Why won't my right sidebar display? I am trying to find what the problem is. Typepad just told me to go back and save all my posts as drafts and that should find an error somewhere; but it's not working.
To be continued...
UPDATE: A ha. Fixed.
UPDATE: If this is sending you tons of messages that I just published a new post...sorry. Just delete all of them and come back tomorrow.
I would just like to introduce myself, as I was the person staring at you on Saturday morning. I was visiting the Pride Run as a sponsor, with the web site I am helping develop—so I must have looked odd, not running in the race, just lurking around.
It wasn’t you in particular whom I was staring at; you were walking around with your son on your shoulders, and he was chattering away about something, it doesn't matter what. I was staring at you because I was imagining what I would do if I had him on my shoulders, running back and forth and jumping around.
I love talking to kids—I think they're smart, and funny, and prophetic when least expected. I would very much like to have kids of my own someday. I have finally moved beyond all the weirdo TV stuff I used to do and I've settled down somewhat, and I’m making pretty good money, so at least the concept is now feasible. When I end up entering into a relationship, I’ll probably be the parent who works, and that’s fine; I’d be happy to support the rest of the family, while my spouse stays at home during those formative years. But I don't really care, I'll stay home too, whatever works is fine with me. We’ll see how the search process for that lucky guy goes, I guess.
I would have said something to you, but I didn’t want to look crazy. I am endlessly infuriated by people who look at me funny when they see me talking to kids, as apparently being an adult male makes me appear to be a pedophile of some sort. If I were a woman, people most likely wouldn’t be so worried about their kids talking to a stranger. So I keep my distance. Obviously, you being a gay parent as well, you'd most likely be less defensive, but I didn't consider that at the time.
It’s hard to not notice how San Francisco is filled with so many gay couples, adopting and marrying and whatnot, and hopefully they're happy with their lives. So I was just standing there on that gray San Francisco morning, an odd expression on my face, jealous that I don’t live in this place where so many people are getting what I want. I guess I could move there; there is a law in Florida banning gay people from adopting, so I’ll have to leave eventually anyway.
Have fun, and sorry for staring.
Pink Mag published a feature of gay notables, waking poetic on how great it is to be gay in 2008. Since I wasn't invited to participate we weren't able to coordinate an interview due to by devilishly busy schedule, I'm posting it here instead.
Dan Renzi
Celebutant Extraordinaire
City where you live: (sing it with me!) "Miami, Miami, you've got style...blue skies, sunshine, white sand by the mile..." • Astrological Sign: • Cancer—I'm loyal, intuitive, maternal, and a bit touchy • strong>How do you spend your time off: Strolling the aisles of Office Depot and dreaming of all the different organizers, hi-tech pens, and various other school supplies I could buy even though I'll use them for one day and then lose them • Do you believe that "it's five o'clock somewhere?" It's always five o'clock at my grandmother's house, so yes • What's your favorite vacation spot: I live in Miami Beach so it feels like I am on vacation every day, but once in a while I do like to jet off to New York and stock up on H&M • Share a guilty pleasure: Krispy Kremes, but I never share, get your own • What was the craziest thing you've ever done: I did a guy whose first name starts with G, and he's the craziest thing on Earth, but it was worth it • What was your most embarrassing moment: I had a gas attack on a crowded train, I am still horrified thinking about it • Three little words to describe yourself: Big, intense, loud—much like the previously mentioned situation • Three more words to describe a perfect partner/lover: Calm, gentle, happy • Three other words that describe a perfect night stand: No names necessary • Three revealing words that describe an ideal date: Casual, exciting, polite • Do you support gay marriage: Of course! Who are these gay people who say "marriage is a heterosexist construct" or whatever? Lighten up! • How old were you when you attended your first PRIDE celebration: 20 • Where was it: New York—it was the Stonewall 25th anniversary, and also the Gay Games were going on, so there were about a million people...it was quite an initiation into the gay world • How do you contribute to the LGBT community: I have dated most of it. Or the male part of it, at least. And I have made a living off this gay thing for the past 12 years, with the speaking engagements and the writing and the low-budget TV shows, so that's good.
I know it's not politically-correct to support the big chain bookstores, and we should support the little guys, those chains are the Wal-Marts of the literary world with their crazy discounts and mass consumerism.
But I love walking into Borders or Barnes & Noble, with all those books around...granted, I go straight for the magazines, I usually don't read the books, and I definitely skip the book tables in the front--which publishers pay to the bookstores to have their books placed there. That's crap. But it's like New Yorkers and the opera: they may not partake, but they like knowing it's there.
