Sign O' The Times

When I saw this news story, I immediately filled up with anger. A gay senior citizen patriot is bludgeoned with a pipe. The alleged assailant is described as a light-skinned black man, no more than 23 years old.

Before hearing more about Andrew Anthos, I was appalled that a black man could commit such a heinous crime of hate. Only 50 years ago, white men would lynch black men, women and children simply based on the color of their skin. Now, this light-skinned black man is paying the hate forward on gay men, based simply on whom they love.

No justice, no peace.

What is wrong with this perpetrator that he doesn’t know his own history of injustice against him and he violently attacks another human? Hate is a sick emotion, and acting out on hate is abhorrent.

I followed the story when it was first reported that he was a patriot who was gay-bashed. Living on a disability check, Mr. Anthos held his country in high esteem and believed that illuminating the dome of the state Capitol in Lansing for one night each year in red, white and blue lights “would show a sign of Michigan's patriotism and its loyalty.”

It’s touching to hear people have faith in our country in this post-September 11th world.

Mr. Anthos, a gay, biracial 72 year-old man had been riding the bus to his Detroit apartment from the public library when another passenger annoyed with his singing approached him and asked if he was gay.

He left the bus and helped a wheelchair-bound fellow passenger through the snow. He was then followed by the assailant, who allegedly hit him in the back of the head with a metal pipe and left the scene.

The attack left Mr. Anthos paralyzed from the neck down and virtually without speech. Though he was visiting with friends, his condition declined rapidly and he was administered last rites late Thursday in Detroit Receiving Hospital.

With this story, I have lost some of my faith in America – in social and racial justice in my country. If we can’t love and tolerate our fellow citizens, then how are going to remain a super power. Perhaps, our Rome will fall and the new Vandals will cruelly loot us.

Was Martin Luther King preaching in vain when he hoped “to speed up that day when all of God's children - black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Catholics and Protestants - will be able to join hands and to sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, ‘Free at last, free at last; thank God Almighty, we are free at last’?”

Sometimes, I think so.

It's hard to love
There's so much to hate
Hanging on to hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above
Say it's much too late
So maybe we should all be praying for time

Black Market Ashes...

I can't take credit for this. Jen, wrote this to the Catholics and lapsed Catholics last Ash Wednesday when I headbutted Natasha to get ashes on my forehead.

Bagel for breakfast (body of Christ): $.50

Lean Cuisine Mac N Cheese lunch (no meat): $2.50

Glass of Wine after work (blood of Christ): $15

God’s Love From Natasha’s Forehead: Priceless

Mocking Ash Wednesday: Costly

So costly, that I now have Catholic guilt and will be sure to make it to mass this evening to get my ashes the old fashioned way, earning them…

I'm going to forward the original e-mail to the original recipients.

What are you giving up for lent?

I was asked what I was giving up for lent, and immediately I quipped: guilt.

So I stopped to think about it. What do I love so much that would be a sacrifice? Well, there are quite a few things, but I stuck with basics -- food. I thought chocolate or ice cream, but my birthday is during lent and I think that I should be allowed to have chocolate and ice cream.

Diet soda, maybe? But I've been cutting that down, so I'm already doing that. Is it truly a sacrifice if I'm already doing it? Not, really.

I pondered and pondered. Then it hit me. Beer. I'm going to give up beer for Lent. I love beer, and I drank two great ones tonight: Yard's Love Stout and Magic Hat's HI.P.A.

So in addition to getting into work by 9am, I am going to give up beer for Lent.

God help us.

I matzo ball you

I had one of the sweetest Valentine’s Day in a while. Alex, Aliza and Ainsley had made plans to do (matzo) balls, beer and brownies, as a cover for Ainsley’s man, Ben, to fly into Philly from New Hampshire and surprise Ainsley for the day. Lo! and Behold! the weather didn’t want to participate and Ben’s flight was cancelled.

However, dinner was still on for Alex and Aliza. So, all four of us got together at Alex’s, hung out with the dogs and had really good food. I was excited because I got to bring the J Winery Pinot Gris that I got in California to enjoy with dinner.

It’s sometime the quiet events that are more memorable that the glamorous ones. All of us, in jeans or pajamas, relaxing in the living room, eating cheese and crackers, drinking beer and wine, taking in the smells of rich chicken broth and of brownies makes with fudge syrup, cocoa and chocolate chips, chatting about past dates, and watching highlights of the 49th Grammy Awards show saved on DVR made the evening so much fun.

Sometimes, you got to stop and smell the matzo balls.

Willkommen nach Pittsburgh

There was a city called Pittsburgh, in a state called Pennsylvania. There was a cabaret, and there was a master of ceremonies.

With great anticipation, I headed to the airport to make my flight to the other side of the state. I had no delays, and the flight even left the gate early. As I commonly joke about these short-haul fights, the flight gets to cruising altitude, the flight attendant serves refreshments from the head of the plane to the tail, she goes back to the head of the plane to collect the trash, and then we are told we were making our final approach to Pittsburgh. It’s a 40 minute flight.

