a family affair

I recently spent eight days with family. Three days of preparation with my father, my mother and her husband, three days with thirty five extended family members and two days of cleanup with my father, my mother and her husband.

I am still recovering.

I love my family, I am annoyed by them and I am also left with an uneasy feeling that I've done something wrong, or at the very least, have disappointed someone.

They can push my buttons because they installed them.

I have found that the best thing for me to do on these occasions is to stay in the kitchen and cook. I enjoy it, I'm good at it and it gives me the feeling, real or imagined, that I'm being useful.

Here are some of the things I prepared for the occasion:
(everything was either chilled or room temperature)

Carrot ginger soup
Lemon chicken
Potato salad
Watermelon salad with Kalamata olives, Feta, red onions and mint
Beet, fennel and grapefruit salad
Onion tart
Grilled asparagus with Gorgonzola butter
Baccala salad
Blue cheese stuffed grilled figs wrapped in bacon
Arugula and mint salad with oil cured black olives, red onions, oranges and Ricotta Salata
Sauteed cauliflower with capers, Red peppers and golden raisins
Spinach and cheese Strata
Green chili and chorizo Strata
Plates of various cheeses, crackers and spreads
A platter of smoked salmon (with pumpernickel triangles, cream cheese, red onions and capers, of course)
A platter of heirloom tomatoes dressed with basil, olive oil and coarse sea salt
A hazelnut torte
and two flourless chocolate cakes

I also made Ginger and Peppermint ice creams. (two separate flavors)

People seemed to enjoy the food and that pleased me.

I've been asked to post the recipe for the Baccala salad so here it is:

BACCALA SALAD

Ingredients

1 1/2 lb choice-grade skinless boneless salt cod, rinsed well
1 1/2 qt water
3 celery ribs, thinly sliced crosswise
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1/4 cup small pimiento-stuffed green olives, chopped
1/4 cup Kalamata or other brine-cured black olives, pitted and chopped
1/3 cup chopped drained bottled roasted red peppers
1/2 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves
1/2 cup small fresh basil leaves
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon red-wine vinegar, or to taste
1/2 teaspoon sugar
3 tablespoons olive oil

Preparation

Put cod in a large bowl and cover with cold water by 2 inches. Soak cod, chilled, changing water 3 times a day, up to 3 days (see note, below). Drain and chill until ready to use.

Drain cod and transfer to a 5- to 6-quart pot with 1 1/2 quarts water. Bring just to a simmer and remove from heat. (Cod will just flake; do not boil or it will become tough.) Gently transfer cod with a slotted spoon to a platter to cool slightly.

Shred cod and stir together with celery, garlic, olives, roasted peppers, parsley, and basil.

Stir together lemon juice, vinegar, sugar, and oil, then pour over salad, tossing to coat well. Season with pepper and chill, covered, at least 1 1/2 hours for flavors to develop.

• Salt cod differs in it's degree of saltiness. A less salty variety may need only 1 day of soaking, while another could require up to 3. To test it, simply taste a small piece after 1 day; you want it to be pleasantly salty but not overwhelmingly so.

• Salad can be chilled up to 2 days.

ENJOY

mid life crisis

For a long time my primary purpose was: avoid personal discomfort at any cost.

The best way I found to do this, for about twenty seven years, was by filling myself with drugs and alcohol. Oh I found other ways to avoid uncomfortable feelings as well. Food was, and still is ,a good one, sex, shopping, working out, pornography, computer games. Almost anything can increase this list to become compulsive and unmanageable. But of all the behaviors and methods I've used to avoid feelings drugs and alcohol always worked best.

While under the influence I had to do something. One can't very well just get a buzz on for twenty seven years with nothing else on their plate, so I created various versions of who I thought I should be.

A serious musical performer was something I believed I should be for more than a decade. I actually did this very well and I suppose that had I been sober through those years I may have achieved an elevated level of success in that arena. The combination of unpleasant people and the discipline needed to maintain success in that industry, however, got in the way of my true love; getting fucked up.

So I left that incarnation to create the next one, which was unclear to me due to my confused mental state but lasted, nevertheless, for about fifteen years. I suppose I was a professional party boy for lack of a better title. It is during this period that the posted picture was taken. Sexy? Perhaps. But definitely not a nice guy and you may notice how there seems to be no life behind the eyes. Yes, I became the walking dead. Zombified and driven from one moment of immediate gratification to the next with no consideration of others and no thought of personal consequence. Humping my way through life like some deranged inchworm. It was fun. Then it was fun with problems. Then it was just problems.

By the grace of something greater than myself I've been delivered from that state and brought to where I am now. The road from there to here has been painful and long but I've broken free of emotional and spiritual torture. I've survived disease and overdoses, I'm recovered and I'm grateful but still nagging questions reverberate inside my head;

Is it too late to become the man I was supposed to be all along?

Certainly my life doesn't look the way I imagined it would. I catch glimpses of myself in storefront windows and I recoil with disbelief. Who is that? When did I get so old? Time passed and I must've been too high to notice. I was supposed to be settled and winding down by now but it seems I've only just recently been put in the right direction.

What I am faced with are questions of faith:

Do I believe I am exactly where I am supposed to be?

Have I been saved so that I can help others through my experience?

Is God doing for me what I cannot do for myself?

Avoiding personal discomfort is no longer important. What proves to be of significant worth is the suspension of judgement, of myself as well as others, and letting myself be guided by love.

let the sunshine in

As a kid I grew up listening to the original cast album of HAIR. I loved it. I didn't quite understand all of the songs or what they meant but I could sing them all. Surely a puzzlement to grown ups who weren't musical theater savvy or "hip" enough to know where the tunes came from, I would walk around, seven or eight years old, singing little songs with lyrics about hashish and the Kama Sutra.

