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Left Behind

3/30/2014

"You're a sinner, you're going to hell, there's absolutely nothing you can do about it...BUT you'd better be good in the meantime!"

Ahh, the sweet memories of Catholic school in the late 1970s. I attended Little Flower Parish in Springfield Illinois, apparently during the height of pedophile-priests (though sadly, I missed all the fun). I actually wrote about Little Flower in one of my early blogs, and described both the school's racism and it's ancient organ-playing nun (who made even the most heavenly of hymns seem like a Dark Shadows scene change). My experience in grade school made me leave the church for almost 15 years. And when I returned (briefly), I attended a Calvary Chapel in Phoenix, AZ...and only because my partner & I could think of nothing better to do on a Sunday evening. I enjoyed the Calvary service' kick-ass music, though I was a little disappointed in the last song they played - a New Attitude - which was also the theme to Dr. Laura's radio show. Still, it beat Catholic guilt.

I mention all this because a coworker invited me to attend church with her last weekend. At first I thought she had an ulterior motive - A religious intervention? A cult? Monica from Touched By an Angel? - but I decided to go because when it came right down to it, I really had no reason not to. Besides, I was curious. And I hadn't worn a shirt & tie since IML. And more than anything, I thought it would make a good blog.

So, I called her at home and confirmed. When I saw her at work the next day, she admitted the entire congregation has only - ahem - thirteen people, and that I was welcome to stay for a potluck afterwards. Hopefully, they'll serve something other than applesauce, pudding, and vodka, I thought. I considered wearing a purple tunic & white tennies.

The big guy upstairs blessed us with warm weather and brilliant sunshine when the time finally came, and I was showered, shaved, and starched while waiting at the curb for my coworker's Buick. It was an awesome day in general, the perfect Sunday for decade's-overdue return to church. It was as though God himself had parted the clouds, dyed the sky popsicle blue, and had given the sun an extra squirt of Kingsford to make it that much brighter. We zipped through light weekend traffic before arriving in Wheaton, a western Chicago suburb. Five minutes later, we were there.

The church was a tiny 1950s thing, with pink plaster walls, old blonde wood, and a 150 occupancy tops. Almost everything within the worship hall was from another time, and the lights, pews, candles, and sound system were straight from an episode of Mad Men. It smelled musty. It was as quiet as a crypt. And with the exception of two children and a couple in their late 30s, the tiny congregation seemed to be as elderly as the surroundings. As I looked at the old folk around me, I tried to imagine just why my coworker had asked me to join her. As a single, mild-mannered gay guy, I was as out of place here as I'd be in an inner-city black church. "Why am I here?" I thought. "What could possibly be the reason that she asked me to" -

But before I could finish my thought, I saw the transsexual take to the podium with her Bible.

The world is full of well-meaning people, and as I stared at the tranny's tattooed legs & heels, I realized that my coworker was one of them. She had described the tranny as a "very interesting speaker," and I'll admit, she was right; the guest speaker in the kicky dress had a lot to say. Her message wasn't unexpected: Don't judge a person because they're different. God loves everyone - black, white, boy or girl*. But despite the speaker's message, I couldn't help but feel that I'd been selected to hear it because I was different, myself - the religious equivalent of assuming Mexicans eat nothing but tacos. Of course, I realized that I was as ignorant of this congregation's culture as they were of my own...but still, it was hard not to admire how the woman with Dr. Girlfriend's voice was giving us all an education.

Like an AA meeting, this story ended within the church's basement. After the service, we all enjoyed a nice potluck downstairs - and those who hadn't done so already came up and introduced themselves to me. It was a surreal end to a surreal experience (though a far cry from when I fled a Joyce Meyer appearance in terror after she rallied 3000 people to all talk in tongues), and I can honestly say that unlike Catholic church, I returned to my the with no guilt whatsoever. Will I go again? Probably. Especially if the next guest speaker is a drag queen or a leather daddy.

It's nice to see that the world has changed for the better.

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Ethnic Cleansing

3/25/2014

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So, I'm talking to the Health Department Lady, walking beside her as she inspects our bookstore's Cafe. Health Department visits are intentionally unannounced, and the inspector surprised me - catching me in the Cafe's prep kitchen. I wasn't doing anything bad of course; it was actually quite the opposite: I was cleaning out the breakroom refrigerator, and had just washed its pieces in the kitchen's high-powered sanitizer. The inspector was taken back. "Do you always clean the employee refrigerator like that?" she asked, impressed. I nodded. "I'm a compulsively-clean gay man. I clean my refrigerator at home just as thoroughly." I could tell by her growing smile that I had made a friend for life -

When it comes to female Health Department inspectors, gay men are PORN FOR WOMEN :)

