April 2008

Hi Poppets! I’m excited because I’ve been exploring! Finally, I’ve found the Cuff and Purr and the Crypt and…so many places I’m practically aquiver. But I’m also getting ahead of myself…

The first thing I needed was a new hair salon because, while looking fabulous isn’t quite as important as feeling fabulous, let’s face it; it’s a close thing. And finding a salon isn’t easiest thing to do. See, I have long curly hair which is wonderful unless I get a bad cut at which point I look like a poodle mated with Little Orphan Annie. Not a good look. In fact, leaving my old stylist was almost as traumatic as leaving Massachusetts. Luckily for me, my explorations led me to Clay, owner and senior designer of Antonio Melani Salon and Spa.

A small yet elegant shop on Colby Avenue in Everett, Antonio Melani is a dream come true: a talented and knowledgeable staff; an unpretentious yet comfortable atmosphere; and a practically perfect hair cut and dye job. Clay takes his time, asking questions and learning what his clients want. He isn’t afraid to make suggestions but does so without being pushy and will give you whatever you decide on, if it was his suggestion or not. I left looking and feeling fabulous – for a third to a half of the price I would’ve paid downtown.

It was time to explore with confidence and so I did. But Poppets, I’m not nineteen any longer. I can’t live on nightclubs and dive bars alone anymore – although I gave it a good run. However, this development might not be wholly a bad thing when the alternatives are as delightful as the Hi Spot Café in the Madrona neighborhood of Seattle.

Sure, it’s a bit of a drive but so are all of the other Seattle offerings. And on an afternoon when I was a little tired, a little grumpy and a lot in need of a late-afternoon caffeine fix, stumbling into this little café lifted my mood immediately. Mike Walker, proprietor, serves up breakfast, lunch and that much-needed caffeine fix until four in the afternoon every day. The food is delicious and the service just right. But it’s more than that.

The Hi Spot is comfortable, even comforting. The restaurant is cozy without being crowded. It’s the perfect place to linger, people watch, read a book, catch up with a friend, whatever. Consider it an oasis where you can recharge between late nights and dance clubs.

Finding the big places is always great. It makes a town exciting and heady. Finding the little places, though? Well, that’s what makes a town home. I’m glad I’ve found these little places. Check them out next time you’re looking for a little peace and pampering. I think you’ll be glad to find them, too.

March 2008

Hi Poppets! I have a news flash: Gay men aren’t a fashion accessory. This should be obvious but apparently, for some straight women, it’s not. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I need to tell you I am a fag hag to my dear friend, Rob, back in Massachusetts and I wear the title of fag diva proudly for my friend, Don, down in Florida. Here’s the thing though: we worked on our relationships. First and foremost, we are friends. The labels are secondary and partly tongue in cheek. And I have many gay friends with whom it wouldn’t dawn on either of us to use the term at all.

There is a debate around the term “fag hag” – is it derogatory, is it complimentary, is it a way of life or single relationship? Its very definition is in question. Regardless of how anyone answers those questions though, my issue is the same. Somewhere along the line, a gay friend has become a favored trophy for a straight girl. And I have a problem with that.

A friend of mine recently had to change his email address and shut down his blog because of a cyber stalker. Her justification was that she was a fag hag so it was all okay. He was supposed to ignore the numerous, lengthy, needy emails that flooded his inbox daily. Ignore her sending mail to his place of business addressed to “My Pickle.” Pretend she wasn’t looking for instant intimacy simply because she was a fag hag. Ummm…no.

There are numerous web sites that women can join proclaiming their fag hag status. Most of my gay friends have at least one horror story of being approached at parties or bars by near strangers asking to be, in essence, instant best friends. Sure, we all have communities where we feel more comfortable than in others. Sometimes, that’s the LGBT community for straight women. I get this. Trust me. But, ladies, just because you are comfortable there doesn’t guarantee every man in the room wants to help you shop, dry your tears or pour out his soul while you eat ice cream tomorrow night.

If you consider being a fag hag a title for a single relationship, the way I do, or if you consider it a way of life, it still requires the agreement, consent and affection of the other person. You have to be friends first. You have to get to know him as a person, not as a token. And save the unrequited crushes for movie stars, please. A gay friend isn’t the way to avoid intimacy, isn’t a surrogate boyfriend, isn’t going to love you the moment you walk into his life just because you walked into his life. If that’s what you want, get a dog. Seriously.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.