We followed the Allegheny River toward the city. I looked down and spotted the Squirrel Hill tunnel – a hole in the ground absorbing and spewing traffic. I was happy with the recognition. Then we were just north of Oakland and outside my window was Pitt’s Cathedral of Learning reaching upward.

I had remembered hearing stories about a project to sandblast the Cathedral to clean the years of black off the building. However, I believe that ’Burghers rather would have spent the money on more educational causes at Pitt versus something rather cosmetic and the building remains blackened as a testament to the steel industry that made the city what it is. It is impressive to see a 42-story building rising from the ground without another skyscraping in sight. I could see the soot streaks on the building from the sky.

We headed past the Golden Triangle with the myriad of yellow painted bridges hopping over the Allegheny, Monongahela and Ohio Rivers. There was PPG Place, which I have likened to a glass castle in the middle of downtown, surrounded by the other buildings. I had only seen views of Pittsburgh from the Mt. Washington side, it was equally impressive to see the opposite view.

Passing the city, we hurtled in space for more minutes than I thought were needed until we crossed over patches and patches of recent or new developments. Hills were shaved flat, and then topped with houses. From the air, I could see the mini-grids and cul-du-sacs of neighborhoods soon to be formed. At last I felt the ground approaching, and our final descent was finally ending.

I jumped off the plane and walked through the airport. I called my family and texted Brian of my safe arrival. I wandered the terminal toward the Core, the hub of the four terminal wings, and found the tram to take to the landside terminal. Guided by “Ground Transportation” sign, I mazed through the other passengers, TSA agents and airport staff to the doors. There was the 28X bus stop at the left end of the entrance to the airport.

I call Harris to apprise him of my situation and that I should be downtown in 30 minutes. I settle in on the bus, which is shaped like a caricature of a bus and has an out-dated fare box charge 50 cents less than the current fare. It reeked of stale smoke. I texted my friends that I had landed in Pittsburgh and that it was 11 degrees Fahrenheit. I turned up the volume on my iPod.

The airport bus is an express bus and after the first mandatory stops in a shopping center, it travels a third of the route on an bus-only roadway. The bus zips along, clanking and chattering, but it is constantly moving stopping only once en route to the city. A minute prior to exiting the restricted roadway, I see the white sign with royal blue trim and letter of the Pennsylvania road system that labels the geopolitical boundary of the City of Pittsburgh.

The bus enters a tunnel briefly and we spill out the other end, and voila, a grand vista of the city. As you take in the view before you, the bus hits the Fort Pitt Bridge, a yellow planted bridge that crosses over the Mon(ongahela) feet before its waters become the Ohio.

I got off the bus a few stops than I had told Harris, but as stepped down I almost ran into him. “This isn’t 9th and Liberty,” he commented. He was right but I figured that I could get off early and walk the 3 blocks to the pre-appointed corner. We headed back to his apartment so I could drop off my bags, and make a game plan for the day as he whipped up some eggs for brunch.

The plan was simple, I would go to the Warhol Museum definitely and I would find a few other things in town to keep me busy while he could rest between shows. Harris headed off to the matinee and I rested for a little bit. I was up early, ran to the airport, flew across the state and took a shuttle into town. It sounds like nothing but it was exhausting.

I walked over the Seventh Street Bridge, now called the Andy Warhol Bridge, and saw the Alcoa Headquarters, a beautiful modern building of aluminum and glass in sleek wave forms. I got to the Warhol Museum and paid my admission fee.

You must make the trip to Pittsburgh for the Warhol. It was just an experience to see so much recognizable art. I like Warhol’s works, so I was devouring all the art.

Afterwards, I crossed the Sixth Street Bridge, now Roberto Clemente Bridge, while having a phone conversation with one of my favorite Pittsburghers, Quinn. I asked her for a suggestion for a place to eat downtown. I weaved up and down the Burgh’s streets, up Penn and down Liberty. I went to the Point and wandered through PPG Place to find somewhere to eat. I remembered Station Square.

I found myself crossing the Smithfield Street Bridge and the Mon, and finding a chain that we don’t have in Philly for lunch. By the time I was finished, it was 5:15 and I wanted to head back for the key pass off before the second show.

Harris left, and I changed into something more appropriate for the theater and headed out to the O’Reilly Theater. I got my ticket and headed for my seat. My friend from Penn, Wendy, would always say “a good stage manager has the curtain up by 8:12” and at 12 minutes after the house lights were down and the action began.

As for the show, I did a little boning up on Cabaret since I last saw it when I was 16 or 17. There were points in the story I couldn’t remember: Clifford’s sexual ambiguity, the shuttling of funds between Paris and Berlin, or the boarding house in Berlin. I did remember a lot of the songs, and Harris would fill me in on plot points as he would tell me about rehearsals. I went in prepared to get the story without much difficulty.

It was amazing. The papers have been giving it the ravest of reviews. I was so impressed by the actors and the production, and so were other in the audience. Of course, I thought that Harris was the bomb, duh.

Afterwards I caught up with Harris and met his castmates, and a few of us finished the nights with some drinks.