When I was ten years old my father took me to see the Broadway show, already running for five years at that point, and I knew that what those people were was what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Dancing, running, singing joyously and beautiful. Celebrating free love, acceptance of each other and being true to one's inner self. Self expression through sex, drugs and non-violence. Standing up for what they believed in, slamming the conservative societal values of the time and saying very clearly "I won't fight your war for you" and the cherry on top of it all: they got naked.

This all represented to me an adulthood I couldn't wait to be a part of. By the age of thirteen I had hair below my shoulders, was wearing patched jeans and was listening to the Stones. I very soon discovered the joys, and confusions, of drugs and promiscuity. Whether I knew it or not I was desperately looking for the freedom that I had found in HAIR.

But as I came of age the world became a different place. The "Love Generation" of the 1960's morphed into the "Me Generation" of the 1970's. The great rock and roll bands of the 60's were replaced with disco and punk rock, psychedelics were traded in for cocaine and the war ended. Seemingly, there was no longer anything to fight for.

This year marks the fortieth anniversary of HAIR. Last night I went to see the anniversary production at the Delacorte Theater in Central Park. I was expecting a time-capsule piece. A tongue in cheek, musical review of familiar songs and dated 60's themes. True, there was some of that but there was also a lot that was surprisingly timely and topical.

So much has changed since that innocent and naive year of 1968. Drugs are no longer an acceptable method of protest, escape or mind expansion. We've all since seen the ravages of what drugs can do to individuals, families and even communities. The raising up of Timothy Leary in 1968 was pushed aside as we saw the drug related deaths of Judy Garland in 1969 followed by Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendricks and countless others both with and without celebrity.

Free love and sexual experimentation became a frightening prospect when in the early 1980's people, mostly gay men, started dying from a mysterious sexually transmitted disease that was first called "Gay Cancer" then GRID, "Gay Related Immune Deficiency", and is what we now know as AIDS.

Most biting in the present revival of HAIR are the differences and the similarities of war. There are no more draft cards to be burned. When there was a draft everybody was a potential soldier. Now the military is filled with kids using their military service and training as a way out of poverty. It is, disproportionately, a poor man's army. Out of the 435 members of congress and the 100 members of the United States Senate not one has a child serving in the United States military.

The war is no longer being televised. As a kid I clearly remember my parents watching news reports of men walking through the jungle with firearms and footage of wounded men being air lifted to safety. We are no longer allowed to see the damage of war first hand, the human cost. The present administration has put a ban on all media as to images of war. No wounded soldiers, no flag draped coffins, no prize winning photographs of terrified children running for their lives toward a camera, looking helplessly at the lens and pleading to viewers who might perhaps care about the outcome of such conflicts.

What we do still have is involvement in a war that is questionable at best. We have an ongoing war that few support, that no one can win and that there is seemingly no way out of.

Poignant and chilling the beautiful, young cast, black and white, look into the audience, make eye contact and stage whisper in unison:

"prisoners in nigger town
it's a dirty little war...
take weapons up and begin to kill
watch the long, long armies marching on"

After the thirty five year interval between performances I went back to HAIR ready to take a nostalgic look at the lifestyle I wanted to grow into only to realize that HAIR is not about adults at all. It's about kids. Kids choosing to drop out of school and leave the picturesque simplicity and American Dream of their parent's Eisenhower years behind them and find a path, a voice and a life of their own. Funny how I can look back now and see those years of unrest and turmoil as comparatively innocent and idyllic, far away from the corruption and cynicism the twenty first century has brought.

While the members from the original "tribe", if still alive, would now be in their sixties and seventies, I continue to want to be one of them when I grow up. How I still romanticize that late 60's lifestyle. A lifestyle attainable for such a very short period by so few that will never be again. Even as I buzz what hair I have and struggle to keep my middle aged belly in check I long for a pony tail, beads and a brocade vest. The most fitting homage I can make to that time is to take it's best intentions and apply them to my own resolve as best I can: Be true to myself, fight for social justice, surround myself with a community of loving, like minded friends and let the sunshine in.

snake oil

With our economy sinking and oil prices soaring. George Bush is offering snake oil: a plan to sacrifice more of our coasts to oil drilling on the chance it will produce a few weeks’ worth of oil and reduce gas prices by a few pennies a gallon...in 2028. Imagine America forever tethered to Bush’s failed energy policy. It’s like giving him five more terms.

It’s a cruel Shell game. And BP game. And ExxonMobil game. Over the past five years, the number of domestic drilling permits has nearly doubled. But because of rising worldwide demand, oil prices have skyrocketed. More drilling off our coasts is not the answer. Once destroyed they can never be replaced. The only winners will be the oil companies.

Want gas at $1 a gallon? America needs a bold new approach to energy, from more fuel-efficient vehicles to plug-in hybrids and electric cars. A cleaner electric grid powered by renewables. Existing technologies could have us driving at the equivalent of a buck a gallon for gas!

Tell your Representative and Senators to stop the giveaway of our coasts. Tell them you won’t stand for billions more for oil companies—and snake oil for the rest of us.

NRDC Action Fund

a world that stands as one

As Prepared For Delivery
Berlin, Germany
July 24th, 2008

I come to Berlin as so many of my countrymen have come before. Tonight, I speak to you not as a candidate for President, but as a citizen – a proud citizen of the United States, and a fellow citizen of the world.

I know that I don’t look like the Americans who’ve previously spoken in this great city. The journey that led me here is improbable. My mother was born in the heartland of America, but my father grew up herding goats in Kenya. His father – my grandfather – was a cook, a domestic servant to the British.

At the height of the Cold War, my father decided, like so many others in the forgotten corners of the world, that his yearning – his dream – required the freedom and opportunity promised by the West. And so he wrote letter after letter to universities all across America until somebody, somewhere answered his prayer for a better life.