When I was a young thing in Kansas circa 1990-ish, I would sneak into the local Borders and secretly grab a copy of Out (which was once a good magazine, if you can remember back that long ago) or Genre or whatever Eurpoean gay news magazine I could reach without being too obvious about it. And then I'd grab a Details or a Newsweek and sit against the wall (so nobody could look over my shoulder) and read the magazine propped up in my lap, while hiding the incriminating gay title with the more-mainstream selection. Although it could be argued that Details is itself a gay magazine. But that's not important enough to discuss right now.
Borders was the only, ONLY place I could go, before gayness on TV and definitely before the internet was worth anything in that department. We were still placing personals ads in the weekly paper. How archaic. But Borders was a little sanctuary of free thought, where I could go and even walk through the LGBT book section and see all the self-help books written by people who wanted to help me figure out my life. "Why am I gay?" "My child is gay, what do I do?" Sometimes, I would even go to that section, pull down a book, and read it right there where everyone could see me. So dangerous.
Yesterday I went to the Barnes & Noble in West Palm Beach, resting between shopping stops*, and I sauntered into the cafe' to browse a collection of travel magazines. In the corner, away from the crowds, there was a recently-vacated table, and resting atop were these:
Is It a Choice? by Eric Marcus, and Two Teenagers in 20: Writings by Gay and Lesbian Youth, edited by Ann Heron. Someone has some questions, I see.
In the chair next to the table was this:
Hmm, that looks like a rather provocative clothing ad, doesn't it? What magazine is this?
DNA? The Australian gay news magazine? This month featuring Australian lifeguards...in Speedos?
...flipped over, lying face-down, in shame.
Ah, another little gayling finds his wings. Fly, little one, fly and be free.
*This will be the next post.
My latest column for the paper. I'm trying to not be sappy but a little snuck in. And who is the worst at writing titles? (Dan raises hand)
Anyone going to be in Palm Beach this weekend? I'll be up there, reviewing a hotel. FABULOUS.
Every week I have to write a column for our paper, The Express (I hate typing that name--the first thing I asked when I was hired was if we could change the name). But I spend so much time "editing" things, as the "editor," I never have time to write my own stuff. So I'm just treating it like it's a big blog post from now on. Screw the politics and the news is unnecessary. :)
Here is the latest entry: Dan Renzi
I am terrible with titles, I don't know how to write them very well. So excuse the cheese factor on that one.
I forgot to post this when it was published--
I went to a Sex and the City screening here in Miami. That link is the review I wrote for the paper. I liked the movie; but it wasn't as fun as the show. I didn't write any big spoilers, so if you haven't seen it, you can read safely.
...I was just interviewed by WMNF, 88.5 FM, their public radio station. Apparently "gay marriage" is a hot topic in the news these days?...and they wanted a quote. Hmm, I hadn't heard about that whole issue. Whatever.
No idea when I'll be on tonight, but heck, I'm a big fan of public radio.
How the heck do I find those kids from Cypress Bay High School? We want to do a story.
I always wondered who those people were in restaurants--the couples sitting there in silence, looking miserable.
I always wondered what was so bad, that they dragged themselves out to this public place, to sit there and just ignore each other.
How sad it must be to be so unhappy, while you are out at this nice restaurant, wishing you were anywhere else but with each other--yet realizing you have no place else to go. I'm always tempted to walk over and ask them What's wrong? Can't you work it out? There must be something to talk about. Why did you get together in the first place? It looks so lonely, sitting there, not talking.
I'll tell you who those people are: they're couples who really want to make it work, they know it should work, but it just...doesn't. And they know they "shouldn't" walk away, so they don't...even though really, they should have a long time ago.
That was me last night, sitting at a restaurant, my arms folded, my legs crossed, my face blank. I caught my reflection in the glass, and I thought Oh no, I am one of those unhappy restaurant people.
Horrified is an often-overused word, but it was an experience of being horrified. I put down my fork.
"Don't you like it?" he said.
"I'm not hungry."
I could have explained more; but I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping it to myself.
So there I was, looking at my reflection in the glass, with a headache, wishing someone would say something--but not if it's him who speaks, because if I heard his voice one more time I might have picked up the table and dumped it in his lap.
I wished I didn't think that. He doesn't deserve that. I "shouldn't" think that.
...But I did.
