chorusspike

There was this blond guy, see...

Tue, 03 Oct 2006 17:38:08 GMT

Okay. One of my weaknesses is blond men (they're my peeps), and there was this blond guy on the bus, and who then got on the subway, this morning who looked exactly, EXACTLY, like I always wanted to look, right down to the herringbone jacket he was wearing: not-very-tall (about my height), medium build, shortish blond hair that catches the light as he moves his head, full-but-trim blond beard, blue eyes, long eyelashes, wire-frame glasses, unostentatious clothes (khaki pants, Rockport shoes, nondescript shirt). He dressed exactly like I do, I was thrilled to my very marrow. And he was a low-key sort of babe, totally. You know, not really aware of how sexy he was, just a well-behaved guy going to work. And wearing a wedding band.

Husbear, who's also blond, and I were both beside ourselves with lust at his mere presence on the subway, both us us angling to look at him, speculating as to how he looked naked, et cetera. Husbear sat down next to him, I sat across so I got the actual view. Our eyes met for a second, but his expression had the blank incomprehension of a straight guy who didn't care if he was cruised or not, totally unaware that a gay man might find him attractive. There I've said it.

He was one of those rare people who was so startlingly like what I find attractive that I had to comment on it. There aren't many blond men around, even fewer who have facial hair. I think in my life I specifically remember six in the last ten years, blond guys usually go brown at adolescence, so the look is rare in adults. I'm one of the few natural blonds who has stayed that way, even my brother's hair turned brown after high school.

Anyway, so, well, that's about it. Nothing much else. Just that guy: YUHHHHMMMM.

Dancing in western Massachusetts

Mon, 02 Oct 2006 17:18:32 GMT

My friend LeBear and I drove out to Montague for a gender role free contra dance there at the Grange hall in the center of town. Montague is a pretty little New England town, actually: a nice little green, church town hall, cozy little Grange hall, white houses with black shutters lining the street, huge trees, green lawns.

The band was the Flying Garbanzos, the caller was Linda Leslie, and I knew almost everyone there who was dancing. There were a few unfamiliar faces, including some straight kids from UMass who don't get all freaked out by role-free dancing. The music was great, the whole vibe was awesome and friendly. There was an advanced dance in the afternoon, a pot luck supper, and an evening dance. The hall was packed, everyone was in a great mood, the music was almost perfect. That's always the hard thing to come down from: a whole day of dance-related joy on a cool, early fall, evening in rural Massachusetts, the leaves just beginning to change. I had to sit out a dance, went on the sidewalk out front and could hear the fiddle playing a soft, melody that drifted out into the cool evening air with the aching sweetness of a childhood memory and, through the windows, watched the couples waltzing inside. There's just nothing like it anywhere. Even as I write these words, I'm listening to the CD I bought and the whole thing is washing over me.

It was a nice night.

Talk Like a Pirate

Tue, 19 Sep 2006 18:01:39 GMT

I just wanted as many people as possible to know that today is "International Talk Like a Pirate" day. I found out while nuking my lunch when a guy told me. I've always wanted to celebrate it on the day but usually heard about a month later that I'd missed it.

Avast, ye swabs! Keel haul the mizzen mast an' batten doon the 'atches! Et cetera.

My Odometer runneth over

Mon, 18 Sep 2006 17:40:28 GMT

This past Friday, on the way down to dance camp in New York State, my odometer hit 250,000. I was ready for it, I had Husbear waiting with the camera so that I actually have photographic proof that it happened. He clicked off three shots, a stunning artistic achievement overall. I was beside myself. We had a guest/passenger in the back seat who was sort of wondering what was going on; apparently, non-drivers just don't understand the excitement caused by a pristine row of zeroes.

Anyway, dance camp was a really good example of a total commitment to fun that was made by all the participants. The band and caller were excellent, the dancing was top of the line. The advanced dance hit new highs. The weather was perfect. The place where we stayed actually had bottled water and itty-bitty chocolates for us in our rooms, and the food was really good. Especially when compared with that of camp locations past. I was thrilled, exhilarated, and in a state of happy exhaustion when it was all over. And feeling that post-camp, it's-all-over-but-the-driving, letdown.

