Another Provincetown Story - The Three Hour Tour

Ptown Harbor And Cape Cod Bay
Viewed From The Boat Slip in Ptown

ANOTHER PROVINCETOWN STORY

(c) Frank DeFrancesco 2012

(A fictionalized account based on actual events.  The names have been changed, or have they? etc….)

            We had arrived at Coastal Acres, the only campground within walking distance of Provincetown around mid-morning on the day after Labor Day.  We spent an hour or more setting up camp and making it homey and comfortable for the two weeks we’d be there. My partner, Leon and I always vacationed in September because, as we told our friends, September at the Cape was the best time of the summer.  Not only were there fewer tourists, but children were back at school and the weather, barring a hurricane, was usually spectacular.

            We had met many nice people at the campground over the years; many were seasonals or September regulars, and a few were friends we got together with off-season as well.  Sebby DeVito was one of the seasonals who had a large RV, a truck, a boat, a motorcycle and other toys he could not afford.  Sebby would never admit it, but his boyfriend Kyle contributed more than his share of the expenses, even though he did not always share in the fun.

            Whenever we were in Ptown, Sebby would get Leon to help him with some maintenance chore or other, like getting his boat out of the bay when a storm was approaching; or helping dump his holding tank; or cleaning the carpet in his camper; or driving his drag personna through town in a convertible to the tune of Where The Boys Are.

            During this particular September, the long-term weather report looked good and Sebby’s boat was still in the water.  Now you must know that in all the years we knew Sebby, we had been invited to go boating with him three times at most.  So when he came over to ask if we wanted to go for ride, we jumped at the chance.  It’s not often we get out on a boat of any kind and even though Sebby’s was a fishing boat and didn’t have very comfortable seating – well, a boat ride, is a boat ride.  So we said, “Sure.”

            We walked and fed the dog and left him in the camper with instructions to the neighbor to tie him out for a while if he got to squealing and whining.  “We should be back in a few hours, so he shouldn’t be a problem,” we assured them.  It was just after two o’clock when Sebby, Kyle, Lee and I headed out to the marina.  It was an absolutely gorgeous day as September days often are on the Cape.

            “I was thinking of going down to Wellfleet harbor to check out some of the other guys’ boats.  It’s about an hour from here.” Sebby said.  We all got into Sebby’s dinghy and rowed out to the “Darling B.” which was moored well beyond the low tide water.  After tying off the dinghy and getting our gear aboard, we finally got underway around three in the afternoon. 

            Kyle and Lee discussed the latest episodes of Doctor Who, I enjoyed the sun, the ocean view and the motion of the boat while Sebby navigated the waters. Someone chimed in with a rendition of the theme song from Gilligan’s Island and all but Sebby joined in.  Sebby was not amused.

            We took a leisurely cruise past Wellfleet then circled back toward the harbor. We arrived at Wellfleet Harbor in a little over an hour and a half.  After tying up the boat, we disembarked and walked around the harbor for a while.  Sebby pointed out all the most luxurious yachts in the marina and made it sound like any one of them would be his when he decided it was time to trade up. 

            I haven’t mentioned that Sebby was a charmer.  He could charm the skin off a snake and then sell it back at profit.  He had gotten more than one entire summer off from work after an injury by consulting with his personal physician who he affectionately referred to as “Doctor Summeroff”. Somehow the broken toe or the back injury didn’t stop him from enjoying the boat or cruising for tricks.

            Sebby would brag about pretending to be an RV repair business and get special deals on camper parts or warrantees.  He had Kyle convinced that he needed this or that, and would get Kyle to put it on his charge card with an empty promise to make the payments.  He always fell back on the concept that partners shared everything, but not necessarily equally.  More like, ‘what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine, and what’s ours is mine too.”  So trading up might not be entirely out of the question if he could get Kyle charmed up to it.  Kyle was in debt up to his ears.

            We were all getting a bit hungry so we decided to stop for some fish and chips at the eatery on the dock.  We enjoyed our meal on the dock while we watched the sun over the water turn the sky crimson and gold.  “Red sky at night, sailors’ delight,” said Sebby.  He had a way with words.  Kyle mumbled something like “We need to get going before the tide goes out any further.  This is Wellfleet, you know.”

            Sebby shushed him off with, “Yeah, yeah, we got plenty of time.  I just want to take a look at that forty-footer at the end of the dock.”  We strolled down the dock.  Kyle was getting more upset and gave Sebby another warning.  “Yeah,” Sebby said, making it look like his idea, “I guess we should be going.”

