Friday, December 18, 2015

One Day In Oregon

This past weekend, we took a little vacation to Portland, OR to see a few of the (apparently) many friends we have who live in that city.  I say "apparently" because it came as a complete surprise to us just how many people we actually know who live there.  We didn't advertise ahead of time that we were going because we thought we had gotten in touch with the few people we know there.  But once I checked us in to PDX on Facebook, we received several notices from other friends who are also living there without us being aware of it.  Suffice is to say, we may need to make a second trip back soon.

True to form, Kevin and I murdered our vacation.  By that, I mean he and I pack more experiences into a trip than anyone else I know.  We are not ones to sit around.  Rather than recount our entire vacation, let me just give you 1 day as a sample:  Monday, December 14th.


That morning, we woke up and drove to Tillamook Cheese Factory in Tillamook, OR.  It was a sometimes-dicey drive through the Tillamook State Forest due to rain, fog, and even a little snow.  But once we arrived, it was lots of fun.  In the factory, you can actually watch some of the cheese making and wrapping process.  It was actually fun to stand over top of the workers like a boss and watch the processes as the cheese made its way along conveyor belts.  What was cool was to watch the automatic weight devices kick out any block of cheese that didn't meet expectations.  And of course, there were lots of free samples to try, too.  That always makes a trip better!

Tillamook

Once our bellies were sufficiently loaded with lactose, we drove onward to Cannon Beach, OR to photograph the Haystack Rock, or as Kevin knows them, the Triple Stones from Kevin's favorite movie, The Goonies.  Once that was accomplished, we drove a bit further into the town of Astoria, OR to see the "Goonies House" used in the film.  There have been many reports lately of how the current owners, despite originally greetings movie buffs, are now vehemently turning people away.  There are several "No Goonies" signs near the house to keep spectators away.  They've even previously covered the house in blue tarps to dissuade movie fans.  But we got lucky on the day we were there - no tarps.  We got as close to the house as we felt comfortable doing while still respecting the owner's privacy.


Triple Stones & Goonie House
When we take trips, I do most of the driving while Kevin scours apps like Atlas Obscura and other Roadside America to see the weirdness that is the world we live in.  On our way to see the World's Largest Frying Pan, the road we were on closed due to mud slides.  So we re-routed to see the next best thing, the World's Largest Egg in Winlock, WA.


World's Largest Egg, Winlock, WA

After which, we drove on to Olympia, WA to have dinner with friends Peter and Suzanne and their son, Stewart.  Kevin and I have a thing about visiting State Capital buildings (it's a fairly new thing we've started.  So far we have Wisconsin and Texas under our belts).  We popped into the capital building and snapped a few photos.  That would be Kevin sitting in what I assume to be Santa's chair at the base of the tree. 


This whole vacation was a great opportunity for us to see some of our dearest friends who all seem to live in this same part of the world.  Peter is one of Kevin's oldest friends, having gone through high school and college together.  This was also a chance for me to meet their son, Stewart, who I've been watching on Facebook since he was born 3 years ago.  We rounded out dinner with Pete showing us Olympia's Artesian Well at the Artesian Commons, which also has its own Facebook Page.   Both Pete and Kevin had to sample the water.  So far, no cholera!


After our goodbyes, Kevin and I drove the 114 miles back to Portland to our hotel.  All total, this one day we drove about 500 miles round trip; went from sea level to about 3,800 feet above; 
drove through sun, rain, sleet and snow; passed through two states; walked through a state capital building; saw the sites from a movie; ate cheese and sampled many flavors of ice cream; saw the World's Largest Egg; ate seafood; drank from an Artesian well; and saw dear friends.  THIS is how you vacation.
Oh, and the next day?  We climbed a waterfall.



Tuesday, December 08, 2015

Christmas Songs That Annoy Me

I love Christmas.  I love everything about it.  Even the songs that I've heard every year for the past 50 years still somehow make me feel warm inside.  Every song, that is, except three.  There are three Christmas songs that 1) fortunately only get played once a year, 2) don't really have anything to do with Christmas or the holidays, per se, and 3) are just plain stupid.

The Christmas Shoes
I hate this song so much.  First of all, I can't stand forced sentiment, like when someone writes a song that's supposed to be a tearjerker.  There are lots of country songs that fall into this genre, like Tim McGraw's "Don't Take The Girl" and Kathy Mattea's "Where've You Been?"  But back to these freaking shoes.
So somewhere in the world around Christmas time, a man - and quite possibly other extended members of a family - allow a little boy of undetermined age (let's say 11 or 12?) to break his piggy bank and leave his dying mother's bedside (hospital?  living room sofa?) so that he can go out ALONE to buy a pair of shoes for his mother before she succumbs to whatever illness from which she's been suffering.  She is, I surmise, moments away from potentially "meeting Jesus".  This mother who, apparently, also never allowed her child to believe in Santa Claus since she always "made Christmas good at the house" and "did without" most years. Instead, she chose to teach her child that God only loves you if you sport expensive, material things and show up to meet Him while wearing only your best holiday footwear.  The smelly robe she will most likely die wearing must be inconsequential.
The song even comes with a snooty retail clerk who is not about to demonstrate any Christmas spirit and puts the weight of the purchase back on other consumers when the kid comes up short in the cash department (which we all KNEW would happen). The best part of the song is that the singer seems to have gleaned some kind of Christmas message from the whole experience; an understanding of what Christmas "is all about": sending your kids on a fool's errand to the mall in times of stress so that you don't have to deal with them, thus making them someone else's problem.
Baby It's Cold Outside
Have you ever actually listened to or read the lyrics of this song, specifically the lyrics that are traditionally sung by the woman?  I'll sum them up here: she's being drugged and kept against her will.  Her constant pleas to leave are simply ignored by her selfish date.  She's worried about her family, the neighbors, and her hair.  All he cares about is his pride, his fireplace, and how fast he can dump another "drink" into her.  He won't even lend her a comb!
Yeah, it's a song about date rape and kidnapping. REAL Christmasy, this one.  It's one the creepiest song out there, holiday or otherwise.  And for some reason, it keeps getting recorded by artists and DJ's keep playing it on the radio over and over.  It's in heavy rotation during the holidays and I've no idea why?  "Think of my lifelong sorrow" of having to listen to this song for another couple of decades.