February 2008

Hi Poppets. It’s an interesting time, isn’t it? Marriage. Civil unions. Domestic partnership. The great debate. States are scrambling. Congress is scrambling. Presidential candidates are scrambling.

In my opinion, they’ve gotten it right in Massachusetts. Same-sex couples can marry or register as domestic partners. Opposite-sex couples can marry or register as domestic partners. The laws, quite simply, apply to everyone.

It’s different here in Washington. Here, same-sex couples cannot marry but they can register as domestic partners. Opposite-sex couples can marry but they cannot register as domestic partners (unless one of them is over 62 years old.) If you are lesbian or gay and have made a run to Canada or MA, your spouse has no rights but your domestic partner does. If you are straight, your partner has no rights but your spouse does.

There’s something very wrong with this picture.

I have been a human and civil rights activist for a long time now. I have issues that mean more to me, of course, yet if it can fall into the “rights” category, I feel strongly about it. But let’s face it, Poppets: I’m privileged. I’m white. I’m straight. I’ve never been less than middle-class and have spent most of my life upper-middle class. All the sympathy and activism in my heart and in my actions cannot change the fact that societal norms are stacked in my favor. To the point that, if we cannot live in an equal and fair society, since we do not live in a world without privilege, I can and must admit it’s my turn – the turn of the straight, white folks.

Luckily, because I am aware of my privilege and do feel the way I feel, today wasn’t the shock it might have been. Today, for the first time, the laws of my state and my country do not protect me. They do not apply to me. They actively exclude me. You see, I am partnered – deeply, committedly partnered – but not married. And apparently, straight folks are supposed to be married.

Because I haven’t taken my privilege for granted in years, I recognize the pain being denied a right can cause. Because I have been sympathetic for years, I have seen first hand as confusion turns to frustration, turns to anger. What I learned today, though, is that sympathy has nothing on empathy.

So this is what it feels like to have your choices, your status, your very self be negated and invalidated by the law. So this is what it does to your heart, your spirit, your soul to be told that you don’t count. To be told that you cannot care for the person you love; that you cannot make decisions for him should he get sick; that he cannot visit you should you need him. That you cannot see your step-son. That he isn’t even really your step-son. That another person, who has her own agenda, who only wants to exert her power because she can, is more legitimate and more valid than you are.

Honestly, it’s good for me. I wish there was some way, some possible way, for all of us who carry privilege to experience this. If it kicked me in the gut this hard and was such a wake-up for someone like me, imagine the changes it could make in a society who is, for the most part, oblivious.

For now, though, I’ve learned how it feels.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.

January 2008

Hello Poppets! Greetings from Everett, Washington, my new home. Ah…Everett…where most kitchens close by ten p.m.; where most bars are sports bars; where I cannot for the life of me figure out the hours of the Castle. Jaunts into Seattle have been delightful. Everett itself has caused some culture shock for this city girl, I admit it.

Until the other night. The other night, David and I were in need of a change of scenery and a cocktail. There had to be somewhere…interesting, quirky, different…in Everett. And so there is. The Anchor Bar at the very end of Hewitt.

Now, first the disclaimers: I have only been there once and, since David and I present as a hetero couple, I can’t vouch for its LGBT friendliness. If you have information that is counter to this article, please pass it along. I will research it and get back to you. What I can tell you is that the Anchor Bar is, however, alt-friendly. Because although I live on the fringes of the LGBT community, I live smack in the middle of the alt community and my first thought when we walked in was “Yeah, this works.”

The walls are covered with pin-up art (lots of Betty Page – gotta love Betty Page!) and photos of the place going back to the ‘40s. The weekend before we were there, they had hosted a burlesque holiday show. Once a month, they have something called The Rockabilly Rumble. The train runs by, not twenty feet away, rattling the glasses, the bottles, the stools – everything but the regulars.

Those regulars ranged in age from mid-twenties to Jesus-how-old-do-you-think-he-is? There was a guy in biker leathers and another guy in a ball cap. The bartender, Heather, managed to balance being friendly and letting us be, perfectly, which is no small feat to pull off with the newbies in a neighborhood bar. They had my favorite vodka; David’s favorite scotch; and our favorite rum. A hat trick without having to be in a sports bar!