            We boarded Sebby’s fishing boat, he started up the engine and we headed out of the harbor.  Sebby, in all his swagger and charm played the captain well. It was twilight and I had difficulty finding the channel buoys bobbing in the bay.  They were way out there, but I have a little night-blindness and don’t see well in twilight or in the dark, so I trusted in the sharper eyesight of others.

            Kyle reminded Sebby that Wellfleet Harbor and the bay was a virtual maze of shoals and sandbars and other obstructions, “Sebby, make sure we are in the channel. You know that the bottom can change from year to year and there are rocks and there’s even a sunken ship hull out here.”

            “You think I’m stupid?  I’ve been boating out here for years before I met you.  I know what I’m doing.”  Sebby tried to make it a point that HE was the captain of his ship.  We were heading out toward the sunset at a pretty good clip while Lee, Kyle and Sebby were straining their eyes to spot the next marker buoy for the channel.  They all agreed that the channel buoys seemed awfully far apart.

            We spotted a little skiff coming in and Sebby and Kyle flagged him down so he approached us about thirty feet off of our port side.  “Are we on course for the channel?”  Sebby shouted out. 

            “No. You need to head out about forty degrees to port and go until you see the marker number three.  Then you can turn back to your right and out into the bay.”

            “Thanks,” we all shouted back in unison.  Sebby veered off to the left in the direction the guy on the skiff pointed. But before anyone had even spotted the number three marker, Sebby turned the boat sharply toward the right in the direction of Provincetown harbor and gunned the engine.  Lee said, “Sebby, I think you turned too soon.  We should be going that way.”  Lee pointed off to the left.

            “I know what I’m doing.  I’m following the channel,” Sebby replied in a tone that meant he was not about to discuss his decision to turn off the original course.  Lee and I knew from previous experience not to argue the point.  We sat back and tried to enjoy the ride.  We were moving quickly and the boat was thumping against the waves.  There were wisps of clouds on the horizon reflecting the last purple and rose light of evening but the rest of the sky was dark.  A few stars were already visible.

            Like most fishing boats, the Darling B. was equipped with a depth finder which was busily reporting the distance to the bottom of the bay.  “12.5”, “13.0”, “11.5”, “8.5”, “9.0”, “6.5”. We were about three miles out of the marina.  Lee was studying the changing numbers.  Finally he spoke up: “Sebby, the depth finder is saying “5.0” and “5.5” and “4.5” and “3.0” and what does “minus dot minus” mean?”

            “Holy shit!” Sebby exclaimed in his official Captain voice.  He cut the engine just as the boat abruptly halted as it burrowed itself into a sandbar, a section of the infamous Billingsgate Shoal more than three miles off shore.  The boat hesitated briefly then listed to the right.  Sebby looked defeated.

           

            Sebby and Kyle immediately went into George and Martha mode.  “Didn’t I say the tide was going out?  And you should know that’s a big deal at Wellfleet, especially at sundown.  But you’re the big know-it-all Captain who doesn’t know shit.  You turned way too soon. Now you’ve got us all stuck out here in the friggin’ dark”, Kyle attacked Sebby with every accusation he could think of.

            “I went the way that guy said.  He was the one who was wrong.  I shouldn’t have listened to him.  I was on the right course to begin with,” Sebby tried lamely to defend his position.  “So now it’s my fault.  You think you know how to navigate?  You don’t know anything about navigation.  I’ve taken the course.  I’m certified.”

            “A whole lot of good that does us.  I’ve been sailing boats since I was eight and I know this harbor.  You’ve got to follow the channel way out beyond the shoal, Kyle retorted.  “You do this all the time, Sebastian.  You are so fucking stubborn and won’t listen to anyone.  That’s why I didn’t say anything – I wanted the responsibility for this to be all yours.  Maybe you’ll learn that you don’t know it all.” 

            Kyle was livid.   Sebby was obstinate.  Lee and I were quiet.  We decided that getting into the middle of this would get us nowhere.  I noticed that there were iridescent sea creatures that glowed eerily in the shallow waters off of Cape Cod.  Something I never knew.  The knowledge of these creatures would make this whole fiasco worth living through, I was certain.

            We were in shorts and t-shirts.  There was a breeze and the day’s heat was quickly dissipating as it usually does on September nights.  Sebby attached the removable plastic windshield around the cabin to keep us from shivering.  We had cell phones and someone suggested calling the Coast Guard.

