QueerCincinnati's blog

On my interview with David Krikorian

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 11:10:26 +0000

The interview upon which the following blog entry is based is over a month old. In that time, I've been in communication with the Krikorian campaign because of the central ethical dilemma I faced: though I like David Krikorian, the presumptive Democratic nominee for Ohio's 2nd Congressional District, I still harbor some of the same negative feelings that many people who liked and believed in Vic Wulsin in 2008. I kinda felt that his 18% or so of the vote that he garnered in the blue Ohio wave of 2008 was the downfall of Wulsin's political aspirations.

And, though Wulsin was never the best candidate, she is and continues to be one of the most ardent supporters of LGBTQ rights in this corner of the world. Word, however, is that Wulsin will be endorsing Krikorian in the upcoming election, so perhaps that dark tinge on his name may pass.

More importantly, Mr. Krikorian is seeking the Democratic nomination after making a name for himself as the anti-two party system candidate, as a strong independent candidate. He is quick to respond to the criticism as "a little bit of a sell out." And, so, I was met with another ethical difficulty: a man willing to become a hypocrite for expediency and the likelihood of success. I voted for Nader in 2000 -- when I was a South Carolina voter, a state in which Gore had no chance -- on the belief that here was a man who stood by his convictions. More importantly, he is the kind of independent candidate that could win.

When Krikorian announced, then, that he was seeking the 2010 Democratic nomination, I almost felt the bristling of Wulsin supporters, Democratic party voters, and LGBTQ individuals in the city. The man who took down our friend, queer Cincinnati's fiercest supporter in the eastern district, now wanted our votes?

So, of course, I had to meet him.

It's hard to imagine a better word, then, to describe David Krikorian as daring. It takes a bit of gumption to admit his own faults, go against even his own reputation and plow on, perhaps better and stronger than before.

Krikorian dares to tell me, on one had, that he is the best hope for an LGBT friendly, electable candidate in the Second District, while, in the next breath, saying that he will not march in a parade and wave a flag. That kind of candidate -- he insists -- could never win the district, and hasn't yet. He speaks passionately that, no, he will never sign a Defense of Marriage Act; and then, when informed that no DOMA needs left to be signed on either the federal or state level, is willing to fess up to his own ignorance of all the issues and asks for more information.

As he gesticulated wildly with a soon-emptied coffee cup throughout our time together, I knew that I liked him and that he may be ballsy enough to win... and mayhap even do right by his queer constituents in the process.

We met on a Monday morning at the Coffee Emporium downtown. I have met politicians before; I have met first-time polticians before. The best I can say of the former is that they know their stuff and how to turn any conversation to a point in their favor; the best I can say of the latter is that they constantly seek the opportunity in the conversation to a point that they know how to talk about. David Krikorian is neither of these.

"I'm not some local poltician trying to climb the ladder," he emphasizes not far into the conversation. By this point, he's on a roll. When I review my two-hour tape of our conversation, there is a grand stretch where you can tell that Krikorian hits his zone. He is off and running by this point -- probably a good 30 minutes in, and probably for a strong 20 or 30 minutes. I am not asking many questions, but he has many points to make. The conversation varies wildly -- wages, term limits, civil liberties, the problems with the two party system, and the Republicans, specifically. "I'll take the Democratic party over the current incarnation of the Republican Party... [lost in] the wilderness."

Krikorian is clearly a smart guy, and I have no plans to fault him on that. I get it; I get him; for 90% of the time, I'm with him. I even take the extra few seconds in my fierce note-taking (12 pages worth!) to emphasize some of the most poignant and amazing one-liners that I have heard out of a candidate -- "the government has to move to being more victorious in its awesome responsibilities" (YES!), or "there is an absence of statesmen in our political system" (ABSOLUTELY!),

But this blog is about other issues, and I came to talk about LGBTQ issues, a topic he, admittedly, needs more information about.

"I hesitate to pontificate about shit I don't know about," Krikorian quips when I ask him about "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" -- the policy banning LGBTQ military personnel from serving opening, "I've never been in the military, and I've never been gay."

When our interview opened, he was the one asking the questions. He wanted to know more; he wanted to learn more. Krikorian also provided me with a moment where I was, genuinely, surprised. I asked him what he had done for the LGBTQ community lately ... and he whips out a deck of cards, produced by his company at his prodding, that features marriage equality advocates and enemies shown in fierce caricature. On the tape, I hesitate, and there is a moment of silence. Then, you hear me say: "You have actually surprised me, Mr. Krikorian."

And he did, in a lot of ways. I had expected not to like David Krikorian; in fact, I had a whole game plan set up, truly expecting to dislike this man we so easily dismiss as a hypocrite. Clearly, that was not the final result.

Someone asked me a few days later: "What do you think?" "Not good, yet, but educatable," was my response. I think that is my take away from my two-hour interview with David Krikorian: educatable. Sure, I think he has a bit to learn -- "I'm not sure if our little slice of Heaven will be the epicenter [of the gay rights movement]," he said early in the interview. Translated: it's not an issue that will win him elections, and, except for the occasional DOMA (which he describes as a "non-issue...created to divide people"), not on the forefront of his district's mind.

Krikorian is not great on gender -- I get the impression he doesn't get it yet -- so-so on military, but pretty decent to good on employment non-discrimination -- "it's just bad business... why would I take out 10 or 12% of my rental base?" -- and on marriage. After a little pressing, he said that, in a stand alone bill with nothing else attached, he would even vote to overturn the 1996 Federal Defense of Marriage Act. On HIV/AIDS, I would even rate him as excellent. It is rare that a politician, especially one who can draw conservative voters, will identify eliminating homophobia as a possible prevention strategy. Again, surprised.

I hesitate, though, to fully say, "This is the man who will be LGBTQ people's friend in Washington," because, honestly, I'm not sure he always will be. First, I never trust, after John Kerry's 2004 campaign, a politician who uses an incarnation of "at least I'm better than the other guy" argument to win votes. We made that mistake. Second, I get that his priorities are different. He is sure to tell you that he is big on civil liberties ... but I wonder if, faced with a spending or military or healthcare bill that he doesn't like, if he wouldn't let his LGBTQ constituents go for another fight, another day.

But I think he would understand that he made that decision, which is more than many in his situation.

"Do you want someone who is sympathetic and understanding, or do you want Jean Schmidt?" The interview is coming to a close, and I'm chasing final quotes when he says this. I hate the argument, and I shudder a little bit thinking that this may, in fact, be the argument that gets him elected. So I ask him further, why should we vote for him, us queers? Honestly, he puts his head down, and, for a good long half minute, there is silence. He's -- gasp -- thinking about his answer. It is a suprise, from a man who, for two hours, was funny and engaged and quick to answer, and quick to retract mistakes. Silence. Then:

"I would be somebody who will listen to the concerns without religious preconceptions with a focus on civil liberties... and I would ask that they take a practical approach. Give me a chance to represent, and I think they'll find I'm a reasonable person... It's not just about this single issue -- it's an important issue, but we have to look at larger context."

And perhaps he's right. Our little "slice of Heaven" will probably never lead the parade itself, and, perhaps, it is too much to ask our politicians to do so. But it's not too much for them to be reasonable, open-minded, educatable, and daring individuals willing to step up to the plate...

... or maybe it's not enough, to just hope that they will when it comes to.

In the interim, it looks like Krikorian is ahead of Schmidt in the polls. He was quick to point out that "the majority of Ohio's Second voted against Schmidt in 2008" -- clearly indicated a dissatification with the current representation. More importantly, the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee has targeted OH-2 as a race to win 2010.

Barry is the main contributor to QueerCincinnati.com and tweets more regularly.

GUEST BLOG: Delivering Important Messages

Fri, 05 Jun 2009 23:03:38 +0000

I have always had a liberal policy of allowing guests to blog on QueerCincinnati.com, and I usually offer up space here on my blog at GayCincinnati.com as a way of giving their post some more permanence. Jason Boeckman has guest blogged here before and has recently started his own bloggie project, Out With it Already! Naturally, I invited him back if he ever wanted the space.

