Everyday Heroes: Olivia Ford

The Lord works in mysterious ways. So does the Interwebs. The Holy Ghost in the Machine has brought me a new Everyday Hero.

For almost a month now, I have been blogging at TheBody.com. The Body is an online resource focused on HIV/AIDS. The website has everything from a medical staff that answers questions to public policy. The Body also maintains a cadre of bloggers and blogs that discuss a range of topics related to living with HIV/AIDS.

When I was asked to be a guest blogger and then a regular blogger for TheBody.com, I was scared as hell. I am still scared as hell. But, there is one person that absolutely helps mitigate that fear, which allows me to write as openly as I can, and that is Olivia Ford.

I am not sure what Olivia's job title is at TheBody.com, but she is my editor. I haven't yet had a chance to meet this wonderful human being (though we discovered early on that we run all around the same circles of peoples), but I have to say that this woman has been an unlooked for and welcome blessing. Her ability to comfort, support, and give real and truthful feedback, hear your truth and help you see that it is beautiful even when it is hard, is something that I have rarely experienced before (for those of you that know Susan Raffo...she is another one of those rare spirits with the same gift). If she has judgments about the things she has read, those judgments have never come across in her communications.

I want to be just like Olivia when I grow up, though I think her gifts may be beyond my powers...so I will stick to writing ;-).

Thank you, Olivia, for being an Everyday Hero, for sharing your gentle spirit and your critical eye to the work of living. You are appreciated.

Queendom is Back! Bebe Zahara Benet at NYC Pride

In May, I was blown away watching Bebe Zahara Benet's debut one woman show: Queendom.

Well...the Queen is back.

If you missed the SOLD OUT STANDING ROOM ONLY show in May, then do yourself a favor...come see the show this time.

This time there are two showtimes, 7pm and 9pm, and the show is at a larger venue. So come out, check it out, and love it.

For more information click here: Queendom Show Times and Ticket Purchase Page.

I will be there, with VIP tickets in hand. Where will you be? Thursday, June 24th...join me at Monkey for Queendom presented by Embrace TV NYC.

If you are on Facebook, you can see the official invitation to the event.

POETRY: First Taste

Starting this week, each Friday will be Poetry Fridays at My Feet Only Walk Forward. A big thank you to my friend and fellow poet Christy NaMee Ericksen that inspired me with her poetry Thursdays.

Until this Friday, though, here is a poem I wrote during one of my visits to NYC some time ago.

First Taste

The first taste of him
Heady
His tongue slid sweetly
Searching
Urgent
Bold flavors washed over my lips
I drank him
Deeply
Tasting reflections of myself
Nutty
woody
pressed against him
I lost myself in his bouquet
He seemed familiar
As he laid his head against my neck
Rose to meet me
Drank me
I moaned
On the couch
In mid-sentence
He poured himself across my body
Heavy
Thick
Strong his flavor
Mixed with mine
I rose up to meet him
Wrapped myself around him
We moaned
Our tongues danced
Sharing a common language
De donde son tus sabores
Estas uvas tenemos en común

The skin of this grape was lighter than mine
But it was familiar
Across the Rhine
I found him
the muscles of his back intoxicated me
firm skin
fermented to ripe perfection
I drank him deeply
He moaned
We paused for a moment
Tongues soft inside of each other
Slowly we explored the subtle hues beneath them
Smoky, layered, I sipped him reverently
Tossed him against the back of my throat
Eased him forward
Exploring his complexity
mango con arepa y coco con ron
Caribbean sunsets below the N train
A hurucán of near intoxication on Ditmars Boulevard
His bare chest a revelation of vines thick, refined
Drinking him
I was a sommelier
This one best served slowly at room temperature
Alone
Respected for its intensity
His legs perfectly balanced
On mine
I pulled him closer
Almost impossibly
Such a rare vintage
Singular
in Queens
by the church
as the saints watched us take communion
he kissed me goodnight.

-Brandon Lacy Campos
-New York, NY

GI Joe Needs to Go to Washington

I think COBRA Commander must be running Congress because lord knows that COBRA Benefits for the unemployed are not.

In the 1980s cartoon G.I. Joe, COBRA Commander was a character with a mirror face, but when the mirror was removed, you found an evil snake like man-creature with a lisp and a penchant for all out drag queen temper tantrums. COBRA was an evil organization out the rule the world.

Outside of the lands of Hasbro, COBRA is a government program, created in the 1980s, that allows workers leaving or let go from their jobs to continue their health care benefits for up to 18 months by paying the associated premiums and a small administrative fee.

COBRA led by snake face is bad. COBRA led by the U.S. government is good.

Up until May 31, 2010, there was a provision that was included in the stimulus package that paid subsidies of 65% of COBRA benefits for eligible workers that lost their jobs. As quoted in an article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune, for a that has health care payments of $1,500 a month that subsidy drops the payments down to $525, a much more manageable figure.

As we all know, the latest unemployment figures still have unemployment hovering near 10% (9.7% to be exact), and while there has been slow growth in the economy, the numbers of jobs added have been pretty much pitiful. So it would seem to make sense that since the need for the COBRA subsidy is still great, and since the economy is only just beginning to recover that it would make sense to reauthorize the $7 billion dollar program. Right?

Wrong. Turns out that COBRA Commander (evil snake face) is alive and well and living in Washington. Blue Dog Democrats are howling at the moon because it is an election year and they fear that voting to re-extend the program, which will add to the deficit, will hurt their re-election chances.

Two notes here for you Blue Dogs, 1) Your job in Congress is to serve the people, not your re-election efforts, and 2) if you are an incumbent, you should start packing your bags any old ways cuz this year just ain't your year.

But, seriously, seriously, we are spending $12.2 billion dollars a MONTH on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan according to an article in U.S.A. Today published on May 12, 2010. That, ladies and gents, comes out to $145 billion (and some change) a year on those two wars. And, now we have some asshole Congressmen, such as Democrat Rep. Cardoza of California, magically worried about deficit spending of $7 billion for a year to cover millions of unemployed Americans?

We will pay to kill people living far far away, but we won't pay a fraction of that amount of money to keep our own people healthy and alive. Fail.