            “Like that’ll do us any good.” I said.  “How would they get to us and even if they could, they wouldn’t be able to get us out of here until the tide comes in anyhow.”

            “You’re right,” Kyle said.  “We’ll just have to wait it out.”

            “Our dog is in the camper.  We’ve never left him for this long.  Can we call someone at the campground to take him out to pee?” Lee asked.

            “I’ll give Dave a call. I’m sure he won’t mind,” Kyle said.

            Sebby just sulked and tried to look captain-like. The tide sloshed against the sides of the boat and slowly lifted the Darling B.  It must have been three or four hours until the tide was high enough and the keel was free of the of the sandbar.  Sebby started the engine and put the boat in motion.  He slowly eased us into deeper waters and finally listened to some advice from Kyle and Lee about the best course to get back into the channel.  He did this to avoid a mutiny.

            We got into the open waters of the bay and headed toward Provincetown.  Pilgrim Monument, the tallest structure in Ptown was lit and visible.  Sebby headed toward it.  But Kyle reminded our illustrious “certified” Captain that Long Point, the narrow stretch of the peninsula that juts out into the bay and was between us and the harbor. “Sebby, if we head straight toward the Monument we’ll be beached on Long Point before we see the harbor.”

            Sebby, heeding Kyle's warning, successfully navigated around the point and into Provincetown harbor.  We moored the boat, took the dinghy back to the shore in front of the Boat Slip - the hotel and club noted for its daily T-Dance.  The place was quiet at twelve-thirty AM as we made our way back to camp.

            The next morning I went into town and found a place mat at one of the souvenir shops.  It depicted a navigation and ocean depth chart of Cape Cod Bay and Wellfleet Harbor.  I couldn’t resist.

            I presented the gift to Sebby and suggested that he put it on the dining table and study it each morning while sipping his coffee, so the his next “three hour tour” doesn’t get stranded for twelve.  Sebby was not amused.

Walkway To The Moorings Near The Boat Slip Hotel
Ptown

           

           

           

            

A Provincetown Story

A PROVINCETOWN STORY

(c) Frank DeFrancesco, 2012

(based on actual events - the names have been changed, etc....)

            Ronnie was not the sharpest blade in the kitchen – nor the gayest either. His unpredictable antics could irritate the hell out of you.  For example, if you asked him to check on your house while you were on vacation, you’d come home to find all the appliances unplugged including the ones like the VCR or coffee maker with clocks and timers. If you hadn’t noticed what he’d done you might wait twenty minutes for a piece of toast which would never pop up, then you’d take the name of the Lord in vain while you went around the house to reset and re-program all the various electronics that were now flashing “12:00 am”.

            Ronnie had a boyfriend for many years before I knew him but after the guy died suddenly Ronnie never really connected with anyone else.  He didn’t date guys and only rarely met guys for sex.  He always said he only liked to do it in the shower to make sure the other guy was clean.  

            Ronnie had a roommate when I knew him.  I don’t recall his roommate’s name, but Ronnie called him “Skank” because he supposedly never used soap to shower.  Ronnie refused to use the same washing machine as Skank so instead of washing clothes at home, Ronnie would go down to the strip mall to the Laundromat to do his clothes.  I guess he thought strangers were less “skanky” than Skank.

            I’d gone to Provincetown with my partner probably once or twice each summer when Ronnie was around so he’d heard me talk about the East Coast’s gayest town more than once.  He was just this side of forty but had never been there, even though he had a Lesbian cousin who lived in PTown with her girlfriend. 

            I guess Ronnie finally concluded it was time to see what Provincetown was all about and so one weekend he decided he would venture out on his own and visit his cousin Lu for an overnight stay. 

            Lu said, “See ya when you get here.”

            It’s about a five-hour drive by car from Ronnie’s house to Commercial Street but he wasn’t sure his old clunker would make the trip without breaking down again. It was always something with that old car – a fan belt, a muffler falling off, a clogged fuel filter, a burned out headlight.  Besides he wasn’t too good with maps and GPS hadn’t been invented yet. He decided to “leave the driving to bus”.

            So there was Ronnie, standing at the ticket window at the local Greyhound station at six-forty-five AM on a bright summer Saturday morning with an overnight bag hoping to catch an early bus to Provincetown.

            “One round-trip to PTown, please” Ronnie requested of the woman behind the glass.