That is why I’m here. And you are here because you too know that yearning. This city, of all cities, knows the dream of freedom. And you know that the only reason we stand here tonight is because men and women from both of our nations came together to work, and struggle, and sacrifice for that better life.

Ours is a partnership that truly began sixty years ago this summer, on the day when the first American plane touched down at Templehof.

On that day, much of this continent still lay in ruin. The rubble of this city had yet to be built into a wall. The Soviet shadow had swept across Eastern Europe, while in the West, America, Britain, and France took stock of their losses, and pondered how the world might be remade.

This is where the two sides met. And on the twenty-fourth of June, 1948, the Communists chose to blockade the western part of the city. They cut off food and supplies to more than two million Germans in an effort to extinguish the last flame of freedom in Berlin.

The size of our forces was no match for the much larger Soviet Army. And yet retreat would have allowed Communism to march across Europe. Where the last war had ended, another World War could have easily begun. All that stood in the way was Berlin.

And that’s when the airlift began – when the largest and most unlikely rescue in history brought food and hope to the people of this city.

The odds were stacked against success. In the winter, a heavy fog filled the sky above, and many planes were forced to turn back without dropping off the needed supplies. The streets where we stand were filled with hungry families who had no comfort from the cold.

But in the darkest hours, the people of Berlin kept the flame of hope burning. The people of Berlin refused to give up. And on one fall day, hundreds of thousands of Berliners came here, to the Tiergarten, and heard the city’s mayor implore the world not to give up on freedom. “There is only one possibility,” he said. “For us to stand together united until this battle is won…The people of Berlin have spoken. We have done our duty, and we will keep on doing our duty. People of the world: now do your duty…People of the world, look at Berlin!”

People of the world – look at Berlin!

Look at Berlin, where Germans and Americans learned to work together and trust each other less than three years after facing each other on the field of battle.

Look at Berlin, where the determination of a people met the generosity of the Marshall Plan and created a German miracle; where a victory over tyranny gave rise to NATO, the greatest alliance ever formed to defend our common security.

Look at Berlin, where the bullet holes in the buildings and the somber stones and pillars near the Brandenburg Gate insist that we never forget our common humanity.

People of the world – look at Berlin, where a wall came down, a continent came together, and history proved that there is no challenge too great for a world that stands as one.

Sixty years after the airlift, we are called upon again. History has led us to a new crossroad, with new promise and new peril. When you, the German people, tore down that wall – a wall that divided East and West; freedom and tyranny; fear and hope – walls came tumbling down around the world. From Kiev to Cape Town, prison camps were closed, and the doors of democracy were opened. Markets opened too, and the spread of information and technology reduced barriers to opportunity and prosperity. While the 20th century taught us that we share a common destiny, the 21st has revealed a world more intertwined than at any time in human history.

The fall of the Berlin Wall brought new hope. But that very closeness has given rise to new dangers – dangers that cannot be contained within the borders of a country or by the distance of an ocean.

The terrorists of September 11th plotted in Hamburg and trained in Kandahar and Karachi before killing thousands from all over the globe on American soil.

As we speak, cars in Boston and factories in Beijing are melting the ice caps in the Arctic, shrinking coastlines in the Atlantic, and bringing drought to farms from Kansas to Kenya.

Poorly secured nuclear material in the former Soviet Union, or secrets from a scientist in Pakistan could help build a bomb that detonates in Paris. The poppies in Afghanistan become the heroin in Berlin. The poverty and violence in Somalia breeds the terror of tomorrow. The genocide in Darfur shames the conscience of us all.

In this new world, such dangerous currents have swept along faster than our efforts to contain them. That is why we cannot afford to be divided. No one nation, no matter how large or powerful, can defeat such challenges alone. None of us can deny these threats, or escape responsibility in meeting them. Yet, in the absence of Soviet tanks and a terrible wall, it has become easy to forget this truth. And if we’re honest with each other, we know that sometimes, on both sides of the Atlantic, we have drifted apart, and forgotten our shared destiny.

In Europe, the view that America is part of what has gone wrong in our world, rather than a force to help make it right, has become all too common. In America, there are voices that deride and deny the importance of Europe’s role in our security and our future. Both views miss the truth – that Europeans today are bearing new burdens and taking more responsibility in critical parts of the world; and that just as American bases built in the last century still help to defend the security of this continent, so does our country still sacrifice greatly for freedom around the globe.

Yes, there have been differences between America and Europe. No doubt, there will be differences in the future. But the burdens of global citizenship continue to bind us together. A change of leadership in Washington will not lift this burden. In this new century, Americans and Europeans alike will be required to do more – not less. Partnership and cooperation among nations is not a choice; it is the one way, the only way, to protect our common security and advance our common humanity.

That is why the greatest danger of all is to allow new walls to divide us from one another. The walls between old allies on either side of the Atlantic cannot stand. The walls between the countries with the most and those with the least cannot stand. The walls between races and tribes; natives and immigrants; Christian and Muslim and Jew cannot stand. These now are the walls we must tear down.

We know they have fallen before. After centuries of strife, the people of Europe have formed a Union of promise and prosperity. Here, at the base of a column built to mark victory in war, we meet in the center of a Europe at peace. Not only have walls come down in Berlin, but they have come down in Belfast, where Protestant and Catholic found a way to live together; in the Balkans, where our Atlantic alliance ended wars and brought savage war criminals to justice; and in South Africa, where the struggle of a courageous people defeated apartheid.

So history reminds us that walls can be torn down. But the task is never easy. True partnership and true progress requires constant work and sustained sacrifice. They require sharing the burdens of development and diplomacy; of progress and peace. They require allies who will listen to each other, learn from each other and, most of all, trust each other.

