The Turkey Came Out of the Closet

A couple weeks ago Derek and I were in his hometown.  Besides how kind, thoughtful, and loving Derek is, another gift he has brought into my life is sharing the beautiful areas of Stonington and Mystic, Connecticut and Westerly, Rhode Island. 

Derek grew up in Stonington Borough, one of four peninsulas in the town that stretch into the Atlantic.  The Borough, as it’s called, used to be the “downtown” of the village when Derek was young in the days of soda pop shops, candy stores, and barber shops.  It was mostly a Portuguese fishing village on the ocean.  The Portuguese Holy Ghost Society, with an atmosphere wonderfully frozen in the 70s and allowing smoking inside, still serves up drinks, Friday fish and chips, and conducts the Feast of the Holy Ghost every year for nearly 100 years.  Every now and then we absorb the culture with a beer or two, some pool, darts, and music from the jukebox

But Stonington dates back to pre-Revolutionary War days with grand, Federal architecture homes built in the 1600’s.  It had an economic boom when it made much of the armory for the Civil War.  It is a place that George Washington once slept and Truman Capote came to write.  

Mystic is the next town south.  Its modern day fame comes from the movie Mystic Pizza, which was based on Mystic and filmed in the area.  We usually have a slice at the restaurant where screens throughout play the movie over and over.  But Mystic had it's own economic surge during the colonial days, using the many trees in the area as lumber for ships producing much wealth in the ship industry.

 

Both Stonington and Mystic retain the essence of quintessential, coastal New England towns.  I time travel back and feel a mini-Derek running around playing as we drive through The Borough.  It’s like a scent coming from a baker’s oven that has all the right ingredients of a charmed spot and era to hear stories.

Westerly, R.I. is where Derek’s father lives and just north from Stonington over the border of Connecticut and Rhode Island.  It is near Watch Hill, a beautiful neighborhood of Westerly on the coast that retains a sliver of a period from the early 1900s.  It has one of, if not the last remaining majestic Victorian hotels—The Ocean House—that used to line the Atlantic seaboard for the wealthy New Yorkers and Bostonians to summer.  Days that consisted of beach time before changing and walking the lawns above with parasols, playing croquet, followed by dinner with live entertainment.

   

There are also many mansions built decades ago that have been passed down through the same family for generations.  These beautiful estates at the ocean that Derek said are used maybe a month or two a year in the summer.  There’s a quaint, yet posh yacht club and an adorable little main street with beach shops, food, and ice cream.  Watch Hill also has the oldest carousel at the end of the street that still plays the brass key game.  I didn’t realize that is where the phrase, “To catch the brass ring” originated as a sign of being lucky.

 

Watch Hill’s most recent neighbor is Taylor Swift.  She swooped in a bought the biggest mansion on the tallest hill on the coast.  It was the same one I pointed out the year before to my parents, while having a drink on the expansive covered porch of The Ocean House; the one that, if I could pick one to live in, that was The One.  Good for you, Taylor, I’m happy for you great taste!  But I’ve heard she’s contributing to the community and has been a pleasure to those that have bumped into her.  Welcome to the ‘hood, neighbor, I’m available for tea anytime we're in town.

 The area not only has the water but there are also many winding country roads through hundreds of acres of protected forestland that we travel along through each town.  Along most of the roads are miles and miles of stonewalls, a few feet high, that the colonial settlers built with all the stones in Stonington that add to the unique New England experience.

Nowadays Stonington is the last working fishing town in Connecticut.  Gentrification has made the whole area from Westerly to Mystic pretty with a make over and drawing in more tourists and people like us escaping from The City.  

Going “up north” has become such a special escape from the people and craziness of Manhattan for Derek and I.  It is an easy trip; we simply walk to the end of our street, jump in a cab, a straight shot 12 blocks up 8^th Avenue to Penn Station.  The train ride is only 3 hours, and goes along coastal Connecticut.

 

Derek will recite the usual tour, as we go over the river that Katherine Hepburn lived on, the one Mark Twain based Huckleberry Finn on, and the one with the old WWII submarine docked as a museum.  But most importantly, I am pointed out every time the first home Derek bought in Stonington and then the most recent one he sold.  I endearingly listen and finish the sentences like most relationships of length. 