Twelve Days of Christmas
This song is essentially the holiday equivalent to 99 Bottle Of Beer On The Wall.  It's. So. Boring.  And for some reason, it's hard for people to remember.  Which is understandable because it makes no sense.  If my true love showed up at my house at Christmas with a marching band, dancers, and geese, I'd kick him in his holly and berries.   
And what exactly ARE the 12 days of Christmas?  When does it start or end?  And who thought up that Christmas list.  Would the giver really be your true love if they gave you all this stuff?  Is the true love an ornithologist?  What's the fascination with fowl: swans, geese, turtle doves, calling birds, french hens and a partridge??  Can you imagine the stick from all of those things?  How fast would you be packing your stuff and running out the back door?
So that's my cringe-worthy list.  Every time these songs come on the radio, I grunt my best Grinch-grunt and roll my eyes.  I'd love for all three of them to be removed from rotation.  But alas, they are part of the fabric of Christmas.  Perhaps easy to overlook in the grand scheme of things.

But still...

Thursday, December 03, 2015

Keeping "X" in "Xmas"

It's that time of year again: time for Christian extremists to start posting their hatred for the term, "Xmas".  Why?  Because, as they will assuredly tell you, “Xmas” is a non-religious name/spelling for “Christmas”.  To quote: "It take Christ out of Christmas".  Turns out, though, that “Xmas” is not a non-religious version of “Christmas”. 

The “X” is actually indicating the Greek letter “Chi”, which is short for the Greek, meaning “Christ”. So “Xmas” and “Christmas” are equivalent in every way except their lettering.  Even the fact-checking website Snopes and the world's online encyclopedia, Wikipediahave gotten in on the action of assuaging Christian extremists.

Although writing guides such as those issued by the New York Times, the BBC, The Christian Writer’s Manual of Style, and Oxford Press discourage the use of Xmas in formal writing, the use of Xmas was at one time a very popular practice, particularly with religious scribes, who are thought to have started the whole “Xmas” thing in the first place. Indeed, the practice of using the symbol “X” in place of Christ’s name has been going on among religious scholars for at least 1000 years. Eventually, this shorthand trick spread to non-religious writings where nearly everywhere “Christ” appeared in a word, the Greek letter Chi ("X") would replace that part of the word. For example, in the 17th and 18th centuries, there are numerous non-religious documents containing instances of “Xine”, which was a common spelling for someone whose name was Christine.  

So while using Xmas is really more about personal choice and nothing to do with blaspheming Christ, extremists will simply just have to accept that the use of Xmas is, well, acceptable.  I'd like to suggest that instead of arguing about keeping Christ in Christmas, perhaps they could work a little harder at keeping Christ in Christian.

Tuesday, December 01, 2015

November Almost Doesn't Exist

Back in 2013, I undertook a huge project by ripping apart all my scrapbooks and photo albums and scanning all contents in order to have my visual history kept digitally rather than physically.  It was time consuming and, at times, monotonous work.  But I loved every minute of it.

I loved going through each picture and recalling the memory of when it was taken, what I was feeling, what was IN the picture and, sometimes more fun, what was NOT.  I loved the categorization of the project.  I love to organize and categorize, so while it was labor, it was a labor of love.

The funny thing I recently noticed about the completed project is that I rarely - and historically - take photos in November; at least photos that I'd wanted to keep anyway.  Of the 5,606 images that are currently scanned on my removable drive, only 63 of them were taken in November. It is by far the least amount of any month.

To the contrary, October and December mark some very active time in my photo-taking.  I'm sure this has everything to do with the holidays that occur in them.  But November seems quite lazy in the memory-making department by comparison despite having arguably the most nationally-recognized holidays: All Saints' Day, Election Day, Veterans' Day, Columbus Day, Thanksgiving Day, and Black Friday among them.

Ultimately, this all means nothing.  It's not like I can go back and correct something or do anything differently.  The the Novembers from the time I was born are now gone forever.  So I guess I will need to make November some kind of priority going forward; that November needs to be more exciting somehow.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Thanksgiving Wish

Tomorrow - more than Christmas, perhaps - my wish is that everyone I know is with people who love and care about them so that they can be truly grateful for what they have.

I will be thinking of my mom all day tomorrow.  Mom has always loved this holiday and it's always meant a little something more to her.  My brothers and sister and their families will be with her, as will a few extended family.  Time was that everyone in our family gathered at Mom and Dad's for Thanksgiving.  We'd number close to 60 or 70 in some years, including neighbors "popping" in.  Mom would spend a few days cooking and then spend the rest of the year accepting compliments on the amazing job she did.  But the crowd continues to get smaller now as the next generations start traditions of their own with other groups of people.

Perhaps the biggest loss for Mom this year will be Dad's presence at the dinner table.  Dad recently took a rapid decline over a period of 6 weeks.  There's no reason for the decline, but then there is no reasoning with Alzheimer's.  My dad, who was always a fit man around 200 lbs, now weighs about 130.  He seems to feel okay, but his body is withering away.  My dad was always covered in muscle and bulk, but now I can feel his bones when I hug him.  My brother Matt used to stop by the nursing home and (literally) pick up Dad to bring him to family events.  But Dad seems so frail now that Matt fears injuring or hurting Dad while transporting him.  So now, Dad will no longer leave the nursing facility.  And it's absolutely the right thing to do.  As hard as it is to accept, i'ts just the next step in this disease that simply just doesn't care.

I'm sure my Mom will spend a few minutes privately asking herself, "what happened?"  When did it all change?  Did she ever think that it would?  Had she prepared herself enough for this?  How will next year be different?  I am comforted, at least, knowing that Mom will be surrounded by love, regardless.

I stopped traveling home for Thanksgiving in 2006.  It became too expensive and difficult to travel home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I spent Christmas 2005 in Chicago away from family and had a horrible time, so I vowed I would not miss Christmas again.  This means Thanksgiving had to go, at least on a regular schedule.  I think I made it back once since then and hope to again in the near future.  But not this year.

I am lucky to spend Thanksgiving in Chicago with friends and MY family.  Every year, we are invited to Bob and Neil's cozy home.  Neil spends a few days preparing the most sumptuously decadent meal we will eat all year.  We will drink a lot of wine (a lot of wine) and laugh and eat.  We've been doing this for several years now (even flying in from Miami when we lived there) and if I cannot be at my mother's table, then THIS is the place I want to be.

May you, too, be able to count your blessings this weekend and be among those you love and call family.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Introducing My Husband

As the year passed, it's gotten a little easier.  But I'm still not completely comfortable - or should I say "at ease" - with introducing Kevin as my husband.  Referring to Kevin as my boyfriend or partner was always very easy to do.  But I am, at times, almost sheepish when I call him my husband.