That is why America cannot turn inward. That is why Europe cannot turn inward. America has no better partner than Europe. Now is the time to build new bridges across the globe as strong as the one that bound us across the Atlantic. Now is the time to join together, through constant cooperation, strong institutions, shared sacrifice, and a global commitment to progress, to meet the challenges of the 21st century. It was this spirit that led airlift planes to appear in the sky above our heads, and people to assemble where we stand today. And this is the moment when our nations – and all nations – must summon that spirit anew.

This is the moment when we must defeat terror and dry up the well of extremism that supports it. This threat is real and we cannot shrink from our responsibility to combat it. If we could create NATO to face down the Soviet Union, we can join in a new and global partnership to dismantle the networks that have struck in Madrid and Amman; in London and Bali; in Washington and New York. If we could win a battle of ideas against the communists, we can stand with the vast majority of Muslims who reject the extremism that leads to hate instead of hope.

This is the moment when we must renew our resolve to rout the terrorists who threaten our security in Afghanistan, and the traffickers who sell drugs on your streets. No one welcomes war. I recognize the enormous difficulties in Afghanistan. But my country and yours have a stake in seeing that NATO’s first mission beyond Europe’s borders is a success. For the people of Afghanistan, and for our shared security, the work must be done. America cannot do this alone. The Afghan people need our troops and your troops; our support and your support to defeat the Taliban and al Qaeda, to develop their economy, and to help them rebuild their nation. We have too much at stake to turn back now.

This is the moment when we must renew the goal of a world without nuclear weapons. The two superpowers that faced each other across the wall of this city came too close too often to destroying all we have built and all that we love. With that wall gone, we need not stand idly by and watch the further spread of the deadly atom. It is time to secure all loose nuclear materials; to stop the spread of nuclear weapons; and to reduce the arsenals from another era. This is the moment to begin the work of seeking the peace of a world without nuclear weapons.

This is the moment when every nation in Europe must have the chance to choose its own tomorrow free from the shadows of yesterday. In this century, we need a strong European Union that deepens the security and prosperity of this continent, while extending a hand abroad. In this century – in this city of all cities – we must reject the Cold War mind-set of the past, and resolve to work with Russia when we can, to stand up for our values when we must, and to seek a partnership that extends across this entire continent.

This is the moment when we must build on the wealth that open markets have created, and share its benefits more equitably. Trade has been a cornerstone of our growth and global development. But we will not be able to sustain this growth if it favors the few, and not the many. Together, we must forge trade that truly rewards the work that creates wealth, with meaningful protections for our people and our planet. This is the moment for trade that is free and fair for all.

This is the moment we must help answer the call for a new dawn in the Middle East. My country must stand with yours and with Europe in sending a direct message to Iran that it must abandon its nuclear ambitions. We must support the Lebanese who have marched and bled for democracy, and the Israelis and Palestinians who seek a secure and lasting peace. And despite past differences, this is the moment when the world should support the millions of Iraqis who seek to rebuild their lives, even as we pass responsibility to the Iraqi government and finally bring this war to a close.

This is the moment when we must come together to save this planet. Let us resolve that we will not leave our children a world where the oceans rise and famine spreads and terrible storms devastate our lands. Let us resolve that all nations – including my own – will act with the same seriousness of purpose as has your nation, and reduce the carbon we send into our atmosphere. This is the moment to give our children back their future. This is the moment to stand as one.

And this is the moment when we must give hope to those left behind in a globalized world. We must remember that the Cold War born in this city was not a battle for land or treasure. Sixty years ago, the planes that flew over Berlin did not drop bombs; instead they delivered food, and coal, and candy to grateful children. And in that show of solidarity, those pilots won more than a military victory. They won hearts and minds; love and loyalty and trust – not just from the people in this city, but from all those who heard the story of what they did here.

Now the world will watch and remember what we do here – what we do with this moment. Will we extend our hand to the people in the forgotten corners of this world who yearn for lives marked by dignity and opportunity; by security and justice? Will we lift the child in Bangladesh from poverty, shelter the refugee in Chad, and banish the scourge of AIDS in our time?

Will we stand for the human rights of the dissident in Burma, the blogger in Iran, or the voter in Zimbabwe? Will we give meaning to the words “never again” in Darfur?

Will we acknowledge that there is no more powerful example than the one each of our nations projects to the world? Will we reject torture and stand for the rule of law? Will we welcome immigrants from different lands, and shun discrimination against those who don’t look like us or worship like we do, and keep the promise of equality and opportunity for all of our people?

People of Berlin – people of the world – this is our moment. This is our time.

I know my country has not perfected itself. At times, we’ve struggled to keep the promise of liberty and equality for all of our people. We’ve made our share of mistakes, and there are times when our actions around the world have not lived up to our best intentions.

But I also know how much I love America. I know that for more than two centuries, we have strived – at great cost and great sacrifice – to form a more perfect union; to seek, with other nations, a more hopeful world. Our allegiance has never been to any particular tribe or kingdom – indeed, every language is spoken in our country; every culture has left its imprint on ours; every point of view is expressed in our public squares. What has always united us – what has always driven our people; what drew my father to America’s shores – is a set of ideals that speak to aspirations shared by all people: that we can live free from fear and free from want; that we can speak our minds and assemble with whomever we choose and worship as we please.

These are the aspirations that joined the fates of all nations in this city. These aspirations are bigger than anything that drives us apart. It is because of these aspirations that the airlift began. It is because of these aspirations that all free people – everywhere – became citizens of Berlin. It is in pursuit of these aspirations that a new generation – our generation – must make our mark on the world.