Our guest was our German friend, Markus, who agreed that the whole weekend was without peer in his life. They have such things in Deutschland, but not with the level of dancing and musical wildness that Americans can create almost without effort. I turned 46 on Sunday the 17th, the whole room sang "Happy Birthday" at breakfast to me while I blushed furiously.

We got home in time to take a QUICK shower, and then rushed out to dinner at the home of the head Chorus Bear, who had a surprise birthday cake waiting for me, and champagne for Markus' departure which was/is today.

A nice weekend.

Up Early This Morning

Thu, 24 Aug 2006 13:19:42 GMT

I was out of the house at 7AM today so I could get my car in to the shop for a check-up and still be early to work so get a project out.

As soon as I opened the front door, I could feel that late-summer dampness, the dew on the grass, the clear sky, and I could smell the first hint that the season is changing. The air had that lush quality that it gets in September around the first day of school. It reminded me of walking with my brother to school in my new back-to-school clothes; holding a lunch bag; a new pencil box with Peanuts characters on it and a fresh, sweet-scented gum eraser with all the edges still sharp. I always had a nickel for a waxed box of milk and a dime for a Hershey bar to buy on my way home. The New England air in early September has a quality I've never encountered anywhere else and it always heightened that sense of newness and possibility that the start of the school year always created. I always looked forward to school, I liked learning and I went to a school system that was excellent and focused on education, sports got short shrift and were not valued. I experienced very little of the sports jock culture that I always hear about from people who grew up in other parts of the country. They had little prestige where I went to school. But of course, that was about 40 years ago. Times do change.

When I drive through my comfortable middle class hometown, taking a shortcut on my way home from work, I always marvel at how much more lavish middle class life is now, in comparison with my childhood.

My Mini Sports Rant

Tue, 22 Aug 2006 13:04:42 GMT

Back story: The Sox blew a five game series against the Yankees yesterday afternoon by finishing up with a 2-1 loss. They lost every farking game! Every one of them. I couldn't believe it. My boss was at the game yesterday and sometime in the fifth inning he phoned me. Behind him I could hear screaming, I asked excitedly, "What's going on?" He must've glanced over at the field, "oh, some guy's on first." And then he went back to discussing business.

Anyway, this morning on the radio Bob Oates says that the Yankees "topped" the Sox yesterday. I would NOT say "topped" which implies that it was consensual. Nor would I say, for instance, "boned" which implies that it's at least to the bottom's enjoyment. No, I'd say that "the Sox felt the rough, strong, hands of the Yankees as they ripped down the Sox pants, pushed them onto a table, and then proceeded to serially rape them, and, when the Sox were at their most vulnerable, turned them over and the whole team jizzed all over them, finally leaving them there to dry off in front of Fenway Park's crowd." That's what I'D say.

Jiminy Cricket! This was a rout. Arrgh. The whole Johnny Damon trade looks really, really, stupid and Coco Crisp will NEVER, live up to the hype. But enough of this.

Hey, how 'bout that deev who claims he iced Jon Benet, huh? What d'y'say? Innocent but nuts? Right? No way he could've done it, right, since he was with his ex-wife that night. So... what? Twisted perv "in love" with a little girl. What d'you think, living in Thailand so that he can have sex with underage prosititutes for cheap, right? The whole story just REEKS if you ask me. Ick.

Chorus Bears RULE

Thu, 17 Aug 2006 12:56:49 GMT

Well. We went out last night with a group of fellow chorines that we loosely call "The Chorus Bears" and a swell time was had by all. The Head Chorus Bear (chosen by acclimation because of his beard, his forthright decency, and his low-key personality) put the whole thing together, made the reservations and sent out the evites.

Anyway, while I'm not specifically "into" bears (Husbear aside, otters might be a good description of what I like to look at), but I sure do the hang with a lot of them. There were ten well-facial-haired guys at Maggiano's downtown last night, and we had a blast. I've not seen several of them since the end of rehearsals last June and there was a lot of catching up to do, and on the table we had and drank five bottles of wine. I can't get over the amount of food I ate, that we all ate, and the staff kept bringing out more. Maggiano's is a moderately priced, middling quality, family style chain restaurant, and the food was perfectly adequate for our needs last night. I went home stuffed, through a snafu with the waiters Husbear got all the left-overs. After we settled up inside, we stood on the sidewalk chatting and hugging before we all left each other's company.