The next day was a quiet and slow one with a walk out to the strip district, brunch at a cute diner and a visit to the Heinz Pittsburgh Regional History Center. After a busy day and a half, we had a quick dinner and then there was the trek out to the airport. I bade Pittsburgh farewell and headed home to Philadelphia.

Musing on Traveling while Traveling

(aka Traveling's the fun.)

During my flight to Pittsburgh, I thanked God that I didn’t drink too much the night before and that I successfully packed my carry-on bag before I went out drinking.

Unlike the time I flew to Australia…

Hilary took me out for drinks to wish me a bon voyage as well as to thank me for delivering a baby gift to her kin, Dee, David and Clark, in Surrey Hills. After a wonderful happy hour at bump and beer and wings at Moriarty’s, I returned home in a buzz.

My laundry was done, and I compared the pile of clean clothes with the check list I made in the weeks before. I always whip up a check list for my trips. For long trips, I plan on having at least 3 more pairs of underwear than days I’m gone. There were still t-shirts, shorts and the fun daily things to pack only after they were washed.

Earlier in the week, I prepared some of the specialty items for the suitcase. I had a nice pair of dress shoes, pants and shirt all stowed away. My bathing suit was neatly packed and the package of new white socks was in my bag. Knowing that I would sleep as late as possible on Thursday morning, I took an item of clothing that matched what I needed from the list, and threw on top of the nicely packed clothes. I checked the item off. I continued until I had checked off all the items on my list and topped it off with more pairs of socks and underwear. At last, I placed the chocolate chip cookies that David’s mom baked for her son. I closed the suitcase, sloughed off my clothes and passed out.

The next day at work went quickly; I had back-to-back meetings until 4:00pm. Leaving then would give me the 90 minutes I would have needed at the airport. I took the train to the airport and called Rosie as I began my trek. I landed in LAX and called Denise and Brigid, my California friends, during that layover after transfering from a secured area of the airport only to have to re-enter to get from my United flight to the Air New Zealand flight. I board. We fly the long 13 hours to En Zed, and land in Auckland at 5:30am local time which ended up being 3:30pm Philadelphia time. I call Phil and she’s just as tripped out as I am that we’re talking to each other from the opposite ends of the earth. After a 90 minute lay over, I’m on the last leg to Sydney.

Flying over Sydney was a dream. It was magical: suspended in air over the Harbour. The cerulean water reflected the white light of the sun. It shimmered like diamond flakes on rippled lapis lazuli. Outside of the window was the Harbour Bridge, as a coat hanger on the two banks, and the iconic Opera House, looking like minimalist clam shells opened and piled together.

I go through Customs and declare the cookies. I show the agent the cookies and she replies “ah, bikkies... these are fine.” I exit into the arrivals hall, and David is waiting for me. He hands me a 7-day pass for the Sydney CityRail system and he whisks me away to North Ride. After a change of train in Central Station, which strongly resembled Waterloo Station in London, and a quick bus ride from Epping, we made our final destination. I crashed on the bed, as I mentioned that the cookies were in my bag. I encourage him to open the suitcase.

With the Tupperware of his mom’s chocolate chip cookies in hand, David asks “Did Hilary take you out for drinks before you packed?”

“How could you tell?”

First Pittsburgh, then the world!

I am packing my new duffle bag for my trip to Pittsburgh, and I'm easily distracted. I came across a blog under which one of the entries was a map of everywhere this person has visited. I remember doing it a while back, before I went to Trinidad and Tobago. So now, having visited 19 countries (8% of the world's sovereign lands) I updated the map and linked to it my page.



create your own visited countries map

I want to make this map all RED!

In order of visiting...
United States (1973)
Israel (1992)
Czech Republic (1995)
Slovakia (1995)
Austria (1995)
Ireland (1999)
United Kingdom (1999)
France (2002)
Japan (2002)
Panama (2002)
Canada (2002)
Germany (2003)
Russia (2004)
China (2004)
Mexico (2004)
Australia (2005)
Singapore (2005)
Chile (2005)
Trinidad and Tobago (2006)

Cheers for Beers at 10 am

The last time I drank alcohol before noon was Hey Day of my junior year at Penn, 1994.

This morning, I meet up with a friend of mine who work at the Dark Horse at said bar to watch the Six Nations Championship Match between Ireland and Wales. I paid my $20 to the rugby sports monopoly, Setanta Sports, and perched myself at the bar. I missed Ireland's first try and Wales's penalty, but that was the first 10 minutes.

I order a Boddington's and realize that I am a green jersey in a sea of red. Maybe, the next time, I should go to Fado. I spy the bar during the half-time break and see there are Irish jerseys in the bar, too.

I eavesdrop and find out the lady next to me is from Swansea, Wales. She eventually moved from her seat to let a couple rooting for Ireland to sit together at the bar, so I couldn't find out more about her.

The match, though not the 42 to 20 England v. Scotland of yesterday, was still a nailbiter until the 60th minute when it was clear that Wales wouldn't be able to make up the point difference. They were very close the entire time, but Ireland got a lot off calls in their favor. I wasn't complaining, remember, I was in a green jersey.

Afterwards, I returned home wondering what channel the Super Bowl was on.