I don't balk at hearing "husband" from other male couples, or even when I hear Kevin introduce me.  While I am certainly proud that he married me, I'm always afraid that it sounds like I am trying to make some kind of political statement.  It's not out of embarrassment of any kind; I just don't want to be seen as pushing an agenda, despite the fact that same-sex marriage is legal everywhere in the United States.  It's just my life.

Prior to the 1990's, partnered men referred to themselves as "lovers".  I count my lucky stars that my dating period launched near the end of that terminology.  I never had a lover.  The first guy I dated seriously was my "boyfriend", as were subsequent guys after that.  Kevin was the first guy to become my "partner".  I can't remember when he and I adopted that word to define each other, but the transition from boyfriend to partner was seamless, effortless.  Even on Facebook, we transitioned from "in a relationship" to "in a domestic partnership" to finally just plain old "married".

Of course the only way for everyone to get used to hearing two men call each other husband (or two women use the word wife) is to simply just use the word.  The more often it is said, the more comfortable everyone will be with hearing it and, as in my case, saying it.  Because after all, that's who he is.

Thank God.

Monday, November 16, 2015

Polls Mean Nothing

I don't believe polls.  I don't trust polls.  Know why?  I've never been included in them.

Let's examine the way polls are typically conducted.  First, internet polling is completely unreliable as the collection of data is based on an IP address, not a person.  This means that if you have several different devices (phone, laptop, desktop, tablet), you could vote at least 4 times in the same poll, thus skewing the results.  This is not taking into account that you can do the same thing using your work devices as well.  There have been times I've cast my vote for something on a website using not only different devices, but also the three email addresses I currently use for different things.  So internet polling is unreliable, at best.

Also, no one has ever called me on the phone and asked my opinion on a presidential (or any) candidate.  Pollsters can only call phone numbers to which they have access, i.e. the telephone book.  I'm not in the phone book because I don't have a land line.  And neither do most of my friends or most other people (presumably) under the age of 35, or perhaps 40.  So the responses reflected through phone polls, we could surmise, is data collected from those folks who have landlines, i.e. the older generations and those who must have land lines due to their geographic locations.

Likewise, very few people have tried to stop me in person to ask my opinion.  And when they did, I never gave it.  I've either politely declined and went on my way (I'm bitchy like that) or just brushed by them hurriedly without any acknowledgement.  While in-person polling can be more accurate, it's also labor intensive and expensive to conduct.  There's also no guarantee that the pollster isn't just writing down data from people who don't even exist.

So since I've never participated in a poll, I can honestly say that my opinion has never been represented.  And I hazard a guess that most of my peers are not represented either.  So the information that is being thrown at us by the media and candidates during debates and stump speeches about polls and poll numbers doesn't really mean anything because we don't know who participated, how many people participated, and whether or not those people even exist.

What we CAN deduce, based on what I've written here, is that the poll numbers probably represent the opinions of older Americans who 1) are not current on their technology, and 2) most likely get their news from their local newspaper and/or their favorite news TV channel.  I could also make the assumption that most of the people being polled most likely have not done research on their own about presidential (or any office seeker) candidates and rely strictly on what they are told rather than information they've sought on their own.

It's been well-documented that metropolitan cities skew towards Democrat, while rural areas skew towards Republican.  So if a pollster is looking for a specific response, it would be very simple to just travel to the geographic location that will garner you the preferred response, as I am sure Fox News does.

So I don't follow poll information.  All I can do is my own research (which I encourage everyone to do) to make my own decision, pull the lever I want and hope for the best.


Thursday, November 12, 2015

2005 - 2015: Job Hunt . . . Again

Interestingly enough, today I find myself in exactly the same situation as 10 years ago.  Being on the job market for the third time in 10 years is disheartening and, for some odd reason, a bit embarrassing.  It would also be ego-crushing if not for the facts that 1) my husband is super supportive, and 2) at least this time, there is displayed interest in my resume.  I've had several phone interviews and the conversations went well.  Because I work in HR, I understand how this process works.  It takes time, sometimes a few months.  Coordinating interest and schedules on the other end can be mind numbing for the HR person.

I was laid off back in July.  I started making some headway in September, and then we went to Europe for two weeks, which ended up killing whatever momentum I had been gaining.  If I had to choose between getting a job and going to Europe with my husband, I'd choose the latter every time!  But this essentially means that I started back at ground zero when we came back.

I will admit that being unemployed in Chicago is A LOT better than being unemployed in Miami.  It's nice to have access to a car to run errands for us, or to get to interviews or even to see friends during the day.  The weather, of course, is much more enjoyable here as well.  And we have lots of projects around the house that have kept me busy.  Still, most of my day every day is spent looking at LinkedIn, Indeed, and a plethora of other job sites which all pretty much list the same jobs.

Something that continues to frustrate me is how recruiting agencies will post a job listing that sounds ideal - but there really is no job.  The agencies are trying to build up their stable of talent for when an actual job comes to them.  Sadly, this constitutes a large percentage of the jobs that are posted online.  Some job sites will allow users to disregard those jobs posted by recruiters or agencies.  I prefer that option.  If a job description is written too vaguely without many specifics, chances are its not an actual jobs but rather a resume gatherer from a recruiter.  Despite sporadically registering with recruiting agencies over the last 25 years or so, I've never once obtained employment through their services (although I believe I have lost an opportunity or two because of them).  In our introductory meetings, they tell me exactly what I want to hear: how great I am and how marketable my skill set is.  And then I rarely hear from them again.  Recruiters are the used car salesmen of the new millennium.

And so, just like 10 years ago, I trudge along - doing what I am supposed to be doing and trying to be as much of a help to Kevin as possible, all the while hoping that somewhere someone has my resume on his/her desk and keeps thinking, "I need to call this guy."


Sunday, November 08, 2015

That Time Anderson Cooper Hit On Me

Picture it:  New York City, June 2001, Gay Pride weekend.

To set the time, in 2001 Anderson had just left this job reporting on 20/20 (before he began hosting his own show on CNN).  Back then, he was wearing thick black cable turtlenecks, leather jackets and hosting "The Mole", a reality show on ABC. In those days, I rarely watched TV.  I had joined a gym about a year and a half earlier and as my new body developed, so did my social life.  It wasn't too often that I was home in the evenings, so I was not up-to-par on the latest television shows.  I was young, fit, and tan.  I basically had it all going on.