Senator Bob Casey of Pennsylvania and Senator Sherrod Brown of Ohio are offering an amendment to re-authorize the COBRA subsidy program to a bill in the Senate to extend unemployment benefits. The bill has already passed the House where douchenozzle Rep. Clyburn of South Carolina led the charge to strip the COBRA Reauthorization from the bill. I think Clyburn should stop working for the EVIL COBRA and worry about the crazy shit going on in South Carolina right now in the gubernatorial and senatorial elections.

In the end, failing to reauthorize the COBRA subsidy is not only wrong and bad politics, it is bad economics. When those folks that have been able to maintain their health benefits are forced off of their private insurers, they will be forced to join the rest of the unemployed masses in using the country's emergency rooms as primary care facilities. This is absolutely the most expensive way to receive health care in our system, and it will only overburden and overtax a health care system while at the same time forcing local and state governments to pick up the costs incurred.

Smooth move, Congress.

Please contact your Senators and let them know that you support the COBRA extension, and, if necessary, that you support bringing in GI Joe to deal with Evil COBRA and the Blue Dog Democrats.

General Hawk signing out.

Bebe Zahara Benet, Rakesh Satyal, and Emanuel Xavier To Perform

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact Information
Contact: W. Brandon Lacy Campos, Development and Marketing Manager
Organization Name: Words without Borders
Telephone Number: 646-460-0551
E-mail Address: brandon@wordswithoutborders.org
Web site Address: www.wordswithoutborders.org

Bebe Zahara Benet, Rakesh Satyal, and Emanuel Xavier to Perform at Benefit for Words without Borders

New York City, New York, June 9, 2010—Words without Borders (WWB) magazine announces the line-up for Queer is the World/Word, a benefit hosted by Therapy Lounge and featuring RuPaul’s Drag Race winner Bebe Zahara Benet, Lambda Literary Award winner Rakesh Satyal, and actor, author, poet, director, and music artist Emanuel Xavier.

In celebrating LGBT History Month, Words without Borders continues its commitment to providing a forum for the stories that are often untold or hidden. The Queer Issue, the first in an annual series focused on the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender communities, features stories and poetry from around the world that explore the queer experience.

The event will take place at Therapy Lounge in New York City at 348 W. 52nd Street from 6pm-8pm on Wednesday, June 16th. Tickets are $20 and all proceeds benefit Words without Borders. Tickets can be purchased online at wwbqueer.eventbrite.com.

Bebe Zahara Benet, Rakesh Satyal, and Emanuel Xavier will all read selections from the "Queer Issue." Mr. Satyal, also a talented jazz singer will perform musical selections for the audience, and Emanuel Xavier will be debuting his new music video, “Legendary,” as part of the evening’s performances.

Rohan Kamicheril, WWB Editor, stated,”We’re delighted to pair this stunning company with the work from WWB’s Queer Issue. It’s a fine testament to the new vitality that art gains when we bring it across borders and into the hands of new readers, and artists like Bebe Zahara Benet, Rakesh Satyal, and Emanuel Xavier.”

Words without Borders is committed to creating new and innovative forums for the best translated literature from around the world. Our occasional reading events are designed to bring these works to life for as diverse an audience as possible.

All three performers will be available for media. To schedule interviews, please contact W. Brandon Lacy Campos.

For additional information, please contact:

Contact: W. Brandon Lacy Campos, Development and Marketing Manager
Organization Name: Words without Borders
Telephone Number: 646-460-1462
Email Address: brandon@wordswithoutborders.org
Website Address: www.wordswithoutborders.org

Founded in 2003, Words without Borders is a 501c3 nonprofit organization that has translated over 1,100 pieces of literature and poetry representing 80 languages by writers from 111 countries. WWB has been featured in the New York Times, the New York Times Book Review, the Boston Globe, the Guardian (UK), Vanity Fair, and the Chronicle of Higher Education, as well as in various foreign-language papers and numerous literary blogs. We were selected as a featured “pick” by Yahoo immediately after our launch issue and voted one of Time magazine’s “Fifty Coolest Websites” in July 2004.

Working Through It

So, after Friday nights exchange with my teammate, whose name I shall not use as he asked oh so politely that I not do so. And even though I would be completely justified in ignoring a request that was made so lovingly, I will go ahead and respect the request boxed inside the venom.

I have been struggling hard core since Friday night. Today, I finally came to the astounding conclusion that the voice that I keep hearing, in Dolby Digital Stereo Surround Sound repeating that I am a piece of shit isn't my teammate's voice, it's my own.

Frankly, I have no power over the opinion that someone else has of me. I suppose if I lived my life in a cubicle and never made any mistakes, small or fucking huge as I have done, then I suppose, controlling for all that, I could influence someones opinion of me. But change it? Nope...that's not a power I have.

But I can interrupt those tapes inside of me that are determined to keep me kicking my own ass until my motherfuckin' foot falls off or gets wedged somewhere in my colon.

Colostomy, table of one, please.

Now...considering the voice that has declared that I am a piece of shit is, in fact, a part of my own psyche, which means, technically, I do have control over it, one would assume that one could just flip the off switch and away it would go. Unfortunately, to get to the off switch you have to wade hip deep in the Bog of Eternal Stench, with giant leeches the size of Rush Limbaugh's ass trying to suck the life out of you, as you have to do a back hand spring through a mine field covered in old syringes filled with nitroglycerin and all piled on top of a nuclear warhead that goes by the nick name of Bubbles and is on a hair trigger held by a 98 year old man with cerebral palsy and the DTs.

But if you can get through all of that, well, by all means, turn that switch right off...and...while you're at it...cure AIDS, homelessness, and cold fusion.

So, since I am not Mary Lou Retton inside of a cybertronic Voltron-on-steroids intergalactic gymnastics suit, I get to sit with the mother fucking feelings until I can get a handle enough on them to step outside of my front door.

This weekend I did a lot of isolating and a lot of hiding. I didn't go to the gym. I skipped my softball games, and it took a supreme act of will and effort to go to the BBQ and Hummus parties that I attended. It took all of my energy to put on my happy face and go play well adjusted and normal for several hours at a stretch.