Celebrate the New Hampshire victory for marriage equality because it’s a victory worth celebrating!

No doubt in these next few days we will see plenty media coverage and commentary detailing the marriage happenings in NH and elsewhere as the effort to pass legislation granting civil marriage for same-sex couples continues across the nation.

Progress is made by changing hearts and changing minds. Now is a prime opportunity to discuss gay rights issues with your friends, family members and co-workers. These conversations are necessary for the success of the LGBT movement.

Prepare for these conversations. And here is one very important message to deliver: Regarding New Hampshire’s legalization of marriage f or same-sex couples, emphasize that this right is civil. Much of the coverage leading up to yesterday’s ruling has focused on Governor John Lynch’s demand that explicit language be included in this legislation to protect the freedoms of churches and religious groups opposed to same-sex marriage. Explain that this legislation has always been a matter in the civil sphere and in no way intended to require religions to recognize same-sex marriage. It would be easy for someone only somewhat informed about same-sex marriage to gather from the governor’s protest that same-sex marriage advocates are seeking to force the issue into the religious sphere. It is your task to stop this misconception dead in its tracks. If misconceptions such as this continue to spread, it will certainly delay the exciting progress we’ve seen in these past months.

Congratulations also go out to Impact Cincinnati and all community members who have joined in the response to the incident of violence aimed at one of our own last week at Tabby’s restaurant and bar.

I have read Cincinnati’s local coverage of the incident and response and it’s wonderful to see LGBT issues recognized by mainstream media in our city. I have watched closely the online user responses to some of these articles and it’s clear that there are some in Cincinnati who just-don’t-get-it.

When explaining the reason for the Flash Action event, be sure to emphasize that our presence at Tabby’s was meant to hammer home the message that violence against any person for any reason—including prejudice—is unacceptable and will not be tolerated in our community. When speaking with those who criticize events like these and say LGBT people are just looking for trouble, explain that some confrontation of the issue is necessary because prejudice and violence must be addressed head-on. If not, how will we ever make progress in resolving these problems and cultivating a more peaceful environment?

If we don’t advocate for ourselves, who will?

Barry is the editor of Cincinnati's most prolific LGBT-focus blog, QueerCincinnati.com, and Tweets even more regularly. Check out our guest blogger's project, Out With it Already!

Failed Ethics Test

Sun, 17 May 2009 21:12:14 +0000

I'm in an ethics class at the moment, and one the first questions we had to write on was about the distinction between an ethical decision and other types of decisions we make throughout our day. My answer? There is no difference. Upon closer inspection, our every day decisions are informed by our values, informed by our own morality and our own brand of ethics. Ultimately, what I choose to do says more about me as an ethical creature than what I tell you.

Which is why the events that transpired on the Metro yesterday are so disturbing.

On the bus, I put my headphones in, pull out a book (or my cell phone), and try to present as much of a "back off, I'm not interested in you" aura as possible. I don't really want to talk to most of the people on the bus; I'm just there to move from place to place. It's protective. The numbers of homeless, crazy, and dangerous individuals that populate my bus routes make it a safe and necessary practice.

Yesterday, I was on the bus going to work, and I was texting somebody. We were stopped at the Taco Bell on McMillan and Highland. We hadn't moved for a minute -- not unusual, if the bus is ahead of schedule, the drivers are instructed to wait before moving on so the schedule doesn't become completely discombobulated. But the bus driver was yelling. My interest piqued, I pulled out a single ear bud, wondering if I was the target of her rant (it's happened before). "This is your stop! Get off the bus!" she was yelling. I looked up and down the bus, and everyone was looking forward, but not at me.

I thought it was strange -- am I being pushed off the bus for some unknown slight against my fellow passengers?

A moment later, a man just to my right stood up. He was wearing a red shirt and jean shorts, had a few tattoos, and I had a distinct impression that, surely, this ruffian was the object of their distaste. I relaxed and popped my earbud back in and went back to texting. The whole bus was yelling -- "Man, get off the bus!" "I gotta get to work!" Thankful I was with them on this and glad to see the perpetrated leaving, I relaxed and ignored the situation.

To my left, there was a bookbag and a sleeping bag rolled up. A homeless man sat across the aisleway.

The tall ruffian with the red shirt reached down, grabbed the sleeping bag and the bookbag and threw it out the door. A second man joined him, coming all the way from the back of the bus. Here they were -- two large men (both over six feet), yelling and intimidating this homeless man, screaming for him to get off the bus, joined in a perverse chorus with the bus driver. It was a bizarre moment.

I was making an ethical decision, as I sat there. I chose to do nothing. A hundred excuses popped into my head: the guys are bigger than me and I don't want to receive their anger, what can I really do or say that would make this situation better, do I really know what's going on or am I just guessing. Did I miss something in my distraction? Had he just urinated on himself? Had he cussed out the bus driver? What was going on that was so awful?

I tweeted the situation, instead.

The two guys moved back to their seats as the homeless guy stood up; he looked angry and a little confused -- was he drunk? Then he went to the bus driver, perhaps pleading, perhaps cussing her out, and then the chorus started back up from the back of the bus -- "MAN GET OFF THE BUS!" He turned around, took one step down towards the street, and yelled something back. He took another step, flicked off the crowd, and then took the final step down to the sidewalk, where he began to gather his belongings.

The bus driver immediately shut the door, grabbed a can of Lysol, and sprayed down the seats where both he and his belongings had been. She looked at me, met my eyes, and smiled in camaraderie, "Sorry about that, sir." I'm not sure if she meant the Lysol she was soaking the seats with, or the supposed distraction the homeless man had just caused.

I should have said something to her then, but I responded to a text that came from the original tweet telling me exactly what I should have done -- "You should stick up for him."

He flicked us off as the bus pulled away, a silent retort to the ongoing harassment from the gathered masses. The next couple that came onto the bus, ladened with groceries, were directed to not sit in those seats he just vacated. Silently, I started rationalizing that perhaps he had just made a mess of his seat, and thus deserved the treatment he received.

I let my eyes train around the bus, seeing if anyone else understood. An older lady was against the window and down the aisle, and we looked at each other for a moment. She knew, too; we both knew what had just happened, and we had both done nothing. She looked down at her hands, then back out the window, dissolving back into her own "leave me the fuck alone" attitude we build up around ourselves, for our own protection. The guys were eagerly trying to watch the homeless man fall behind us as we crested the hill and he fell from view; they were laughing and applauding themselves.

"Blog it," was the next text.

Barry is the editor of the popular LGBT blog QueerCincinnati.com, and is active in the Cincinnati Twitterati as QueerCincinnati.

Smitherman is right

Fri, 03 Apr 2009 23:50:52 +0000

This was written for something else, but it won't be, so I thought I'd come back to my quiet blog over here and post! Much love!

Christopher Smitherman is right.

The appointment of lawyer and anti-gay activist Chris Finney as the Chair of Legal Redress of the Cincinnati chapter of the NAACP is merely a symptom of a larger problem, and one that Smitherman laid out during his radio show on the 29th of March.

Two weeks ago, I had no idea who Finney was -- I assumed he was a tired pariah of a bygone dark age in our city.

Today, I along with many LGBT individuals are justifiably confused and frustrated by the appointment and the subsequent war of words. Finney, one of the architects of Cincinnati's now defunct, hateful Article XII, is no friend to LGBT equality. Smitherman, meanwhile, is a man who has been one of our loudest and most outspoken supporters. As the Enquirer aptly points out, they make strange bedfellows.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be a signal that, despite a history of personal support and recent statements by the national NAACP strongly supporting same-sex relationship recognition, the local chapter was changing its position on the LGBT community. And the not-so-veiled threats and ultimatums and exclusionary rhetoric presented to us by Smitherman was not alleviating our concerns.