So I had opted to go to NYC with some friends for my first NYC Pride Weekend.  It was LOTS of fun.  We skipped around to a few parties the night before, woke for brunch the following day and had a blast watching the biggest gay parade in the country.  It was fun, frolic, and ridiculousness.  And once the parade ended, we followed the mass migration to Pier 26 and the infamous Pier Dance.

The four of us stopped on the corner at Franklin and Varick Streets.  My three friends slipped into a bodega to buy some waters and I stayed across the street just to watch all the revelers go by.  As I stood there, a man a little shorter than me approached me and said hello:
Him:  Hey there.
Me:  Hey there back.
Him:  How's it going?
Me:  It's going well, thanks.  How about you?
Him:  I'm good.  We're heading to the Pier Dance, are you going there?
Me:  Yeah, I have friends in the store across the street, so I'm just waiting for them.
Him:  Okay, I was going to invite you to come with us.
Me:  That's very nice, but I got a gang, so...
Him:  Okay, well maybe I will see you there.
Me:  Yeah, we can dance!
Him:  I'd like that, look for me.  I'm Anderson.
Me:  I'm Dop
Him: What is it??
Me:  Dop.  D-O-P.
Him:  I like it.  I'll key an eye open for you.
As soon as he walked away, my three friends returned, one of them practically on fire over what he had just witnessed.  "What was THAT all about?"
"Some guy asking me to go to the Pier Dance with him."
"Some guy?  You do know who that is, don't you?"
"He told me his name, but I forgot it already."
"That's Anderson Cooper.  He's a Vanderbilt.  He's Gloria Vanderbilt's son!"
"Oh yeah??"
"Yeah."
"Well, he's too old for me."
"He's a year younger than you; he's just graying prematurely.  Let's go find him!"
So we all went to the dance and my obsessed friend tried in vain to find Anderson, but to no avail.  We ended up having a great time dancing on the pier and culminating our weekend with fireworks and great music.

So was it a missed opportunity?  Eh, maybe.  I mean I met him one-on-one and thought he was handsome and nice.  And I could have easily asked him to wait until my friends came and we all go together.  But something told me not to do that and to let this moment pass.

I had no way of knowing it at the time, but the universe was telling me to wait on this one - that another prematurely graying younger man was in my future.  I didn't always make the right decisions back then, but THAT time, I did.  Patience won out on this one.  And so did I.  He's MY "360".

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Big Beard: The Cons and Pros

Cons:
There’s a surprising amount of grooming involved.
There are such things as “bad beard days”.
The maintenance.
The shedding.
The dandruff.
It covers most of my face.
It's wiry.
It's hot.
It's itchy.
It requires the use of "products". 
It grows in different directions.
It still catches me off-guard in the mirror.
It draws attention to me.
I get oil on my shirt collars
I look older.
I need a barber.
I need more time in the morning routine.
Strangers want to touch it.
Strangers comment on it.
Strangers want to talk about it.

Pros:
It’s one damn, good-looking beard.

The shaved head/stubble beard has been my look for the past, oh, 25 years or so. When I started shaving my head in the early 90's, no one else was doing it.  People thought I had cancer.  I got called "Kojak" because he was the only bald white guy anyone had ever seen to that point.  I started the stubble beard in college at the request of my then-boyfriend, and I've kept it (for the most part) ever since.  I've never had more than a 5-day growth.  So last Thanksgiving, I decided to just stop trimming and allow my beard to grow full - just to see what it would look like.   

A full beard requires a lot - and I mean A LOT - of maintenance to look good (or at least mine does).  I have it professionally groomed by a barber once a month, and then need to do my own clipping/trimming/shaping on a daily basis.  Beards, just like heads of hair, can have minds of their own: one day it will lay perfectly and look great, then the next it's curling in different directions and reacting to humidity.  And not having hair on my head for the past 25 years has ill-prepared me on how to deal with the unruly.

And every beard-wearer has his own opinions as to the best way to care for a beard:

Wash it or don't? 
Condition it or not?  
Beard oil or just coconut oil?  
Oil it once, twice or more times a day?  
Brush it with a boar's hair brush or only use your fingers?  
Use balm or keep natural?
Touch it always, sometimes, or never?  

A by-product of having a (arguably enviable) full beard is the attention it invites.  To be honest, I didn't expect it.  Men stopped me on the street to compliment it.  Once, a car stopped at an intersection to allow me to cross because, as the driver yelled out to me, "I'm only doing this because you have a great beard."  I'm not one for the spotlight or attention.  And as nice as the compliments were to hear, they still made me uncomfortable.

I had my full beard for 6 months last year, shaving it off for a wedding in May (at one of the groom's request, no less).  It was nice not having it through this past summer; it can get hot and itchy sometimes.  Kevin requested that I grow it back for our trip to Europe, because he wanted a picture of me with my beard wearing lederhosen (picture at right).  He does so much for me, it was the least I could do.  I look quite Bavarian.

So once Hallowe'en is over (for which I typically am smooth-faced anyway), I'll be growing it back again, but perhaps not to the full length I had before.  But as my Mother has been telling me for years, I just seem to have one of those faces that looks better with something on it, or at least partially covered up.  And I'm fine with that.  Without the beard, I look much younger, but with a fuller beard, I look much older.  Somewhere in there is a happy medium.  Until I find it, I will just need to continue to not ACT my age.




Sunday, October 25, 2015

Favorite Part(s) Of My European Vacation

After walking across the Highline once;
in front of the Ehrenburg Castle ruins in Reutte
Every few days during our trip, Kevin would ask me what my favorite thing had been up to that point.  And at the time, it was too overwhelming to pick something.  But after a little perspective, I think I am able to narrow it down.

Of course, my MOST favorite thing was doing it all with Kevin.  But since that is probably a given, I want to share the things from each place we visited that continue to stand out for me:


Berlin, Germany

Per my previous post, there isn't much in Berlin that remains prior to 1945.  Per history, Berlin was bombed to hell and back for the first 5 years of the 1940s, so little remains of any historical value. And what the U.S. and allied forces didn't take down during WWII, (apparently) ashamed/embarrassed  Berliners removed since.  The city is now full of apologetic monuments and memorials to Jews and the world at large.  But I would have to say that my favorite thing to see in Berlin was the Brandenburg Gate.

Erected in 1791, left in ruins after the war and its reconstruction stymied by its proximity to the Berlin Wall, the "Peace Gate" still stands as a symbol of freedom and unification.