But that's just it...I'm not normal. No matter how much I want to be, I am not normal. I am a recovering meth addict that is HIV positive. No matter how much I want those two things to be different. They won't be. Not in this lifetime. No matter how much I want to be just like everyone else (well, ok...even if I were not a positive addict, I am too fuckin' weird to be just like everyone else), but no matter how drunk I get or high I get to permission myself to act like a self-absorbed person just looking for a little human contact without any barriers, I don't get to be that person anymore. This fucking (these fucking) disease have taken that away. And though it is fucked up, foul, wrong, unjust, uncool, and just plain oppressive that people living with HIV are held to a higher, different standard of behavior (ie....if a straight guy and girl fuck without a condom and the girl gets pregnant, no one gets called a piece of shit...if two dudes are on a three day meth binge with needles in every vein but neither of them IS or KNOWS that they are HIV positive...they might get called stupid but they aren't a piece of shit...if two guys get drunk and fuck without a condom...and one is unsure of his status or both are and neither knows for sure...they aren't a piece of shit......get the picture?) but positive folks...that fuck up just like every other sexually active person FUCKS UP does so....we (I) are moral reprobates, intentional bastards, pieces of shit, fucked up, inhuman, demonic (let's pretend this is a MadLib..insert your favorite negative dehumanizing adjective here), etc. ad infinitum.

There is ill intent assigned to what we were doing instead of asking...what....other than a demonic and devilish desire to cause harm...could possibly motivate someone to get drunk and/or high and have unprotected sex even when they know that they are HIV positive, or worse, lie about their status? Hmmmm...asking that question forces people to look to damn closely at their own desperate desire to fit in, be loved, be, dare I say, normal.

I mean, I can't imagine why someone would do such a dastardly thing. I mean....our society loves, values, and in no way stigmatizes HIV positive people, does it? I mean, I have never been in a club and heard folks talking about this or that person that is positive and how they can't believe anyone would sleep with them? I mean, I have never been interested in someone, disclosed my status, and watched their face shut down and despite their insistence that it doesn't really matter, they never call back? I mean, I don't see imagery on TV and in the media about how FAGS deserve AIDS and deserve to die. I mean, I didn't grow up with Fred Phelps telling me that I got what I deserved. I mean, I didn't learn messages that it was ok to have HIV if you got it through a blood transfusion or through a surgical accident (which meant you were to be pitied instead of reviled) but if you got it through consensual, even if stupid, unprotected sex then you got what you deserved. I mean, on top of racism and homophobia, adding being HIV positive to the mix of ones life isn't too fucking much so that sometimes you are willing to do anything and go to any lengths JUST TO FEEL THE WAY THAT EVERYONE ELSE GETS TO FEEL ALL THE TIME...AKA wanted, desired, loved, valued, beautiful, caring, cared for, and cherished----even if all those things are found only in a 30 minute hook up with someone, somewhere...that you never see again....

Silly silly me. Feeling untouched, unwanted, and completely disconnected from everyone around you while walking the streets in a city of almost 9 million people is normal. Right?

But, guess what, I get to change that too. I can't change what I've done. I've said that before. But I can change what I am going to do. I can't change what other people think of me, but I am changing the way that I think and feel about myself.

And I will tell you one damn thing, I am NOT running away. Not this time, not every again. So, I sent an email to my softball team letting them know that I will be showing up this weekend for the games. And I will show up the next week and the week after. It is going to be, for me, awkward as fuck showing up at our meeting spot for this weekend's games. But I am going. Because if I don't go...it isn't my vitriolic teammate that wins, it's the voice in my head telling me that I am a piece of shit that wins.

And that motherfucker has won quite enough thank you. It's MY turn now.

Rough Night

It is 4:25am, and I am sitting at my desk working on not crying and chatting with a friend from junior high and high school on Facebook about the royally screwed up discrimination her daughter is experiencing in her Minneapolis suburb school district.

I believe everything happens for a reason.

For example, I believe that it is not coincidental that La and my good friend and ex Chris were both online dealing with their own emotional issues when I logged in with my own baggage in tow.

Nothing like someone else's life problems to give you some perspective on your own.

I also logged in to Facebook to find that a reader of TheBody.com, recently diagnosed as HIV positive, read my story there and sent me a very kind and caring email. That is exactly why I took the step of writing openly about my life and struggles and celebrations as an HIV positive man, including allowing TheBody.com to post my recent blogs concerning my failure to disclose and the possible outcome of that.

For that express reason, I am writing this blog, tonight, just a couple of hours before the summer sun makes its extremely early morning appearance.

This evening, I was devouring a Domino's pizza around Midnight (don't judge). I had put in the Curious Case of Benjamin Button, and I was having a text war with my partner David. I closed down my computer and settled into bed with David and my gorgeous Jack Russell Mimzy, when I fired up the old cell and was going to entertain myself with a good game of Scrabble. I noticed I had an email from one of my softball teammates. He had left a comment on one of my blogs recapping a recent game. The blog started shitty and ended with "fuck you."

Excusez-moi?

Being who I am, a gay Virgo, I shot him an email and a text message asking him if he had indeed made that comment and, if he did, why. I also explained that if anything in my blog offended him, it was all written with an eye towards humor, and I would gladly remove anything that he found personally offensive that referenced or included him or his loved ones.

He wrote back and told me that he thinks I am a "piece of shit."

Laissez les bontemps rouler!

I don't know this guy. Really. We've played on the same softball team for one full season. He is one of the guys that never goes out with the team afterwards, and he rarely participates (if ever) in our email discussions. So I don't know much about him except that he is a lawyer that works in the public interest. So, when I got his message tonight, I was, needless to say, completely and totally floored.

Now, though I play a blonde in everyday life, I have a genius level IQ, which means I am pretty much stupid and useless most of the time, but my powers of deductive reasoning are generally dead on. I know, for example, that this guy does the AIDS Ride each year. In fact, I pledged $100 towards his ride this fall. I know that I have posted on TheBody.com and on my blog about my recent failure to disclose and some of the emotional fallout from that experience. So, my conclusion was that either he knows the person involved in the story or that he read my blogs and decided that I am, indeed, a piece of shit.

And, of course, being a recovering addict living with PTSD and the survivor of abuse and sexual assault, the negative tapes kicked into high gear, I accepted that I am a piece of shit, and now I am writing a blog at nearly 5am. Hell, the birds just started chirping outside, which means that the sun is about to wake up, and I have not even gone to bed yet. Against all that I know to be true about humanity and myself personally, I still believe that I am shitty human being. I believe that I am worthless because those are the lessons that were beat into me as a child. In group therapy tonight, we talked about this subject. Our counselor asked me and another client why we felt the way that we felt...and I was clear...that which is beaten into you (literally) from age 3-12 and then verbally past that into young adulthood is what you learn to be true about yourself. And no one teaches you, unless you have the resources for psychotherapy that those internal messages aren't true. And, that being ones own (aka my) truth, one does some fucked up and stupid shit.