It was a great evening, a nice way to end a day filled with anxiety for me. Tonight I'm going out for sushi with a friend who lives in Pepperell, I had to drive in to work for that; it'll be an hour-long drive.

The contra dance season starts up next Saturday, it's the first day of my vacation and I'm unsure at yet about going dancing that night, or what our plans will end up being.

It's a beautiful day...

Wed, 16 Aug 2006 17:30:20 GMT

...and I'm in the office feeling a nameless dread that I often feel on says like this. I know it's neurotic and all but 11 September 2001 was equally perfect. The sky was the same absurd blue, and the clouds that finally appeared late that day were the same sharp-edge fluffies that we have right now. I'm sitting here just sort of sublimating instead of going outside for lnch. like the rest of the office has.

Of course, because of recent acid reflux problems, I'm not going out for my afternoon snack, which I do every afternoon so I can get out of the office and take a break. So I won't be going outside because, also, there's no place to go in this neighborhood but the supermarket down the street, or the convenience store directly across. So I stay inside. I also don't like going out in direct sunlight due to my near-total lack of melanin and my high risk of sunburns, a lesson that was very hard learned indeed.

So I'm inside at my computer, feeling nameless dread, keeping out of direct sunlight, minding my own as kids say these days.

I wouldn't mind going to another baseball game. Nothing gets troubles off one's mind quite like sitting at Fenway Park, eating a hot dog, and singing "Sweet Caroline."

Baseball at Fenway Park

Tue, 15 Aug 2006 17:12:18 GMT

Verily, Fenway Park is one of the great baseball venues in all the world, and last night I went to a game with Husbear and a couple of friends. We all had a swell time, it was Sox vs Detroit Tigers. The Sox played pretty crappily, the Tigers got three runs in the first inning, I was astounded that no sooner had we all got comfy than the ball went up over the park and Detroit was on its way to winning; one sort of sat back and thought, wow, this is going to be a rout, and it was. Every time the Sox even got a base hit the crowd went nuts, lots of fun all round. It was like watching the old Sox of years past, when they choked every single time, but you didn't care. Anyway, I can't really talk all that much about baseball because, really, I'm only into certain players, but the four of us loved it. It turned out that one of us was a sportswriter when he lived in Dallas years ago so he was in the know about a lot of the basics.

But in the end, the Sox lost. Big deal, they do that all the time, but it was fun. Going to ball parks is a perfect summertime thing to do, like going to a cookout in a friend's backyard, or going to the beach and smelling like coconut oil all day (even after you shower). I like to go just to experience the whole Fenway gestalt. My company is responsible for lots of the current renovation work going on there, I've not worked on any of it, but I see the work getting done.

Anyway, that's all I can think of: Fenway kicks butt, the Sox stink but we love them, Jason didn't play (which made me cranky), but I got over it by eating a Fenway Frank with loads of fancy mustard. As good a balm as any for a troubled soul.

Movies and Health

Fri, 11 Aug 2006 19:17:51 GMT

Tuesday the Husbear and I took the day off from work and went to Mount Auburn Hospital so that I could have an upper GI done, which involves swallowing a camera and watching it go down one's throat to reveal any unhealthy signs. I'd been suffering from acid reflux of late and my doctor wanted to make sure that there was nothing more serious than that going on. I was put into conscious sedation and wheeled into the operating room. I told the doctor I wanted my glasses so that I could watch the procedure while lying on my side. The next thing I knew, it was two hours later and I was recovering. Alas. If I was conscious during the procedure, I have no memory of it (amnesia is a frequent side effect of the sedation). So I missed the cool visuals.

Husbear drove me home, which is a good thing because I kept trying to bear left while walking down the hall to the car. He got me home and I flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling for three hours wide awake, but reluctant to move. After I'd tired of that he suggested that we go to the cheap show of a movie.