            “So, where’s dat juh wanna go, hun?  I ani’t got no bus to no Pee-Town.”

            “Well.  My friends always call it PTown.  I think they call it PTown for short.  It’s like Providencetown or something. It’s near the ocean.”

            “We got a bus leaving for Providence at eleven - fifteen.  That’s the only thing I’s got listed here, hun.  You wanna ticket to Providence?

            “Yeah, thanks.  Sounds good.  What time does it get there?”

            “You got a few stops between here and there then a short lay up in Springfield and then on to Providence.  It should get you there around 1:35 this afternoon. Here you go.  That’ll be $30.  The bus starts boarding at eleven.  That’s about three hours from now hun, so relax on over to the snack bar.  Have a nice time, hun”. 

            Ronnie was disappointed about having to wait more than three hours, but he was committed and it was now or never.  He passed the time as the ticket lady said, “over to the snack bar” with the morning paper, a pack of Kools and a few cups of coffee.

            It was one of those spectacular New England summer days: the blue of the sky was deep and cloudless and the morning sun was gently warming up the day.  Ronnie was finally going to PTown. 

            The bus began boarding as scheduled but was more than half empty when it left the station. An older couple got on at the first stop, then a few guys boarded in Worcester and Ronnie thought they looked gay.  “Nice,” Ronnie thought as he admired the young men, then closed his eyes and enjoyed the soothing hum of the diesel engine and the highway.

            When the bus pulled into the Providence Rhode Island Bus Terminal, it was just past 1:35 PM and, Ronnie thought, still early enough to see this gay town and have some fun.

            Lu had told him that she lived on one of the side streets off Commercial.  He had it written down somewhere. Ronnie disembarked and looked around.  Somehow it wasn’t quite what he had expected, but “Well,” he thought, “nothing is ever how you expect it to be based on what people say.”  So Ronnie decided to wander around a bit and, if necessary, ask directions to 29 Mayflower Street.

            After nearly an hour, Ronnie began to feel lost and confused.  There was the bus station right off the highway, a huge cemetery and a baseball park and a neighborhood a little farther down.  He kept walking. He didn’t see many obviously gay men or Lesbians or many people other than those taking busses.  There were no T-shirt shops, or souvenir shops or people who looked like they might be going to the beach.  He didn’t see Commercial Street anywhere.  He got the feeling that maybe he was in the wrong place after all but decided to walk a little further.  Finally, he emerged from his state of denial and asked a passer-by “I’m looking for Mayflower Street, it’s off of Commercial Street. Can you tell me how to get there?

            The stranger replied with a mixture of amusement and pity, “Oh, buddy, I don’t think that’s anywhere around here.  There’s a Commercial Street way across town, and I think there’s a Mayflower Street around here somewhere, but are you sure that’s where you want to go? 

            “Well, is this, like, PTown, isn’t it? I came to visit my cousin in Ptown.”

            “Sorry fella, you’re not in PTown.  This is Providence, Rhode Island.  You want Provincetown, Massachusetts. It’s out on Cape Cod, you know.”

            “Yeah, yeah, thanks, guy. Yeah, Cape Cod, I know.”  But that was not exactly what he was thinking.  The day was slipping away.

            So it was a long walk back to the Providence Rhode Island Bus Terminal to hop a bus to Provincetown, Massachusetts. By now it was already nearly three o’clock.  Ronnie thought, “I won’t be coming back here, so I guess I should get a one-way ticket.”            Ronnie approached the ticket window.  “Could I get a one-way ticket on the next bus to Provincetown, Massachusetts, please?”

            “Our bus line doesn’t go to Provincetown, the best I can do is get you to Hyannis.  Too bad, the bus just pulled out.  There’s another one in two hours, leaving at four-fifty-five.  Arriving in Hyannis at six-fifty-five.  Is that OK?”

            Ronnie thought,  “I’ve come this far, why not?”  And to the ticket guy, “Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

            “Thirty dollars, please.”

            Four fifty-five. Another two hour wait.  Ronnie’s second bus trip today would put him in Hyannis, Massachusetts at almost seven PM.

            The trip out to Hyannis was uneventful but boring.  The bus stopped at various non-descript “bus stations” - town greens, donut shops, strip malls to pick up or drop off passengers along the way.  Driving would have been quicker, even if he got lost.