I am really tired. Not just physically, but spiritually.

Since my failure to disclose and my subsequent confrontation about that and the emotional fallout, I have felt relatively good about my life and how I have taken steps to ensure that I do not repeat the experience in anyway. I have spent 5 and a half hours a week in therapy. I have gotten to a place of acceptance if not comfort of what went down. And then, in one fell swoop, I let one person rip all that down.

And the fun fact is that though I surmise the cause of his emotional aggression, I don't actually know.

I am supposed to play softball in the morning. But I sent a note to my team telling them that I won't be there along with a very frank and very raw explanation of why. Some of them already know the story as they read my blog. Others have/had no idea until they read the email of what has passed recently. But, I learned that when there is bochinche (gossip) potential, it is better to lay it all out there and hope for acceptance than to let someone else spin the story and have to play damage control.

In the end, whether judgment is rendered against me or him or neither or both...I can't say. But, at least now, everything is out in the open to everyone, and, moving forward, I will know if I am wanted or rejected based on the truth rather than a lie. Of course, relying on my team to approve or disapprove of what I have done or the way I have handled the fall out is still part of the problem. I should be able to say, "I've done what I've done. I've tried to heal what I can heal. I have owned what I could own. And each person can live, respond, and react in the way that best represents their feelings without it enhancing or diminishing my spirit."

Unfortunately, I am so not that evolved or there.

That is an apt lesson for life as a whole.

That's SO Gay or Christina Aguilera is My Gaybee Mama

Oh my God(dess). I am listening to Christina Aguilera's new song "Bobblehead." Excuse me while I declare this song to be, and I quote the fierce Shante Paradigm Smalls, the muthafuckin' "new catty homo jam of the summer."

Shante ain't NEVER lied. And that girl is writing her PhD on homo hop. The girl knows queer jams.

Listening to this song reminds me of all the beauty of being a big old Fagatron.

We can take a frickin' line from Charlie Brown, set it to a beat, have a pint size diva sing some lyrics and turn that shit into a hit!

Can I get an amen from the choir?

I love homosexuality, bisexuality, lesbionics, transfabulosity aka QUEER RULES!

Not going to lie. We are the muses of every generation.

Behind every King there is a Queen and behind every Queen there is a circuit boy in cooty cutters flagging and eating homemade hummus from the B-Girl Lesbian DJ.

WERQ!

There is a reason we are called gay y'all, cuz we ARE of which happiness is made. Funny, sassy, artistic, loving, sensual, sexual, and messy. THAT my friends is living...and, excuse my francois, but FUCK THE HRC and anyone else that wants to turn us into homodrones or heteroclones that look, sound, smell, and bore like everyone else.

Paint me hot pink and call me Magenta...cuz if I started a hard core cholo gang it would be called QUEER FOR LIFE.

I think I am going to get that tattooed in a circle around my asshole.

Cum out cum out wherever you are.

Oh wait...I forgot the point of this blog....BOBBLE HEADS by Christina Aguilera is the shit.

Buy her new album Bionic.

I have spoken.

Rookies vrs Barbarians: How to Look Good During an Ass Whoopin'

Look. Generally, I like to get spanked a little. Hell, I liked to get spanked a lot. I am sure there is some sort of Oedipus, PTSD, childhood trauma root cause of me liking to get that ass torn up now and again, but I prefer it in the bedroom (or on the kitchen table), bent over, with The Rock doing the disciplining...I, however, do not enjoy getting my ass beaten on the softball field.

Well, if the Rock was doing the beating, I would lay down ass up on the pitchers mound and chalk it up to taking one for the team.

This week...my beloved Rookies and I played softball on Randall's Island amongst the Little Leaguers. God help the things those poor children hear and learn when they play ball interspersed with homosexicals swinging long phallic objects big enough to give the most devout size queen the vapors. I can just hear little Timmy asking Tia Juanita, "Mira, Tia, what is a auto-fellatio while getting a rim job by a midget?"

"Ay dios mio!" I can hear it now.

So we played a double header against the Barbarians. The Blue (that's Umpire for you civilians) was our favorite blue. This dude is pretty amazing. He's a straight Latin guy that LOVES umping (and humping I am sure) the gay softball league. He is RIDICULOUSLY supportive. Hell, when I was on the mound throwing the ball everywhere BUT in the strike zone, he was like a self-esteem coach from 20 yards. And when I switched to playing catcher (it's rare...but it happens...heyyyyyy!), he was cracking jokes, and I almost peed on myself. Really. I almost peed. At home plate. While squatting. Scottie taught me that.

So our first game had little to recommend itself in terms of reporting. No one, and I mean no one was living life like it was golden. Thank God Mason showed up in the third inning...cuz between my inability to pitch and the rest of the teams inability to catch, we were stuck in an inning that felt like Groundhog's Day up in that piece.

The second game was much more exciting.

Reggie put me in at catcher, which, for the first time I really enjoyed. (Shut up faggots...I know what you are thinking). There were some AWESOME plays by Vinnie, who was pitching (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Sorry...sexual visual there---love you Vin), and Joe proved once again that he is 50 and LOVING it. Shit, by the time I'm 50, with all the drugs I've done, I will be happy to be able to run a Rascal through a blow tube, and Joe was running to and fro snatching balls out of the air.

For the first couple of innings, we were down, but not as much as in the first game, which, incidentally was called for time and for pure humiliation. Then, by the grace of God and Cher, we tied the friggin' game. For two innings we held 'em, and then this hot ass mo'fo from their team steps up to the plate, smacks the ball way out to Jesus, and the Barbarians scored five runs.

Now, a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I pretended that we came from behind, tied the game, and then I had a nasty public sexual escapade that starred The Rock, Dan's new boyfriend, a couple members of the Rookies whose names I shan't reveal, and Bozo the Clown (don't judge), but, in reality, we never made it back, the games ended, and off we went to drown our sorrows in Eric the Bartender's pecs at Gym Bar.

God I love gay softball.

In the end, our team was prettier. And really, in America, we know the pretty people always win. GOD BLESS THE US of A!