People of Berlin – and people of the world – the scale of our challenge is great. The road ahead will be long. But I come before you to say that we are heirs to a struggle for freedom. We are a people of improbable hope. With an eye toward the future, with resolve in our hearts, let us remember this history, and answer our destiny, and remake the world once again.

good people do bad things

In 1987 I was in Washington DC at the time of the first showing of the AIDS memorial quilt. The quilt stretched the entire length of grass between the reflecting pool and the Capital building. Tens of thousands walked on, around and through it in silence and overwhelming grief. Only occasional weeping could be heard. Later that same afternoon several gay rights activists spoke from a stage put up in front of the Capital building but the only person I can clearly remember speaking was the Reverend Jesse Jackson. Sitting on the lawn next to this massive memorial to those who had suffered and died from AIDS I listened as Jackson orated eloquent, angry, compassionate, searching, pleading, sad and hopeful. I remember a feeling of possibility and great pride that this one time presidential candidate and black leader would take time and bring media attention to an event almost exclusively attended by lesbian and gay people and their grieving families.

Since that day, twenty one years ago, I have heard Jackson speak several times and always find myself inspired. He is not only a fiery Baptist preacher and gifted speaker but also a fierce civil rights leader whose influence extended to international matters in the 1980's and 1990's, a respected and successful United States spokesperson who has traveled to Syria, Israel, Kenya, Serbia, Venezuela, Northern Ireland and Cuba on peace missions under three United States presidents. Here is a man who has chosen to do what he believes is right regardless of personal consequence, a man of God who acts with his conscience and heart and yet yesterday he said he would like to castrate Barack Obama because he believes he's "talking down to black people".

Is it possible to do a bad thing and still be a good person?

Almost immediately Jackson offered a public apology saying that there is no place for such "trash talk". He went on to say his remarks were "hurtful and wrong".

Should all his public service and good be questioned because of a moment of bad judgement and a slip of the tongue? Should Jackson's personal resentment and bitterness be taken into account for this unfortunate blunder? The remarks he made were off the record as an aside to a colleague and never meant to be heard by the public. Should that excuse such "trash talk".

No.

This is not the first time Jackson has had his foot in his mouth. Anyone old enough will remember his "Hymietown" remark. Did that offensive comment negate all of his civil and ecumenical activities before and since?


What about the Reverend Jeremiah Wright? Weren't similar circumstances to blame for the public ridicule and media charged downfall of a man who has given his life to enriching and bettering a challenged community? Should his words, offensive though they might have been, undo all the good that he has helped come to pass?

What I am left with is a sense that these men are human and they, like all humans, are flawed. There is good in the worst of us and bad in the best of us. I believe myself to be a good man and yet I have certainly done many regrettable things. Unlike these men, however, I am not in the public eye. It is challenging enough for me to monitor my own behavior without having to live in front of a camera. If, at the end of the day, I can look back and not regret anything I've done or said I would consider that to be a good day. It is hard enough to amend my bad behavior privately I can't imagine the pressure to do so with the world watching. When events like these come to the forefront I am grateful that fame and celebrity are not mine.

i hear america singing

I Hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be,
blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work,
or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat
—the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench
—the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter’s song—the ploughboy’s, on his way in the morning,
or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work
—or of the girl sewing or washing
—Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day
—At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

                                                         - Walt Whitman

pride

In New York City the last Sunday in June is Gay Pride. This always brings up interesting questions for me. How am I going to choose to show the world that I am proud to be a gay man? I don't feel like I really need a day or a weekend or even a month especially set aside to express this. I'd like to think that I walk with my head held high everyday, proud of who I am, of what I am, a one man parade. The truth is, however, that without feathers and confetti it's hard to get noticed for much of anything in New York City. Even if I were to stand out as being overly effeminate or if I wore only fetish-y leather clothing my guess is that the attitude of the majority of people would be "So what? Get over yourself. What makes you think you're so special? look at that guy." This is one of the reasons I love New York; Everyone is pretty much accepted as being a part of the diverse landscape.

That being said, I do think it is important for the gay community to show the world that we are very present, we are your neighbors, your co-workers, indeed your family, we do not apologize for who we are and we are not going away. In this political climate, where we are looking at such issues as change in legislature to recognize same sex marriage, parenting and spousal benefits for couples of the same sex, I wonder if it is really the best choice to express our pride by donning a dress or a spangled jock strap and hanging off a float as it makes it's way down Fifth Avenue.

When the Gay Pride parade is reported by the media it is always done so with images of half naked leather men or drag queens. If, as a community, we are trying to show the rest of the world just how similar we are to everyone else, how "normal" we are, should we really be giving the media another opportunity to present us as deranged gender confused clowns and sex crazed fetishists? Although there are certainly many opportunities to see gay church groups, PFLAG members, SAGE members, groups of gay doctors and other professionals, the media will always focus on the more sensational and provocative.

There always has been and, I suspect, always will be a great sense of fun and freedom at the parade. It's an opportunity to embrace being different and rejoice in being accepted despite those differences. I am proud that I am a part of a community that is so diverse. No other marginalized group counts it's members from every race, culture and tradition on the planet.

I had an upsetting moment at the parade last year. I was feeling happy, even proud, enjoying the eye candy and saying hello to friends and acquaintances when a float passed by with big, oiled and gyrating muscular porno boys on it wearing only thongs and posing straps. Along the side of the float it read "rentboy.com" right after that came the Smirnoff vodka float with more semi-naked, steroid infused, gyrating hunks. All of a sudden I wasn't proud anymore. I became, actually, very sad. My proud, compassionate, accepting and diverse community reduced to and represented by whores and booze peddlers.

I don't wish that my opinion on the super sexualizing and the over commercializing of the parade should diminish the good that is possible through the visibility of proud gay people. One only need look at the faces of young, gay, out of towners there for the first time to realize the importance of this display. By shear numbers alone it says to those who have been marginalized, outcast and isolated: "You are not alone. You are fine just the way you are. No matter what your church or the people at school say - you are a person of worth."

The question remains: How can I best serve myself, the community and, ultimately, the world by being a proud, openly gay man? I haven't yet found the answer.