Sometimes when arrive to Westerly, we have the house all to ourselves.  It is such a drastic change from the tiny studio we share in The City; an ecstatic joy to have space from literally bumping into each other.  He gets a floor.  I get a floor.  We smile and laugh when we actually have to ask, “Where are you?”  What a concept, to be home, not see the other, or know where they are.

On this particular escape, Derek was a steam pot ready to burst and I was craving a massive injection of Autumn.  I Love, love, love Autumn.  I’m always ready to pull out the warmer clothes and light jackets.  We had been having a late summer in New York.  Before we left I went to Central Park, hoping to see colored leaves, but very few of the trees had turned.  I needed to see, feel, and smell Autumn.  My chances were better up north where it is usually 10 degrees colder.

 

It seems the last few years I missed Autumn because I was traveling often to where it was warm, or because there was an early freeze, big storm, or hurricane—Sandy—that brought all the leaves down in one swoop.  But I also missed it because it seemed the day after Halloween, the costumes and decorations for sale in Rite Aid or Duane Reade or many other places were cleared out and replaced immediately with Hanukah and Christmas decorations and colors. 

No!  Where are the fall colors?  The leaves?  The Multi-colored dried corn and corn stalks tied into bundles for decorating?  I understand it is a business decision by Corporate America to perpetuate consuming, creating and feeding the addiction of consumerism to the American people, but do we really need to eliminate Thanksgiving!?

Don’t get me wrong I enjoy the holiday season…when it begins…after Thanksgiving.  I know many people who must decorate for Christmas before Thanksgiving.  They are all wonderful people with big hearts filled with excitement for the giving season and coming together.  But I simply prefer enjoying all that...after Thanksgiving.

Needless to say I was expired and overdue for a good dose of fall.  My only request on this particular trip was to do a day trip somewhere new, some little, Rhode Island town along the ocean.  It is The Ocean State after all.  The day turned out to be 11-11, Veteran’s Day.  The place:  Wickford Cove, R.I.

 

We spent the first few days at a friend’s beautiful home on a salt water cove surrounded by nature in Mystic.  The fall colors were out putting on a fantastic show.  There were so many different shades of red, orange, yellow, and gold lining the inlet and all along the curvy roads of forest and stonewalls.  It was Autumn in all of it’s glory.  Nature’s beauty, so healing and welcoming to her womb. 

When we arrived at the house in Westerly, I opened the front closet to hang my coat.  As I looked up on the shelf above me I saw a large ceramic turkey staring back at me. 

Yes! I thought, "You must come out of the closet Mr. Turkey." 

I brought him down with excited hands and placed him on the center of the coffee table in the living room.  It warmed my heart to have such a lovely Thanksgiving decoration.

    

The next day we headed north on Route 1 as the fall colors continued the entertainment before turning onto a long dirt road that led to the ocean.  It was Moonstone Beach.  Back in Derek’s single and mingling days he found fun in the sun at the gay nudist beach on the northern end.  It’s a beach local Rhode Islanders know and it isn’t usually very crowded because the parking along the dirt road is limited.  After Derek’s reminiscing and sharing we headed back to the car to continue north. 

“Any dirt road is a good chance it will bring you to the ocean.  We’ve got to take it,” he said laughing.

 

When we came across one called Beach Street, it was a no-brainer as we turned onto the dirt road that was canopied by trees and led to a public beach.  Nobody was there, summer was over, the lifeguard's chair was empty, and the boats were all dry-docked.

But a light sense of romance filled the air.  It was an overcast, cloudy, autumn afternoon at a beach on the coast of Rhode Island with orange trees meeting the sand and a Lovebug.  We had a moment and carried on, asking a local walking by on the dirt road how to get to the main street of Wickford.  We weren’t far, just a bit further, over a little bridge, and to the right. 

Once over the bridge, we drove through the town without even realizing it and found ourselves at the water—small town America.  It was a nice mistake, as we found a Port-a-John—which we desperately needed—and it provided a scenic walk along the dock.  The local fishermen were out working amongst the boats that were lined along the water, with stacks of lobster cages pulled out for the season. 

