will deliver new works, including a rare performance by Vázquez as "Spittles the Clown", a fetish, sex worker. Designer Imposter (aka Ramdasha Bikceem), known on the queer club circuit for her fierce mix of dance music at parties like Pantyho’s, will perform new original songs. Rachel Mason and Mark Golamco, who have worked together since 2003, will play a set of their experimental, collaborative music with viola accompaniment.
Info and tix at: www.dixonplace.org

ARTIST BIO & STATEMENT
Charlie Vázquez (Spittles the Clown)

Charlie Vázquez is a radical Bronx-bred, Brooklyn-based writer of Cuban and Puerto Rican descent. His fiction and essays have been published in anthologies such as Queer and Catholic (Taylor & Francis 2007) and Best Gay Love Stories: NYC (Alyson 2006). His fiction, articles and interviews have also appeared in print and online publications such as The Advocate, Chelsea Clinton News, NYpress.com, Tanglefoot, Dreck, BigFib and Mensbook Journal. Charlie hosts a monthly reading series called PANIC! at Nowhere in the East Village, which focuses on queer fiction and poetry. He also reviews books for the online LGBT Latino culture magazine Ambiente. He’s a former contributor to the Village Voice’s Naked City blog, a retired experimental musician and photographer, and has worked as an assistant to avant-garde diva Diamanda Galás. http://www.firekingpress.com/

“Spittles the Clown began as a character in a novella I began writing shortly after 9/11 and self-published in 2007. On the page, Spittles began his career as a children’s clown. When his gay friend (Spittles is straight!) Mark tells him about the gay leather fetish underground, Spittles becomes a fixture at fetish and leather parties, where he makes a better living than he did as a children’s clown. In reality, I dressed up like Spittles and hosted a successful fetish party in Portland, OR, where I lived at the time. I would spank people for charity dollars, and other things your mom shouldn’t know. But truthfully, Spittles is a vessel of freeform humor and adult entertainment in an age of PC strictures. Despite his coarseness, there’s a nice guy deep down inside, one who wants people to lose their irrational fear of clowns, their fear of shamans. Spittles is a cosmic hustler. For this special Dixon Place event, I will inform the audience on his desperate genesis and rise to S/M sainthood, in a fifteen-minute spoken word performance.”

The PANIC! readings, hosted by Charlie Vázquez:

HISPANIC PANIC! @ NOWHERE
322 E 14th St (btwn 1st/2nd Aves), NYC
May 27th, 8PM sharp, 21+, FREE!
Featuring Larry La Fountain, Maegan Ortiz, Karen Jaime, Charles Rice-González and Cristina Izaguirre.

DOUBLE PRIDE PANIC! @ NOWHERE
322 E 14th St (btwn 1st/2nd Aves), NYC
June 24th, 8PM sharp, 21+ only, FREE!
Featuring Brandon Lacy Campos, Rosalind Lloyd, Ian Titus, Vincent Lofton, Claudia Narvaez-Meza and Taylor Siluwe.

Poem: Mixed Emotions

I wrote this poem six years ago. The first time I read it, at the Late Night Series Hosted by Laurie Carlos at the Pillsbury House Theater, I was knocked over by the audience reaction. It was the third spoken word piece I had ever written, and it was the second time I had ever read in public. It gave me the confidence to move forward with my writing, it helped define my niche in the spoken word community, and it is still a crowd pleaser. I think my poetry has become more sophisticated since I wrote this...but it is still my all time favorite. You can hear it recorded if you check out my brother Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria's CD Desconocidos.

Mixed Emotions

Are you mixed? What are you? Where are you really from? Your Mama’s white huh? You speak Spanish like a Mexican, Nuyorican. White boy with a tan. What ARE you?

It’s too bad you can’t identify
What I clearly can’t deny
I’m a fine, sweet lovin’, smart ass, smart mouthed, smart boy
With more history in my veins than you can ever hope to comprehend

I am a Swede-a-Rican, Negro, Native, German, Dutch, English, Scottish, Norwegian, Spic.
Praire Nigga, Island Nigga, Nigga Nigga,Faggot
And the next person that asks me if Puerto Ricans got big dicks
I am going to take mine out and choke him with it

What am I? Martian Motherfucker! I reply.
Or sometimes I quantify: 2/8 black + 4/8 white + 1/8 Native + 1/8 Puerto Rican
You do the math
I am tired of calculating the motivations and objectification of my ancestral relationships

It doesn’t matter what I say
You’ll make up your mind anyway
I am the Nigga that makes you grab your purse
I am the Spic that you love to curse
I am the low down, caramel brown, miscegenation revelation of this world’s future
I am Nefertiti & Piri Thomas
I am Harriet Tubman & Sitting Bull
I am John Brown & Jesus Christ
If you don’t like it that’s just too damn bad
I have had it with playing Cirque du Soleil
Contorting my face and my race in order to placate your fears

I know the story that you’d like to hear about leaving the jungle and my very first spear
How my Mom rode a Zebra with a bone in her lip
Titties sagging to the ground with a kid on each hip
How I salsa-ed to school
That I can use an abacus
How I feed the chickens in the morning
Worked the fields late at night
How I attained my manhood from a wildebeest fight
You’d like to know how many languages I speak
That I feel homesick when I go to the zoo
Well this is the point that I tell you to back the fuck off
Get away from me or my first in your face is the last thing you’ll see

I am from right here born queer in the Great State of Minnesota
Me, Charles Schulz, and Charles Lindbergh
Schultz illustrated, Lindbergh aviated, and I’ve navigated
The convoluted mimicry of this multi-racial democracy
I’ve checked the boxes
Tried to conform
Finally said fuck it and blew up the norm
I rejected the questions
I refused to be placed in a box
Marked other ethnicity/race
I am an Afro-Euro-Boricua-Fag
I’m so multi-national I should have my own flag
My roots are three continents wide
And no one can make decide to choose one or the other
The history of my father or that of my mother

My brothers and sisters
We are here to stay
Your time for a say in it has long passed away
You should have thought about that before you screwed my Mom
Raped third world women from Santiago to Saigon
I am a product of your perfidy, colonization, and slavery
Now I’m pissed off and roaming free denying your attempts to colonize me
It’s fairly obvious and plain to see
That I am the person that you’d like to be
Tiger Woods?
He ain’t got nothing on me

I am not your boy-geisha tropical blend
Dark skinned Latin melanin friend
I am proud to be Puerto Rican, Black, Swedish, Anishinabe too
What face you see is up to you
I am a chameleon I get to be everything inside of me
No limitations
No expiration date
I get to be in the club
I don’t need a pass
I am enough
If you don’t like it, fuck it that’s tough

I’m a mixed race diva from my feet to my hair
You better get used to it
I ain’t going no where.