Several years ago at the parade I saw an elderly woman on the side lines. Not marching with a group, just by herself, a spectator. She held high a home made sign that read: "I love my lesbian granddaughter". She beamed as she held her sign and waved at the passers by.

That made me proud. That's what I want to see on the evening news.

just children

While in New Orleans the thirteen of us who went down to do disaster recovery work stayed at the North Rampart Community Center, formerly the St Marks Community Center. Built in 1903, the Community Center is an extended mission style building attached to the St Marks United Methodist Church. It is located on North Rampart Street which is the dividing line between the French Quarter and the Treme', the oldest settlement of free black people in the country. The building was repaired from damage it received during hurricane Katrina and was simultaneously fitted with several dormitory style rooms to house future volunteer workers. That's where we stayed. Boys in one room, girls in another, bunk beds, sleep away camp style. Not necessarily the most deluxe accommodations but perfectly adequate for a week of work and not much sleep.

The Community Center is active year round with a full after school program during the school year and a day camp for the children in the area during the summer months. The children who attend the Center range in age from seven to about fifteen. The Center has four programs: reading, computer lab, arts and crafts and swimming. The children are divided into four "classes" : younger boys, younger girls, older boys, older girls. One day during our stay we did some manual labor around the center (moving old furniture, clearing out debris and making space for the children) and we also helped with the kids. I chose to help out in the arts and crafts room.

These kids were so smart, sensitive, attentive and appreciative. We were there for a week and every morning the children would line up on the sidewalk outside the gate to the Center starting at about 7:15 for breakfast at 8. Now, when I think I'm having a bad day I can recall this picture. A picture that is seared into my memory and that will perhaps enable me to gain a new perspective of just how fortunate I am.

The woman who runs the Center is named Joanne, a Deaconess of the United Methodist Church. I asked her about the children, their home lives and their situations.

She said:

"Many of them have returned to New Orleans after being dispersed to other locations in the aftermath of Katrina. Most of them are from single parent homes and many of these children are traumatized. There isn't the funding to provide the mental health care that these children need. "

The Center, a not for profit facility, is organized and run by the women of The United Methodist Church. Presently there are about sixty or seventy children who use it's services daily.

"New children are still showing up. I see new ones every week. Sometimes I don't know who they are or where they come from. There's no paper work on some of these children. They're just children. What am I gonna do? Turn away children? They get breakfast and lunch here and their families know that while they're here they're safe."

The morning I worked with the kids in the arts and crafts room the instructor introduced my two fellow New Yorkers and me to the first class, the younger boys.

"Children: these people are here today to help out in the classroom. They're volunteers from New York City and they've come down here to help rebuild your city. What do you say to them?"

Children's voices as one; "Thank you."

My heart caught in my throat and I was hoping I wouldn't start balling in front of a room of small boys. I'm not a childcare expert but I imagine that can't be a good way to start off. Instead I busied myself with the task at hand which was to help the boys string beads and make necklaces. Some of the boys were making necklaces for their moms and some for themselves. Each was happy to have something of their own to take with them.

I'm so grateful, not only for my time as part of the rebuilding effort but also to have had that time with the children. I think about the rising crime and gun violence in these kid's communities and I can't help but think, hope and pray that these kids make it through the next few years unscathed. So trusting, so vulnerable and so at risk.

Bless Joanne and the work she does. Bless the small dedicated staff of the North Rampart Community Center and, please God, bless and keep those children.

When it was mentioned that we would be staying at the Center one day and working with the children I was disappointed. I wanted to be out in the field, hands on, rebuilding the community. I now realize that my short time with those children was hands on, rebuilding the community.

bush - mccain challenge

ten things everyone should know about mccain

1. John McCain voted against establishing a national holiday in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Now he says his position has “evolved,” yet he’s continued to oppose key civil rights laws.
MLK

2. According to Bloomberg News, McCain is more hawkish than Bush on Iraq, Russia and China. Conservative columnist Pat Buchanan says McCain “will make Cheney look like Gandhi.”
Bloomberg News

3. His reputation is built on his opposition to torture, but McCain voted against a bill to ban waterboarding, and then applauded President Bush for vetoing that ban.
Torture veto

4. McCain opposes a woman’s right to choose. He said, “I do not support Roe versus Wade. It should be overturned.”
Roe v. Wade

5. The Children’s Defense Fund rated McCain as the worst senator in Congress for children. He voted against the children’s health care bill last year, then defended Bush’s veto of the bill.
CDF CNN

6. He’s one of the richest people in a Senate filled with millionaires. The Associated Press reports he and his wife own at least eight homes! Yet McCain says the solution to the housing crisis is for people facing foreclosure to get a “second job” and skip their vacations.
Bloomberg

7. Many of McCain’s fellow Republican senators say he’s too reckless to be commander in chief. One Republican senator said: “The thought of his being president sends a cold chill down my spine. He’s erratic. He’s hotheaded. He loses his temper and he worries me.”
temper

8. McCain talks a lot about taking on special interests, but his campaign manager and top advisers are actually lobbyists. The government watchdog group Public Citizen says McCain has 59 lobbyists raising money for his campaign, more than any of the other presidential candidates.
lobbyists

9. McCain has sought closer ties to the extreme religious right in recent years. The pastor McCain calls his “spiritual guide,” Rod Parsley, believes America’s founding mission is to destroy Islam, which he calls a “false religion.” McCain sought the political support of right-wing preacher John Hagee, who believes Hurricane Katrina was God’s punishment for gay rights and called the Catholic Church “the Antichrist” "the great whore" and a “false cult.”
destroy islam

10. He positions himself as pro-environment, but he scored a 0—yes, zero—from the League of Conservation Voters last year.
environment

John McCain is not who the Washington press corps make him out to be. Please help get the word out.

hope

nola

Today is Wednesday. I got back into town Saturday morning and it is only after a few days of reflecting on and digesting my experience that I feel able to write about my recent trip to New Orleans.