   

We turned around and parked along the main street near some Pre-Revolutionary homes of bright red, yellow, and blue.  The street was lined with large, old trees filled with fall color.  We began walking into the center of town.  The street curved back toward the bridge in one direction and forked in another.  It could easily be walked in 10 minutes.  But we began slowly wandering like tourists, exploring the cutesy shops for the home decor as well as the metaphysical store. 

   

When we crossed the street where it curved we walked under a white wood arch with pumpkins on the ground on each side that led into the town square.  It was simply the corner of where the road forked with enough room for a paved pathway through the grass leading back to the street.  It had a few benches and a WWI memorial that was filled with American flags for Veterans Day.  One large tree growing from the grass near the road blanketed us in orange and yellow leaves.  My excitement grew as I noticed all the pumpkins on the ground on either side of the benches and around the tree. 

We sat on a bench and took in the town with the water to the right and absorbed Autumn.  There weren’t many people walking around which added to the romantic date afternoon.  But while sitting on the bench we did notice a family with young boys patriotically lower and fold the flags as the early dark of fall approached. 

“Awe,” Derek said.  “It reminds me when I was in Boy Scouts and we would do that on Veteran’s Day.”

“A perfect little small town, New England experience,” I replied.

 

“Thank you,” we both said to all the Veteran’s, our fathers, and grandfather. 

We carried on down the path through the park back to the street and explored a shop with local products and souvienirs near the water and bridge.  Before entering a beautiful lady greeted us, posing in her beautiful dress standing near a watering pale full of sunflowers with one in her hat (always a special sign of Joe to me).  I did a photo shoot with her excited to see such fall decorations and for my first female scarecrow. 

After picking up a wonderfully, silly Rhode Island souviner of the trip—I would tell you but it is a Christmas present for Derek—we crossed the street in search of food.  A large deck along the water had shops, galleries and led to a restaurant.  I discovered more fall and Thanksgiving decorations, a banner full of fall colors, pumpkins, and sunflowers.  Behind the banner was a very handsome scarecrow with a sunflower in his hat whom I had another photo shoot with.  I told him I met a sexy lady across the street he should meet, the one with the sunflower in her hat.

 

After discovering the restaurant was closed we took in the water and walked back to the street where we noticed dried corn stalks around the lamp posts.  Yes, there was another photo shoot.  I was so thrilled to see Thanksgiving and Autumn decorations that I found myself taking pictures or corn stalks.  I wanted to preserve and remember the day that Thanksgiving was resurrected for me by the little town of Wickford Cove, Rhode Island.  I burst with bliss for the perfect fall day with a sexy Lovebug.

We entered and explored an antique shop run by an eccentric, skinny, middle-aged woman with long frizzing salt and pepper hair and dark sunglasses.  The store was filled everywhere with old treasures from multiple eras that filled the homes and estates of decades passed.  The eclectic history of the lives the tchatchkes and the people who owned them was thick in the air as we breathed it in and felt it.

We had a romantic dinner at a little pizzeria.  A hamburger and a gyro, both with fries for $12.  $12!  That’s barely one meal in The City.  Afterward we headed home, stopping for a moive to end the date.  Another $12!  For Two!   Not even one ticket in The City.  A $25 dinner and movie date.  After returning home, I admired the handsome turkey on the coffee table before going upstairs to bed.  Upstairs! What a concept.

 

It was, a perfect day.

 

The moral of the story.  Don’t forget to give thanks!  And don’t forget Thanksgiving!!   Thanks for all of you!  Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!!  From us at B12. 

Gay Spotlight

It seems television, theatre, and film are all shining a bigger spotlight on the LGBTQ community by bringing gay themed stories to the stage and screen in a valiant attempt to raise the social conscience.  It's been an emotional ride experiencing some of these productions in the last few weeks as tears of joy, happiness, frustration, anger, and sadness came forth and flowed.  

The highs included seeing mainstream actors convincingly portray a mature relationship between two men based in love; in sickness and in health, through good times and bad; a marriage containing romantic, emotional, and physical intimacy.  But, most importantly, depicting it as something normal in the conventional sense.  

The lows came from the homophobic treatment and discrimination that the characters experience from society, strangers, and even family in the fight for equality that took place through highlighted era.  