Another favorite thing from Berlin was a wordplay we exercised throughout the rest of our trip.  The word "strasse" (German for street) is on the end of every word on a street sign.  So we added strasse to the end of some of our words too:  "Bun, is it time for dinnerstrasse?", "I'm going to pop into this shopstrasse", "God, more stairsstrasse!"

We're hilarious.

Prague, Czech Republic

There are two favorite things about Prague.  The first is simply the "oldness" of it.  After leaving newer Berlin and arriving in ancient Prague, I thought "yes, THIS is what I was looking for!" Cobblestone streets, weather-damaged statues, terracotta roofs, my first castle - Prague was exactly what I wanted Europe to be.  It was surreal to stand in a building that was erected in the 10th century as well as walk through the castle home of "Good King Wenceslaus" from the carol-fame.


My other favorite thing was Letná, a park located off the beaten path that I doubt many tourists visit.  Letná is a hill overlooking Prague historic center and the Vltava River near Prague Castle. Due to its position it used to be the venue for the largest Stalin statue in Europe. But the Stalin Monument, nicknamed "Queue for Meat" was blown up in 1962. What remains is a large stone platform that's been taken over by skateboarders, and the Metronome art installation that now stands where Stalin used to.  This sculpture can be seen from just about anywhere in Prague, which means that standing next to it provides some of the best views of the city.  Underneath where Stalin once stood is a space that was intended as a museum to Stalin, but instead because a space for potato storage, a bomb shelter, an underground radio station, a rock club in the early 90s, and even a fight club.  This area is now sealed off by the “Gates to Nowhere” and is only opened rarely for tours.

Munich (München), Germany

All I can say here is Oktoberfest, Oktoberfest, Oktoberfest.  For all I know, Munich is a football field-sized area full of beer tents.  If there is an actual city of Munich, we'll have to catch it on the next visit.  We went for Oktoberfest and that's what we did for two days.  We drank and ate and drank and sang and drank.  And what made it so much more special was the group of gorgeous, young Germans we met at the table next to us.  Philip, Basti, Melanie, Johannes, Andi, Markus, Melly, and Jakob welcomed us to their group and made us feel Bavarian!  We sang "Country Roads", we stood on benches, we PROSTed a million times, and we laughed a lot.  We are all connected on Facebook now, and they each have a place to stay if ever in Chicago.

Schwangau, Germany

Perhaps driving through the Alps after drinking for two days was probably not the best laid plan. However, our next stop was to see the two famous castles, Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein, the latter being my favorite thing about this day.  Just before our trip, we watched a PBS special on King Ludwig II and his building of Neuschwanstein.  It was all fascinating and wonderful to see in real life.


Reutte, Austria

The next part of our trip was completely unplanned.  Upon leaving the castles in Schwangau, we decided to dip down into Austria because "it was JUST right there".  We were initially just going to stop and spend the night in Vils, but chose to drive just a bit further, hoping to get a stamp in our passports (didn't happen).  Quite by accident, we stopped in Reutte (pronounced ROY-tah) for dinner, then found our cute hotel, the Hotel zum Mohren.

My favorite thing about Reutte, other than Reutte itself, was the hike up to the Ehrenberg Castle ruins and (in spite of myself) walking across the Highline 179, the longest Tibetan-style bridge in the world.  The ruins were beautiful.  And I am proud of myself for walking across the bridge.  It took almost all of my nerve and I opted not to make a big deal about it.  It was a reminder to me as to how I handle tough situations in my life by simply accepting what needs to be done and do it.  It was a rewarding accomplishment and one to say I am proud that I achieved.

Reichelsheim, Germany

Later the same day as the bridge walk, we drove into this small town, the town where I've traced my dad's family tree back to the year 1757 when my ancestor, Wilhelm Trautmann, left Reichelsheim for Philadelphia.  So now here I was, standing in the town where it all started - bring this line of my family tree full circle.  It's an experience many don't get to have and the importance and gratification of doing so was not lost on me.

And thankfully, the town of Reichelsheim is cute.  As cute as any of the small towns or villages throughout Germany.  It has narrow streets of cobblestone, half-timbered houses, and even its own castle.  And the name Trautmann is still going strong there.  We spotted Blumen Trautmann (a thriving greenhouse/nursery) and a truck for Werner Trautmann Landscaping.  I tried connecting with a few Trautmanns on Facebook before our trip, but nothing came of it.  But being there is something I have that the 7 other Troutmans/Trautmanns between Wilhelm and me didn't have - and it was momentous to stand in the same streets and see some of the same sights as he nearly 260 years later.

Trier, Germany


Trier sits near the border of Germany and Luxembourg and is one of the oldest cities in Germany, dating back to when it was still part of the Holy Roman Empire.  And also dating back to that time is my favorite thing about Trier, the Porta Nigra (or Black Gate).  Two-thousand years ago, Trier was a walled city, as were most at that time.  There were 4 gates that served as entrances to the city.  Porta Nigra, the northern gate, is STILL STANDING.  The foundation of the gate was laid in 40 A.D.  Once more for emphasis - 40 A.D.  That means Jesus Christ died just 7 years earlier.  And what's just as whacky is that you can walk through the building and touch walls that have been touched by people for over 2,000 years.

Ghent (Gent), Belgium


This city holds a special place in my heart because it's where Kevin and I celebrated our "10 years together/1 year married" Anniversary.  We had dinner at De Kuip Van Gent and walked around this beautiful, old, canal city.  And drawing on my 7th Grade U.S. history, we located the building in which the Treaty of Ghent was negotiated in 1814 (it's now an ESPRIT store).  My favorite thing about Ghent, though, was that every picture was a postcard.  The town is simply stunning.

Bruges (Brugge), Belgium

Ever since seeing the 2008 film, In Bruges, starring Colin Farrell, I've wanted to visit Bruges.  To quote a line from the film, "How can all those canals and bridges and cobbled streets and those churches, all that beautiful fucking fairy tale stuff, how can that not be somebody's fucking thing, eh?"  (See the movie - it's awesome.)


My favorite thing about Bruges was just being in Market Square.  This area is featured heavily in the film, and it doesn't hurt that the place is decorated for Christmas, either.  But even without all that, the area is still gorgeous.  Every medieval town has a cobble-stoned market square with a huge statue in the center, surrounded by buildings, shops, and a huge church or bell tower.  Bruges is no exception.  The Belfort (bell tower), also featured heavily in the film, is a tower consisting of 366 extremely narrow, winding steps up 272 feet, and housing 47 silver bells at the top.  Before we climbed, I wish I would have remembered this quote from the film:

Ken:  Coming up?