            When Ronnie arrived in Hyannis he realized he hadn’t considered how he would get to PTown from there.  “Now, how do I get to Provincetown from here?” Ronnie asked himself.  “Well, it can’t be that far.  I’ll just call Lu and have her pick me up.”  He found the nearest pay phone and dialed Lu’s number.

            The phone rang and rang.  No answer.  He hung up.  He couldn’t come up with another plan.  He dialed Lu’s number again.  He let the phone ring longer this time.  Finally he heard someone pick up on the other end.

            “Hello, what daya want? and why ya calling this late?”  Ronnie looked at his watch.  It was just past seven.  It was Dandi, Lu’s handicapped, or disabled, or physically challenged partner, Ronnie wasn’t sure which adjective to use, on the line, not Lu. 

            “Dandi, it’s Ronnie, is Lu there?”

            “Where else would she be, stupid?  Of course she’s here.”  Dandi was not in a good mood.  Dandi was hardly ever in a good mood.

            “Well, can I speak to Lu, please?”

            “Probably not.  She was really feeling shitty today, so she took a couple of sleeping pills and went to bed early.”

            “Could you please try to wake her?  Please, Dandi, I’m kind of stranded here, in Hyannis.”

            “Hang on to your shorts, shorty.  I’ll see if I can get her to the phone.”

            Minutes passed.  The operator demanded “another ninety-five cents, please.”  Ronnie fumbled through his jeans pocket.  Luckily, every time he’d bought a coffee or a pack of cigarettes earlier that day, he’d paid with dollar bills and had a pocket full of change.  He put three quarters and two dimes into the slot.

            “Hey, Ronnie?  What’s the problem?  It was a very groggy Lu on the other end. “I just took some pills to help me sleep.  Jeeze, couldn’t you have called earlier? 

            “Lu, I’m in Hyannis.  It took me all day to get here.  There is no bus out of here tonight.  I can’t get there and I can’t go home. Can you come, pick me up?”

            “Jeeze, Ronnie.  You haven’t changed a bit since we were kids.  Still needing me to get your ass out of the campfire.  Do you know how far it is to Hyannis from here?  On a good day, it would take me an hour.  And that’s without Dandi yelling at me to slow down.  You know Dandi can’t drive, but she’s going to have to come with me, to keep me awake.  I’m going to have to fight off the pills to bail your ass out of Hyannis.  Where exactly are you, anyway?”

            “I’m on Route 28, at a strip mall near where the bus dropped me off.  There’s a Shell Gas Station and across the street there’s a coffee and donut shop.  That’s where I’m at now.”

            “OK.  I’ve been through there many times.  I know the Shell Station and that donut shop.  Sit tight.  I’ll come get you.”

            “Thanks, Lu.”  Ronnie knew not to say much more at that point.

            “Yeah, no sweat.  What I don’t do for family.  If you weren’t gay, I’d just tell you to go fuck off.”

            By the time the two Lesbians had filled a thermos with hot coffee and gotten Dandi’s wheelchair into the van – Dandi refused to go anywhere without her chair - it was almost eight o’clock. Lu helped Dandi into the van and Dandi kept shaking Lu to be sure she was awake enough to drive.

            “I’m OK.  I can drive.”  Lu was barely convincing. 

            Halfway to Wellfleet, Lu began to nod off.  Dandi screamed, “Wake up.”

            “I can’t.  I’m going to pull over and take a rest.”  Lu wisely decided.

            Thirty minutes later, Dandi grabbed Lu’s arm and shook her hard.  “LuLu, can you drive now?”

            Lu came to - enough to shake off sleep for a minute and start the engine.  They pulled out onto Route 6 again and headed for Orleans.  At the Orleans traffic circle, Lu missed the off ramp for 28.  She had to go around the round-about again.

            “I’d better pull off and take another break before I kill us both.”  Lu declared with somewhat slurred speech.  She pulled into Frankie’s Fish and Chips and parked as far from the restaurant as she could.  Her head went limp and Dandi put her head back and closed her eyes.  It was after nine.

            The flashlight through the driver’s side window woke Dandi first.  She elbowed Lu hard.  “Lu, wake up.  Get it together quick, it’s a cop.” 

            Lu, struggled to wake up.  Everything was a blur.  Dandi repeated, “It’s a cop, wake up.”  Something about the word “cop” counteracted the effect of the drugs Lu took earlier.

            “Yeah, I’m here!” she declared as she hit the down button for van window.”

            “Are you ladies OK?” the Officer Murphy inquired,  “You can’t park here when the establishment is closed.”