Smitherman was right, though, saying that part of the problem is not him, and it is not Chris Finney, it is the ongoing underrepresentation of and seeming lack of concern about people of color within the LGBT community.

For that, I want to thank Christopher Smitherman, and tell him that, trust me, we know.

We are acutely aware of the problem, of the perception of the LGBT movement as one dominated by affluent, college-educated white males. It is a serious and crippling issue and one that we have failed to fully address. For my part, I do not think we've taken the time or energy that is required to. We have been so eager to change the hearts and minds of the African American community and other communities of color that we have
never truly made the attempt to change our own.

The same can be said of class issues -- where are those voices? In a movement that is moving forward with the assistance of social media,
what part can un- and underemployed people play?

The same can be said of geography. Where are the community centers and the opportunities for social interaction in Butler County? Or Clermont, Adams, Warren, and beyond? And what of the South -- have we truly left our brothers and sisters to simply fight for their life and their jobs while we lament on the inequalities of marriage?

The same can be said even of sexual and gender minorities. Trans-identified individuals are underrepresented, and do not get me started on the phenomenon of "straight acting" gay men. Ask lesbians about representation, or bisexuals. I have never been so amazed than by the anger of those two groups at their own exclusion, real or perceived.

Yes, Mr. Smitherman, we have our problems, and a lot of the onus is on us for not trying harder, for believing our own self-created mythos of the affluent, white, urban gay man with one or two OGTs (obviously gay traits) that only accesses the community on Friday and/or Saturday nights.

The fact that Smitherman understands it -- that a straight, African-American male was willing to say what so many of us within the community would be afraid to admit in public -- is admirable. And I applaud him wholeheartedly for his statements and his suggestion that we need to work on it. I applaud him, challenging us to be better and do better by ourselves and by each other.

However, his mention of the failure of Proposition 8 shows a vital flaw in his logic: there are other houses that need cleaning, as well. Homophobia and heterosexism still run rampant within the African-American community and other communities of color -- and it cannot be explained away by demonizing the almost mythical "down low brother" or blaming lesbians on the downfall of the black family in America. Though the LGBT failed to do the proper outreach in California, the fact that the outreach had to happen at all is telling.

Not everyone ascribes to the belief that injustice anywhere equals injustice everywhere.

All the while ignoring, on both sides, that when we talk about the intersection of race, class, sexuality, gender, religion, etc. that these are intersections and do not exist in a political vacuum marked "to be dealt with later." LGBT black individuals and black LGBT individuals (or any combination of the above designations) are, ultimately, the ones who lose in the controversy.

Taking up the charge of intersectional discrimination, especially in the post-Proposition 8 LGBT movement, is both appropriate and invaluable, and I am grateful that Smitherman demonstrates a willingness to open the discussion honestly and, perhaps, work towards a better relationship.

But, before we go there, Smitherman needs to understand why Finney upsets and confuses folks so much, and we need to know that, in expecting communities of color to understand us better, we need to start understanding them better as well.

And, so, Smitherman was right, as much as I may hate to admit it.

Barry blogs regularly at QueerCincinnati.com and Tweets even more regularly.

Lancing the boil

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 00:17:42 +0000

It is no secret that there is no love lost between me and the Gay and Lesbian Community Center of Greater Cincinnati, but someone whose opinion I genuinely respect called me out this morning on being perhaps a bit mean-spirited towards them in the past.

To the charge of being mean-spirited: duh. It's what I do best.

To respond, however: they need it. I have said that journalism in town is cheerleading, and I knew, going into this project of blogging, that my writing and my person would be sprayed for my opinions, as more divisive than helpful. And despite the rolled eyes as to my qualifications as media, well, I'm a blogger, not a journalist. I've taken it upon myself to be the critic; if people choose not to listen, then that's fine. Seriously. But I have never once stated that I was going to fill the roll of any of the journalists in town -- these are my opinions, unedited (usually).

That said, perhaps there has been some unexplained mean-spiritedness in my past posts, so we came to a deal: I was allowed to write one more post attacking the Community Center and then I would stop the nasty, indirect commentary.

And this is my post:

In many ways, my feelings towards the Center are similar to my feelings towards the community as a whole: vast disappointment. As a kid growing up in South Carolina, I read about cities with places like this and drooled. To have places that were exclusively gay, that were safe, that I could meet people like me, was a dream. And to have a community network of people and organizations dedicated to people like me was unbelievable, and it was something I so desperately wanted to be a part of.

We didn't have GSA's in the south... we still don't, really. Hell, we barely have openly gay anything in the south.

It was natural, when I came to Cincinnati, that I would connect myself to the Center. I'm not going to detail my history there -- I fucked up quite a bit, and the then-President Harold fucked up as well. But that's not the basis of my distaste -- believe it or not.

It's there, and we do nothing with it.

We have taken things like the Center for granted so much so that we don't even care that it exists anymore. Who goes? Nobody. There is a fairly steady crowd of folks who run through the measly building, all the same people, much like any place else. But it's not used, really. Groups don't go there ("it's too small"), individuals don't go there ("no one's ever there"), and it's never open ("there are no volunteers"). We have this place -- a physical center for our community -- and we don't even care that it's there, and the group that has run it seems to even have forgotten why they bother.

Cincinnati, apparently, is so hip, so post-gay that the need for central identity is unnecessary. We'd rather spend our times elsewhere, doing other things, with other people. We'd rather give time to other charities; we'd rather socialize at bars; we'd rather volunteer for other causes. The Center, meanwhile, gets left behind. And the people who run it can do nothing but whine that no one stops by anymore.

Everybody has to prove their muster to the world, occasionally. Speaking personally, I went from Oxford star to nothing, from AVOC star to nothing, from blogger to JoinTheImpact star back to just blogger (meaning "to nothing"). Every few years, we have to prove our worth. The Center has had that opportunity over and over and over again -- Pride, the moment when they could have bought a new building, the rebuilding of the Coalition, the retakeover of CYG, etc. etc. etc. Whereas, yes, the community has forgotten about the Community Center, the Community Center has not truly served the community for years.

Like most things gay in this town, it's dead and dying and has very little fight left in it. It does nothing, is left empty, and will quietly pass into the night. And, conversely, the community will forget about it as if it was never there.

My distaste for the Community Center has nothing to do with my history with it. I am angry at a community that has left a wonderful organization behind and seems willing to let it die, and with a pantheon of individuals who are doing nothing in its final death throes but repeat the same tired lines of inactivity and inopportunity.

And I know it's hard -- I was there, too. I volunteered for two and a half years; I was on the board for 9 months. I know it's hard, but it was hard work to create, and it's hard work to maintain.

I blog because this is all the time I have to give, anymore, outside of the occasional project that I involve myself with. I cannot give completely right now, with school, two jobs, and a slew of personal things I am working through. What the Community Center needs, and the foundation for my criticism for the current administration, is that it needs people who have the time to give and the time to affect change and the time to recreate it.

Not people who are already burnt out from the trying. Experience is a wonderful thing, but the Community Center needs change, drastic change, or I'm afraid we'll all lose it. More importantly, the Community Center needs people who are dedicated and caring to what it could be, not what it is now. And while it's easy for us to blame past or current Presidents for its rancid state of affairs, it is all of our faults for not trying harder and doing better by ourselves and for ourselves.

My criticism of the Center is the same criticism I have for everything: Where are the queers? Gone, and going. Columbus and Chicago are nice, folks, but we're here now. I know we're all busy. I know we're all worried about economic crises and our jobs and our own personal concerns. But take some time. Remember, you didn't come out alone. It's getting easier, but it's still not easy. We all need this, and I think we'll be lesser of a city without the Center.

A classic debate for a board meeting seems to center on one question: are we a place -- for people to meet and gather and talk and organize and volunteer -- or are we an organization -- running the Coalition and Pride?

I think the question is still open for debate.

And, with that, I lance the boil.

Barry blogs regularly at QueerCincinnati.com and Twitters even more regularly.

On being just another druggie...

