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".

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.

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.

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

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...

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.  

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.

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 and 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.

Melmac Holiday Dish Set

Melmac Holiday Set

I've been on a quest for the past several years to find a complete or near-complete set of Melmac melamine dinnerware, specifically the Holiday collection (left) which combines the then-trendy-but-now-retro colors of red, turquoise, yellow and off-white.

Finding an entire, complete set is a task which is proving difficult if not impossible.  I've been outbid on eBay several times over the last few years.  But I will keep looking.  It's out there . . . somewhere.

There's still lots of Melmac out there.  And there's lots of stuff out there that LOOKS like Melmac, but isn't.  Aye, there's the rub.  Melmac is easy enough to identify because the manufacturer's name is written on the bottom of the plates, cups and bowls.  Easy enough to distinguish, if you think to flip the stuff over and check before you buy it.

Why Melmac?  I could pour over the wonderful history of vintage melamine dinnerware, how it got started, what it's worth and how difficult it is to find.  But this website has already done it for me, so I won't create the wheel.

But perhaps the biggest reason I am attracted to this specific dinnerware line is because my grandmother had this set of dishes when I was a kid.  When she died, I didn't want anything that belonged to her in  order to remember her, but in hindsight, I really wish I would have gotten those dishes.  My Uncle Tom was living with her when she died so he rightly assumed ownership of them, however I recently found out that he sold the whole set a few years ago.

So the quest continues.

That Time I Saw Queen Elizabeth II

It was July 7, 1976.  I was 10.

My mother's older sister, Kay, and her family (husband Bill and son Jeff, who is my age) were visiting from California which, in those days, only happened once every 4 years.  And perhaps since it was also the Bicentennial, my grandmother chartered a tour bus to take everyone in the family to Washington, DC for the day.  My mom took my three siblings and me.  My dad had to work and couldn't (or probably wouldn't) take the day off.  I remember my mom telling me on the bus ride home that she missed him.  He was the only person, out of a busload of relatives, who did not go.

Anyway, I remember it being a really great day.  I recall driving into DC by way of the George Washington Parkway and seeing The Washington Monument suddenly appear in the distance through the trees.  It was magnificent.  Perhaps I told my 10-year old self, "I'm going to live here one day".  Or perhaps not.  In any event, I was struck by the city.

We visited all the sites: The Capitol, the Washington Monument, The White House, and The Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials.  But it was an experience that lasted just a few moments that I will remember my whole life.  Our bus was sitting outside the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue.  Back then, Penn Ave was a thru-street, not closed off as it is today.  Our bus driver came on the loudspeaker and told us all to go to the left side of the bus, that there was "something coming you will definitely want to see."

I was sitting in the front seats with my Aunt Mary Lou and looked out the window.  Immediately, a parade of cars lined up in front of the White House gates.  The car that stopped beside our bus was a black car with a glass roof.  And inside, looking up at our bus, sat Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip.  They sat for a few seconds as the White House gates opened.  She was wearing a light blue hat and matching coat/dress.  She smiled slightly, and I thought she was beautiful!  I fell in love instantly.

Then just as suddenly, she was gone - driven into the White House grounds to meet President and Mrs. Ford.  It was one of the most memorable experiences of my childhood, a memory that has stayed with me for almost 40 years.  I'll never forget her face and the awe I felt when we made eye contact for just a split second.

Today, I send my congratulations to The Queen on the day she becomes the longest reigning monarch in United Kingdom history.  Sixty-three years and 7 months, surpassing her great-great grandmother, Queen Victoria's reign; a record which generations no doubt believed would last forever.

I hope Her Majesty continues in good health for many years to come.

Pink Slipped

So I am back in the job market again.   AGAIN.

Last month - and for the first time in my career - I got laid off from a job.  The agency in which I was working had been steadily declining during (and even before) the time I was there.  The most recent round of layoffs unfortunately included me.  It was a weird experience for me.  I've been on the other side of the table many times, having to terminate an employee for one reason or another.  And to be honest, I'm not sure which side of the table is more difficult.   Of course, nobody wants to hear that they are about to lose their job, but it's also pretty hard to tell someone that very same thing.

