At the last minute, I told Zach I'd join him today at Seattle's Pride Parade. Not to watch, but to March with State Senator Ed Murray's supporters, leading the pack of Puget Sound politicans who support LGBT causes. I have to agree with the wise man who said that marching in the Pride Parade is much more enjoyable than watching it from the sidewalk - at least, for someone like me, who loves to peoplewatch.
But, let's be honest here. The absolute best part wasn't seeing so many state and local level politicans running around before the parade. It wasn't the "Ed Murray" shirt I got to wear, or sign I got to wave around. It wasn't even the opportunity to spend time with Zach.
No, the absolute best part of my Pride Parade experience was the honor of marching right behind a bagpipe band. Yes, Ed Murray always marches in the Pride Parade, hand-in-hand with his partner, with a bagpipe band following them.
And, now you know my horrible secret: I love bagpipes.
Of course, I already feel privilidged to call him friend. But, who knew he had such talent?
As I'm currently
1. ill
2. praying #1 isn't psychosomatic or some incurable ailment
3. praying #1 doesn't persuade my boyfriend to seek out a younger companion at this weekend's PrideFest with a more robust immune response
4. packing to move
5. drugging my asthmatic cat
6. teaching
7. preparing for my first graduate committee meeting on Monday
8. dissecting fish for their gonads
and
9. judging a local Iron Chef competition,
I didn't realize how long it'd been since I smiled a real smile. Not one of those I'm-pretending-to-be-fine-so-I-can-keep-working-though-I-really-feel-like-dying-both-inside-and-out sorts of forced, fake smiles, but a genuine, spontaneous smile. So, thanks Fancy.
Last night, I discovered that even he wasn't aware of our move next month. So, just in case anyone missed it:
For locals, I'll keep you updated on the housewarming party. Special guests will hopefully include my "Washington state legislature crush" (Seriously, doesn't everyone have one?) and my asthmatic cat.
In regards to this sticky situation, I have to surprise myself and agree 100% with Mr. Savage.
Also, for any of you in the Washington, D.C. area, if you see him, you might want to let him know that he still hasn't changed the sexual orientation on his MySpace profile from "straight" to "gay."
P.S.: Thanks to whoever told Tyler about his MySpace profile! But, if you want to see how his profile looked before the makeover, here it is.
Though I heard about this movement months ago, it was only Tuesday, when running through Chicago's O'Hare Airport to catch a flight to Milwaukee, that I finally saw a man (an attractive, though obviously straight, man) proudly holding a sign: FREE HUGS.
I almost couldn't help myself. In that moment of sheer rush, and near panic, how could I not want a hug?
But, those who know me are no doubt shocked by such an indulgence. True, I am very "physical" with my expressions of love and affection. Those to whom I feel close know so by the hugs, or occasional clasped hands, beaming smiles, and kisses they earn. But (and you, the reader, could likely easily infer this through a quick browse of my archives), I've few people (family or friends) to whom feel close enough to recieve such physical tokens of affection. Thus, though my arms are spread wide when I feel loved, it just so happens that I rarely feel loved enough to spread those arms.
Thus, I can no more explain why I indulged in the "FREE HUGS" sign while rushing through O'Hare International Airport than I can explain why Zach, who is as reserved in his physical expressions as I am generous (let's just say I initiate most hugs), has been sharing a bed with me these past four years.
And I'm not even going to think about how I ended up with such an emotionally distant cat, either.
After the education workshop ended at 4:00PM this afternoon, I decided to explore Milwaukee briefly, as I'm leaving tomorrow midday. My boyfriend kept pressing me to seek out the Milwaukee Art Museum - we always go to the art museums. I don't know why, really. I think it has something to do with both of us being nerds.
But, the Milwaukee Art Museum is in the middle of a park along Lake Michigan. In a word: breathtaking. Unfortunately, all museums in Milwaukee appear to close at 5:00PM on Fridays, leaving me to think it would be better to explore the interior during a brief two-hour window I have tomorrow morning. Instead, I wandered the Lake Michigan waterfront. As I walked, I chuckled at a half-joking suggestion Zach had made prior to this trip: that I seek out the Milwaukee "gay district," or some sort of gay-oriented establishment, to visit during my free time.
"Like I've ever fit in with gay people," I retorted, with just a hint of venom. After all, aside from the whole man-attracted-to-other-men thing, gay culture and I rejected one another years ago. I am too nerdy, and they hate nerds.
Hence my horror when I stumbled on the 2007 Milwaukee PrideFest. All the rainbow flags leading up to it apparently didn't register as a "clue" to this Velma. But, luckily, a $15 entry fee kept me from entering, and instead sent me on a foot tour of downtown Milwaukee, ending at an Irish pub for dinner and drinks and a flirtatious sorority blonde-haired waitress (she cut the act when she heard me grumble, "God, I miss my boyfriend!" after the unfortunate shoulder pat).
But, despite the waitress, I can't help but love this city. It's very midwestern, and therefore very much everything-Seattle-lacks in my book. I find myself loving it for the same reason I love another, much larger, midwestern city: Chicago. Both Zach and I have expressed a desire to move to Chicago someday. We could both be closer to family, and Zach has a good friend in the city. Milwaukee seems as attractive a choice, or perhaps moreso... particularly since more mid-sized cities seem to suit me better.