Thu, 12 Feb 2009 11:56:56 +0000

He looks like me and has many of the same vices as I do -- smoking, a tendency to use inappropriate substances, and a bitchiness that knows no bounds. He's ten years older, but looks worser for the wear. He tries to maintain his cute gay boyishness by concealing the gray with blonde highlights and cover the lines and bagged eyes with foundation.

He came into the hospital, angry as piss and high. Very, very high.

I've dealt with him for years, seen him go up and down, seen him lose his housing, and seen him get it back. I've seen him single and in relationships; I've seen him sober and drugged up.

Tonight, he just cried on my shoulder.

I heard that he was there from a coworker -- "another pos guy that I think I was annoying." I walked over to the pod and glanced in. He smiled, and then broke down. I would learn later from coworkers that he broke down for anyone who treated him kindly. It was the assumption of badness in people that was driving him to be thankful for the little kindnesses, and for the time you spent with him.

So, tonight, he just cried and I let him.

Sister - dead. Housing - lost. Boyfriend - near dead. Mental status - high. Friend - beat him. Overall - lost.

I told him that I didn't think any less of him, and I didn't. Sure, I was disappointed that he had gotten there, again, but I didn't think less of him. I was glad he was there. I was glad he could cry for me, with me, and I think he was glad that I wasn't scared of touching him despite the rash that could have very well been contagious.

I laid back his bed, got him another pillow, laid his blanket across him, and then turned on the television for him. I told him I'd be back to check on him, soon.

By the time I would come back, he had already been moved to the psychiatric ward.

As I left the room, turning off one of the lights so he could rest, the nurse walked by and said, "So you talked to my druggie, huh?"

I always try to say something back when they treat people like that, but I didn't. I just walked away and filled out some paperwork that he had been there, and I had said hello.

"Just another druggie."

I really don't think that's enough to say about him...

...I hope that's not all that was, or is, said about me.

Disappointed, yes. But I don't think less of him.

Barry blogs regularly at QueerCincinnati.com and is active on Twitter.

An Open Letter to my Trick from Friday Night

Sun, 01 Feb 2009 10:24:00 +0000

Dear Tony: (um, Mark... no, definitely Tony)

Because you were angry when I threw you out on Friday night/Saturday morning, I thought it was prudent that I detail the reasons that I knowingly kicked you to the curb mid-coitus, into the 3-degree weather, fully knowing that you didn't have ride home.

I would, however, like to say that I'm sorry I didn't even bother to call you a ride and I knew you didn't have a cell phone, but, really, is telling me that you never forget a face really an appropriate response?

Believe me, we all end up on snowy street corners wondering, "Where the hell am I and how do I get home?" In all seriousness, thanks for not throwing a rock through my front window.

You need to work on your hygiene. First and foremost, for the love of god. See, you were kind of cute in the bar, and you had really nice eyes. More importantly, you had that rough look about you that I like in my men... rough and dirty. Yummy. Sure, there were some questions as to your hygiene skills when we talked, but they weren't serious enough for me to be concerned about and it only added to your mystique.

Then you took off your hat. You were a little balding, which is not a problem at all, but it was handled poorly and executed even worse. And when we climbed into the cab, I got a glimpse of your teeth. By this point, the drunkenness was starting to wear off, and I have a thing about teeth. This would explain the immediate rush to get another beer when we got to my front door, and the prolonged sigh when I finally turned on the glaring lights of my apartment.

And why the above mentioned beer was gulped down in about a minute, followed quickly by another.

Finally, when you do expect to go home with someone, please, for the love of god, wipe your ass. Fir that final infraction that so engaged my gag reflex, you will forever be referred to as "mud butt" by me and my friends. Seriously.

The other reason you got kicked out was for your sense of entitlement. At some point, I think you got the idea that we were dating. We weren't, and you lacked the intellectual wherewithal to understand that this would be little more than a trick. I had decided that about five minutes after talking to you, and it was reinforced more and more as the night went on. As the night went on for you, you thought that you were getting more involved with me. Please. The fact that you couldn't figure out that I was throwing you line after line for the sole purpose of getting you into bed indicates a much broader disfunction.

I have to admit, these days, that I have lines, and that I use them and talk of relationship and love to get guys in bed. Once I realized that, the game becomes funnier because some guys just become so easy when you say, "I just want to be loved."

I do, but, if I'm throwing that line your direction, it's probably not by you. You couldn't figure that out, which further disqualified you for any future love interest.

I also had my eyes on someone else, by the way. Someone who was more attractive, more accomplished, more interesting, and actually held some interest to me. How do I know? Because he made me nervous because I wasn't quite sure how to deal with him. You, on the other hand, had your ex-boyfriend's name misspelled in tattoo form on your hand. As the booze wore off, I felt guilty for ending the night with you.

And so, even though I had very much broken my celibacy pledge by the time I finally said, "This isn't working," I felt it necessary to break it off.

And kick you out.

In the snow.

And the cold.

Without a ride home.

I know, it sucks. I've been there before, too, but I was in Norwood at the time. Arguably more dangerous territory than Clifton.

But I would recommend that you not go around talking about this occasion, or I will get to explain to every man in the bar the meaning of the term "mud butt," and then I'll graciously inform them of your other... ahem... shortcomings.

Which, despite everything else, was actually not on my list for why you had to leave.

I'm sure you understand. Hope you made it home OK.

Actually, I really don't care.

Barry

Barry blogs regularly at QueerCincinnati.com and Tweets even more regularly.

SnOMG: Snow Day

Thu, 29 Jan 2009 08:26:08 +0000

This was written in ten minutes. Seriously.
It started bad enough, the two days of the white death we just had here in Cincinnati.

Two tests with grades in the 70s range -- to my credit, I was six points above the course average in one of the classes -- and a patient assignment that can best be described as "complicated," I managed to get home around 5:00pm to discover I had left my keys at school.

Fuck it, I thought, I'm going to bed.

And so I curled up in bed around 5:15pm on Monday morning, with an alarm set for 1:30am to do my patient assignment work due at 7:00am the following morning.

Only to wake up to snow.

Regardless, I continued on, under the assumption that nurses don't get snow days and we would get the same curtesy. That's why, four hours later and 95% of my homework done, the phone calls surprised me. "We have the day off!" MS said to me. Imagine this: it's 5:30am, I've been up for four hours feverishly finishing work that should have been done the day before, being told that school was cancelled.

I didn't (want) to believe her.

I called my clinical instructor who received the cancellation phone call while I was on the phone with her. "Have a good day!" she said cheerily.

It was now 6:00am, I was knee deep in paperwork and school books, and without keys. I couldn't leave the house.

I finished what I was doing, made a few texts and posted a few blog entries, and tried to go back to sleep. For some reason, my dreams were disturbing -- images of my sister forcefully shoving pills down my throat with my other sister handing them at seeming random to her. I distinctly remember not being able to move the lower half of my body in said dream. Weird.

I think my nap was 45 minutes.

A quick assessment, I realized, again, I couldn't leave the house and there would be no chance to get to now-closed school to pick up my keys. That's ok, I figured, I would be going to work tonight and I will go to school tomorrow and life will return to its normal course.

I turned on a movie and started to ... gasp ... clean. This is about the equivalent as banging my head against the wall. I. Don't. Clean. It's boring and obnoxious.

But I'm proud of my work. My kitchen and my dishes are spotless, much thanks to the abrasive soap-filled scrubby thing I bought at Kroger's on Friday; I even managed to get a mop and broom behind my sink and toilet in my bathroom. All in all, my white tile floors were gleaming and the four bags of trash that somehow managed to collect at my front door made it to the trash. I got so bored with the process that I even managed to soak and bleach my white laundry... and then do my laundry.

All of this is foreign territory to me, and, having felt the day passed relatively well after obnoxious twittering, I laid down for another nap to steel myself against the night shift that evening.

Four hours later, I'm up with a cup of coffee in my hand. A few tweets and a few emails later, I was out the door at 845pm to hit the bus stop at the top of my hill and make it to work.