Osaka Grill & Supreme Buffet, Bolingbrook IL

Over the course of her visit, I chatted with the inspector about restaurant cleanliness. She explained the different classifications of businesses - how restaurants are considered more dangerous than say, Cafes like ours (that only prepare frozen food) - and how ethnic "culture" plays a big part in how a restaurant is run. "Chinese restaurants are the worst," she said. "They come from a culture where they don't wash their hands when cooking ...and I've even found children in the kitchen." I was aghast: "Children cooked like dogs? Or do you mean child labor?" The inspector clarified: "I mean, you'll see a Chinese grandmother cutting chicken and baby-sitting at the same time. The child will be in the kitchen, in a diaper, in a stroller, rolling around the floor between the prep tables and the grease fryers. One wrong move and " -

"Whir! Whir! CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP!" I finished her sentence - and imitated a baby who had just fallen into a food processor. I imagined dumplings filled with shiny red goo, being eaten by aging news anchors.

"I NEVER eat at Chinese restaurants," the inspector added.

Ancient Chinese secret ingredient

As Chinese food is one of my greatest guilty pleasures, I was sad to hear the inspector's comments. I love Asian grub, good buffets in particular, and hearing firsthand stories of icky Oriental kitchens shattered my fantasy of crisp white uniformed chefs and shiny metal cooking surfaces. Sure, I know - Ive always known, in fact - that most Chinese restaurants aren't as clean as American chains. I've worked for many restaurants over the years, and in my experience, even the greasiest spoon called an exterminator when the rats started eating the roaches.

But again, that's an American environment - and we know what triggers food born illness. In Chinese culture, sadly, golden batter can hide many violations, and deep fryers can be just as effective as Orkin spray. There's a reason why those dumplings are crunchy, and why that sauce is starting to coagulate. If you have a complaint, I'll happily send the manager by your table...but please give her a minute. The bidet is broken, so she's using the three-compartment sink.

"Jumbo Buffet" post fire

There's a Chinese buffet in walking distance of my house, in an old 1950s-era shopping center. It's the kind restaurant best enjoyed with a buzz, and it actually closed down once from a grease fire; it's YELP reviews have never been kind. I make an effort to support local businesses, and I've had lunch/dinner there a few times over the years. I'll spare you the Michelin review, but I will say that what I remember most about my experiences is that the whole restaurant felt slippery - as though every surface had been sprayed with PAM. Carrying a plate from the steam tables to our booth took the same concentration as roller skating. Now that I think about it, the floor was probably a distraction.

In many ways, my local Chinese buffet so bad it's good. The food is just...terrible, but the atmosphere is even worse: The booths - like a 1977 Ford LTD - are upholstered in hard burgundy vinyl, and separated by dirty brass & glass covered in fingerprints. The windows are "steamy," with filthy vertical blinds that hang at angles because of piles of sticky booster seats and high chairs covered in crud. Mismatched ceiling fans hang down from above like lynching victims. The kitchen-grade floor tile as mentioned is perceptually slick. The highlight of the dining room is the buffet, itself - a series of 1980s-era steam tables, dropped from the Golden Girls set into a storefront last repainted in the Clinton administration.

After my conversation with the Health Department lady, seeing how poorly my local buffet maintains its dining room, I can only imagine the horrors within its kitchen. Not only is Grandma babysitting, she's been dead for years - like Norman Bates's mother. No worries, though; just roll her in batter and cook her in the fryer for a few minutes. We call the dish, HAPPY FAMILY...with a nod to our beloved Grandma.

So long as somebody washes their hands, the Health Department will give us a pass...

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Sam, Dean, and Anderson Cooper

3/21/2014

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Last weekend CNN apparently suggested that Malaysian flight 370 disappeared because of "supernatural" reasons - including a possible black hole. My immediate thought was, "Seriously? Supernatural reasons? Maybe that's why Russia invaded Crimea...or why Oscar Pistorius shot his girlfriend." Oh, wait - I know! Our whole country is actually under a supernatural spell, which is why nobody will admit that the Obama administration has overseen a period of American decline. Yeah, it's supernatural all right. Bravo, CNN...for showing us again why you're in decline as well!

Man, I really don't want to write a political blog...and I definitely don't want to rant. My posts are typically funny & raunchy - but the reason I get to write it them the first place is because I enjoy the freedoms of living in America. I'm a minority-within-minority: the rare and elusive Gay Republican. I believe in small government, stronger national defense, and capitalism in all of its forms - including health care. I genuinely think Conservatives should run the national scene, while Liberals should handle the local, social things. But if I had to choose one side over the other, I'm Republican all the way.

Hold that thought.

