Monthly Archives: September 2009

Regulate…G(ay) Funk Error

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(via Towleroad)

I’m not sure what’s worse – Warren G’s ignorant homphobia (in the vein of, “hey, some of my best friends are…”), his assault on the English language (not uncommon in this “thug culture” we’ve curiously embraced), or the fact that Vanity Fair has dedicated time and space on the thoughts of a one-maybe-two hit wonder?

Here’s what the “G” man said:

I ain’t against gay people. I’m just against it being promoted to kids…I know people that’s gay. My wife’s got friends that are gay. I got family that’s gay. Cousins and shit. He cool as fuck. He cool as a motherfucker. He’s my homie. I just mean that on some of these TV shows, they got dudes kissing. And kids are watching that shit. We can’t have kids growing up with that…I know it happens, but let’s keep it behind the scenes. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it if that’s what two dudes wanna do. Cool. But that’s not bring that out into the world, where the kids can see that. We don’t want all the kids doing that. ‘Cause that ain’t how we was originally put here to do. Like I said, I ain’t got no problem with the gays.

Imagine the uproar if we substituted the word “black” for “gay”:

I ain’t against black people. I’m just against it being promoted to kids…I know people that’s black. My wife’s got friends that are black. I got family that’sblack. Cousins and shit. He cool as fuck. He cool as a motherfucker. He’s my homie. I just mean that on some of these TV shows, they got blacks kissing. And kids are watching that shit. We can’t have kids growing up with that…I know it happens, but let’s keep it behind the scenes. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it if that’s what two dudes wanna do. Cool. But that’s not bring that out into the world, where the kids can see that. We don’t want all the kids doing that. ‘Cause that ain’t how we was originally put here to do. Like I said, I ain’t got no problem with the blacks.

The public outcry and upheaval would be absolutely justified and labeled as racist.  But will Warren be called out for his ignorance (most stupefying is that even this interviewer let it go)?  Probably not.  We give free passes for homophobia time and time again, especially in Hip Hop.  Like the deeply-closeted sports world, the stigma is so traumatizing that it’s almost a right-of-passage to proudly display one’s homophobia for the world to see.

Sickening, ain’t it?

Music Box: Meet The Old Boss, Same As The, Errr, Old Boss…

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRUCE!  Rock ‘N’ Roll Savior.  The Boss.  The “Future Of Rock And Roll”.  Senior Citizen?

I know.  As hard as it is to believe, Bruce Springsteen hit the BIG SIX-O, and to celebrate, he joined the elite list of Rock icons to have graced the cover of the senior citizen bible, AARP Magazine - the bi-monthly magazine that’s issued to every member of AARP.

Okay, to be fair, the AARP isn’t an organization directed only at senior citizens – it’s an organization for folks who hit the big FIVE-O and over.

But that’s not really the point.  One can say that to admit a legend or an icon’s aging is to ponder within your very own soul and realize the truths you sometimes don’t want to admit.

Or, we can accept those truths and be thrilled that by the grace within that aforementioned ‘own soul’, and by the power of those you love and who love you, embrace it.  As AARP editor Nancy Perry Graham said:

We put Bruce on the cover first and foremost because he was turning 60,” she said. “Like the rest of America, we found that to be inspiring. Looking at Bruce, he really personifies our message at AARP that attitude matters more than age.

Well-said, Nancy (click to read the Bruce AARP MAGAZINE article).

I’m 20 years behind Bruce and don’t think about old age often.  Or I try not to.

All You Single Ladies…Don’t Bother

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Despite lyrics that sing, “There’s a she-wolf in your closet, open up and let her free…let it out so it can breathe…”  there’s nothing closeted here.  What makes Andrew Foster’s proudly gay, almost frame-for-frame cover of Shakira’s totally stupid “She-Wolf” video so refreshing is that, where Shakira took her unintentionally hilarious choreography way too seriously (which, considering how disjointed and spastic it was/is, elevates the funny even more), Foster has no illusions of grandeur: he knows he’s emaciated, goofy, a bad lip-syncer, and about as sexy a dancer as skidmarks on a tutu.

This isn’t genius, of course, but unlike most video homages/tributes that have polluted YouTube these past few years, at the very least it’s enjoyable on those levels.

And at the very least, it has to be more entertaining than the upcoming werewolf-saturated “Twilight” sequel, no?