And stand there until 930.

Bus was supposed to be there at 915. No such luck. Luckily, with my smart phone, I was able to check the Metro website and discover that, if your busstop is on a grade, you should be at the top of the hill. Considering McMillan is nothing but a hill past Clifton, I figured the 51 had just cut off that half of its route. I made the trudging walk in the freezing rain up to the busstop across from Hughes High School.

At about 945, I made a phone call to my boss, whose reaction was less than excited about my plight. He asked me what I planned to do. "Well, I guess I could walk to work." (It's freezing rain and there's snow everywhere. This is not the response I want.) "I don't want you to have to do that." He insinuated I should just take the day off, despite the fact that I had no time off, and we made half hearted attempts at figuring out a solution...

...if the next bus didn't come at 1020pm like it was supposed to. Gr.

Around 1020, the bus had still not come going the opposite direction and I started home with a single thought in my head: beer. I ran up to the ATM on McMillan and started walking back towards my apartment when, glory of glories, my bus drove... straight... by. It was a block away and going in the direction I needed. Quick assessment: run to make it?

Nope. Call my boss and go on with my life.

I am hoping that the little Indian store down the street is open for beer, but make a stop in at Penn Station, which is hopping and I decide to go on with my life.

The little Indian store is closed.

It is now 10:35pm. I have been out for almost two hours, I have no keys into my building, I have no booze, my full course load of books is on my back, and I've just lost a night of work.

Just precious. Of course, when I get home, get let in by my neighbors who do not have an extra key, darling Kate is tweeting about the fabulous wine party going on at her place. This night is not going well.

I start watching my first ever episode of Legend of the Seeker when I get the phone call: "School is cancelled tomorrow." Fabulous, another day without keys. Now I really need booze, and I log onto gay.com in a furtive attempt to find a guy with four wheel drive to bring me some. At this point, I would sacrifice my celibacy for a drink. Again, I can't leave the house.

I think I made it to bed around midnight-thirty after discovering that the second episode of my new favorite show (for Craig Horner's abs) isn't available on Hulu.com.

And then wake up at 11:00am? Did I need the sleep?

The rest of the day is spent in a desperate attempt at writing something, trying to do some homework, and realizing that my home environment, despite being carefully planned and laid out, is not conducive to work. That frustrates me, and I call my classmates in a desperate attempt to relieve the boredom of watching local news, random movies, and posting on Twitter/Blog.

Sleep comes and now I'm at work.

I haven't really left the house in two days, I'm suffering desperately from cabin fever, and, now, I thought it would be a great time to post on GayCincinnati.com.

It's not like I didn't have two days with nothing to do the same.

Apparently, home is just no where I'm supposed to be.

Barry blogs regularly at QueerCincinnati.com and also twitters with quite some regularity. You should never be without Barry, if you need him.

Why Northside?

Mon, 26 Jan 2009 08:37:35 +0000

Cincinnati Queer Blogging Carnival Submission -- February
Back2Stonewall.com have decided to try a little experiment, and we're bringing other homo-bloggers along for the ride. Every month, we are going to propose a topic, and we're asking others to respond. We are going to solve this city's problems one blog post at a time. This is my submission for our February project (Question: "Why Northside? Is it our 'gay ghetto?'"), and we'll see how many others play along. Check out QueerCincinnati.com for updates and others posts.

It's so easy to trash something. It's so much easier to be a critic than a cheerleader, yea? Our very nature as gay men makes us prone to catty bitchiness and cold hearted back stabbing. We are gold medalists in the fine sport of destroying everything and everyone around us. It's what we do best. And I'm no exception.

In that vein, I love Northside. I tried to rewrite this blog about 100 times, each time criticizing and generally being myself. It appears, though, that it's not always as easy to complain as it is to speak well of something.

I'm not from Cincinnati. If you ask me what high school I went to, I say "Wando." I have, on more than one occasion, heard the response, "What, is that like in Indiana, or something?" I find it funny that 99% of this city, especially this queer city, can't imagine that there is a world outside of the greater Cincinnati metro. It plays a little into the mindset, I think, of us hating so easily on institutions like the great and mythical gay neighborhood of Northside.

I grew up in the deep south -- Charleston, SC, to be exact. Though I was a theatre kid, and it is arguably one of the more liberal mid-sized Southern cities, it is not a gay haven, even if OUT magazine tells you it's a primo gaycation destination.

It's not if you are GAYcating and not just VAcating.

I don't know what it's like for young gay boys in Cincinnati, growing up, where they dream of going when they turn 18. But, for me, it was this place called the Arcade. I never made it, but I've been given the impression that it was a crude mixture of the Dock with the Serpent, with lesbians. I did not dream of going there because it was the cool place to be. I dreamed of going there because it was the only place to be outside of the one sad lesbian bar and some other Golden Lions-esque creation known as Patrick's.

Yadda yadda yadda. I'm in Oxford, and I make it to Celebrity (my first gay bar) and love it. Yadda yadda yadda. I'm 19 and am in the car with two people I met on gay.com, and it's the first time I'm learning about Cincinnati.

"Northside," the older one tells me, "is in a valley between two hills -- College Hill and Clifton. It's the gayborhood, where all the gay people hang out."

He wasn't much for interesting conversation. Hey, I met him on gay.com. They rarely are.

Perhaps it's telling that my first introduction to Cincinnati's gay scene began at the Serpent at the ripe old age of 19, wasted, being tied to the cross and whipped. It also explains my distate for Jacob's -- "only prissy guys go there" -- and my long delayed time at Bullfishes -- "bar for dykes." But I remember loving the fact that I was in a gayborhood. In one block, I could do pretty much anything. I could eat White Castle (which I grew up idolizing because it was my dad's drunk food in college), I could meet gay people (and lesbians!!!), I could go volunteer somewhere (oh, boy... if only I knew then...), and I could get laid. How could I not love this?

And, later, I would learn about gay pride. My first gay pride was Cincinnati. It was lame. Some things never change.

To this day, I still love Northside. It still has that energy for me.

I'll admit it. I sometimes forget what it was like to have been in the South, and be gay. When I go home, and there's only three gay bars and almost nothing to be done ... and you bounce from bar to bar with the same people you were at the first bars with. There's no changing. There's no movement. We talk here about the same people being everywhere you go. But, here, yea, there may be the same people at Little Bit every night, but I can go down the street to Below Zero to a whole new crowd (which will be similar to the crowd from last week). That's great, and wonderful. At least if you make an ass out of yourself at Adonis (which I did this past weekend), you can leave and take the (hour-long) drive to the Dock and find people who don't know that you just fell on the dance floor and knocked some twink's drink out of their hand.

But back to Northside, because it's nothing like that (because if you did the above said thing, everyone up and down the strip will know by the time you hit the next bar).

Northside is a strange, bizarre other world. Even outside of the bars, it's still super gay. Yea, you don't see boys walking down the street hand and hand in the middle of the day (honestly, have you seen that anywhere in Cincinnati? and, really, when was the last time you walked hand-in-hand with your boyfriend? be honest...). But you have such fabulously gay friendly businesses and business owners, and to this day I am amazed by the amount of pride flags in houses.

Everyone talks about "that house on Isle of Palms with the rainbow flag" down in Charleston. Because there's only one.

Is it OUR version of Castro or Boystown? Absolutely not. But we're Cincinnati. We have to fuck it up somehow, don't we? And that's ok. That's who we are as Cincinnatians. We are a conservative city and we have a conservative gay scene.

Is it the ideal place for things like the Gay & Lesbian Community Center or Gay Pride? Absolutely not, but I can't think of much better of a place. I would like to see all that downtown, or perhaps in Over-the-Rhine, but that's just my feeling (and one that a lot of people agree with but nobody who is in a position to make those decisions, unfortunately).

Is it even a gay ghetto? Absolutely not. It's not our separatist enclave. We don't define our world or our life around it -- it would be impossible to be homonormative in Northside daily.