Going back to CNN's Mystery Mobile coverage, I was taken by the fact they all but ignored Russia's invasion of Crimea...and Obama's limp-wristed response. Putin is clearly reassembling the Soviet Union, and Russia has invaded a sovereign nation - an act should scare the hell out of everyone. I watched Bill O Reily's commentary on these events, and he chillingly described how a perceived weak USA encourages smaller hostile nations to lash out without consequence. North Korea is firing missiles, Iran is eying Israel, and both China & Russia are threatening uncooperative behavior within the UN. And while all of this is happening, Germany is raising hell to everyone. Merkel clearly understands Putin's threat, and as history has proven twice, when Germans get angry, we reeeeeeeeeeally might want to take them seriously.

Earlier this week, NASA announced a report which predicted the possible end of civilization within 40 years. I haven't read the document yet so I don't know if it's a rehash of the usual doomsday fodder, but I have read responses to its claims and all have a similar theme: our world is interconnected - financially, technologically, and culturally. The NASA report got my attention because it focused on entropy, and how every part of our civilization depends on everyone else. Some countries have food, some countries have oil, some places allow the flow of information; with the exception of North Korea, we're all as connected as the cards in a house of cards - and when one card fails, the whole structure comes down. And that's what the NASA report is all about: the inevitable failure within the total structure. Basically, we're screwed if we don't start colonizing space -

But of course Obama has cancelled the shuttle program, with nothing lined up to replace it.

All it takes is a bare chested dictator - charging on a horse with an outdated view of manifest destiny - to make NASA's report a reality. We all owe way too much money to each other, and once military machismo gives Wall Street a spook, economies fall like dominoes. There has never been a time in history when US leadership has been more important, but while Putin redefines the boundaries of Russia, Obama fills out his draft picks. Entropy was started in the Ukraine - but has been expedited by a community organizer.

This morning's news was filled with breaking stories on the Malaysian air crash. Apparently a Chinese satellite found even more debris in the Indian Ocean, and CNN is wall to wall crash speculation - while Fox is balanced with other stories, including both North Korea's and Nancy Pelosi's predictable escalation of hostilities. Only Drudge is following Michelle Obama's China visit - yet another taxpayer-funded vacation, and the perfect photo-op for the gals to wear red dresses. The President didn't accompany them though, as Ellen DeGeneres was apparently more important. The gossip rags claim that both Barrack & Ellen are on the skids with their wives, so I wonder if they went out for drinks after the show? A little Bill Clinton limo action, maybe...?

Whatever the case, if - on its return trip - Michelle's plane goes down in the South China Sea, CNN is primed to cover it. I hope that doesn't happen of course (no terrorist thoughts in me, NSA), but you've got to admit that if her blip did vanish from radar, it would be totally worth hearing Anderson Cooper suggest it happened under supernatural circumstances.

And while all of us watch the ocean search for a black hole filled with Sweet n' Low packets & Chinese takeout boxes, you can but guarantee that CNN will find a way to suggest that Republicans are somehow involved...

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Tanned, Tattooed, and Used

3/17/2014

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"He's not a celebrity. He's a story," the prosecutor told the court. "It's one of accusation and manipulation and failure."

Ouch.

I recently watched Behind the Candelabra again, which got me to wondering what's happened to Scott Thorson since the movie came out. I Googled his name and learned of his recent conviction: 8 to 20 years for blowing off probation by repeatedly failing drug tests (and disregarding court-mandated rehab). Thorson groveled for mercy, but the judge didn't budge: "I'm not impressed - I don't think anybody is - with this so-called celebrity status. You're just like any other addict who has committed a crime against a victim."

Again, ouch.

Considering Thorson's failing health, I doubt very much that he'll serve much of his term. He already looks like Tammy Faye Baker's last appearance on CNN, and the real life Thorson is far different from the character played by Matt Damon. Today's Thorson is haggard and rough-trade, with a gravely voice reminiscent of a Madame puppet. Scott is the kind of gay guy that makes other homosexuals look bad - tanned, tattooed, used. Sure, I feel bad that Liberace stole a few years of his youth...but Jesus Christ, that was 35 years ago, and even a dumb kid could have seen the big picture.

Thorson was an idiot. He should have banked a percentage of his allowance, knowing his sugar daddy would eventually find a new stud. Had Scott made better choices, he could have walked away from "Lee" with more than enough cash to start a new life (even with his addiction). He might have paid for college, become a full fledged veterinarian, and enjoyed a minor celeb status within the gay community. But opportunism was no different in the 1970s than it is today...and opportunistic queens are a common breed. I'm sad to say that I've known several "Scott Thorson's" over the years, and once they hit 50, they all look as if they'd been rode hard, put away wet, and left with a hole stretched so wide, I doubt they can feel a fist anymore.