We chose Talladega Nights. A good choice it turned out. We'd heard that Southerners hated it because it presents an elaborate parody of redneck culture. It was just jam-packed with stereotypes of ignorant trailer trash eating junk food and watching the junk sport of car racing. We howled in parts, there were great moments of ad-lib stuff going on throughout. I wouldn't recommend it to everyone but it really appealed to us. The next movie we want to see is "World Trade Center" which every reviewer says isn't as good as "United 93" of a few months back, but I'm still interested in seeing it.

This weekend we're going to a cookout at the home of a friend who's famous for his carnivorous cooking. We're both wicked psyched as his all-meat cookouts are always incredible, you're just sort of in awe of all the meat that there is to choose from. Never a bad thing to have a really good cook doing the grilling as well.

Baseball News

Wed, 02 Aug 2006 19:28:27 GMT

I'm absolutely APOPLECTIC WITH RAGE!! I just read in the little picture paper that because of Jason Varitek's so-called "knee injury" he'll be off the field for a month. Meaning that he won't be catching at the game that I'm going to on August 14th! What kind of a man is he? Tough it out, I say, you owe to your team. He's just wussing out like some little high-maintenance crybaby. Grr.

Mostly though, I've been thinking, well, daydreaming actually, about watching him squat down behind the plate; bouncing a little on his delicious, meaty, thighs; his firm ass filling his tight pants egregiously... Sigh, now none of it will come to pass. Don't that just beat off? I mean, beat all?

I guess I could hold up a sign that says "GET WELL 'TEK!" and maybe get on TV. Then he'll see me and feel all better about stuff, mssing the game, disappointing people, and all.

Hot hot hot

Wed, 02 Aug 2006 17:10:14 GMT

Yeah. Sure is hot out. Got that. A guy at work said to me, "may I ask you a question?" My reply: "As long as it's not about the weather." I'm sick of making small talk about the heat.

As an old friend once said while trying to deflect an unpleasant topic, " Hey. How 'bout that local sports team?" I guess it works better as a joke about a gay man trying to make small talk with a straight one.

Anyway, Husbear was watching a series called "Monarchy" on public TV last night. He really got into it, but he was wearing headphones while I was reading, so I didn't see or hear any of it. He raved about it afterwards like he was possessed, and was full of information about Charleses One and Two this morning at breakfast. Was even talking about buying the DVD set for almost 50 bucks, too rich for my blood.

There I didn't mention the heat once. Except there.

Do You Wanna Dance?

Tue, 01 Aug 2006 17:07:26 GMT

A bunch of weeks ago I signed up for iTunes at the office and became instantly addicted to downloading all kinds of songs so that I can listen to them at work or copy them onto CDs and take them home to listen to on the stereo in the living room. I managed to fill three whole CDs of oldies that I call "80s-gasms 1, 2, and 3." I can now rebuy all the 45s that I bought at the time. But my favorite achievement has been a CD of the original and eight cover versions of the song "Do You Wanna Dance." Who knew that there were so many ways to interpret a dopey pop song, though admittedly one of my favorites.

It starts with the original Bobby Freeman version, one which has the most soul, there's a version by Gerry and the Pacemakers sounding like low-rent Beatles, there's a surf version by the Beach Boys, a cheeseball knock-off of that by Dave Edmunds, a punk-surf version by the Ramones, a thrash metal version by the Queers, a typically overproduced one by the Mamas and the Papas, and a romantic one by Bette Midler. All in all, I'm pretty pleased by the way it turned out. And I made a really decent cover for it, since I'm a deisgn professional and all.

Dancing all over the continent

Wed, 26 Jul 2006 20:28:47 GMT

I got an email today from my friend Markus who was born and raised in Germany, now lives in Berlin, saying that he's going to be flying to Stuttgart to go to a contra dance weekend there, with music supplied by a Zurich band called "Over The Isles" (an odd sort of pun, one would expect "Across the Isles"). I was wondering if a certain Pinkfish might've some hand in the existence of the band, given his history in that very city.