Ray:  What's up there?
Ken:  The view.
Ray: The view of what?  The view of down here?  I can see that down here.

Seriously, just see the movie.


Otherwise, the rest of Bruges really is like a fairy tale.  If you like your towns quaint, old with lots of shopping, this is the place.

Brussels (Bruxelles), Belgium


This was not a planned stop but rather a 3-hour layover while we waited to change trains from Bruges to the high speed Eurostar to take us to London.  Maybe it was the fact that it was raining (first time on our trip).  Maybe it was the fact that we were lugging our suitcases with us.  Maybe it was the fact that we just left the most charming city in Belgium and I was eager to get to London.  Maybe it was all or none of these things.  But I hated Brussels.

What really blew my mind was the big tourist attraction, Manneken Pis.  I've know this statue just about all my life because my Uncle Bill used to have this as a decanter on his bar that when you pushed a button, it would pee out booze.  The actual version of this is about 24" in height and located on a random corner.  He's not much more than a dress-up doll for the city. After seeing huge cathedrals and amazing artworks, I wondered what the big deal was.  It's super cheesy.

There's no one, true legend that tells the tale of this statue, and it quite frankly isn't even displayed well.  I mean, couldn't they have tried to hide the hose behind him a little?  Sheesh.

London, England

Our final stop was the city in which I most wanted to be, the city I've wanted to visit almost my entire life.  So much so, that standing in Trafalgar Square with Big Ben in my sight line caused me to well with tears.  We spent twice as much time in London then any of the other towns and I loved every second of it:  standing in front of Buckingham Palace, having tea in the Tate Modern, listening to a service in St. Paul's Cathedral, riding on a double-decker bus, and seeing a few shows in the West End.

But my favorite thing hands down was the day we spent at Tower of London.  I'd read so much about this place, its inhabitants (both past and present), its mystique, its darkness - I couldn't wait to get inside the gates.  We spent several hours seeing the Crown Jewels, the armor of past kings, the dungeons, the royal apartments, the chapel, the site of the beheadings, and the ravens.

For me, it was magical.

So there you have it - a very quick summation of our trip with the highlights of my favorite things. There were a few small towns that we popped into on the way, but I will talk about them another time.




Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Autumn Leaves

The falling leaves
Drift by my window
The falling leaves
Of red and gold

I see your lips
The summer kisses
The sunburned hands
I used to hold

Since you went away
The days grow long
And soon I'll hear
Old winter's song

But I miss you most of all
My darling
When autumn leaves
Start to fall

Since you went away
The days grow long
And soon I'll hear
Old winter's song

But I miss you most of all
My darling
When autumn leaves
Start to fall



                      -- Joseph Kosma

Monday, October 12, 2015

25 Observations From My European Vacation

I just returned from my first trip to Europe.  We were gone for two weeks and visited 6 countries.  As you can imagine, I have TONS to write about.  But as I collect my thoughts, here are 25 "observations" from my trip in no particular order:

  1. Stairs - There are no elevators in Europe.  Or so it seems.  But realistically, most old historic buildings do not come equipped with elevators or lifts.  So be prepared to climb.  At one point, I joked ("joked") that I would dub this vacation "The Staircases of Western Europe".  Heed my warning.
  2. Children Ruin Stuff - It's wonderful that people want to expose their children to history.  But some kids just aren't into it.  And they rebel - loudly!  Ask yourself when you were 7, was walking down uneven cobblestone streets and looking at old buildings your idea of fun?
  3. Tourists Suck - Regardless of where they're from or where they are, tourists are horrible.  They block the path and block the view and seemingly have absolutely no spacial awareness.  We ALL want the shot, okay?  Learn to take your quick turn.
  4. The Euro - One unit of currency throughout many countries is a great idea.  The UK and the Czech Republic should get on board.
  5. Selfie Sticks - The selfie stick is alive and well in Europe, particularly among Asian tourists.  They selfie themselves in front of everything, several times in the same pose.
  6. Glamour Shots - And speaking of Asians and cameras, they seem to think that every shot should be a glamour shot.  Without embarrassment of shame, they will pose in front of just about anything like its a step-and-repeat at a movie opening.  It's amusing until Number 5 and Number 3 get in the way.
  7. Smokers - There are certainly more smokers in Europe than the US.  At first I thought I was just exposed to them more since the smoking bans are different.  But no.  I had lots of smoke blown in my face in every country. 
  8. Bicycles - I used to think the Europeans cycled around their cities in order to promote health.  But I learned that cycling is more out of necessity.  It's the only really convenient way to get around some of these towns with their tiny, curved streets.  Driving in Europe is a nightmare.
  9. Every Little Town Looks Similar - They are all charming in their own way, but in reality, every little town throughout Germany and Belgium (in my experience) looked pretty much the same.  They all have a market square surrounded by beautiful buildings and a tall tower.  Still wonderful, but similar.
  10. Cobblestones - In some towns, it's difficult to know if an open space is a street, a sidewalk, a parking lots, a market square, etc.  There are few clear delineations to help one know where to walk to drive.  Apparently if your car fits, you can drive there.  It makes walking in open areas rather tricky.
  11. Cobblestone, Part 2 - Cobblestones are murder on roller bags.  After 10 days, I lost a wheel on my luggage.  Cobblestone streets are lovely, but not practical.
  12. Bruges Loves Shoppers - While Bruges is a wonderful place to see charming buildings and canals, it's also world class shopping.  If you like your history with a side of Marco O'Polo and Ann Taylor, this is your kinda place.
  13. Schwangau - This tiny town that houses two glorious castles is basically given in to tourism.  I was surprised that these places had become commercialized.  I just expected to drive up some winding roads and park at the castle entrances.  Not so.  There are ticket halls, hotels, restaurants and of course, shopping.
  14. Reutte - We drove to Austria on the spur of the moment and landed in a small village of Reutte.  It's an adorable town that's heavy on the charm.  It is indicative of all the towns in the Tirol state.  Plus it has two castle ruins, a fort, and sports the highest Tibetan-style bridge in the world according to Guinness.
  15. I Look Bavarian - The young group of German revelers we met at Oktoberfest swore I was from Bavaria.  The full beard most likely helped.  Plus I am of German descent.
  16. Rüedesheim am Rhein - This is a small wine-making town that we popped into between Wiesbaden and Trier, and is more a testament to going off your path now and then to see what lies on the perimeter.  
  17. Letna Park - This is a hilltop park in Prague that I doubt many tourists visit.  It can be seen from a distance due to the giant Metronom sculpture on the horizon.  There was once a 50-foot statue of Stalin where the Metronom now stands, but it was blown up in 1962.  The park offers amazing views of the city.
  18. Brussels - It ain't all that.  The only thing this city has put out is Tin Tin, Poirot, Jean Claude Van Damme, and a tiny statue of a boy peeing.
  19. Oktoberfest - I wasn't quite sure what to expect in the compound, but I was not prepared for the carnival-like atmosphere with rides and games.  Fun for the whole family.
  20. Reichelsheim - After years of researching my dad's family tree, I managed to trace them back to this small town and visiting it was a high point for this trip.  Coming full circle on my dad's behalf meant everything to me.  And I was happy to find a cute, quaint little town, much like the others we'd seen but more rural.  I'm proud to come from there.
  21. Woodrow Wilson - I only saw one American President's name during my trip, but I saw it two times in two places.  Once in a German train station and once on a street sign.  I found this to be interesting.
  22. Treaty of Ghent - Although this was not the reason we went to this town, I remembered from high school history that something to do with a treaty involving a war with the US took place in Ghent.  Sure enough, we located the building where the Treaty of Ghent, ending the War of 1812, was negotiated.  There was a plaque on the building and everything.  It's now an Esprit store.
  23. The Autobahn - I drove the fastest I've ever driven in my life:  160km/hr or 99.4mph.  And cars passed me like I was standing still.  It was exhilarating.
  24. T-Mobile is da bomb! - I've been with T-Mobile since 1999.  Without knowing it, T-Mobile is a hot network in Europe, so I had free unlimited data and texting the entire time we were on our trip.  Calls were $.20/minute.  
  25. Troutman Mix Doesn't Travel Well - My mom makes a version of Chex mix that Kevin calls Troutman Mix.  And he LOVES it.  My mom made three bags full for our trip and Kevin has one half gone before we left Chicago.  Despite packing it well, Bag #3 was mostly crumbs and powder.  Kevin ate it anyway.
And there you have it.  More to come...