Currently, it’s under construction so it looks more than a little scary both inside and out. Honestly, though, I expect it was a dive bar before the construction and will continue to be a dive bar after the construction. I hope so anyway. Because it’s a dive bar with a quirky character and an unusual atmosphere. In Everett, nonetheless. Yeah, I’ll take that.

So, if you find yourself in Everett on a night the Castle is closed, stop in at the Anchor. The pour is good and the bartender is great. And if you happen to see me, come on up and introduce yourself.

Until then, Poppets, take care of you.

December 2007

Pssst…Poppets! Hi. It’s still me, in spite of the new name there on the byline. See, I’ve done it. I’ve moved to Washington. Now, I have no problem being as vocal here as I did with being a Bostonian but do you remember how cruel 13 year olds can be? Hell, remember how cruel 49 year olds can be? In an attempt to deflect some of that cruelty, I’m writing under a pseudonym now. But I won’t stop writing. I’m still me. You’re still you. And we’re still us. Ain’t it grand?

So, yes, I have made the move from the east coast to the west. I’m enjoying learning the area. In many ways, Washington already feels as alt-friendly than Massachusetts did. While I already knew Rumors, I have also found Neighbors. People have told me good things about Purr and Cuff. I can’t wait to spend my first paycheck at the Crypt.

However, before I immerse myself in the Washington scene, I wanted to say a quick good-bye (for now) to some of my favorite spots in New England. These towns are the ones you need to know about but probably don’t the ones you might not usually think about visiting. But if you want to get a feel for everything that is quintessential New England in a comfortable and welcoming environment, they are the places you need to visit.

Let’s start in Massachusetts with P’town. Or Provincetown as it is actually named. (http://www.provincetown.com/) Now, most of us have heard of P’town. It’s renowned for Carnivale, for the Fourth of July celebrations, for being a welcoming place all summer long. But it doesn’t close. People forget that P’town is still there and friendly during the winter months as well. Sure, some places are closed for the season but not all. And the crowds are nonexistent. Is there anything more romantic than an isolated walk along a windy beach before returning to your room to snuggle in front of the fire with your sweetie? Nope, I don’t think so either. If, however, you want to see the north shore instead of the Cape, head to Rockport. (http://www.rockportusa.com/) A fascinating blend of old and new, there are artists and shops and cafes enough to intrigue for days. It’s also only an hour outside of Boston and less than 15 minutes away from Gloucester and Manchester by the Sea in case one quaint New England village isn’t enough for the weekend.

Then there’s Rhode Island. Ah, the redheaded stepchild of New England. You’d be surprised how many of us forget Rhode Island is even there. Except for Providence of course. (http://www.edgeprovidence.com/) Providence has one of the largest, most thriving alternative communities in New England. There are great clubs, the arts, dining…you name it, it’s there.

Finally, to Connecticut. As the hometown of Yale University, New Haven combines the energy and spirit of a college town with the old-world charm of New England. (http://www.visitnewhaven.com) The community paper, The Metroline, is the easiest way to keep track of what’s going on in the local LGBT community but there are also several events throughout the year including, but so far beyond only, Pride Week. And if you are in the area on a Sunday and want to attend church – hey, I know not everybody’s Pagan like me! - drive up the road about 30 minutes to Salem Lutheran Church in Naugatuck. (14 Salem Street, Naugatuck, CT 06770) When the minister there, Pastor Christine Nessel, says she welcomes everyone into her church, she means everyone. Want to go dressed in all black? You’ll be welcome. Want to go with your same-gender partner? Or your soon-to-be-different gender partner? She will welcome you and her warmth and acceptance will be real.

So. There you have it. My last column (for a while anyway) on the interesting places in New England. Just something to think about while you are planning your 2008 vacations. Now, it’s time to start exploring the Pacific Northwest. Anybody have suggestions?

Until next time, Poppets, take care of you.

November 2007

Hi Poppets! Here's a confession: the article you are currently reading is not the one I'd written for this month. That article was on the holidays. That article will have to wait. And what is the news that changed this month's column?

Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, from the Harry Potter series, is gay.

J.K. Rowling, author of the books, outed him in October. Apparently, in the script for the next movie, there was a reference to a woman from his past and Rowling couldn't let it slide. How cool is that? Seriously. No mention of is ever made of any of the intimate relationship the adults in the book may – or may not - have so no one would have known if she had let it slide. But she didn't. Instead, she slipped a note to the director explaining the situation and then went public.

