One Track Mind

The pet owner is bundled up against the winter elements. His dog, because this is New York City, is teeny-tiny and dressed in an outfit that costs as much as the man's. The dog scampers along in front, keeping pace, pretending there is no leash connecting them. And then he stops to inspect the base of a retaining wall. The owner passes him and pauses, giving the lead a gentle tug. Come on. Time to go in, boy. The man shifts on his feet and shivers.

The animal stands there with his ass in the air, clearly shivering. He's one of those little guys that shivers on a warm day. A bitter wind whistles under his tail and across his exposed belly. His single-mindedness and determination is almost inspirational. I'm coming, I'm coming. I just really have to smell this because it's so ... interesting, and I ... Oh, wait, what's this? Oh, now that... that smells awful. Isn't that awful?

Approaching the Road to Recovery

UPDATE FROM THE JOURNAL:
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2008 03:53 PM, CST
Wain just went past the waiting room on the way to his room. He waved at everyone as he went by and said "bring me my guitar". Yai is up in her room, she's talking and smiling-has to be expected post-op discomfort. It's been a long but great day for the McFarlane family.

01:36 PM, CST
The surgeon came out and said Wain's new kidney is in and functioning well!!!!!! Surgery is over!!! Wain will be going off to the recovery room where he will be for about 3 hours. Many family members are at the hospital waiting out the day. Very excited about the encouraging news-praising and thanking GOD!!!!

12:58 PM, CST
The kidney is "in and running"!!!!! All continues to be going perfectly. It will still be a while until Wain heads off to recovery. Keep those prayers coming!!!!!

11:50 AM, CST
Yai's surgeon just met with everyone. He said she donated a "lovely kidney" (her left one) and that everything went wonderfully. Yai will be headind to recovery soon. Wain should be in for a couple hours yet.

11:17 AM, CST
Yai's kidney was removed and "hand delivered" to Wain's OR. Expect at least 1 more hour for Yai's surgery and 2+ for Wain's.

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A dear friend and my former Minneapolis neighbor, Wain McFarlane, is being admitted to the Mayo Clinic tomorrow, Feb. 26, for a kidney transplant. Some of you know the long road Wain has traveled to get to this point; in the end his niece agreed to give him a kidney.

A journal of Wain's surgery and recovery is being kept at http://caringbridge.org/visit/wainmcfarlane. In addition to video and other details about Wain's ordeal, there's a guest book, and I'm sure he and his wife Catherine would appreciate a note, regardless of how well you know him.

We're told Wain will not be allowed to have flowers or any other gifts in his room at the hospital, but when he is released he will be staying with a family in Rochester, and if anyone wants to send gifts at that time I can pass along the address.

Please keep Wain in your thoughts. (The above is from an email sent by Jeff.)

Not So Sporting

From the BBC: Northern Ireland's only gay rugby team is promoting a form of sporting apartheid, Sports Minister Edwin Poots has claimed.

Mr Poots said he could not understand the motivation behind the founding of the Belfast-based Ulster Titans.

"I just cannot fathom why people see the necessity to develop an apartheid in sport," he said.

However, one of the team's founders, Declan Lavery, said everyone was welcome to join the club. "When the club was set up it welcomed members regardless of their age, creed, religion, sexual orientation or whatever, and that's how it continues," Mr Lavery said.

...

However, Mr Poots said: "It would be unacceptable to produce an all-black rugby team or an all-white team or an all-Chinese team.

"To me it's equally unacceptable to produce an all-homosexual rugby team and I find it remarkable that people who talk so much about inclusivity and about having an equal role in society would then go down the route of exclusion."

This is just willful idiocy.

The facts are plain:

1. The team was founded by gay men.


2. Everyone is welcome to join whether they're gay or not.


3. It is not a gays-only team. There is no exclusion.

Yet his response is to call this apartheid. Is he even listening? Maybe he'd rather have the pootfers just keep their traps shut.

To call this "apartheid" is not only an insult to all the gay men who joined that team because they felt unwelcome elsewhere, but also to all people who really do experience exclusion. It's precisely this kind of hostility that leads to the formation of gay-friendly sports teams in the first place.

"Let me see, kid... Republican, Democrat or gay?"

Just before my husband voted yesterday, one of the ancient poll workers was chatting him up.

"McMillan!" he said, looking at his last name. "Ah... like McMillan and Wife."

"I can't believe he turned out to be a homosexual," said a woman.

Another woman spoke up. "It seems like everyone is. There's 10 million of 'em."

"It's terrible," said another. And everyone at the table murmured and shook their heads.

Truly, you never know where one will end up. Maybe even right in front of you. Trying to vote. Doing his civic duty. Well, way to go, old folks! You've just committed voter intimidation.

But what's Jeff going to do — yell at an old man? His calling the election board to report the situation was probably more effective. And by that, unfortunately, I mean "probably not effective at all."

Is the board really going to screen for anti-gay bias? They should. Would it be acceptable for one of them to spout off their views on a racial or ethnic minority? About women's rights? Never. Especially on a Primary day, when every citizen can cast an equal vote.

Unbearable

When a gay man reaches a certain age — say thirty-something — he may begin to wonder what category he falls into. It's all about categories in this gay world. What you look like: twink, chicken, bear, cub, otter, wolf. What you do: gym bunny, muscle daddy, leather daddy. Who you do: top, bottom, chubby chaser, chicken hawk, rice queen.

We revel in these labels. We build identities and bars and communities and Web sites and publishing companies around them.

Some of us revel in not fitting into one of these categories.

Until we do.

I have never felt like I fit a label. Never was a twink. Not headed toward anything in particular, so I thought. Maybe I could be a cub if I could grow a beard worth a damn. But today I was startled to learn that there are at least two people I work with who think I am a bear. Or at least bearish.

It was further revealed that one of them (I don't know who; I didn't ask) said so as a compliment, i.e., my apparent bearishness is an attractive quality. And this did lessen the shock. I'll take anything label if it means someone thinks I'm cute.

A quick flip through any bear magazine should disabuse anyone of these notions of bearhood. I am as pink and hairless as a newborn kangaroo. But, taken with another word someone else at work applied to me — cuddly — I have little choice but to conclude that I just need to lose weight. No euphemism for "fat" — even if it means someone thinks I'm cute — can leave me feeling very good about myself.

Song Poison: My Heart Will Go On

Sometimes it's just torture.

My neighborhood grocery store is under new management, and they now play adult contemporary pop songs on the speaker system. I was serenaded by Vegas showgirl Celine Dion the other night, whose "My Heart Will Go On" seems to be making a comeback.

I heard it again several times in both its instrumental and lyrical form a couple of nights later while watching Titanic, of course the song's reason for existence. (There are other reasons to dislike the film. This is just one.)

We watched Brokeback Mountain immediately following. I must have been hell-bent on feeling miserable that night. Though it was fun to rewind and replay, over and over, the part where frozen, lifeless Leo slips from the piece of wood into the North Atlantic.

The final straw came the very next morning, when I heard — but maddeningly did not see — a subway busker playing the song on some kind of pan flute. This unhappy coincidence guaranteed it sticking in my head on infinite loop for days.

...

I once saw Victoria Jackson do a stand-up routine in glorious Lansing, Michigan in which she re-enacted the penultimate scene from Titanic the movie.

Rose! Rose, if you shift your fat ass, I can fit on this piece of wood, too!

She also sang a fantastic parody of a Jewel single — "These ghoulish fangs are tearing meat apart...". Luckily, Jewel is rarely as adhesive as Ms. Dion.