Thursday, September 24, 2015

2005 - 2015: The Day I Moved To Chicago

I moved to Chicago on a rainy Sunday.  It was September 25, 2005.  Ten years ago, tomorrow.

8/24/05 - first day home after surgery
The 10 days prior to that date were filled with mixed emotions.  My surgeon had given me a clean bill of health and I was healing at a fast rate, most probably due to my age and the fact that I was in, otherwise, pretty great shape except for some clogged arteries. So I bid goodbye to my parents, which proved more difficult than usual because we all knew that I wouldn't just be a 2.5-hour drive away - I'd be living in a new city in a different time zone where I would know only my roommate Ashley and this new friend, Kevin.  Visiting my folks now would be more of a production and cost, but I vowed to come back for Thanksgiving that year, which I did.

My sister and brother had driven me back to DC on September 15th.  My 5-week ordeal was finally over and I could now return to my life, although my life would be far different than it had been.  I spent the next several days seeing friends for the first time in over a month and telling them all the stories about what I had experienced.  I showed my scars to those who asked and was amused at the amount of interest everyone seemed to take.  What I found really funny were the rumors that had developed.  Apparently, some folks heard that I had died.  Imagine their great relief (I hope) when they saw me again.

I was also shocked by how many people knew what happened.  It surprised me that I was more popular than I realized.  This was before Facebook, so sharing info en mass was tricky.  Either people really cared about me or they just love juicy gossip.  Perhaps, it was both, but knowing DC, it was the latter.

My recent-Ex had a housewarming party the following Sunday, so I went to see the old gang.  It was fun to hang out with them, but I had a strange sense that I had somehow outgrown them all in that short span of time.  Most likely, I was distancing myself from them, knowing I was moving.  I felt more like a spectator than a participant - a feeling I would keep for many weeks.

Unbeknownst to my family, I planned a quick trip to NYC to see friends before flying to Chicago (my mom would have freaked knowing I was going off by myself into a city of 8 millions strangers, so I thought it best to not share the news).  I met my friend Poodle and his boyfriend, Jeff at Chipotle for dinner.  It was important for me to see Poodle because I had forgotten to include him as one of the people my sister was supposed to update on my surgery when it was over.  Poodle heard about my heart attacks and bypasses after-the-fact, and was hurt that something could have happened to me and he would not have known. He had a point.  So I owed him a visit so that he could see I was fine.

Me and Bam Bam, 2005
I also met my friend, Broadway's Michael Hartney, whom I nicknamed Bam Bam.  We had been chatting on AOL for a few months and this was the right time to meet.  In Bam Bam, I found a kindred spirit who was up for ridiculous fun.  We ate crappy food (which I was still allowed to do in order to get my appetite back) and we had the very touristy excursions of visiting the top of the Empire State Building (in the rain) and toured Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum on 42nd Street.  After which, we went to a bar in Chelsea aptly named "The Bar", where I was reintroduced to what it was like to be social again.  It was all silly fun - and just what I needed.

I returned to DC and finished packing the truck that Ashley would drive to Chicago.  Well, actually Ashley and his friends packed the truck.  I still wasn't allowed to move anything heavy.  On the morning of September 25th, Ash and I stood in front of the house and reminisced fondly about the transformations we had lived through and the fun we just KNEW was waiting for us in our new city.  We hugged goodbye and headed to Chicago - he in a rental truck with all our belongings, and me in United Coach.

I was off into the unknown yet again: I didn't have a job lined up, I hadn't seen the apartment Ashley and I would be sharing, and I wasn't even sure how I would get my suitcase in the overhead compartment, seeing as how I still couldn't lift anything over my head.  But it all worked out.

Once I landed, I called Kevin, who was performing the last night of his family circus show in Evanston.  So I dropped off my suitcase and got on the L to go see him.  I went to a coffee shop across from the theater and called him.  Seconds later, a barefoot Kevin came running across a parking lot and greeted me with all the warmth I'd come to expect from him.  And I knew then that everything was going to be good again.

Us, 2005
Maybe more than any other day in my "2005-2015 Retrospective", September 25, 2005 was the day that really changed everything for me.  In a year that would create ripple effects for the rest of my life, this day is the one that has given me the most reward.  I left behind the old life and started a new one.  And I have never looked back.  Moving to DC in 1995 was a smart thing for me to do.  Leaving it and moving to Chicago in 2005 was even smarter.