            “Oh, sorry.  We just pulled in here earlier to grab a bite to eat, then decided to just shut my eyes for a few minutes,” Lu fabricated.  What time IS it anyway?”

            “It’s ten-thirty, ladies.  The restaurant closed at nine-thirty.  I should do a sobriety test, but you didn’t break any laws as far as I can tell, and I’m not smelling alcohol, so I’ll just let you be on your way.  I’m going to follow you up the road for a few miles to be sure your driving is up to snuff.”

            “Oh, thanks officer, sorry about troubling you.”  Lu said.  She drove off, slowly but soberly enough to satisfy Officer Murphy.

            It took Lu another forty-five minutes to get to Hyannis and by some miracle, Lu found the Shell gas station, and the coffee shop, which was just about to close for the night, and her cousin Ronnie who had gotten tanked up on caffeine over the best part of four hours. 

           

            Ronnie offered to drive as he was now more awake than Lu had been all day.  Lu passed out in the back.  Unfortunately, Ronnie didn’t know where he was headed and Dandi was no help.  By the time Ronnie found Route 6 East – the "fast" way back to Provincetown - he had toured a good part of the mid-Cape and chalked up about an hour of extra driving. They pulled into Mayflower Street just after one AM.

            Dandi was grouchy and exhausted and insisted that Lu help her get ready for bed.  Lu, who hadn’t completely metabolized the sleeping pills she took earlier that evening, wasn’t far behind. 

           

            Lu came out of the bathroom, pointed to a ratty couch and said, “You can sleep there, cuzin.  Just don’t go out or the door will lock behind you.  And I’m NOT getting out of bed to let you in.”

            When Lu finally rolled out of bed in the morning it was almost eleven o’clock.  The sun was heating up the day quickly and townies ands tourists alike had already been spilling onto Commercial Street in search of breakfast and t-shirts.  Ronnie was hungry too, but had been too afraid of going out and being locked out of the apartment.

            All Lu could manage to say was, “Ronnie, if you walk down Mayflower you’ll come to Commercial.  You can get yourself breakfast.  And you should stop at the bus station on the wharf to check the bus schedule.  I don’t think there are too many outgoing on Sunday as most of the weekly tourists leave on Saturdays.  Hope you had a good time.”

            Ronnie hardly had time to grab a coffee and check the bus schedule before he was boarding the Transit Authority bus for Boston where he would get a whistle-stop excursion home.  If he was lucky, it would still be Sunday and daylight when he arrived.  

Link to a Post on the GOP's Religion of Success

Good morning.  Feeling Lazy today, so will just link you off to the blogosphere... A very insightful post at Enlightened Catholicism on the GOP and their "Religion of Success".

Old News Will Be New News: Nuns On The Bus

I have a special place in my heart for nuns and women religious even though I may not share all of their religious beliefs.

Sister Simone Campbell was in the news this summer with the Nuns on the Bus Tour refuting the current Republican VP Nominee, Paul Ryan's Budget from a Catholic Social Justice perspective.  Her talk here is inspiring but for some of you readers may be a bit too long and a bit too "religious".  So I also included a shorter video of her on "Hardball with Chris Matthews".

Interesting was her point that social programs like the food stamp program are actually subsidies for business.  They can get away with paying low wages because low wage workers will still be able to eat using food stamps.  And that if such programs are cut as the Republicans wish to do, non-profits that help the poor would really have to struggle to make up the difference, if they even could.  The burden would not be on the private business sector to increase wages of course, so their low wage employees could both eat and pay rent.

Simone Campbell will certainly be in the news again soon: I am looking forward to her talk at the upcoming Democratic Convention.

Gay and Lesbian Wedding Guests Dance the First Dance at Straight Wedding

This comes via Towleroad and was a short post but very moving.  It's about a straight couple who invited all the gay/lesbian couples at their wedding to have the first dance ... to the Beach Boys' Wouldn't It Be Nice.  I've always liked the Beach Boys, but I'll admit that I never heard this song from the perspective of Marriage Equality before...listen and enjoy!

Link Here to John Green's Blog

The Medium Is The Message?

Thanks to Wicked Gay Blog for this (I couldn't resist):

Off the Grid

Won't be posting or reading for a few days...