Thirteen of us from my Church in New York City went to New Orleans to do disaster recovery work for a week. I had never been to New Orleans before and I found the combination of deep southern, Caribbean, African and European cultures intoxicating. The rich history and mixing of all those cultures make for an exotic and exciting city. The music and food are, of course, famous and fabulous. The tall shuttered windows, wrought iron balconies and muted, mottled walls of the French Quarter carry within them years of romance and intrigue. It is really only upon leaving the French Quarter and venturing into the outer neighborhoods of the city that the deep devastation of Hurricane Katrina and the near genocide of federal negligence can be seen.

The day after we arrived in New Orleans all thirteen of us piled into our rented van and were given a tour of the neighborhoods hardest hit by the storms of 2005. Our tour was led by two local people from the Neighborhood Housing Service, a woman named Lauren, executive director of NHS, and a man named Dan, who drove us. Once we left the downtown area and went into the working class neighborhoods the sights were unbelievable. Row after row of abandoned homes in disrepair diminishing in size into the bleak horizon. Houses taken down to their foundations with nothing but cement blocks remaining, front steps leading up to nothing. Still visible were the water lines, sometimes as high as twelve or fourteen feet off the ground, spray painted writing on the front of homes indicating what had been found inside: survivors, pets, bodies. The very familiar letters TFW blazed across the front of nearly all the abandoned houses, indicating toxic flood water. Generations of working class families obliterated and forgotten first by the storm and now by their government. A government put in place to protect them.

I watch CNN and MSNBC, I subscribe to TIME magazine and read The New York Times, I would consider myself to be rather informed about current events and yet I was not prepared for what I saw. A vast barren landscape of poverty and loss. True, some of the more affluent neighborhoods are being rebuilt more quickly. Affluent, it was explained to us by our guides, means white. The lower working class neighborhoods, however, black and white, are slower to recover. The working poor of New Orleans have yet to return. Hospitals, hotels and public schools remain closed and the media has apparently lost it's appetite for this region. All federal aid has stopped, the Red Cross has pulled out and even the Salvation Army is no longer involved in New Orleans disaster recovery work. It is only through volunteer organizations that the rebuilding continues.

We drove alongside, what the locals call, Tent City. A three or four city block stretch of concrete median beneath a highway overpass chockful of tents. A city of homeless people. We saw children laughing and running between tents, clusters of people huddled round open fires preparing food. All of us in the van silent in either shock or disbelief. It is hard to imagine that these are Americans whose lives have been destroyed and forgotten. As our tour of this, once proud and now ravaged, southern port city continued I found myself vacillating between tears and fury. How is it possible that we, as a nation, are spending countless billions of dollars in Iraq, where our presence is questionable at best, and right here at home thousands are struggling to find decent jobs and housing, desperate to reclaim a city that they once called home? I sat dazed as the van passed more devastation and tragedy, embarrassed and ashamed. What I was witness to was not the travesty of injustices perpetrated against a third world nation but a stark reality smack dab in the middle of a major American city.

The following morning was our first day of work and we rose early and arrived at our orientation eager to be of service after what we'd seen. We drove crosstown and gathered in a small neighborhood church with several other volunteer groups just as eager as we were to get our instructions. We were warned of the heat:

"If you're not feeling well sit it out - don't push through. This heat will get you!"

"Watch each other. If one of you ain't sweating - sit them down and drink plenty of water. We don't want any Heatstroke."

We were working through the Louisiana United Methodist Disaster Recovery Ministry. Not necessarily a denominationally motivated or even religiously charged outfit but the largest volunteer based disaster relief organization presently in New Orleans. We were introduced to our site manager and given our assignments. We were to split into two groups working on two different sites. I was to be a part of the drywall crew. A few of us were chosen to go next door to the building which housed tools and materials and get what was needed. On the inside wall of the tool building hung a large map of the United States printed on white vinyl. Groups from all over the country had marked their hometowns and written the names of the churches, synagogues, community centers and schools with which they were affiliated. In various colors of magic marker, outside the confines of the continental United States, were the markings of groups from Puerto Rico, Russia, Canada, Thailand, Beijing and several European countries. This was certainly not the first time during this trip that I would try to hide my tears from those around me. Nor would it be the last.

The house we were working on belonged to a man named Ozzie, a really nice fellow who explained to us what had happened to him during the storm. His house sat on land that was originally his grandfather's. Ozzie and his fiance' had evacuated in time to avoid the storm. He then heard from neighbors that his house had been vandalized. When the storm came winds ripped the roof from the house. It was eight months before he could return and by that time the house and everything in it had been so rain soaked and water damaged that the house had to be taken down to the foundation and rebuilt from the base up. The damage was done by wind, said the insurance company, not flood waters so they paid nothing. Ozzie worked in building maintenance for the New Orleans public school system so, of course, he lost his job. He'd lost everything and exhausted his savings. Ozzie's story is just one, I'm sure, of many like his.

We worked four full days on Ozzie's house. Sanding, taping and mudding. I actually think we made quite a bit of difference in that house. Ozzie was there working beside us almost the whole time, his gratitude palpable. Our last day of work he brought us a bunch of spicy boiled crabs and corn for lunch. We sat on his porch, covered in plaster dust and feasted on this local fare. Cracking and sucking the spicy succulent critters. What a treat!