But it's ours, and it is what it is. I can imagine that, young gay boys here in Cincinnati, dream of going to BronZ one day. And I would have been the kid who, growing up, would have snuck off to Northside some afternoon to walk up and down the street and just feel that maybe, just maybe, I, too, was part of something bigger and gayer and somewhere closer to where I belong.

I still do, kind of.

See, late at night, when it's warm, and it's just past midnight so you have the mix of the semi-drunk smokers and the new entrants to the bars for the night, I can't help feel like I'm home in a street full of queers, passing back and forth between bars, hugging, kissing, squealing, fighting, planning, talking, smoking, and smiling. Everyone smiling, and maybe a little tipsy.

It may not be the Castro, but it's enough to feel like this is where I belong.

Barry blogs regularly over at QueerCincinnati.com, and you can follow him over at Twitter, or you can email him if you're really desperate to know the details of his life at queercincinnati@gmail.com. Thanks for reading.

On economic downturns

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 09:41:59 +0000

My dad lost his job today. Of the six people that work in his architectural firm, they cut three. Despite everything he has done, he lost his job.

I remember in the early 1990s, when we went through a similar situation economically and the news was dominated by the crisis daily, my mother turned to my dad at the dinner table and asked if we were secure. He responded that it would be OK and there were no worries.

It's a shockingly vivid memory that keeps coming up in my head as you hear stories of people losing their jobs in this economy.

It's funny, this many years later, and with my dad finally in a job that he truly loved, that he would now have to go through this. And it's even funnier because, despite my own financial distress, that the economic crisis finally comes home. It finally "makes sense," if you will.

I think I am immune, for the most part, to the ups and downs of the world. When people inquire as to why I try to be so hooked in, it's because I don't generally feel the distress, and I am making up for the lack of emotional attachment by sheer volume of information. I am generally fairly relaxed and laid back about international problems and crises. Emotionally, I felt 9/11, and I have yet to be able to feel much else when it comes to the news.

When something of that magnitude hits so close, it's hard to match much else in your head. It's really hard to personalize much else. Sure, it's awful, the ongoing genocide in Darfur, or the Russia-Georgia crisis, or the millions of people losing their homes (myself included), but that kind of stuff still feels so distant and impersonal.

This was a little closer to home, and it ranks up there with one of the more expected phone calls I've ever received.

On a daily basis, I don't think about the economic situation in this country. When I go to school, or go to work, these kind of matters don't really process. See, my job has been government funded for years and so, at least in the near future, is secure (unless I screw it up). I was also the last class in my school to benefit from the "work off your loan" program at the hospital, which was shut down ostensibly due to the end of the contract, but probably was removed due to the loss of funds. Even there, though, we are going to start getting federal financial student assistance so I don't feel it and the program will probably benefit from the amount of people seeing nursing as a stable and lucrative career.

When I went home for Christmas, I live in a fairly affluent suburb and my shopping experience was not dramatically altered from years past. I still nearly freaked out in Barnes & Noble due to the ungodly numbers of people in there just two days before the holiday.

And Cincinnati isn't exactly a booming city. Sure, I think it's clear if you pay attention that building projects and gentrification has slowed down, but you really have to pay attention. Otherwise, it's much the same.

In other words, where is the economic crisis in my life?

Apparently it's in my dad, a man who gave up a lot to raise his kids. I know that he never sought other options or took a lot of risks because he loved us. To this day, he would rather protect us than tell us the depth of the problems he and my mom have in terms of finances and the house and their health.

I'm sure it took a lot to tell us that he had lost his job.

My most poignant memory of my father was him staying up late one night to work on an extra credit project with me. We were up to 4 a. m. making it right, and he had to work in the morning.

By the end of his time, he hated the job he was working at for years while I was a kid in Charleston because it paid the bills with minimal stress, a job that passed him over for a promotion because he cared too much about his kids and would rather do stuff with us than with them.

And so, at 55, he got a job that he loved and that loved him, and that had to fire him because they laid off the shortest tenured employees. The irony is that, at his old job, he would have stayed on for reasons of seniority.

That's something, isn't it?

Barry blogs regularly at QueerCincinnati.com and is very active on Twitter.

On having sex with "straight" men

Thu, 18 Dec 2008 09:26:15 +0000

A few months ago, Vivica (drag name) called me and, with purses falling out of her mouth, she squealed, "I had sex with a straight guy!"

"Yea? When? Where is he?" I responded.

"Right here, playing Halo!"

Uh-huh.

Just this past weekend, darling Katy of Kate's Random's Musings was driving me home from our meet-up when she turned to me and asked: What percentage of straight men have sex with other men?

Do you want the official stats or personal experiences?

I'm here to tell you, ladies, it's a lot of them. And in this, your best gay girlfriend is not going to be your best friend.

A few years ago, the popular media became obsessed with the racist and homophobic concept of "the down low," thanks to people like Keith Boykin and, ha, Oprah. It's racist because it targets men of color as sexual predators, and it's homophobic because it is another part of the cultural rhetoric that says gay sex is bad and will kill you. The down-low is rarely framed as much more than an AIDS thing.

The white straight girls out there usually giggle when we talk about the "straight" boys we hook up with. First, they think it's funny because they equate it with the down low. Second, if they don't, they think that they, too, could pick up these guys out of a crowd just because they have a few gay friends and, thus, a touch of the gaydar.

Sorry, ladies, my mother can pick up on the closeted theatre kid pretty quick these days, too.

And we're not necessarily talking about the stereotypical white version of the down low -- the "three beer queer" -- oh, no, I have slept with and talked about sleeping with a large handful of perfectly sober "straight" men.

The original version of this column started off talking about a particular straight man that wants to have sex with me. "I just want to see what it's like, getting head from a guy," he tells me every time he sees me. But, over the past week, I had to add three more notches in my bed post from otherwise straight men.

The reason the column changed was a specific experience with this one young UC boy who, just five hours before he showed up at my front door, had had sex with his girlfriend and now was asking to be on his knees for me.

I called him out: No man who sucks cock can truly call himself straight.

He left a little while later, hustling out the front door to walk the mile plus back home at 4:30am, sobbing. He was an idiot, and I don't have time for apathetic self-delusion.

It's funny that, while we -- your best gay girlfriend -- joke regularly about how hot your boyfriend is, your dating pool represents a large and growing field known as my "potential fuck pool." The chat rooms are littered with married and straight men who know perfectly well the fetish they are playing into. They understand the sexual power their so-called sexuality has over gay men.

You could make an argument that it's unfair to talk like this, as queer theory talks about the difference between identity (straight vs. gay) and behavior (homosexual vs. heterosexual), but no queen calling me at 3am saying "I just had sex with a straight guy!" is thinking about Michel Foucault, let alone the inner workings of gender and sexuality identity politics.

What I should be talking about here is the fetishization of 'straight' men in the lives of gay men. I should discuss how disgusting it is that we have completely given up on our identities as gay men to pursue some idealized version of masculinity and how we should embrace the gender spectrum our community purports to represent. I should be talking about how disgusting the ideal is and how bisexual men, and "masculine" gay men use the fetish of the straight fuck bud as a way of getting laid more easily. I need to talk about how beautiful and wonderful and strong all those people out there are who are not afraid of being themselves and expressing themselves outside of the expected gender norms of male vs. female.

But I'm not.

I just wanted to brag. Ladies, I'm having sex with your boyfriend, and I'm not sorry about it. I buy into the fetish, too; I like a little roleplay in my life. And if he thinks he's fooling me into believing that this is his first time with a dude... well, if that gets you off, bud.

Because I know better. You're a man whore, plain and simple, and you're insulting gay men, you're insulting your girlfriend, you're making straight men look like shit, and you're nothing but a jackass.

But, sometimes, I just need to get off, too. . . and sometimes, when you don't leave crying, the apathetic self-delusion is kinda hot.