Although I stand on the progress, struggle, and deaths of many that came before me, and cannot fully understand the depths of their pain, I feel I can empathize through my own experiences.  I don't claim to have always known discrimination by being born into it. 

However, I can tell you that it's quite a mind fuck (there is no better word) to be implied—by society—that I was born and raised at a time when being a white male gave me a slight advantage and step ahead in life before my first breath was taken.  For most of my life that was the unspoken societal understanding.  

To put it simply, it wasn’t until I discovered I preferred another penis instead of a vagina to play with, that, in an instant my fall from grace and banishment from the castle into the dark forest—literally (for those of you that read Amsterdam Angel;) and figuratively—with the other animals and monsters took hold.  Then, poof, rights that my brothers and I once shared, I no longer had, and everything from shameful or disapproving looks to death threats became part of my world.  Like I said, a mind fuck.  

So, to now experience these stories being told feels full circle, as the domino of states fall and follow suit with legalizing gay marriage.  It's only a matter of time before equality for all is law.  But at the same time, I also accept that my lifetime will never be free of homophobic attitudes.  It's upon me to choose kindness and compassion and not attempt to change them.

Occasionally, it will still be a struggle and tears of all sorts will always come to the surface.  But they will be welcomed as having experienced and shared in evolution.  All three of the following productions are—in my humbled opinion—a must see and highly recommended.

The first was HBO's premiere of The Normal Heart starring Mark Ruffalo, Matt Bomer, and Julia Roberts, among many other talented actors.  It tells the story of the early days of AIDS in New York City before the disease even had a name as it devoured the lives of many in the gay community.  Grab your tissues.  

Luckily, I was in a hotel in Philadelphia; as I was unprepared for the tears that came.  Two hours later and up way past my bedtime—for an ungodly, early report time to the airport—I blew my boogers into the sheets, as I couldn't bear to step away for one second.  Fortunately, I was not in my own bed—Derek would have killed me, had I tried that at home—and didn't have to wash them.  

Watch it.  It was informative, heartwarming, and heartbreaking.  More importantly, it was a story about a community coming together, asking for help, and standing up for their own self-worth. 

The next production I saw was a week and a half ago, when, on a whim I took advantage of living in NYC and hopped on the subway two stops to Broadway for Terrance McNally's latest creation for the stage, Mothers and Sons.  What had me on the edge of tears for nearly the entire time was how beautifully Mr. McNally depicts a mother who lost her son to AIDS 20 years prior and places her on the doorstep of her dead son's boyfriend, the boyfriend's much younger husband, and their young son for resolution and understanding.  

The brilliance of the play was that with each of the four characters, a different generation was represented, and along with them the consciousness of society concerning homosexuality during their respective eras.  Together they show how evolution progressively softened its gravity with time.  From the strict, conservative, close-minded Baby Boomer mother—played beautifully by the great Tyne Daly, whose performance was nominated for a Tony Award—to the young son who can't even comprehend that having two fathers is not normal, while his fathers, surprised at the idea of having to—and how to—explain to him why.  Hurry!  And go see it if you are in New York, as it closes on 22 June.      

The last production is the film Love Is Strange starring John Lithgow and Alfred Molina as a gay couple who marry once it becomes legal in NYC, only to discover an aftermath of discrimination that leaves them homeless and struggling to reclaim their life together.  It has been receiving rave reviews on the film

festival circuit as a darling and one to watch.  

It will hit theaters in August with one added bonus for you: Me.  Yes, I will be making my movie debut.  But don't blink or you’ll miss me.  That is, also, if I wasn't already left on the edit room floor.  Go see it.  Not only because it's a wonderful story told by brilliant actors with an amazing supporting cast, including Marisa Tomei, but to play a game of Where's Waldo, only, you'll be looking for me!  Here I am!

Perhaps, after watching any one of these you'll come away with more compassion and empathy toward your gay or lesbian son, daughter, brother, sister, cousin, or friend.  While hoping that they would never have to feel what the characters in these productions experience, or the countless others in the world today that continue to go through on a daily basis.  

http://thenormalheart.hbo.com

http://www.mothersandsonsbroadway.com

http://loveisstrangemovie.com

Saying 'Yes'

My dear friend Dana floated in from the tip of Cape Cod to New York City for New Year’s Eve.  He stayed with his friends David and Michael in Brooklyn and invited Derek and I to their magical Fellini inspired party.  Attendees dressed in various looks from his films, from La Dolce Vita and it's sleek Italian suits to the circus inspired costumes from The Clowns as Fellini’s works of art were projected on walls throughout their home. 