Queendom: Bebe Zahara Benet's One Woman Show

In early 2007, I started making regular Thursday night appearances at the Town House, a little bitty queer bar, beloved by lesbians, tucked between a used car dealer lot and a junk shop on University Avenue in St. Paul, MN. Thursday night was the weekly Pumps and Pearls Drag Revue. My first night at the revue I was dazzled when Monica West, the host of the show, introduced the French speaking, African Diva, straight (or gayly) from CAMEERROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON: Bebe Zahara Benet.

Over the next year and a half, I rarely missed a show. I burned through a boyfriend and at least 1,000 $1 bills celebrating the art, beauty, grace, and fierceness of Bebe Benet. I was there, at the Town House, in early 2008 when it was announced that Bebe had been selected to be a contestant on the new reality show on Logo: RuPaul's Drag Race. I about fell out of my chair in excitement.

In August 2008, I left Minneapolis, and I wasn't sure if I would ever see Bebe again. Of course I saw her again, on Logo. I watched every week and every week I texted Bebe sending her love and support. And then she won. Great googly moogly, she won. I had total faith in her, and I was so happy to see a queer black African immigrant win what instantly became drag's new highest honor.

Much to my delight and surprise, I ran into Bebe a couple of times in NYC. Last year, on my birthday, we had dinner. And then glory of glories last November she moved to New York. I now count Bebe amongst my best friends. We are family, and I would do anything to support her as a person, her career, and her artistry.

On Thursday, May 20th, you also have a chance to support this remarkable man-dressed-as-a-woman. If you are in New York, clear your calendar and join us for Bebe's show--Queendom: An Intimate Experience with African Royalty.

Here is the information:

Venue: Don't Tell Mama
Address: 343 W. 46th Street (between 8th and 9th Avenue)
Time: 8:30-10:30pm
Cost: $15 and two drink minimum

Description:

Queendom is not simply an utterly unique and entertaining performance. It is an interactive experience that transports its audience to the royalty of Africa. The theater becomes a majestic African palace and the audience members become its honorary guests. A story is told through a fusion of upbeat American music with harmonious African chanting and tribal elements resulting in a fresh and edgy musical experience that is beautiful to the ears and healing to the soul. Glamorous animal inspired high fashion original costumes and décor are a visual treat. And speaking of treats, royal guests never leave empty handed as special gifts that tickle the senses are given to everyone at every show. Each season brings a new Queendom performance making this an ever changing event worth visiting again and again. The star and creator, Miss Bebe Zahara Benet (Winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race, Season 1), is a Cameroon native and left no detail gone unnoticed. It is a production built on great knowledge, impeccable taste, and deep passion. It will leave you feeling good and sassy! Queendom is a must-see.


JOIN ME FOR THIS EVENT. I will be there. So should you be.

Sit With It

Right now, I am baking chicken wings, making brown rice, and trying to focus on the amazing amount of love that I have received over the last few days. Last night, I was reminded that God is out there, God is watching, and God forgives us even when we have a hard time forgiving ourselves and when others can't or won't.

Here's what happened.

I recently met a guy that I think is pretty cool. We've hung out a couple of times, and he is interested in hanging out more. From the gate, I was up front about my HIV status. I let him know that if that would be a barrier to us hanging out, then he should let me know, and we could call it quits before anything happened. His response was very affirming and sweet, and, in the end, it was at his invite that I went with him to an event last night.

We hung out with two of his friends that I had met on a previous occasion. Both people are nice guys. We had laughed, we relaxed, we gayed it up. Then we decided to go to dinner. One of his friends, without any word, disappeared. A few moments later we received a text that he had gone home.

The three of us that remained went on about our business and stopped into Spice for dinner. Then, about halfway through the dinner, I noticed my friend responding to a text message. Being a little bit nosy, I looked down, and I saw it was from his pal that had vanished and gone home. In it, the text was basically expressing that the person with whom I was hanging out shouldn't be hanging out with me or considering any sort of anything with me due to my HIV status.

As you can imagine, particularly after the last couple of days, that hit hard. But, it is a reality that I live with and have lived with for some time now. Our other pal that was with us, basically almost fell out of his chair when he was informed of the contents of the text.

I needed a minute to myself, so I got up and went to the bathroom.

When I came out, my friend was standing there. He apologized to the woman behind him and then pushed me back into that bathroom.

I was like....ooooh snap...I've seen movies that start this way.

He basically repeated himself with what he said at the table but more emphatically. He expressed that he would like to have a date. That he has enjoyed hanging out with me. That other people do not determine the decisions he makes. The he sees me and knows that I am HIV positive. And he apologized that I had the experience of seeing the text message.

I then asked him to leave so I could cry by myself.

I totally did, and then I rejoined the boys. Our other friend that was with us was still mortified and apologized on their mutual friends behalf. I, again, expressed that this is a simple reality of my life at this point and that while it isn't pleasant it is something I have to plan for an expect, and when I don't plan for it, and when I don't own my reality is when I end up in a bad place (the last several days being a perfect example of that).

Last night, I truly believe, was God stepping in. It was an object lesson that honesty almost always pays off in rich dividends. It demonstrated that fear can keep good things away or destroy good things that you already have. It was a direct intervention into my own shame spiral by my higher power. Ultimately, it made me realize that if I had been honest a few weeks back, I may have had the same experience, much earlier, without causing anyone any hurt or pain.

Hindsight is 20/20, which is good because I am legally blind.

I came home and shared all of this with David, and this morning is when I realized that it was more than just a chance experience that it was a God inspired encounter. I am grateful for that, I am grateful for the love I receive, I am grateful for David, and I am grateful for whatever the future may bring.

Lessons Learned

The last couple of days are ones which I would never like to repeat. Ever. The great thing is that I can control whether or not I will have to relive this kind of experience. Of course, anytime I believe that I have control over anything, the universe has a direct and sometimes cruel way of dispelling that illusion. This list of lessons is by no means exhaustive, but it is what I have learned so far.

1) There is an ugly price to pay for fear. Much of this could have been avoided. If I had been sober, if I had been honest from the gate, if, after the first incident I had disclosed, if I hadn't lied, if after the second incident I had disclosed, if I had disclosed within the first four days, if I would have disclosed before being directly confronted, all of these would have made this experience less hurtful, less painful, less shameful, and less complicated. Each day that I failed to confront my own fear and shame made matters worse. If I had the mind and spirit to be brave, this would have been a better situation all around. I can control the impact of fear on me, I can be brave, because, frankly, facing my fear from the gate, despite the circumstances, would have been better than anything that has happened thus far.

