But I realized today that if I was my twenty year old self on October 13th, 1980, I would be consumed with visits to vintage clothing stores and resale shops, obssessing over my costume (read "dragware").

The Halloween party, nay...the social event of the year... for the "A list" gay crowd in the early eighties in Chattanooga was HELEN'S HALLOWEEN PARTY. The socially uppercrustiest, prettiest, richest, and most popular, and politically powerful gay people were there. Helen's party got so big after a few years, that he had to move it from his house and to the Fox Theater in Atlanta. So, me being in that early 80's mind set (which by the way is so foriegn to me now)...did everything I could from summer to October to stay on the Gay "A List".

As shallow and trite and stupid as this was...and after two decades have passed since those days...I still miss those parties and my old carefree mindset and status as a gay "A List-er" in a strange way about this time every October. Hmm.

I mean...it was shallow and silly, but shit...it was fun. Really fun.

If you were a buff gym guy...you had to work out like crazy for two months and come up with some crazy ass skimpy outfit. If you were the other 90% of us, you had to skeem and shop and sew and shave and troll the makeup counters, to come up with the craziest drag.

It was all so freaky, subversive, and wierd, like some kind of southern-fried Fellini film...and FUN AS SHIT.

The highlight of Helen's party was always the moment he re-enacted this old Oil of Olay TV commercial and started throwing big dabs of Oil of Olay at everybody. After a couple of years, we all started bringing jars of Oil of Olay and at the appointed time, started throwing handfuls at each other.

Soooo dumb....soooo wierd....but strangely one of the most most fun times I can remember.

There was that time in my early 20's that I needed to feel smarter, more clever, more outrageous, and more above the masses. Now I just need to keep it between the lines, take my heart pills, pay the bills, and watch for Jesus on the road.

So, sittin here on October 13th, 2006...more than 20 years after all those A List gay Halloween parties, I sigh just a bit that I have grown up all old and respectible.

My favorite costumes from those days...

1) Pat Benetar...from the video Love is a Battlefield

2) Wilma Flintsone...the big styrofoam pearls itched

3) Mamie Eisenhower...my girl Shawn was supposed to be Ike that year, but I can't remember if she actually was.

****And hell yes...there are pictures remaining of all of those. And hell no...I aint showing anybody.

...simply due to the fact that we live in America. Funny how we live in this red white and blue bubble and do not recognize that most of the time.

It leads me to consider that the bile and honey, the blood and wine, the pisses and kisses, the cum and embalming fluid, and all the tears of sorrow and all the tears of joy...have irrigated a special place.

This is gonna sound strange coming from me I suppose, but I realized, in the most concrete sense how lucky we actually are after reading the story about a stunningly beautiful Russian woman, Anna Politkovskaya.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anna_Politkovskaya

Ann Coulter and Michael Moore can coexist as pundits in a surrealistic harmony here. They can meet at Denny's after a long night of bully-bashing and sit across the table over a couple of big ol' greasy Grand Slam Breakfasts and graciously not murder each other.

We get up in arms and bristle when we hear opinions and beliefs that differ radically from ours. Our history as a collective does reveal that we did; however, experience the grand epiphany that the color of another human's skin was incidental. We learned to respect the rights of women as equals.

We still have a lot to learn, though. We have a way to go yet. We still throw 6 bucks at the barista at Starbucks instead of at the homeless man that we pass on the way there. We still wallow in and flog our self doubts by lashing out at other humans that have embraced their honest sexual selves. We still barbarically allow and sanction the murder of innocent un-born humans. We still insist on thinking of ourselves as that insecure fat little skinned-kneed third grader yelling "My God can beat up your God".

You say tomato. I say tomato too. We say tomato and then throw them at each other. What fun. We gleefully buy tickets to the great mud wrestling contest we know as "political forum" in America with a secure sense of entitlement...

...at least for now. Reading about Anna's fate in Russia made me at once sad, but relieved, hopeful, and paranoid for America all at the same time.

All I can say is, stay awake...vote with your conscience and your heart...and step up and scream like a banshee when things bother you. Question everything.

Keep the tea party going. Keep it going loud.

Work hard, play hard, think hard, pray hard. Strong parallel lines make a beautiful pattern, by the way.

Jeez...listen to me rant tonight. Where is that bag of fireworks I had left over from the 4th of July?

"Good night George"

"Good night Gracie"

"Good night John Boy"

"Good night Mary Ellen"

"Good night Miss Thang"

Uh huh...plans with the store have been going frighteningly too smooth thus far. I knew the "glitches" were going to start soon. But it's OK. The glitches keep you on your toes and keep you alert, grounded, and in the now.

The cool vintage check out counter (from an old general store in Guatemala) that we are going to use, arrived today and the lady had it in the hall outside her showroom at the Merchandise Mart and said... "Oh...You have to take it with you today" Ya sha! OK...so I guess I am going to lug that 800 lb piece of architecture down to the dock by myself and drive off whistling with it in my truck. Aint happenin' sistah. She is just going to have to wait.

And speaking of my truck, it dropped a wheel in the parking lot of Lowes tonight when I was trying to pick up a table to set up in the space for reps to visits and for prospective employees to come sign up for jobs. The wheel went rolling down the parking lot and the back end slammed down onto the pavement. Marc, as usual, came to my rescue.

Am I gonna let this shit bother me? I would have years ago, but I'm a lot older and crazier now and besides, I take pills for that.


Note to self: Laugh at the bad stuff as much as the good. It all comes out in the wash. Hell, you might as well laugh at the bad stuff as it happens, 'cause that's what will be really funny 2 years from now.

See there...now it's all better.

Granted, Brothah Rogers was a "confirmed bachelor" with a penchant for smart zippy sweaters, crossed his legs like a girl, and his best pal was a mailman named "McFeely" , but let's not get into all that right now.

Gotta go...here comes Trolley.

Peace,

T

...I have come to the conclusion...



...that it is all about cheese. Strong, nutty, and melts well...but stinks when left out too long.

Swiss ya later.

T