            “Come with me Jase, I have something for you,” Dana said shortly after we arrived.  He brought us upstairs to his room then reached into his suitcase and pulled out a bag. 

            “Hold out your hand,” he said. 

            When I did, he filled it with diamonds. 

            A thrill of excitement rushed through me.  I had chosen La Dolce Vita, dressed in my best to start a new year, and a handful of diamonds was the perfect accessory.

            “I love it!” I exclaimed as the diamonds sparkled in the light. 

I put them in my pocket and we proceeded down the stairs for a glass of champagne.  It was special to feel chic and glamorous dressed up, drinking bubbly and walking around with a pocket full of diamonds, as apposed to the previous New Year’s when I welcomed 2013 in with the flu.  As Dana and I caught up he shared his new philosophy for 2014.

            “I’m going to be more conscious of saying ‘yes’ to whatever invitation or event, however big or small that comes my way,” he began. 

            “That sounds like a good perspective to take,” I replied. 

            “Yeah, I realized that you never know what direction your life will take by simply saying ‘yes’—new friends, new love, new knowledge.  I found myself saying ‘no’ many times this year because I was either tired, it was out of my comfort zone, or I wasn’t in a good place.”

It was advice that resonated with me.  I don’t know about you, but 2013 wasn’t a great year.  Nobody close to me died, but it seemed there was a constant stream of not-so-fun ‘things’ to deal with from month to month that didn’t let up.  There were some nice moments, of course but a few more would have been welcomed. 

Several close friends also shared with me that year thirteen of the 21^st century was also a struggle for them.  Perhaps there was something to the superstition of the number itself, and the thought crossed my mind at the start of the year, so perhaps I jinxed myself.  Or perhaps the Year of the Snake had many serpents slithering around causing havoc.   

            But with thirty-seven years lived, I realized they are not all going to be great.  That’s life, and I’ve experienced and survived worse.  So in the bigger picture I knew, eventually, things would change.  Regardless, I was ready for 2013 to end and 2014 to begin. 

I set positive intentions and reaffirmed a dedication to moving forward with writing.  After a bit of post-partum depression from giving birth to my first book, Amsterdam Angel, and feeling overwhelmed with what to do with it, I committed to continue to simply try, number one. 

After the conventional dreams of bestsellers and movie deals or simply a new direction in life were acknowledged, validated and released to the universe, I focused on the core ‘why’ I chose writing and sharing my story in the first place:  To Help People. 

With the launch of Amsterdam Angel in 2012 combined as a charity event for the gay homeless shelter in New York City set as the example, I decided to follow suit with other book parties in various cities throughout 2013.  The hundreds of books still underneath my bed were paid for by the generosity of you all with the initial Indiegogo crowd funding campaign.  So it felt natural to pay it forward by turning your money funding my dream into more money for those less fortunate.  Then the 'why'--To Help People--was multiplied. 

When an opportunity presented itself soon after the New Year to push forward with working on Book 2 and promoting Book 1, I debated whether it was the right time with everything else going on in life.  But I wanted to be someone who actually did what they talked of doing.  Plus, I felt it was time for Amsterdam Angel to make its European debut, and naturally in the title city.  As I’ve learned, I write best in Europe, when I’m able to leave life in America behind for a moment to fully concentrate.  So off to Amsterdam it seemed I was headed.

It was very last minute, but I put it out to friends in Amsterdam that I was hoping to pull a party together and needed a local charity.   When a lovely soul named Gilbertto responded with his friend’s foundation that helped orphaned children with HIV and AIDS in South Africa, I instantly knew it was the right one.  It connected me back to the country that I was fortunate to call home for a time (Book 3;). 