2) I am only responsible for myself. Over the last couple of days, I have struggled to think my way through my responsibility instead of feeling my way through it. The more that I lost myself in my head, replayed the events, replayed the conversations after being confronted, the less able I was to see, clearly, where I was at fault and where my responsibility ended. The itty bitty shitty committee in my head, and the Great Judge that sits at the head of that committee were trying their best to rip me apart and lay the entire experience on my shoulders. Last night, I stopped thinking and started feeling. I asked my spirit if I thought I had done absolutely everything I could to handle the fall out of this situation up to this point. I have. My head needs to shut the fuck up. I am listening to my spirit from this point forward. The truth is that in the absence of rape or assault the responsibility is split evenly down the middle no matter the substances involved or the fact that I lied about my status after our first encounter. I have to live with the fact that I created a false sense of trust in another person and that person acted on the trust. In the end, the choice to act was taken by both of us. The responsibility falls on both of us.

3) I get to be a a human with flaws. I made a mistake. It was a huge and terrible mistake. It could have far reaching consequences. But there was no maliciousness. There was no intention to do harm. I can and will learn from this. I have learned from this. And I get to be flawed. I will not be held to a higher standard or responsibility because of HIV status than any other person having consensual sex. Every day people make stupid ass mistakes involving sex. People make even more stupid mistakes when drugs and alcohol are involved. Yet, the fact remains that mistakes happen. There are consequences that can come from them. But I am NOT a bad person for making a mistake. I am human. It comes with the fucking package.

4) The outcome is now out of my hands. I have spent hours trying to deal with my emotional baggage from this and the rage and hurt of the other party. The truth is that until the test results come out, there is a limit to the comfort that either of us can receive. I spent an hour at the SGI Buddhist Center last night chanting and asking the Universe to create healing from this and to limit the impact of my mistake and his. As a person of faith, I now have to believe that no matter the outcome, there will be healing to this, though the timeline for that healing may be outside of my control. By being active in my faith, I can send out the healing energy that I hope to get back. I will be returning to pray tonight.

I will not lie and say that I am at peace with what has happened. That would be a huge fucking lie, and I am done with lying out of shame, fear, or as a way to comfort myself. Its a false comfort. There remains active work that I can do to create learning from this. Last night, I was contacted by a health educator in San Francisco that trains youth to be HIV, STI and Sexual Health Advocates. He asked if he could use my last blog as an education/discussion tool for the youth with which he works. I consented. Ultimately, I write about my life experiences in the desperate hope that someone, somewhere will learn from my experience and not repeat my mistakes. I don't believe what I have written about is an act of bravery. It is an act of community preservation. I know that I am not the only person that has had this experience. I know I am not the only person in New York City that is having this exact same experience right now. But we all walk around in a cloud of self-delusion thinking that good people don't make bad choices. We believe that making a bad choice makes us a bad person (that's the difference between guilt and shame...guilt says I made a bad choice, shame says I am a bad choice). We walk around believing that we are the only one going through what we are going through, and so we keep out stories to ourselves. We don't admit our mistakes or our own responsibility when responsibility for mistakes are shared. We don't talk openly about sex and our own bad choices. We, and I include myself in all of these, start with trying to blame/shame/point the finger at everyone but ourselves. We try to demonize, hurt, break down, and otherwise spiritual crush the object of our anger. We also run away from our own responsibility and hope and pray that everything works out for the best when honesty, up front, is the way to guarantee that it will all work out for the best. We take refuge in our own sense of self or sense of shame.

I know my responsibility. I know my culpability. I am no longer willing to feel ashamed. I feel the guilt as a tool to help me remember the possible tragic outcomes and the real emotional toll when I make a mistake. I am human. I am a good person. I make mistakes. I am loved. Thank you to all of you that have been real with me over the last few days, given me love when I have been deep in my own pain and shame, and pointed out that I remain a good person and that my contributions to this world and my community far outnumber the mistakes I've made. Thank you for reminding me that I do have a responsibility here but that doesn't include tearing myself apart nor to allow myself to be torn apart in order to mitigate the pain of anyone else. .

Shame

Last night some of you had a chance to read the now vanished post. My guess is that it was a glitch in the system and not something that blogger did considering the content.

I am ashamed of myself.

I am choosing my words very carefully right now, because there is a difference between guilt and shame. And right now, in this moment, I am struggling to keep ahead of the shame.

I have written here before about my HIV status. I have written about the responsibilities of HIV positive people to disclose and also the responsibility of negative people to be accountable to their own behaviors which put them at risk. My conclusion, and I still believe this, is that each person in a sexual situation has the ultimate responsibility for his own sexual health.

Recently, I failed at my responsibility as did the person with whom I had sex. Twice. Further complicating the matter was that I was not truthful between the two sexual experiences, and I wasn't honest until I was confronted with the truth.

The person with whom I had sex was, rightly so, freaking out. I did my best to communicate the facts to him about my own health, likelihood of transmission, and specific tests that he can get done NOW that would alleviate most of his fears, while also being honest about the window period. No fluids were exchanged in our sexual exchange, but there is still risk. That is the truth.

He read my blog post last night and asked me why I would write it and so openly. My reasons were very simple: accountability, transparency, and ownership.

1. By admitting publicly that I fucked up, that I failed to follow through on my own beliefs, and did not live up to what I have publicly written and spoken about, I needed to return to that same forum and own my behavior. For me, to do otherwise, would be hypocritical.

2. Though all of my inner tapes are blasting me right now, telling me that I am worthless and a 'bad person,' I refuse to lets those tapes win. I am a human and made a huge mistake that could have significant consequences. I do not go out and make a habit of having unprotected sex nor does it thrill me to put another person in harms way. I am not a predator. By admitting, publicly, what happened, I am owning to my community that I failed to uphold our collective and my personal standards.

3. I am not a superhero, an angel, a saint, or a God. I can't navigate this on my own.

Last night, I was on the phone with this man for quite some time. I listened to him express his anger. I answered his questions the best I could, and I was as honest I could be including saying that fear and shame kept my mouth shut. Is that an excuse? No. It is the reason. Was it the right and best thing? No. I can't change the past, but I can manage the future differently.