 

Happy Birthday, Barbara Jean

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…this song was written for my mother on July 24, 1984, (but I dedicate it to all mothers)…when she died in 1993, I looked at this song again and remembered a conversation she and I had, briefly before her passing…about how she had forgotten what happiness was truly about, married to my father all those years…and how grateful she was to me for rescuing her. While it wasn’t her choice to die, I believe she waited until she was away from him…so she wouldn’t die miserable…and, now, she may have finally found that long, lost happiness…

Happy Birthday, Barbara Jean Basso…Mother Hindsight…mother of us all…

Mother Hindsight

Silent mother cries in the rain
and asks will it stop coming
in her life the pain remains
No more loving

Quiet mother walks on the moon
bows her head in prayer
the struggle of her million runes
And the wish is still there

In her life nothing ever changes
Nothing remains to dream
When I see her crying in her pillow
I think of the streams
Candlelight in the night
Darken the light
Mother hindsight
Relieve your insight

I hear the echoes of her lifetime
Screaming in my mind
Her kingdom of candlelight seems
to slowly unwind
Quiet mother walks on the moon
bows her head with prayer
Cries for the litany
and wishes she wasn’t there

Silent mother don’t fade away
The tears will somehow pass
Mother Hindsight
Will your sanity last…

@SageSongMusings 1984

Encomium 9/11: George Merkouris

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I wrote this in 2003 in tribute to the one friend I knew (at the time) who was murdered on that most heinous of days.  I’ll post it annually, for as long as this blog remains active…

Encomium 9/11: George Merkouris

The loss was staggering, and so much has been saturating our lives since that day 2 years ago. So, I wanted to pay tribute to the only FDR graduate I personally knew [or know of] who perished on that diabolical day. If you, too, know someone who was ripped from our lives, or knew who George Merkouris was, please, join me in our sojourn back…

I hadn’t seen George in almost 20 years. He graduated in 1983, I, in 1985, but what I learned from him resounds within the storehouse of my soul even today. He held me as a friend at a time I felt socially awkward. He was the most popular person in his class, “Mr. FDR”. As popular and well known as I was, it was still hard being a gay teenager, especially in the early 80s. Some knew and loved me anyway, and I felt protected by those forces. George was one of those friends who told me he did not care – and that I should not care – his exact words were “one day the world will catch up…” How profound. We performed in 3 Sings together, and the International Festival of the Arts, where his enchanting twin sister, Anna, was one of the choreographers. One of the wonders of my high-school life was being a part of Senior Sing even though I was a Junior. George was one of those who argued on my behalf, stating since I was an “Honorary Senior” [actually being voted that later that year by the Senior powers-that-be] I deserved to be part of their Sing.

I still think of one of the funniest experiences we shared together. George and I did a mutual friend of ours (the magical Lenore Pavlakos) a favor and performed, outside FDR, a dance routine from “Cats” for the late Marie Haney’s dance studio. During one of our countless, strenuous rehearsals, we had to simulate a ‘cat fight’ and one of the moves required George to flip me over his shoulder and I had to land in a Russian split behind him. Well, needless to say the first time wasn’t a success, and I smashed my head on the floor. What could one do? Well, George laughed his proverbial ass off! So, with his infectious laugh so damned addictive, I had no choice but to stay on the floor, writhing in pain, stars swirling around the outside of my head, laughing my proverbial ass off as well. Of course he was concerned, but it was a sight to behold! How can one NOT laugh?

Once he graduated in 1983, I saw him a few times until I graduated in 1985. Every so often I would see him in the streets and he’d give me one of those enormous George bear hugs, letting me know that his life was good – he would never let us part until I let him know that, yes, my life was good too.

Naturally my infatuation with George lasted for all the years in high school. Gay or straight, I would say that most people had some sort of crush on this luminous, wacky, intelligent, hilarious, reflective, insanely funny, beautiful, wise man…a man whose smile would spill a cascade of dancing quivers down one’s spine. And, oh, what a dancer! I used to call him a ‘Greek Guido’, because of his dancing and overpowering proclivity toward that crowd of young men. He’d laugh at my remark, because he knew that I knew he was a chameleon and that it didn’t matter what class of people, or what race of students, or what gender – he glowed! Everyone called him “Friend”. And he liked that. It was effortless for one to love him.

Jimmy Falcone called me up months later to tell me that he found out that George was one of the victims. And sadness permeated so prodigiously within that I wept again. I spelunked my closets and re-discovered photos from all those years ago…look at George dancing next to me in Junior Sing [yes, I was Junior at the time, too – another long story], in Lenore’s great dance number…and there we all are, in an ensemble (everyone agreed that that year, the Junior Sing DESERVED to win! We didn’t…). I wish I could find photos from Senior Sing. And of our International Festival of the Arts.

I’ve wept for the strangers, I’ve grieved for the thousands and their families, I’ve been tormented by the horror of that day…but, now, there was a thread…an inherent connection that further changes time, and I had to mourn, again, this time for my old friend George. Years and years pass, but admiration and love always linger.

The stories are endless; the tales too scopic to scroll here…the flux of emotions run the gamut from joy to tears to fury to bittersweet memories. So, here’s to you, George Merkouris – stolen from us by evil, you’re dancing on the other side…your goodness resonates through so many lives even today and I know, that I never forgot you, and I never will…

*****

About a year after I wrote this, I learned another friend from High School, George Llanes, had too perished, two days before his birthday. George and I would bump into each other all the time in the years, post-High School. He was a wonderful soul, a fine poet, and “father” to Mae Mae, his pug. Another good soul, lost from Earth~