But when the reality manifested to the next level with a friend request on Facebook from Gilbertto’s friend Wil, the man who ran the Willen en Doen Foundation, I hesitated whether I could commit, mostly out of fear that it would work.  Then, I remembered Dana’s advice, said ‘yes’ and jumped through the window over the Atlantic.  I stopped thinking ‘how’ it would happen, and rather, with a little faith, tried to simply trust everything would work out.  After rolling and rolling from my dive through the window I stopped at my friend Art’s door, and my door as he has always instilled it in me that it is also my home in Amsterdam. 

Jet-lagged and still surprised I made the decision there was no time to waste.  I met with Wil the first night at a bar and we both realized what little time there was to pull something together.  Along with Wil’s already busy schedule doubt creped in my mind, but hope filled my heart. 

“You’re here though,” Wil concluded. 

“Yes, I’m here,” I replied positively hoping he was on board to help.  Wil smiled.

“So let’s try.  I believe we can do this,” he replied.

The next day I settled in and wrapped my mind around the coming week.  I viewed Willen en Doen’s website which contained a video of Wil’s work in South Africa with the orphans. 

When I saw the actual children my heart melted and I felt like I was glowing as the dots were connected from childhood to the present.  Everything made sense.  Perhaps similarly to all the parents out there when their children are born.  I don’t have children but felt as if I found some. 

Since I was a child I had heard of the children of Africa.  My mother instructed me to finish the supper that I was lucky to eat.

“There are children starving in Africa,” she would add. 

When I was fortunate enough to live in South Africa, I met some of the children.  I couldn’t keep my lens away from them as I snapped their picture like paparazzi.  They were so beautiful to me. 

Throughout my travels in other countries foreigners shared how they looked with awe to Hollywood, America and the celebrities from far, far away.  Suddenly after watching Wil’s video I realized the children of Africa were the real stars to me from far, far away.  I was instantly hooked and any worries or stress of pulling a party together washed away every time I remembered: It’s for the children.

When Wil and I met on a rainy January afternoon the next day to search for a venue it was touch and go as the bookstore we approached first was a dead end.  Next we went to Getto, a restaurant and bar where Wil knew the owner.  We arrived before it was open but luckily, right before we left a cook came in to prepare for the night and we explained what we were trying to do.  He didn’t see why it couldn’t work but instructed us to come back the next day and talk with the owner over dinner. 

As we walked the street the rain continued and the temperature dropped with the darkness of evening while the nerves increased.  I could sense we both wondered how feasible a task we took on but refused to speak aloud to each other potential doubts.  Then, I remembered.

“It has to work out.  It’s for the children,” I exclaimed to Wil with light from inside warming from the cold.  It ignited the fire in his eyes, as he is living his dream with his foundation and understood ultimately it was, all for the children. 

Wil let out a laugh and smiled at the American stranger that dropped into his life so recently. 

 “Yes, for the children.  It will come together.” 

The next day we tried another venue before returning to Getto, just in case, but it was alas, too short notice.  When we finally sat down with John at Getto, we were delighted when he, like Dana and myself, said ‘yes’ to one of life’s invitations.
With the venue, date and time arranged the invites went out on Facebook the next night.  I spent the week leading up to the event fueled with excitement and channeled it into writing.  I was ecstatic with the progress and completed everything except the last chapter.  I felt confident Book 2 was on track to debut in 2014 and by the time Derek flew in from New York the day before the party I was free to concentrate on quality time with my partner.  I was eager to share the city that inspired a series of books.  We relaxed with an afternoon cruise along the canals mixed in with Derek's own private tour--by the author himself--of some of the places in the book.    

The next day we eased into the day at home before leaving for Getto.  The party was a success in many ways; old friends from different lives were reunited, new friends were made, and money was raised for the children as Amsterdam Angel made its European debut.  Nothing beat starting a new year working on dreams and doing a little charity.  So the next time an opportunity presents itself, consider saying ‘yes’, as you may never know what an adrenaline filled adventure it may take you on with new people to meet.  

Thank you Dana. 

And no, the diamonds weren’t real for those of you still wondering.  But it didn’t diminish the excitement of something glittering in my pocket kindling the power of imagination.  

If you’d like to check out Wil’s organization or make a donation visit his site for more information:
www.willenendoen.org
Wishing you all a very sparkling 2014!
xxx,

Jason