LGBT Parenting - And People Say The Scariest Things

Thinking of the many gay and lesbian couples with children, many of whom are fellow bloggers, (Mark, Guy Dads, etc) I was dismayed when I heard about this comment by a spokesperson of a an anti-gay "family" organization (as is my habit, I will NOT use the name in print), namely that children of same-sex couples should be removed (dare I say kidnapped?) from their homes by some kind of "underground railroad" network of religious fanatics.  He bases his comments on the supposed trauma suffered by one boy who grew up parented by two Lesbians.  Troubled son of Bi/Lesbian Mother source article here

While I cannot discount his personal, subjective experience the individual who wrote this obviously had some issues - which, I believe, he would most likely have had even if he grew up with his biological mother and father in somewhat similar circumstances.

There are many children, who grow up in dysfunctional homes;  many who grow up having been parented by one parent, step parents, serial parents, grandparents, group parents, or no parents and several other types of households.  Some have issues, some don't.  Having two men or two women as caring, loving and fully engaged parents is as nurturing and healthy - or more so - than having opposite-sex parents or other types of families which may provide less than optimal parenting - and G. knows there are many of those.

The comment by the anti-gay "family" organization spokesperson was reprehensible and irresponsible, and ignorant not to mention just plain stupid.  I suppose ignorant and stupid is a bit redundant, but that's OK.

Huffington Post source article here

This ignoramus' comment is so outrageous on so many levels and there is absolutely no logic to be found therein, that it is not even worth refuting.  But that doesn't make it any less scary.  These are the kinds of things that may incite others to act in very dangerous ways.

His idea was fashioned after another news article about a child custody case involving a biological mother and her ex-partner (who happened to be an "ex-lesbian" who found religion).

"Kidnapp Trial" source article here

Apparently, the aforementioned ignoramus thinks it was just peachy-keen to arrange a kidnapping and expatriation of a child in order to "save" the child from any contact with her Lesbian mom.

All I'm saying here is that there are frightening ideas circulating out there - ideas that can infect others and, given the right (or wrong) political environment might encourage some other wingnut to act based on the notion that such ideas have some legitimacy.

That is one of the reasons I felt that the Chicken appreciation day was somewhat akin to a KKK rally.  It bestowed an aura of legitimacy (by visibility and sheer numbers) to hate speech and hate behavior and emboldened bigots to come out of their closets.

We must call them out at every opportunity.

Photos, no Politics

Monday, July 30 I took a "vacation" day.  Even retired folks need to call in sick once in a while.  

Leon was home due to lack of work so I said, "Here, the dog is yours today. I'm going to the beach."

I drove to Rhode Island to Misquamicut Beach because Connecticut does not have any "real" ocean beaches.  It was a glorious day.  The temperature was perfect, low humidity, nice breeze, no sand flies.  Listened to Brazilian samba music and Soul Flutes.  Walked the beach and felt like I was 18 again. 

The beach on a day like that is Heaven.  If heaven is that good, I'll be happy.

Palm trees in Rhode Island

 This beach shop has palm trees in the ground.  In Rhode Island which is in New England.  Now I've seen palm trees in New England but they are usually potted so they can be returned to a green house for the winter.  I want to know whether these are removed for the winter.  They look rather permanent.

A few odds and ends.  I thought I'd seen a humming bird but on closer look it had antennae.  Its wings were beating like a humming bird.  Looked it up - it is a "hummingbird" MOTH.  Unusual.  What would we do without Google?

We've been spending every other weekend in Vermont at the property of some friends where we've parked our camper for a while.  Lance and Rolyne are very generous to let us share their land - they have water, electric and sewer hook-ups for our camper.  They have a park model "camper" and their place is quite nice.  The yard looks like a State Park - Lance keeps the grounds looking great.

They've got quite the stone driveway.

 We spend our days visiting Vermont friends or they come to our camper for evening cook-out and good conversation.  Lance is a great story-teller and loves to talk.  We always have a good time and some good laughs.

Here are some Connecticut stone walls in Litchfield County.

It Ain't Necessarily So

I think this is what Raulito was trying to say in Trickle Down BS.  George Gershwin said it in music and Bronski Beat, one of my favorite groups, does it here:


  Gershwin's lyrics here

A Little Levity For The Weekend

Here is a cute video - a new internet TV series.  Rated VG (Very Gay)  Hope you enjoy:


Where The Bears Are - Episode 1 BEAR DOWN from Where the Bears Are on Vimeo.