The Treme' is a neighborhood in the downtown portion of the city of New Orleans just across Rampart Street from the French Quarter. It is the oldest settlement of free black people in the country. It is home to Congo Square and a neighborhood rich in cultural history. Sunday morning, before our NOLA devastation tour, our group walked into The Treme' where we were hosted by the Holy Faith Temple Baptist Church. Our own Reverend David Lewicki gave the sermon, a fiery one at that, amidst a full Gospel service where we all "got our praise on" before we were served a delicious lunch of stewed chicken, dirty rice, biscuits, salad, chocolate and lemon pound cake. Wednesday evening we returned to The Treme' and attended a service at St Anna's Episcopal Church. A small congregation where part of the service focused on the rise in crime and gun violence in the community and the priest leading the service thanked the volunteer groups who'd come down to do "missionary" work saying:

"You are how we know God is listening to our prayers. We are a city desperately trying to hold onto the little dignity we have left and that is only possible because of your contribution."

Tears fell freely down my face.

After the service there was a community supper and Jazz concert. There was another group of volunteers there, prep school boys from just outside DC who were working with Habitat for Humanity. They had been working in the Musicians Village in the upper ninth ward, wrapping houses in Tyvek, a synthetic material used to protect houses from extreme humidity. Also present were members of the community, families, older folks and street kids. All of us sitting at big round tables eating our $5 suppers, nobody turned away for lack of funds. The local musicians played jazz and Zydeco as conversation spun freely round the tables. In the next room free acupuncture and massage was offered as well as medical care for both children and adults. The massage therapists and acupuncturists started offering their services after the storm as stress management solutions to a community unable to afford such "luxuries".

An entire community joined together. Eating, laughing, talking, some dancing. This is something I've never seen before let alone been a part of. Not the New York melting pot I'm used to but more a simmering Gumbo. Black and white, alone, in pairs, teens, seniors, some with babies, clergy breaking bread with tattooed street kids. A community suspending judgement and being led by love. A beautiful example of they that have mourned being comforted.

I am so glad to have had this opportunity, to have had a personal and shared experience. I was one of several like minded people showing up to be of service without knowing where I would be sent. Willingness had been the conduit which brought on it satisfaction, gratitude and spiritual growth. There is still so much to be done in this damaged region and what we, as a group, accomplished is just a small drop in a very large bucket. I have made connections and friendships on this trip that, I suspect, will be lasting. My impressions of the New Orleans landscape, I know, will remain indelible.

What was, perhaps, most moving and at the same time most difficult to take was the unbridled gratitude of the local people. Early one morning as we were loading into the van to head off to our work sites a woman came up to us.

"Where y'all from and whatcha doing?"

We told her we were from New York City and that we were doing disaster recovery work, building homes. Immediately she began to cry.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. Y'all are gonna go on back to your lives and forget all about us but we are never gonna forget about you."

karen armstrong: charter for compassion

detox

Late spring and the air has grown heavy and warm. I met the young woman who would take me upstairs to the locked ward of the hospital. We were buzzed through the heavy doors and walked the long empty corridors to the large common room. It was announced that we had arrived and on hearing this the hospital clients fled like cockroaches when a light is turned on.

The young woman and I sat at the head of a large circle of chairs. We waited a considerable time as slowly, one by one, the men entered the room. Five men joined the circle and sat with us. They wore hospital issued pajamas and lightweight robes. They wore slippers or thick socks with rubber treads.

The young woman introduced herself and then introduced me. She explained why we were there, that we were not associated with that or any other institution, that our aim was solely to be helpful and what the format of our time there would be. I spoke. I tried to explain what I knew my problem to be and how I have, thus far, succeeded in putting this problem into remission. I spoke of the difficulties and the mistakes I've made. I spoke of early experiences and feelings of inadequacy, family, disappointment and self loathing. More than anything I tried to be honest.

The pain in the room was palpable. I had broken an invisible barrier. The first man spoke "I saw you come in and set up the chairs. I felt bad for you that no one was coming in. I didn't want you to have come up here for nothing so I stayed. I was all ready to be released tonight but after hearing what you had to say I'm going to stay another day and try to do the right thing."

Something caught in my throat. We were there to help him and he stayed because he was trying to spare our feelings. We'd each taken actions to ease another's suffering and through those small actions he'd heard a message of hope.

The next man couldn't stop fidgeting. He didn't wish to speak. He continued to fidget and look out the door. The third man spoke: "I'm fifty five years old" he said "I've been doing this for years. I can't stop and I'm in physical pain. I just want this to end." Tears began to gather in his eyes, he removed his over sized glasses and ran his hand through his shoulder length, unwashed gray hair. "My son called me today and asked me to take care of myself and I told him I would. I'm going to try..." His words trailed off. He placed his face in his hands.

The following man was heavy. He held his clasped hands on his round belly. He was visibly nervous. Scared. This was clearly his first experience of this kind. Avoiding any eye contact and with stooped shoulders he stared at the floor in front of him. His voice trembled as he spoke. " I have a family you know. A wife and children. A mother and siblings. Till I heard you speak I didn't think what I might be putting them through." He struggled not to cry but failed. He thanked us for coming.

The last man was older. Perhaps late sixties, hard to tell. He was missing most of his teeth. He was medicated and fairly incoherent. He spouted a slurry of familiar slogans " I know what I have to do. Keep it simple. One day at a time. Keep coming back."

The pain in the room was extreme. The lost opportunities and missed chances of these five men weighed heavy on me. The sadness of the situation hit me hard and I too began struggling to keep tears from running down my cheek. I wept not only for them but with gratitude that I had somehow managed to escape a situation that, to these men, now seemed inescapable.

Had I made a difference? Is it possible for the trajectory of a life to be changed just because one hears the truth of another's experience and struggle? I can only hope that I made the slightest difference for one of those men. I find great satisfaction by being useful in this way, it doesn't happen always and I'm often frustrated by my inability to reach anyone but when it does happen I experience an intense satisfaction. I feel fortunate that my struggles might make a difference to others. If reliving my experience can be useful then my trials were not for nothing. Because of the specifics of my journey I am uniquely qualified to be of service where others, even professionals, fail. This fact brings relief even to one as prone to discontentment as me. For this I give thanks.