Anyway, he's wicked psyched about coming to the US for contra dance camp in September, working out how to pay for it, scheming for the time off from a difficult project, et cetera. He's starting his own contra dance group, not role-free however, in Berlin. They're barly hanging on, but he's hoping that they'll grow. I sent him some CDs of current local music, Heathen Creek and The Groovemongers, he tried it out on his group to vast acclaim, they loved it, couldn't get enough of it. Dancing to CDs isn't as good as dancing to live music but the two I sent him are among the best around. I hope that his little group (30 to 40 dancers, give or take) can make a go of it.

Contra dancing is such an American art form that I'm surprised that anyone outside of the northeast would be interested. It's not like square dancing which lots of people do around the world. It's still a bit of a specialized thing.

What We Did Last Weekend

Tue, 25 Jul 2006 17:08:18 GMT

The husbear and I went to a gay, nudist, resort in Wells River, Vermont, this past weekend. It was surprisingly tame, to tell the truth. There were tons of naked guys there, like about 26 (one of their most crowded weekends ever). I saw little open nookie happening anywhere, but one could see that there were couples that were going to be misbehaving when they got some privacy in another part of the building. All in all, there was a fairly astounding level of manly pulchritude to be seen. For instance, there was a contingent of guys who would set the hearts of size queens aflutter; there was a guy there with a name that sounded like he was a porn star; there was a drag performer, his husband; and a couple of cute little young guys, and a total, utter, not-very-tall babe from Ontario. I never saw any of them with clothes on, never a bad thing. One saw guy with hairy bods, or not, a few boners, et cetera.

We were tenting and it poured all day Saturday, our tent flooded a little, so we had to move inside to sleep Saturnight. One of the nice things about the fact that it poured the whole time was that I didn't have to worry about getting a sunburn. The rain was warm at least, and there wasn't much of a breeze, so no-one got cold. The food was quite good, cooked by the owners themselves.

They had a selection of videos: Alfred Hitchcock's "Rebecca" upstairs, "Dildo Pigs 3" downstairs; a hot tub; a sauna; a little swimming pool; a fireplace. I'd recommend it highly as a way to unwind, and maybe to score as well.

It was very much outside of my usual experience, that's for sure.

Verizon sex you can ask the Red Sox questions by text messaging!

Thu, 13 Jul 2006 17:44:31 GMT

According to an email that I just got, Verizon customers can now text message various of the Red Sox themselves, including Jason Varitek. Swoon. I wonder if they censor the messages, since some people, my friends among them might want to ask him questions like, "Hi, Jason, would you let me lick you?" or "Dude, my friend would like to eat your ass until you shoot your load on my chest, how 'bout it?" Or, "Can I come over and take a shower with you? Really? Will you let me soap up your balls?"

Jason's a christian and I don't think he'd like to be exposed to such twisted perversity.

My guess is that in reality, some bored guy in the Verizon office makes up all the answers since no-one can tell who's actually writing them.

Nevertheless, the possibility tantalizes.

Allison Bechdel's New Book

Tue, 11 Jul 2006 14:56:39 GMT

Allison Bechdel, for those who are not in the know, is a cartoonist, a dyke to watch out for, and also (I've just discovered) quite a great writer and thinker. I had read a review of her new book, FUN HOME, in the Times Book Review that was so enthusiastic that I the writer had to devise new adjectives to describe it. I jumped through hoops to find it, buying it eventually at Borders downtown. And I was hooked reading the first page while I was waiting in line to buy it.

It's an unflinching account of her childhood in Pennsylvania with a deeply closeted father and a very unhappy family. It's well-written and incredibly powerful, full of insightful writing, and excellent (almost) compulsively detailed drawings. I read it on the T, so hooked that I was unaware that the train had reached my stop. I read it walking down the street to my house, I read it on the back porch until the light failed, finally finishing it around ten last night. I raved to my husbear until I puked up pea soup and my head started to spin around. This morning I awoke at 7:15 to discover that he had been reading it since he'd awakened early this morning, and was barely able to get off the couch to go to work, so wildly engrossed was he.

I know I haven't written much, mostly because I thought that this forum wasn't much of a way to get word out. But I have to get it out somehow. THIS BOOK IS WORTH READING. Buy it, it's newly out and in hardcover, for the small price of 20 bucks, get it up on the best seller list. The world should know about it.