And the truth is that I am having a hard time separating out my responsibility in this and his. I am not wholly to blame nor am I guilt free. I made poor choices, and he did as well. But, regardless of the reality, the truth is that I feel as if the responsibility is wholly mine to bear. Feelings aren't right or wrong but they can be needle sharp and debilitating.

This is a situation that words can't fix. I can't make things better, though I am skilled at making things worse. Thank you for those that reached out and offered love and support last night.

This blog is my apology to him, myself, and my community.

Blogger Deleted My Last Post

I will be happy to forward it to anyone that would like it.

Lena Horne

Last week, I found myself listening to the song, "If You Believe," as sung by Lena Horne, almost non-stop. Last night, Lena Horne left this world for the next one.

Dear Ms. Lena, thank you so very much for helping me to believe in myself. Rest in peace sweet spirit, powerful woman, child of Africa. You brought us love and lived with dignity during a time when dignity was denied to black people and most of all black women. I love you, Ms. Lena. We all do. Sleep well.


Lena

In dignity denied
during Jim Crow's time
you held your head
cocked to the side
smile curving
breasts and hips
taped up in black soldier's lockers
paraded across USO stages
staged a one woman war
to protest military segregation
marched in Birmingham
on Albany
because you believed
in your own freedom
free will to free yourself
and freed us
from head rags
and rag time
left behind minstrel shows
and showed the world
that black woman and sex symbol
are synonyms
made L.E.N.A
into an acronym: LUSCIOUS, ELEGANT, NEGRO, and ALIVE
you refused to hide
your sensuality or sexuality
the duality of living in a black/white divide
skin a passport and a barrier
harried by children that called you white
never white enough for Hollywood
you kept on
and kept us
keeping on
with song and dance and laughter
a beautiful sister
unafraid to be black
unashamed to be woman
unsurpassed as a human

Sweet mother
you've earned your peace
sleep well.

Ashe. Love. Lena.

-Brandon Lacy Campos
-New York, NY
-May 10, 2010

Rookies vrs Diablitlos and Renegades: Booty Shorts and Titty Twisters

Holy softBALLS it was cold today, and the wind was blowing directly out of the Cold Miser's asshole. The patch of skin below my bottom lip is chapped, and I am still chewing grit six hours after the last game ended. Steve Herrick showed up in shorts, and I thought we were going to have to rub Scottie's legs together to get a fire going to stave off hypothermia.

Despite playing in near arctic conditions with siroccos wheeling across the field as if we were in Iraq instead of Red Hook, the games were a blast.

The first gay(me) was against the Diablitos (please refer to my previous blog post about our match up against them and Captain Prison Porn). Today...the Diablitos got their ASSES handed to them. While Captain Prison Porn was still smacking balls this way and that, by the end of the third inning, the lead was 11-4 Rookies. On the way to the field, I'd found an old kung-fu grip GI Joe in the tall grass. I set up this little butch dude as our mascot by attaching him to the fence in our dug out. I attribute his mystical powers with sapping the Diablitos of their strength. That and they only had nine players and were missing at least one of their super stars.

That didn't stop Captain Prison Porn from sliding on his side across half of the outfield to catch a fly ball, which he did, and which caused Scottie's booty to vibrate, and Noah's shaved head turned bright red sort of like one of those blue nosed baboons butt's when its horny.

Later, in the second game, Roy decided to try to pull the same maneuver but since his legs had frozen into ice blocks, he just fell over. Noah's head turned as green as Joe's 1982 windbreaker that he obviously stole from the costume closet from the set of Breakin' Two: Electric Boogaloo.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

The first game saw two amazing double plays starring Mason and Vinnie, but the true star of the show was Antony the Straight who, in the first game, and his first time ever pitching, struck out four, count 'em, four people on his own. There is a Rookie's tradition that when you strike someone out, you get a titty twister from someone in the infield. By the end of the first game Antony's name had been changed to Purple Nurple, and Reggie was screaming, "KEENEY WHO?" (for you lay people, Scott Keeney is our regular pitcher who happens to be sunning it up on the island of Elba for the next three weeks...I'd like to wish him safe travels, but I am too bitter and jealous to do that).

What? What?

The final score of the first game was something like 16 to 8 or around that mark. The Diablitos got the butt whoopin' they deserved for having half their team being fresh from the Mets training camp.

Werq!!!

The second game was not as pretty. And by not pretty, reverse the score I just mentioned, then halve our runs and double theirs and you will have something around what the final score was.

The highlight of the second game was when dear Scottie, who, when there isn't an Ice Age forming above the fields, wears some booty shorts that gets my bait and tackle doing a little samba in my britches. During the first game, he was a demure princess and kept his sweat pants on (though strategically hiked up to show a little ankle), but since we were playing the number one ranked team for the second game, we had to pull out the secret weapon: Scottie's pert little boogina.

One of the many reasons that I adore Scottie is that he knows how to work his ASSets and is proud of it. First he strips down to his black boxer briefs that leave little to imagination and let's everyone know the exact shape and shade of his religion. Then he puts on his poom poom shorts, followed by the "bend and snap," and then tops it off with a ho stroll.

Then someone has the brilliant idea to have Scottie trot out and fetch the bat from whomever had just run to first base. I didn't notice who it was since I was too busy oogling the team goodies. Not only did Scottie get the bat, but also he got a NINE bat salute from the opposing team, if you know what I mean. The pitcher's jaw dropped so hard and fast that it left a crater in the dirt, and I doubled over laughing so hard that I farted.

It was AWWWWWEESSSOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEE!

In the end, though we lost our second game in points, we won it in style and sass. At one point Reggie was channeling Suzanne Sugarbaker and was twirling a bat like she was in the Miss Georgia pageant, and though the lights stayed on in Georgia, the spirits were way up in Red Hook.

Thanks for an AWESOME round of games Rookies. See you next week.

Everyday Heroes: Bernadette Keenan

Now and again an unexpected angel comes into your life. Angels are way sneakier than demons. They don't spit up on you. They don't have green skin, and they most definitely do not use crucifixes as sex toys. In general, they walk around looking like everyone else. Sometimes they are a bus driver that happens to say just the right thing at just the right time. Other times it's an old friend that calls you just say that they love you. And other angels read every single blog I write and lets me know exactly how it connects with her life. That angel is Bernadette Keenan...a Canuklander, Mother, environmental warrior, and all around beautiful spirit.