So what's the big deal? He's a fictional character. Why am I so pleased? First, as a writer, I appreciate and respect Rowling standing by her character. Again, since Dumbledore's relationships are never mentioned, it wouldn't have been noticed. Except that characters become real people t those of us who write them. For her, allowing Dumbledore to be a straight man when she knew he wasn't probably would have felt like a betrayal of him. I know it would feel that way t me if he were one of my characters. It wouldn't matter if anyone else knew the truth. I would know. And in some weird writer way, my character would know I had betrayed him (most writers are notoriously eccentric people, I admit it.)

Second, if characters are written well – and Rowling's most definitely are – they become real to the readers. Millions of people, children and adults, know, love and are devoted to Dumbledore. His humor, wisdom and strength have touched and guided many. And now...he's gay, too.

Third, I'm pleased because we didn't know. And it's not because Rowling was hiding it or keeping him in the closet. It just hadn't come up. We didn't know about any of the adults' personal lives so why should we know this about him? It would have been easy for Rowling to make him The Gay Character but it would have done him a disservice. It's similar to calling James Earl Jones or Denzel Washington great black actors. Folks, those men are great actors. Period. And Dumbledore is a great character. Period.

Think I'm giving fictional characters too much credit? Think again. Mulan, Jasmine and Pocahontas were all heralded when Disney put out their respective movies because they gave non-white girls role models. Superman, Batman and Spiderman have been used to teach morals for generations. And I've read about a teacher in the mid-west who changed his teaching style in order to reflect a fictional character's teaching style – Albus Dumbledore's to be exact.

So now we have a great character. One who already touches many people. One whom many people already try to emulate. One whom parents would trust with their children and children could trust with their innocence. One who is well-respected, admired and loved – and oh yeah, he's gay, too. How cool is that? Seriously. For this, I don't mind putting off a holiday article. Not at all.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.

October 2007

Ah Poppets, let me tell you – it’s been an interesting month. Through a complicated series of events that you really don’t care about, my sister, brother-in-law, their three children and I are all temporarily living under the same roof. Now, aside from the obvious chaos this implies, it has also triggered an internal debate in me I wasn’t expecting. See, the kids are 14, 5 and 3. And I am…me.

Now, being me isn’t a bad thing. In fact, I think being me is pretty damn cool. It’s just not always…age appropriate, shall we say. There is a reason my nickname is Aunt Mame. At the same time, having children in my life is no new thing. I have a total of six nieces and nephews and David has a teenage son whom I enjoy very much, as well. When they are far away, the issue doesn’t arise as much. Suddenly though, I’m dealing with two teenagers and two kids under the age of six on almost a daily basis.

Those of you who have children are probably rolling your eyes at me. “Welcome to my life” you may be thinking. But this on-a-daily-basis thing is new to me. Yes, figuring out how to let them know who I am without going overboard is a small challenge. But it’s also a relatively common one.

There are certain things you tell the children in your life and there are things you don’t. None of the kids need to know that I used to work at a porn store or attend fetish fairs. What we tell the kids may change as the children get older but still the general rule applies. Hell, I’m 38 years old and I still don’t need the details of my mother’s sex life beyond recognizing that she has one.

At the same time, all the kids already know our friends, John and Dale, and that they are a couple, just like Mommy and Daddy. I’m hoping the kids will meet my friend Christian. And my friend Crystal. And I will explain they are the same person. Luckily, my sister and brother-in-law aren’t as mainstream as they appear on the outside so it’s all good.

No, none of this is the real challenge. The real challenge is finding the balance between how we – my sister, brother-in-law, David and I – want the world to be and how it really is. Because in spite of our best efforts, the teenagers have still come home from school using the phrase “that’s so gay” as a derogatory statement. Because although the five-year old boy really likes my heels and the sandals his sister wears, we still have to explain to him that, generally, those kinds of shoes are designed for girls, not boys. Because while whoever he grows up to be is okay with us, if this penchant for high heels continues, he’s in for a rough ride. I know it. You know it. And, eventually, he may know it as well. But the rough ride shouldn’t start at home.

So, Aunt Mame wears black and has tattoos. John and Dale love each other very much. Christian and Crystal are the same person. And “that’s so gay” is indeed offensive. The rest will come as it comes and will be taught as it needs to be taught. I – and the other adults in their lives – will find the balance. And if necessary, Crystal has great taste in shoes.

Until next month, Poppets, keep your fingers crossed for me in this new situation, and take care of you.