Beatles 2-Night & 4-eva

Fri, 23 Jun 2006 21:21:00 GMT

My Chorus friend, Mr Bill, and I are both fanatical Beatlenuts. We've made smoething of a hobby of seeing any Beatles tribute band that shows up in the area. We've been to to three in the last couple of months. I got my husbear to go to one of them a few weeks ago and he had a nice time. Mr Bill and I were out of our gourds, however, the band was very good. They dressed in 1965 Ed Sullivan Show appearance suits, and sang nothing later than 1965. My kind of night. We're going to another one tonight, Beatlejuice, in Melrose. The Husbear's going as well, even though he's not really into the fab four. It'll be a nice break from the horrible rainy weather, I just hope I get there without hydroplaning off the hightway. But it's worth risking death to see an incredible simulation of the Beatles, especially since half of them are dead now.

Ice cream and something else

Fri, 23 Jun 2006 13:24:10 GMT

My husbear has told me that I'm not to use my new ice cream machine for making peach yogurt ice cream because every time I picture two BIG scoops of peach yogurt in a bowl, all I can think of (and talk about) is Red Sox catcher Jason Varitek's butt. Not that I've ever actually SEEN his butt in person, however one's imagination can go a long way towards filling in information that one doesn't have. I mean, two firm, well-formed, shining orbs, it's hard to know what I'm thinking of sometimes since both images blend together with astonishing ease. Creamy, sweet, perfect, pick your adjective, they all work perfectly well in either situation.

I guess he thinks it's boring to listen to, I suppose I can understand that in a way.

The World Cup

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 19:17:28 GMT

I've just been told that the US is out of the running for the World Cup. Oh.

I can't help it, I'm American, I couldn't care less. I care even less than when two non-Boston teams are playing the World Series (I confess, I care some when the Sox are up for it). I care as much about the World Series as I care about reading the supermarket tabloid stories about empty-headed celebrities and thir romantic entanglements.

I got a haircut yesterday and was forced to read "In Touch" and "OK!" Just about the worst waste of time I could think of. They were so boring I threw them back in the pile, finding staring at the walls to be more interesting.

Europeans are way into the whole World Cup, to them apparently it's a big deal. Who knew on this side of the Atlantic?

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 19:10:17 GMT

I went into a nearby corner market and was thrilled to see a plastic bag of those round carmel candies with a white sugar center. I think they're called "Bullseyes" by some people, but the label said "Carmel Cremes" and they're made by Goetz. No matter, I was seized with a nostalgic need to buy the bag and remind myself about picking up empty tonic bottles on the beach in Rockport and turning them in for the deposit which I would immediately spend on penny candy from the service window 'round front. One got two cents for Coke bottles and three cents for Twin Lights Tonic, the local brand, and one got candy in return ultimately. I remember the little carmel things tasted pretty good, and were a deal because they were two for a penny, a good deal in anyone's book.

They cost 99 cents for a bag now, and it contained 14, about 7 cents each, and, worst of all, they tasted awful. Really awful. And sweet. Yet I ate the whole bag, to my afternoon-long regret. They're sitting in my stomach like a sugar-coated handful of sand. My system is still trying to figure out a way to digest them, or at least break them down. And I feel a bit queasy, and every time I burp I can taste them again. I also need to brush my teeth really badly. As I walked in to the office, several people mentioned remembering eating them, but all, tellingly, refused to partake.

The whole thing was a disappointment, like when I bought from a vendor in Harvard Square some Archie comics from the late sixties, my exact era for reading them. I stopped reading them when they went up to fifteen cents, and I graduated to "House of Mystery" and "Action Comics." The Archie comics were really lame. They seemed so funny at the time, so up-to-the minute. Why, Jughead sometimes wore a fuzzy vest like the one Sonny Bono had, and Betty and Veronica, for one whole episode, had a thing for a group called "The Buggs." Those little tiny ads were incredibly cool, though. They transported me back more effectively than the labored stories of effectively of the hormonal teenagers did. I really wanted the X-ray Spex again.

Nostalgia is really something of a dead end as a way to pass the time, I guess.