A long, long time ago, I really was young and attractive. My heyday was in the 90s, when I had a 32 inch waist, a face untouched by the sadness of adulthood, and older men noticed me in bars - in the same way Michael Douglas doted on Matt Damon. But once I hit my 40s, the whole dynamic changed...and now I'm the old guy who wishes he were young. Of course, "young" to me now means any dude who has all his hair - even if it's grey; and though I don't have Liberace's wealth or flamboyance, I do recognize similarities in our lives - especially when it comes to growing up in a time when being gay was best kept in the closet. It's amazing how those memories still seem as real as though they'd just happened yesterday.

I will say though that when it comes to sexual deviants, I prefer mine to wear leather, rather than hot pink feathers & rhinestones.

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Candles, Teddy Bears, and Gas Station Roses

3/13/2014

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So, I had to consciously refrain from laughing at the skinny, white, twentysomething Family Dollar employee, who - while stocking the dry goods aisle - was singing I'M A PLAYA, loudly, completely oblivious to customers. "Indeed you are," I thought with a smile, as I reached passed his shoulder for the Charmin. "You, my friend, are the angst of gangstas everywhere."

With each passing day I feel a little more out of place, here within the suburb of Aurora, Illinois. I've never considered myself to be a snob, but when I think about why I'm getting the itch to move, I freely admit that my motives are snobbish: I'm better than these people, and I'm tired of pretending I'm not.

(Smiling devilishly.)

I'm better than the welfare mamas who buy lotto tickets at the liquor store at 10:30am, dragging along their kids. I'm better than the teenage drug dealers who talk loudly on cell phones, as they walk passed my house during school hours (and let their pit bulls shit in my yard). I'm better than the historical society biddies who write bylaws like a Scottsdale HOA, ignoring the fact that most residents - myself included - are under water with our mortgages. And I'm definitely better than the white folks who live on the city's far east side - snobs who claim to live in nearby Naperville, despite their Aurora zip code.

I suppose I am a snob to a point, but only because I prefer to wear pants above my ass. I'm definitely a snob when it comes to appearance: I'm showered, starched, and shaved whenever I leave the house...even when headed to ALDI. The only time I wear pajama bottoms outdoors is when I've forgotten to take the trash out at night, and have to run it out in the morning. Pajamas are for sleeping, not shopping...and house slippers should never leave the home. Unless you're on a gurney. Or running from a burglar wearing a "Jigsaw" mask.

Back in January, I was again walking to Family Dollar one evening when I noticed a crowd on the sidewalk just a few storefronts down. As I passed through their cloud of cigarette & marijuana smoke, I saw a shrine of candles, teddy bears, 7/Eleven roses, and open beer cans on the pavement: someone had died - shot, apparently - and the group was in mourning for both the loss of a loved one and a drug deal gone bad.

"Don't believe what they say in the paper," a young, stoned girl said when she saw me. "The police, they twisted this shit all around," she insisted, referring to the events behind what I could only assume was the death of her boyfriend (and emphasizing her statement by stamping out blunt). I told her I wouldn't, then pressed on to the store. But I Googled the incident as soon as I got home - A 22-year-old Aurora man was shot at least once in the bathroom at a restaurant in the 800 block of North Lake Street around 7:34 p.m. - and learned that the group was mourning a dude who got cornered in the crapper. I wondered if the victim had been taking a dump, or if his final location was the end result of a chase. Neither scenario was glamorous, and when my own demise comes, I hope it happens somewhere other than the toilet of a taco joint. A nice, clean hospital would be ideal, though as long as I'm at least dressed for ALDI, I'm open to other locations.

So long that I keep my attitude intact, I know that when my time comes, it will be far from an Aurora taco joint. Snobbery is armor - my shield against earning my own pile of candles, teddy bears, and cheap religious candles - and when God finally calls my number, I want it to happen someplace warm...far away from Aurora's Family Dollar.

But in the meantime, I am what I am...and I happily chuckle at the things I see around me. I walk a lot in my neighborhood, and I'm not afraid of the people I cross on the sidewalk. And though I might not speak up when you sing "I'm a play'a" as I'm shopping, be aware that I'm watching...and I will write about you later!

You look...ridiculous!

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Left Behind

Ethnic Cleansing

Sam, Dean, and Anderson Cooper

Tanned, Tattooed, and Used

Candles, Teddy Bears, and Gas Station Roses

Dave'sBlogArchive2013 - 2018A Gay Man's Life in the Suburbs - and Beyond.

Dave's
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2013 - 2018

A Gay Man's Life in the Suburbs - and Beyond.