I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Bernadette in person. We connected through Facebook through a mutual friend. But for months, she has faithfully read and responded to each of the crazy rantings I post here. We have had funny and serious conversations. I learned that she has a tremendous daughter that she loves more than just about anything. I know that she works for peace and justice in Canada, that she is engaged in environmental struggles and that, according to her daughter, she dresses like a hobo.

Bernadette has gone through some things and seen some things in her life, but she has kept her head high, met life's obstacles and continued to push forward, raising her beautiful daughter and doing good in the world. This world is better for her. And I am honored that she takes time from her life to read the ramblings of some goofy dude south of the border that believes that Canadia isn't a real country and should basically be annexed to Minnesota.

Thank you for reading, Bernadette. Thanks for being an example of good Mom, and thanks for caring for the world in which we live and trying to leave it better than you found it. You are an Everyday Hero.

Rookies vrs. Dish(Chargers): The Garden State

Last Sunday, I stepped out of my apartment and broke out into a sweat so thick and greasy I thought my scalp had started producing afro-sheen. At about 1:15pm it felt like I had left my building and walked directly into Satan's asshole in a steam room in Hell.

By the time I reached Scott Keeney's palatial building a short four blocks away, after bumping into my teammate Vinnie's Forest on the street, my socks were wet, my mouth was dry, and I was wondering if I could fake a stroke on the car ride to Jersey.

Yes, I said Jersey. As in New Jersey. As in the armpit of America, called the Garden State because some wise ass in the legislature had been an English teacher and got off on permanent and legislated irony.

When we reached the fields, though, I had to downgrade my dislike of New Jersey to mild loathing from outright disgust...as the park and the surrounding neighborhood looked homey...and, frankly the fields were better than anything we have in the city. Hell, the bathrooms had air conditioning and a pleasant old Italian man refilling the lavender air spritz while his palls were playing boccie ball outside.


There were actually two fields...one that was basically the Versailles of softball and the other one that was more like the Bastille of softball. We excitedly set up our stuff at the Versailles, at the insistence of Dr. Scott "Mouse Balls" Kenney, only to have our hopes smashed to pieces when an Ancient Umpire (from the Roman Empire, I think) slithered through the grass to tell us that we were, indeed, on the wrong damn field.

This week we were facing off with the Dish (Chargers). To begin with, there team is largely queer. They have one straight guy that our fearless leader (and a number of other Rookies) want to take for a spin around the boogina track, but other than that piece of man meat the rest are largely mouthy queens that are sometimes amusing and other teams could test the patience of a rock.


The games were awesome. Both games were nail biters. In the end it game down to the 7th inning in both games with the home team scoring the runs needed to win during their last up. The Rookies won the first game, and the Dish took us in the second game.

There were some awesome plays by Noah, Scottie, Bowman, and Herrick. Antony and Scott kept snatching line drives out of the air. Everyone played very well, even when the Dish really knocked up the obnoxious juice by trying to "intimidate" us...including me. Big Mike almost got a Big Bat in the back of the throat at one point. But Mama taught them mean old queens to back the hell up when she gets up to bat. And when they thought that they would single out Herrick in right field as a weak link, he snatched the ball up out of the air, and showed them how a REAL lady acts by not showing her coochie or opening her mouth. That's a real woman!

In the end, despite the fact that we were stank ass funky by the end, and with the loving support of Rich, Frank, special guest Gary Eggers, and Rich's parents (Bowman spent both games showing out for the parents in law)...we had a great time...and....well...there was air conditioning in the bathroom.

It's Time to Fight Back New York.

Last Wednesday morning, I was sitting in front of the computer, a glass of iced coffee in my hand, and our debit card in the other hand.

I logged into www.fightbackpac.com, opened the donation page, and made a gift of $250 to Fight Back New York Political Action Committee.

For those of you that know me well, you know that I am not wealthy. I work for a small non-profit magazine. I am a poet. And I spend dozens of hours a week supporting a number of justice movement efforts. That calculus equals a fulfilling life but a relatively low cash flow existence.

To bring it into perspective, $250 represents 20% of one of my net paychecks.

And I was damn happy to give the money to Fight Back New York, and I am about to tell you why.

Last year, 38 Senators in the State of New York voted against a law that would have allowed queer couples to get married.

Stop. Breathe. No, I have NOT sipped the gay marriage kool aid.

But whether or not I agree with the amount of resources spent on fighting for marriage rights in the face of other more pressing and more real justice issues in the queer community, I will be DAMNED if an elected official will cast a vote to deny what is, in truth, a basic right and then move happily along with the rest of his or her life.

Fight Back NY is not a queer marriage organization. It is a political accountability organization. It's sole purpose is to make it politically dangerous for Democrats and Republicans to cast votes to deny basic human rights to LGBT people. Anyone that has voted against a gender inclusive ENDA, anyone that has voted against the Dignity for All Students bill, and anyone that has voted against same-sex marriage legislation will be targeted by Fight Back NYC. I will never give money to Freedom to Marry or the HRC--their politics, agenda, and bullying of queer organizations that do not share their same centrist/reformist/sometimes down right neo-con policies is something I can not get behind. But as long as our political system allows for bigots to sleep at night after casting straight up wrong votes, I will happily give money to accountability organizations.

Fight Back NYC is such an organization.

The organization has no infrastructure, and its overhead is almost non-existent. Since it is being supported by Gill Action PAC, it can direct almost all of the money that is gifted directly towards unseating anti-justice Senators.

I subscribe to the philanthropic philosophy that you give until it begins to hurt. $250 was my upper limit. There are others than can give much more and others that can give less, but, whatever your capacity, I hope that you will give.

You can make a gift at www.fightbackpac.com.

Political One Liner of the Week Award: President Barack Obama

This is the first time that I am awarding the Political One Liner of the Week Award to a President. I am sure that this honor will be held up by President Obama with the same awe and wonder that he exhibited upon winning the Nobel Peace Prize. That prize came with $1.5 dollars. This comes with a potential loss of 10% of the Presidents approval rating.

That's just how cool my blog happens to be.

At the annual White House Correspondents dinner, President Obama gave a shout to the Jonas Brothers by saying:

"Sasha and Malia are big fans. But don't get any ideas boys. I have two words for you: Predator Drones. You won't even see them coming."

I almost spit out my iced coffee on my beloved Druscilla III (that's the name of my MacBook Pro).

Congratulations President Obama. The honor is all mine.