PS --> I wanted to add this in real quick. There is a valid point to guys wanting to "experiment." Fine. But your command of the subleties of gay sex and communication on sites like Craigslist tells me that you've done a little more than experiment. Please, explore, have fun, just don't have the stupidity to think this queer is going to buy into your heterosexuality.

Barry blogs regularly at QueerCincinnati.com and Twitters even more regularly.

David

Mon, 15 Dec 2008 08:07:26 +0000

Let me tell you about David.

...at least, I think his name is David. It's either that or Daniel, or Denny, or some other name that begins with a D.

...or it's Brad.

Regardless, we'll call him David.

I met David one night at the Serpent. Like any good time at the Serpent, we made out and probably engaged in a little more fondling than is appropriate for a public place. I don't remember if we did anything that could be interpreted as sex, per se, but I know it was enough that the southern belle in me curled her toes a little bit and said, "Mama won't like this."

The point is, he said he was surprised that I would make out with him because, usually, people go after his friends.

David was not unattractive. In fact, I would say he was downright good looking, despite his lack of a chin.

But he was also really sweet and quiet and gentle, which is a set of qualities that you have to admit is attractive whilst trolling for trade at the Serpent. Usually, you end up with men who are as willing to call you "boi" or asking for you to refer to them as "sir." The sweet, quiet, and gentle part of me sung out for something a little more that evening.

And, not to abandon my hopes of getting a little play, I went after David and got him.

David was surprised that I pursued him, and he probably went further than he would usually in a similar circumstance. He told me that this was his first trip to this establishment, but he was enjoying himself, as evidenced by the excitement pressing against my thigh as we made out in a dark corner of the bar. The fact that he was a noob to a bar made famous solely on its reputation for debauchery made him all the more attractive.

He was an innocent, and we all know gay men's tendencies to want to destroy every last bit of innocence in each other until we're left jaded and bitter and getting rocks thrown through our front windows, perhaps from a former bit of trade, perhaps from a random person on the street.

David eventually left the bar, asking... well, begging me to come across the street and join him and his friend at BronZ. I told him that, since I just bought my drink, I had to slurp it down and say good-bye to my friends. A few more quick kisses later, he left the bar with his friend on the promise that I would run over soon.

I never left the Serpent. See, I rarely go there with friends.

The stuff that goes on there, well, I never thought it was particularly conducive to a good night out with the girls.

Unless that's what you and the girls do.

I saw David again this past weekend. He was making out with some guy I had cruised a few weeks before. I may have made out with this other guy (perhaps he was Brad?) at another time, but that's besides the point.

This weekend, David and perhaps-Brad were on the pool table making out.

I joined them, making sure to give each one equal attention. When the subject of a threesome came up, neither objected to it.

This is not a column about how I scored a threesome this weekend -- I didn't -- but, rather, that David was the first one to head towards the back door and, assumedly, to drop his pants in preparation for a public menage a trois.

I didn't join him; I went back for another drink and made out with the muscle daddy at the door of the bathroom.

I wondered, as David and perhaps-Brad went back in expectation, if David realized just how far he had come from the noob I caressed in the corner to the Serpent-boi he was becoming.

And, somehow, David had become less attractive to me.

I never saw either of them again for the rest of the night. Perhaps that was for the best.

Barry blogs regularly over at QueerCincinnati.com and is a ferocious Tweeter.

Language matters, especially when talking marriage (Guest Blogger: Jason Boeckman)

Wed, 26 Nov 2008 16:07:04 +0000

First Guest Blog -- Jason Boeckman, of Miami University, put this in the Miami Student (the inspiring Miami Student Article here)and I just loved it so much I had to repost.

I am one student voice. And you don’t have to agree with me. But all I ask, Miami, is that you please listen to me and hear me out.

Despite the rain, I stood at the steps of Cincinnati City Hall Saturday afternoon as part of a nationwide movement in protest of California’s Proposition 8. No doubt you’ve heard of it. Aside from the presidential contest, it became the highest-funded campaign on any ballot in our nation Nov. 4, the campaigns for and against the proposition raising a combined $73.4 million dollars. That’s a lot of money. Money that isn’t feeding our nation’s homeless and hungry, or supporting our schools, or combating crime like drug trafficking.

This must be pretty important, to neglect such extremely pressing social issues, you might ask? You bet this is important. Because what’s at the heart of all this is exactly that: the human heart. And for many Americans, the human heart is aching. And the human heart cannot believe, cannot understand: How could this have happened?

But the human heart is strong. And the human heart is taking action.

Students from Miami, Xavier University, University of Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky University stood together in solidarity along with other Cincinnatians and Northern Kentuckians to speak out against marriage inequality and also the absence of federal legislation protecting gay and lesbian Americans from workplace discrimination and crime motivated by hate. Cincinnati’s turnout was one of the strongest in the nation. Margaret Cho even showed up.

At the protest, I began to realize how wrapped up in language a lot of this is. For instance, what’s all of this talk about “redefining” marriage? It’s time to clear the air. It is not a redefinition coupled gay and lesbian Americans are after, but, rather, an extension of this civil right to them. They want only to be included.

There should be marriage for gay and lesbian couples and here’s why: Domestic partnerships and civil unions just don’t cut it. Yes, in some states these are almost equivalent to marriage, but here is the problem (again, back to language): How likely are you to declare “I’m getting civilly unioned this week” in place of a simple statement like “I’m getting married this week”? Or how likely are you to say “I’d like to introduce you to my beautiful domestic partner” instead of saying “I’d like to introduce you to my beautiful wife/husband”?

Additionally, I’m not sure this phenomenon called “gay marriage” I’ve been hearing so much about really even exists? If it did, you would think I’d hear a whole lot more about “straight marriage.” I attended a high school friend’s wedding ceremony last month—the first wedding I had attended in 23 years, actually—and I’m almost positive my invitation didn’t read “You’re invited to the straight wedding of Ben and Heather Robertson.”

This all should sound pretty silly. And I’d like to think I even got a laugh or two.

But in all seriousness, a marriage is a marriage and that’s the message we were communicating last Saturday.

I’ll tell you what a marriage isn’t because that might help, too. As much as I wish Britney Spears well, her 55-hour Vegas marriage did nothing but disrespect the institution. What’s not a marriage can be found in the example of former Governor of New York Eliot Spitzer’s infidelity. And what’s definitely not a marriage is when gay and lesbian people enter sham marriages with a person of the opposite sex because of societal pressure to conform or feelings of expectation or obligation. I have the sneaking suspicion that if gay people were allowed to marry other gay people there’d be fewer spouses and children affected by divorce following comings out. I can only imagine how unhappy, guilty and desperate it’d make me to live a lie like that. But that’s the reality for some in our country. And it’s a reality we have the power to eliminate.

And nobody’s perfect. In fact, it’s been well documented that roughly half of all marriages in our country end in divorce, and for a variety of reasons. But people marry because the chance of failing is worth the possibility of succeeding. Don’t we all deserve that chance?

Gay people exist. We’ve graduated beyond pretending as a society that this isn’t so (see Obama’s acceptance speech, Nov. 4). And gay people fall in love. Gay people fall in love like any of us do and their love is just as legitimate. If our country is going to give those couples permission to explore that love, how can we not reward their commitment with marriage?

I haven’t met the one. But what if one day I should be so lucky and I meet him? I would hope that our country had come around by then in terms of marriage equality. But make no mistake. When I commit to that person, he will be my husband and I will be his.

Barry blogs regularly at QueerCincinnati.com, and can be contacted via email at queercincinnati@gmail.com or on Twitter

Many Apologies...

Mon, 24 Nov 2008 11:45:05 +0000

...for not posting over here in a long time. School kinda came crashing down on me this semester as well as the 100s upon 100s of things that I get myself involved with.

Why do I know this is about to turn back around? I'm making lists of topics again.

See, part of my process for writing is simply writing down what I want to write in the future. It's stage one before I pick a topic and run with it. I actually had a moment this weekend and wrote down a list of six topics.