We're Here, We're Queer, You Need Us, Back Off - Part 2

Reflecting on comments regarding yesterday's post:


Yes the rich bastard certainly has the right to mouth off, but it is precisely his wealth and power that presents a danger to us - especially when his money and thus his ability to reach the ignorant masses with lies, half-truths and innuendo can do irreparable harm. Some people let others do their thinking for them and believe and rally around everything that is said if it is wrapped in the bible, god and the flag. And big rich boys know it.

News clips did show crowds lining up to eat Chicken and perhaps demonstrated more support for the anti-gay sentiment than may actually exist. However, even a false but dramatic indication of anti-gay sentiment can convince more people to hop on the hate bandwagon.

Maybe my life hasn't changed since the guy mouthed off, but something has definitely transpired in the country and I'm not sure it is a safer, more tolerant country because of it. So yes, it may be a big deal if it gives more people "permission" to act on their bigotry and homophobia.

At the bottom of yesterday's post is a link to a letter by 170 law professors refuting the right wing, religionists' talking points about religious freedom and the provision of contraception to women under the Affordable Care Act. Their reasoning, while specific to that issue, is relevant to LGBT issues, including the right to marry, because so much of the vitriol and hate stems from misguided fundamentalist religious doctrine that has no place in fashioning laws that effect the entire populace. 

Call me cynical, but I think writing letters to congresspersons is a joke. Even though I do so on occasion, I truly don't think anyone is listening - unless, of course your letter is accompanied by a $100,000 or more campaign contribution.

So, my point is this: demonstrations of hate and bigotry deserve a response appropriate to the degree of ignorance demonstrated. I think it is time for another civil rights demonstration - but I'm not sure another March on Washington will have much impact. It has to touch the lives of ordinary citizens. My example of a Day Without Homos was a bit of a fantasy - cute, but I had hoped it made a point.

We're Here, We're Queer, You Need Us, Back Off

Thinking about the big Chicken eating crowds that came out to support the Chicken billionaire who donates millions of his Chicken profits to anti-gay causes AND thinking about an adequate response to this event, I am reminded of a short story I read years ago by Robin Hardy entitled The Day the Homos Disappeared, A Cautionary Tale.  

In the story, a Toronto socialite is hosting The Social Event of the year and is dismayed that she is unable to get things done for the big party. She can't get her hair done or have lunch because all the hairdressers have vanished, along with most of the waiters and others.  She realizes that all the homos have disappeared but is completely baffled by why they took the others with them - at least 10 percent of the population has disappeared along with the homos - 10 percent of the police, firemen, teachers, doctors, nurses, bus drivers, bankers, politicians - even her husband has disappeared.  The city just about shuts down in the crisis.

Well, I think a LGBT general strike - a sick day - a boycott of everything day is in order.  If we all just "disappeared" for a day - the teachers, the actors, the EMTs, the service workers, the computer experts, the nurses, the store clerks, the taxi drivers - if we all called in sick, didn't report for work, didn't spend any money on anything, perhaps it would make a statement - we're here, we're queer, you need us, back off.

What do you all think?  I think it would take a lot of convincing for there to be enough participation to make our absence noticeable.  We need a leader to rally the masses!

Ron Romanovsky did a cute song about it: (But I don't think we should be cute at all)

P.S.  What I had for lunch, not that it makes a difference:

AND P.S. Again - here's a link to a letter by 100 law professors about Conscience and Contraception on the day Affordable Health Care Act provision goes into effect.

Chick DEPRECIATION Day

OK, a bit lame, but it might be fun...go to MickeyD's (or even KFC or Burger King) for a chicken sandwich tomorrow, August 1.  Take a pic, and post it on your web site or Facebook.  I'm game!

P.S. We are so fortunate NOT to have a Bigot Fil-A restaurant in Connecticut.

Federal Judge in Connecticut Rules DOMA Unconstitutional

Once again the courts have ruled DOMA unconstitutional .  This judge is a George W. Bush appointee.  Apparently she refuted the Congressional defense of DOMA point by point.  Good.

The Republicans want states rights - and put marriage laws squarely in the jurisdiction of the states, yet they want to define marriage on their terms for every state and want to deny legally married individuals the rights and privileges they are entitled to.

As they say - Can't have your cake and eat it.

I'm so proud that the ruling came here in Connecticut.  Read more at link above.

Why Do My 4 O'Clocks Bloom at 7:30? And A 'Hummingbird' Moth

Not that I'm complaining.

'Hummingbird' Moth on Impatients