And I thought about all the hideous things I have said to him, after which I reminded yourself of all the hideous things he has said to me, because if I didn't remember that part, I would be disgusted with myself. And now, there's just nothing left to say. Too angry, frustrated, embarrassed of this idiot I had become. The situation had made me become a person I flat-out didn't like. So I looked at my reflection, and wondered why I had become the person I pity, sitting there at the table, wishing the server would come back so I had someone to smile at. Why not smile at him? Well, I can't.
The problems were all over nothing much, just silly stuff. Lots and lots and LOTS of little chunks, whittled away moment-by-moment, nothing big enough to get up and walk away, but enough to make the whole thing crumble onto itself. And we were trapped, underneath all the bad feelings, unable to get out of it.
So we sat there. Quiet. Had something happened to take our attention away...I am sure I would have lightened up. But no one interrupted, no one walked by, no one with cute dogs or a weird outfit or even someone we knew came into our path to interrupt the horrible, long moment. So I couldn't snap out of it. I was happier sitting there, miserable, than just taking a breath and moving on. Why? I don't know.
Yes I do. I was furious, over the endless bits of nothing much. It all adds up...and sometimes, the weight makes it break while you're sitting at the dinner table.
The next time I see one of those couples, I am going up to say hi--just to give them something to talk about when I walk away. Hopefully I can save their night by letting them forget they are angry.
I wish someone had done that for me.
I need to talk to a doctor about the special needs of gay men: as in, the different types of tests they should get, what they should watch for, etc. It's for an article we're writing.
Being this the Memorial Day weekend, I am running into dead ends at all the local doctors' offices. Anyone know someone who will do an interview sometime in the next few days, on their personal time? Help!
There's a hotel down the street from my apartment, called The Raleigh--
It's a little Art Deco place, with a cute outdoor restaurant and the most beautiful pool in all of Florida--
The pool is legendary--Esther Williams used to do syncronized swimming shows there in the 1940's. And the pool was just the location for Karl Lagerfeld's Chanel "Cruise Collection" show; he spent about a million dollars flying in models from Europe on a private jet, building a walkway around the edge of the pool, the whole thing. It was insane. I don't know anyone who went, we had to watch it on the news.
It's a bit of an anomaly in these parts; the place is gorgeous, but it's surprisingly low-key and not a victim to trendiness. They are owned by the same company as The Standard Hotel--seriously, the worst place I've ever stayed--yet their staff goes out of their way to be friendly, accommodating, and legitimately helpful. I don't know what dual reality I enter when I step through the doors, but I love going there, just to walk around and pretend it's my house.
Tucked into a little corner is a tiny coffee shop, with just a few stools and a little magazine stand that looks like I picked the titles. There's only room for several choices, so they have to make them count: Vogue, Vanity Fair, Details. That's about it. And the guy behind the counter doesn't care if you read them.
Last night the hotel hosted a party, a gay affair with the beautiful people waltzing and schmaltzing about. I was there for about 15 minutes, I shuffled around in the fake beach, and I meandered into the lobby well aware that no one would notice I was gone. So I went to the magazine rack and kept myself company reading about Sarah Jessica Parker's obsession with fashion. Apparently the movie stinks, but I don't care.
It was very cozy over there, in the perfect corner surrounded by little art deco coffee cups. Just hiding from everyone and everything.
And then I went home.
That's it. There's no big plot twist. Sometimes loneliness can feel refreshing, when you welcome it.
1) So am I correct in understanding the Bering Sea is littered with the porta-potties of years and years' worth of nasty crab fisherman? And I thought whale poop was gross.
2) Which is sexier: the Cornelia Marie mohawk, or the Time Bandit mullet?
3) Which is grosser: the Cornelia Marie sausage sandwich, or the Cornelia Marie smoker's cough?
To say I am excited is akin to saying Ryan Seacrest likes to look in the mirror.
Yes. Very much so.
Yowza.
Who wants to write a story for me about the whole gay marriage thing?
I'm thinking it will be more interesting as a column, that is not just a regurgitation of facts. Great, gay people can get married in California now. That's it for the facts.
Perhaps a parent, with a gay kid, and you'd like him/her to get married? Perhaps someone in California, who already had a commitment ceremony, on whether you'll do it legally now--and which date will you celebrate, the first ceremony or the legal one? Or an angle of your own, whatever.
If you want to, email me at drenzi@expressgaynews.com. You don't have to actually be a gay person to write it, btw.
Hugs.