And tomorrow, exactly 10 years later, I board another plane - this time to visit Europe for the first time with the man I have been lucky enough to spend the last 10 years with.  



Sunday, September 20, 2015

Dreaming Of Granny

Lately, oddly, my grandmother, "Granny" as I lovingly named her, has been on my mind, or should I say in my dreams.  For the past three nights I've had as many dreams about her.  This seems strange to me because the anniversary of her death was 3 months ago and her birthday isn't until December.  So it's not like she's on my mind right now.  But for some reason she is appearing to me in my dreams.  I love it because I love her, but it makes me wonder.

I tend to remember my dreams quite vividly, so let me share them with you:
In Dream #1, Granny was mostly just a bit player.  It was a disturbing dream in which Kevin and I got divorced.  It was originally my idea and he balked at the suggestion.  But some time passed and when I went back to him to tell him I had changed my mind, he said he'd had time to think about it and it was actually a good idea.  So I moved home and was greeted there by Granny.  She was wearing a plain, navy blouse, a navy blazer, and a long dark purple skirt - none of which I had ever seen her wear in life.  She gracefully descended a grand staircase and gave me a warm hug.
 In Dream #2, Granny played a much more prominent role.  I had decided to take her to see a movie.  I picked her up at her house and she was wearing a long, plain black dress with thin shoulder straps with a black lace shawl and a red rose in her white hair.  When we got to the theater, she asked for headphones to hear the movie, but then started talking to my mother on them which I knew was a sign of dementia of some kind.  When the movie started, she complained that she couldn't see, so I switched seats with her.  She then got up and opened a door in the theater that led to a mechanical closet.  I approached her and she said she was looking for the bathroom, so I walked her out to the hallway, which then turned into my old high school.  She started wandering off by herself and I got pulled away from her and couldn't get to her.  I watched her walk away and disappear around a corner.
In Dream #3, there was no color.  The dream seemed to be in sepia tone this time.  I was in her house with some friends.  One of them started speaking in German, and Granny, who's mother came to America from Germany when she was 3, started speaking in German as well.  Tears of happiness welled up in Granny's eyes as she spoke to my friend.  She then gave him a hug and I was filled with joy that she was happy.
These dreams have occurred the last three nights.  I'm lost as to their meaning, but I love that she is so present in my life, still to this day.  She was perhaps the first great loss of my life and her death rocked me for a long time.  If anyone out there understands dreams or is able to interpret these for me, please let me know.  Until then, I'll be seeing Granny in my dreams.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Moving To DC in 1995

Me, September 1995
It was exactly 20 years ago today - September 17, 1995 -  that I decided to finally grow up and be an adult.  On this day, two decades ago, I moved out of my parents' house for the last time and into my own apartment 150 miles away in Washington, DC.  I was 29 years old.  

I had spent the previous decade starting/quitting/restarting/graduating college, coming out to myself, working something like 21 jobs and living in almost as many apartments/dorms/houses over the years.  I'd spent most of the time with my two best friends, learning about myself and life in general.  There was a scientific belief, then, that gay people went through two pubescent periods:  the first in their teens as their bodies changed and they learned how to interact with each other, then again in their 20's having to unlearn the "straight way" and learn it all back over the "gay way".  There was a different set of rules to follow back then.  It's not like now where high schools have gay clubs and kids aren't waiting until their 20's to come out.  

It all started in June 1995.  I had moved in and out of my parents' house several times when life didn't work out, so I found myself living at home once again.  An old college buddy and I decided to spend a weekend in DC, running around to the bars and having the type of fun 29-year olds have.  We were walking down Connecticut Avenue and stopped in The Gap.  While we were in there shopping, my buddy had a revelation:  "Let's move here!  Let's get applications and jobs and move to DC together.  We can share an apartment and really do it!"  I was more spontaneous back then, so I agreed.  We asked for applications, tucked them in our shopping bags and went on our way.

A few weeks later, I learned through friends that my buddy had taken a job on a cruise ship without telling me.  He did these kinds of things.  Often.  And one night a few weeks later, I came home from a bad day at work and found The Gap application tucked away in a desk drawer.  I filled it out and mailed it in.  Two weeks later, I received a call from Tom, the District Manager for Gap in DC.  I drove to the store in Georgetown, had a great interview, and was offered an Assistant Manager position in the Connecticut Avenue store the next day.  It seemed impossible, but I decided to do it.  On my own.

After a frantic search with a considerably low budget, I found an English basement apartment on The Hill on Lincoln Square at 1310 Massachusetts Avenue, SE.  I moved in and started work the following day.  I remember there were times when I'd sit in my little, sparsely-furnished apartment and say to myself, "Wow, I'm doing it.  My rent is paid, my phone bill is paid, my car insurance is paid - I'm doing it.  All by myself, I am doing it."  It was incredibly empowering.  Oh, there were definitely times of struggle, like when I would order 2 for 1 large pizzas on Sunday night and make them last as my dinners for the entire week, or when I would walk 30 blocks home from work at night because $2.50 was too much to spend on Metro fare.  But I was too stubborn to let the city I loved defeat me.  Somehow, it always worked out.

I'd spend the next 10 years in DC, learning more about life and people, the ways of the world and how I fit into it.  I allowed myself to try just about everything and learn from the experience.  I would have wonderful moments like having a deep conversation with a complete stranger while sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial at 2AM, and seeing the pink cherry blossoms color a gray dawn at the Tidal Basin, and shopping on an autumn Sunday at Eastern Market, and biking along the Potomac River through Georgetown, and walking through the streets of the city with thousands of others during the very first AIDSwalk – all things that could only be experienced in DC.

I would get involved in 3 relationships a
nd make a countless number of friends and acquaintances. Near the end of my time in DC, people would remember meeting me 10 years prior. I know it had just about everything to do with the fact that I have an interesting name, but to my vanity, I would like to think that I left some kind of lasting impression on them, as everyone I met had on me. 

Me, September 2005
It's funny now,  looking back, at how important all those people were to me and how I expected - no, KNEW - that we would always be close friends.  And now I never talk to them, not even to the two best friends I spent thousands of hours with.  It's funny/sad how important they were to me then, and how little I think of them now.  A precious few remain, though.  Life really does move on.

It was a full, 10 wonderful years in DC when I moved from there in 2005.  It would have been impossible for me to imagine then how life could get any better.  Little did I know.