Does it mean it's going somewhere? Of course not, but at least I'm starting to re-engage my brain over here. I promise you all will hear from me the minute finals are over :-)

Much love to all of you.
Barry
QueerCincinnati.com

On which I lamblast the gay community

Mon, 29 Sep 2008 03:45:21 +0000

As usual, the WALK TO STOP AIDS was a success.

I'm getting bored with the ongoing excellence and pride that STOP AIDS (formerly AVOC) takes in its crown jewel of event. Every year, it's the same old well-organized, fun event where hundreds of people show up and hundreds of thousands of dollars are raised. I'm annoyed by the free stuff I get, the competition I generate raising money against friends, the hugs you get from everyone you know when you're walking around Sawyer Point, and the exhausted relaxation in the grass with your Dixie Chili at the end of the 5 miles. And, I know, I know. Those people they get to cheer along the route and hug you, give you high fives, and tell you how great you're doing -- I know. Bothersome.

This was my sixth year there. And it's just annoying to have to be involved that much, isn't it?

And this year, I'm glad to see so many of my fellow homosexuals agreed with me. See, when I came out and thought "gee, I want to get involved," I did what every self-respecting queer does... get involved as much as possible everywhere I could. And then I started dating, made friends, got laid a couple of times, and became more jaded than my own good.

Maybe I'm not as active as I have been in the past.

But, I would like to whole-heartedly agree with every single homosexual who decided to sleep in the morning of the WALK TO STOP AIDS rather than drag their hung-over asses out of bed, write a $10 check, and walk for about two hours in the interest of supporting their community.

You're right, the whole noxiously cheerful and feel-good-ness of the event was just too much to deal with at 8am. STOP AIDS should really do something about that.

And, you're completely right, when you say that everything you go to has the exact same people show up. To me, it's almost a disappointment that there are few dedicated individuals in the community that really try to make things work so there is an ongoing set of gay things to do. I mean, after all, it's not like there is something to do every single night of the week at a bar or otherwise. I mean, the volleyball and softball leagues are practically silly with the amount of people that participate. There should be fewer attendees. And, while we're at, less people should spend time playing competitive sports with other people of the same persuasion in order to have fun.

I've been to the bars, too. And the great community-oriented focus of many of them does get on my nerves. I hate going to places where people know my name, where it's fun to move around and dance with guys that may actually want to sleep with me, and get harangued by an ugly drag queen who has
nothing but love in her heart.

Personally, I'm glad Universal Grille closed. It's one less place I have to think about going on a Friday or Saturday night. I would much rather spend my time in a bar where I don't have to be gay.

I think there should be more barstool activism. After all, that fits much better into my life than this whole "getting out and doing something" thing that actually makes sense. Why can't GLSEN -- whose primary focus is high school's and younger -- just do something at my favorite local watering hole? That's where we'll be, after all. It seems absurd that they would ask me to pay to go to a dance in support of the dozens of gay kids who want somewhere to go and not worry about possible harassment.

Speaking of the kids, aren't they so cute when they participate? Wait, when does that guy turn 18?

But, back to the Walk. . .

It's really sad that no one is dying anymore, isn't it? It's really inconvenient that anyone would mention that you could. It is a real downer.

It is wrong that people are getting better and living better with the disease; after all, just 20 years ago, gay people were dropping off like flies. And maybe it was better that way. Then we all understood just how serious it could be. It's not like STOP AIDS/AVOC has gone out of their way to make sure everyone is included that can be included, and it's not like they haven't done everything in their power to make sure that no one leaves their events with a positive feeling in their soul and that maybe you've made a difference that day.

All the hugs and "thank you"s in the world can't make up for, apparently, a couple of well-placed deaths to get us off our asses, right?

Wrong.

My snarkiness aside, I am disappointed with all of you. Every last person that slept in rather than getting your butt out of bed, writing a check, and high tailing it Sawyer Point -- you missed out. A lot of people will say, "But, Barry, you don't go to everything." You're right, I don't. But I make an effort to attend when I'm interested or when I know it's important. And, yes, AIDS is "my issue." Maybe you have your own.

But this is in no way directed to the mass of regulars you see. This is not for the Scott Knox's, the Kathy Laufmann's, the Jill Benavides's, the Dan Ley's, the Doug Meredith's, the Harold Keutzer's, the Michael Chanak's, or even the bar owner's of the world.

The ongoing depopulation of gay events and locations is indicative of a broader issue -- the community's growing disinterest in itself. In a time when we get to be gayer than ever, when we get to be out and proud, we have, apparently, decided that we don't want to be, anymore. We want to be just like everyone else. The revolution is dead, and the interest in what we can offer to each other is dwindling.

Don't tell me about how you want to have kids until you tell me how you want to help build community. You don't get to have children or get married until you've paid back the people and the places and the organizations that have worked so hard to allow you those rights.

You don't get to tell me, anymore, that you have a picture of your partner on your desk and that's all you ever wanted. First, you have to hug Michael Chanak and all the other pioneers in employment in Cincinnati.

You don't get to talk to me about how supportive your parents are, not until you go to a PFLAG meeting or at least tell a PFLAG parent how important they have been to the cause.

You don't get to talk about the great strides we're making, or even celebrate the passage of Cincinnati's human rights ordinance, until you thank Jill, Gary, the NGLTF, or the countless of volunteers who fought. Or, talked to Equality Ohio.

You don't get to mention how many gays are in the media, until you listen to Cheryl and the great crew over at Alternating Currents... or any of the countless people that made the gay TV show in the 1980s (and that's not hard, as Burger of Serpent fame is a former contributor).

You don't even get to talk about gay history until you can list off at least five pioneers and what they did... it's easy to learn, just contact gohi.

And, more salient to the original topic, you don't get to talk about how important a condom is, or how valuable testing is, until you use one, get tested, or at least write a nice email to STOP AIDS thanking them for 20+ years of tireless efforts they have putting into saving all of our asses ... literally.

Guess what? You have a responsibility to be there to pay homage to all those who came before. And you have a responsibility to learn that history. And you have a responsibility to honor it.

You no longer get to sit across from me and say "Well, I just don't do gay stuff" because you are doing "gay stuff" just by talking to me. And you wouldn't have been able to do that years ago, if it weren't for the hundreds and thousands of people who worked, were abused, and died for your right to sit there and be condescending and complain about the lack of community engagement.

It is your responsibility to be engaged in any way possible, in every way possible.

Where have all the gays gone?

The same question could be asked of a hundred different events for a hundred different organizations at a hundred different times. Again, this is not person or group specific, but it's about a "community" that has all but lost interest in itself.

Bars are closing and homo's are flocking to straight bars in record numbers. Gay pride is dominated by nice hetronormative homo's. Drag queens are looked upon as a menace rather than the glorification of gender anti-norms and challenging the system. Drugs and sex are bad, while sitting at home with your partner and a dog is what we hope to achieve. And no one is getting laid on gay.com. It is, increasingly, a "community" that doesn't take itself seriously anymore.

They are just fading away, and we'll have a generation where the gay bar is for special events (or a special night at an otherwise straight bar), and prides are no longer liberally disseminated throughout the country but reserved, instead, for a few choice locations where "I can go and really be gay rather than this backwoods bullshit town I live in."

(Sound familiar? It should. One of my readers said those exact words to me.)

And that's disappointing because those were the places and events that helped me and directed me out -- and, when I lost my way, reigned me back in. I know I won't go to everything, but I'll make a damned better attempt than most people.

But it shouldn't just be about me, or Mike Volmer, or Penny Tration, or Chris Seelbach, or this person or that person. It should be about everyone. And that's why I'm not pointing fingers ... because it's not their fault. It's all of ours.

All because these places we should be -- AIDS walks, drag shows, group meetings, -- are dying and I don't want to find myself twenty years from now at some empty event thinking Where did all the gays go?

Barry blogs regularly over at QueerCincinnati.com, and you can either email him at queercincinnati@gmail.com, or follow him on Twitter.