But Milwaukee, along with every other Wisconsin city, has to work a bit harder to win me over, since the people of Wisconson (unlike the people of Illinois) sought fit to kick me in the balls, and add these words to their constitution:
"Only a marriage between one man and one woman shall be valid or recognized as a marriage in this state. A legal status identical or substantially similar to that of marriage for unmarried individuals shall not be valid or recognized in this state."
On the phone earlier, as I was watching the wings of the Milwaukee Art Museum close at 5:00PM, Zach and I had our usual ideological disagreement on this issue - with my idealism sparring briefly with his pragmatism. Zach argued, rightly so, that even though this amendment would bar even the most basal of domestic partnership registrations (similar to the measure passed recently in our own state), legal contracts and carefully-crafted wills could be used instead.
But, in my mind, I can't get over the fact that 59% of Wisconsin voters - 59%! - chose not only to outlaw same-sex marriage, but also actively chose language meant to restrict any hope of even the most basal of domestic partnership rights. Do the people of Wisconsin really see something wrong with Zach visiting me in the hospital? Really? Are these basal rights that much of a threat to their marriages? Unfortunately, I tend to go the hospital every now and then, and I'd like to count on Zach's visitation rights to get me through my spinal taps. Until he dumps me for having too many spinal taps, that is.
Still, as a result, Wisconsin has to work a little harder than Illinois to gain my trust. I don't take an ideological kick in the pants too well.
I'm sitting in a room on the tenth floor of a dormitory at the Milwaukee School of Engineering. Up until ten minutes ago, the air was still, thick, sticky, and hot. I had the windows open, but it made no difference. Up until the thunderstorm - my first real thunderstorm in over two years - burst about ten minutes ago. Many of my fellow attendees at this education workshop were nervious earlier: local meteorologists had used the "T" word. As many of them, including my fellow traveller from Seattle, have never been in a tornado before, they weren't sure how to find shelter in the tenth floor of a dormitory building. I tried to reassure them with promises of basements, sirens, and plenty of warning - as well as my long-held theory that midwestern meteorologists notoriously inflate the chances of a tornado. I don't know if I worried them more, however.
But, either way, two beers down from a local pub, I retired to my tenth-floor dormitory at the Milwaukee School of Engineering and stripped down to my underwear to weather the thick, still heat of a midwestern summer. At least until the first thunderclap broke ten minutes ago. Howling winds scattered papers about sex determination across the room, and the skies grumbled a disapproving echo of white lightning. I'm enjoying every minute of it, including the rapid drop in temperature that should make tomorrow morning more pleasant in temperment than today.
I'm in thunderstorm-blessed Milwaukee apparently to reignite my passion for teaching. Those weren't my intentions, but I've been swept up yet again by the joyous prospects of teaching someday at a small college. While the workshop is officially centering on alternative methods to teach protein structure, and any village idiot knows I'm no more a structural biologist than I am a star of pornographic films, one might wonder what I've had to contribute. But, aside from my knowledge of tornadoes, I've of course managed to emphasize the "evolutionary spin" every time I open my mouth (a point which is apparently not as popular in my own city). I've also become keenly aware of concepts such as "individual learning styles" and "lecture alternatives." I've been humbled time and again over the past few days by my own strong reliance on visual and tactile stimuli to learn, while surrounded primarily by traditional auditory learners. I think my near compulsion to pick up a protein model and spend fifteen minutes touching and holding it has been seen by my fellow workshop attendees as both innocent and annoying.
"Good," I say, as another savage gust of wind scatters more papers from my desk. "At least now these teachers will know how to go back to their colleges and teach their own tactile-visual Jameses."
I haven't found the right way to tell them I'd wouldn't mind being just like them someday. Perhaps I'll keep that thought to myself for now. After all, I've a committee meeting in two weeks, a Ph.D. to earn, a boyfriend to appease, and a thunderstorm to weather.
As my biological clock has insisted on remaining on Pacific time, I can both stay up to enjoy this beautiful storm, and get caught up on the news - which I've chosen to avoid the past few days in favor of sleeping, studying, and drinking in my non-workshop hours. On trips such as these, I tend to avoid "major" headlines in general. I don't know precisely why, particularly since I often stand up on my soapbox and say we ignore such stories at our peril. I remain aware, but remain light on the details until I return home. Thus, I know I've much to catch up on when I return home, including the upcoming Israeli Presidential election and a review of the G8 conference in Germany.
I have found, however, much to enjoy and balk at several stories, from which I attempted the "lighter" headlines below. Perhaps you, the reader, can enjoy them as well - as I've been rather light on the posts lately, and unfortunately will continue to be light on posts, due to this workshop, an upcoming committee meeting, a move, a visit, and a generally busy summer. I, of course, beg your patience and endurance; as I once told Zach, I never professed to be a simple man.
France's capital to consider name change to 'Whiny, spoiled bitch'
'Epileptic muder' added as official Summer Olympic sporting event
Seattle celebrities try to make James feel better about his own high school yearbook photos
Senate Health Committee to Surgeon General nominee: 'Your sharp penis frightens us, too'
And finally, before I turn my attention back to thunder and lightning, a message for my boyfriend:
Zacharoo,
I may like Star Trek, and I may watch it quite a bit. But, look at it this way: it could be worse.
I return Saturday night. So, please warm up the Transporter.
Love,
-James
I said something like this once - just once - back in high school, to a crowded class. I was laughed out of the room. Hence why only the closest of close friends and family have ever heard me say it since.
But, if an op-ed columnist for the Washington Post is saying it now, perhaps I should come out of the closet.