Tue, 13 Jun 2006 17:54:52 GMT

Well, then. The BGMC finished its last show of the year, the Jerry Herman's Broadway show and those of my friends who decided to get up off their butts, turn off their TVs, and get out of the house found the show to be one of the best we'd ever done.
I'd had minimal hopes for this show (I don't much care for show tunes), and I figured that I'd grit my teeth and hold my nose and just deal, especially since, as section representative, I can't miss any shows. I'd endure the whole thing and get out of it all stronger than before, having faced up to a demon. But no. The songs were stirring when they should've been, funny when they should've been, fun when they should've been. There was a drag show, never an easy thing to endure, and it was actually a lot of fun to watch, if only from behind. Faaabulous costumes.
We had only one train wreck, "Bosom Buddies," which I guess we never really learned. No-one seems to've noticed, except those who aren't in a chorus and don't know that when singers all look back and forth at each other, that means there's trouble afoot.
The dancers were good, and there was a solo, one of the handsomest second tenors sang something (I'm not sure what) to one of the sexiest second tenors, they dances a little, then they kissed while we all day dreamed about it. Several people asked them if they, you know, used tongues. It's hard not to want to know that if you knew these guys. Unfortunately, they're as discreet as they are nice.
But, anyway, the weekend was wonderful, the Pride parade couldn't've been better. Sweetums walked with his church and I walked with the Chorus. It rained most of the day, and we walked in the rain, singing a song from the show ("The Best of Times"), holding four huge puppets dressed like Chorus members, all tuxed out, clearly inspired by Bread and Puppets in Vermont. The weather was crappy, the wind was strong, and somehow, when we were done, we all felt a sense of disappointment. It had been somehow wonderful to walk in the rain together, all singing. We were thrilled by the novelty of it, and how we all felt so close to each other. There was so much pleasure in being part of the whole thing. We all knew that we were feeling something special and when we finished, we hugged and took a lot of photographs of each other. It was special and warm and not even the least bit manipulative. Just one of those things that's hard to describe when it's over, but that you know happened and felt good at the time.
I was happy most of the weekend. That's new for me.

What Singing last NIght Did For Me

Fri, 09 Jun 2006 14:42:31 GMT

Okay. Well, last night, the Boston Gay Men's Chorus debuted our show, "Jerry Herman's Broadway" and it went off with only one major hitch, namely that during the song "Bosom Buddies" most of us forgot our cues and just sang along where we thought we knew the lyrics well enough. We'll get a talking-to tonight before the show, and we'll be quiet because we'll know we deserve it. But we were otherwise really good, very enthusiastic and happy, even filled with, uh, Pride.

I'm always proud of us when we sing. I love the expericence of being in the middle of voices pouring out harmony, a single perfect note spills out from the stage, over our heads and into the audience. A gift for everyone. I feel such pleasure at that. A sound that will not reverberate, will be lost immediately, but which will cause people, sometimes with only the sound of a chord, to remember things, to bring back lost faces and recreate for them a world in art. That's what art does when it's working.

When we sang in Berlin at Pride there last year, for perhaps 400,000 people lining the 17th of June Street, stretching from the Victory Column to the Brandenburg Gate, or when we sang in Wroclaw, Poland, every note seemed to matter somehow. The experience was powerful and beautiful. I remember sounding out those notes in "Marry Us" and feeling only a wow sensation. A wonder at the beauty of it all.

Gulp. I guess I am a romantic after all.

My first-ever post. I hope.

Thu, 08 Jun 2006 17:35:16 GMT

Hi. Did this work? I'm not really a techie at all. I think I might be doing this wrong. But then again, maybe not. It's hard to know, actually. Usually, with computers, I just sort of do something and then see if it works. I was pleased that I sort of figured out how to get the photo to work. But that's about the level of my ability.

Let's see. I'm 45 years old, married to a guy six! teen! years! younger than I am. My husband's name is Mr Bear. We got married in Boston in May of 2005, honeymooned on Nantucket. The next month we went on a tour of central Europe with the Boston Gay Men's Chorus, singing in Berlin; Wroclaw, Poland; and Prague. A good time was had by all.

We're singing a collection of songs by Jerry Herman at the Cutler Majestic Theater, downtown, tonight, Friday the 9th and Sunday, the 10th.

That's about all I can think of. I hope this works.