Over the years, I would guess I've terminated about a dozen or so people, which is thankfully a small number.  My strategy is typically to somehow convince people to quit before I have to fire them.  But I'll admit that I've actually gotten quite good at terminating employees.  I'm no Ryan Bingham, but I've adopted a technique that has worked well for me by making the termination conversation less about the employees losing their jobs and using it more as an opportunity to discuss their strengths in order to help them figure out what they should do next.  Using a 60-minute time frame as an example, if a termination conversation is an hour, the actual termination part is only 20 seconds of that hour with the rest of the time being devoted to rebuilding confidence and figuring out strengths and goals.  I've found that it helps restore hope.  And maybe the termination can be taken less personally.

Being an HR professional, I saw my layoff coming (I'd be a pretty pathetic HR professional if I couldn't spot a problem).  One of my duties in my discipline is to spot trouble before it escalates and gets out of hand.  I started putting 2 and 2 together about six weeks before the actual conversation date.  I even had a hunch what day it would take place.  The only thing I didn't know was who would be involved in the conversation.  I expected my direct supervisor.  I didn't expect the participation of the CEO.  Her presence threw me and was, frankly, unnecessary.  But the conversation ended up being pretty textbook.

Being laid off is just being fired through no fault of your own.  The company failed somehow and now you have to pay the price of that failure.  Whether laid-off or fired, the end result is still the same:  out of a job.

I am trying to convince myself, as is my husband, that this situation is in no way going to mirror that which happened in Miami.  My real fear of being unemployed isn't that we will experience financial difficulty, but rather MY unemployment will somehow prevent my husband from being able to pursue something he would otherwise want to do.  This is all crap, of course, but I can't help but think this way.  And one can ONLY think this way if you've gone through this situation.  The thing that is different this time as opposed to Miami is that there is movement now - lots of phone interviews and in-person interviews and interest, which I had none of in Florida.  So I at least feel better, more hopeful.

So I spend my days on LinkedIn, Indeed, NPO, TheLadders, and about 10 other HR sites.  I even stick my nose on Craigslist now and then.  And in-between I am assuaging my conscience by mowing the lawn, doing the laundry, cleaning the house, and doing the shopping and all the errands.

So if you know of anyone looking for a great HR person....

The Problem With "The Walking Dead"

Kevin and I are BIG fans of "The Walking Dead" TV series (more he than I).  Every Sunday night during telecast, we are poised in front of the television, yelling at the characters, hiding behind pillows, and wondering who Carol is going to heartlessly kill next.

While slightly far-fetched, the producers of the show do an amazing job at making people and situations seem realistic, or at least within the realm of possibility.  It's highly possible that some kind of airborne virus could infect all of us, rendering us zombie-like.  But in TWD's quest for realism, I've noticed something about the characters that bothers me.

No one wears glasses.

By now in the series, those who had worn contact lenses are certain to have ditched them because it must be near impossible to stay stocked up on saline solution in a post-apocalyptic world.  I mean, if finding a can of peas is cause for celebration, locating a fresh bottle of Bausch & Lomb would cause downright euphoria.  So by now in the series, those with contacts would have undoubtedly switched to eyeglasses.

And when I say "no one wears glasses" I mean very few when compared to the real national average.  According to the Vision Impact Institute research, 3 our of 4 people in the U.S. have vision correction, and of those people, 71% wear glasses and 22% wear contacts.  When looking at the TV series character WIKI page, I counted only 9 of the 192 characters as wearing glasses.  Just 9, which is actually only 4.7% of 192.  And none of them are considered a main character or even crucial to any of the story lines.  There is a vast difference between 71% and 4.7%.  One would expect more than just 9 people to be wearing vision correction.

Milton, Woodbury weakling

Now, one could argue that perhaps people have lost their glasses while running, foraging, etc, which would certainly make those people easier targets for walkers since those with compromised eyesight would  be slowed significantly.  I would most likely be one of those people.  If I was out in the woods and my glasses would fall off my face, I'd pretty much be done for.  It's one of the reasons I'm not a big fan of camping.  The first time we see ANYONE on TWD wearing glasses is when the show arrives in Woodbury in Season 3, which is 19 episodes into the series.  No one up to that point is wearing glasses.

Remember Milton (left)?  He's the first character in the series with glasses we meet.  Apparently, there is a LensCrafters or something located in that town because almost half (4 out of the 9) of the series' bespectacled characters live in Woodbury.

I'm not really looking for an explanation; it's just something I noticed, probably since I am a glasses/contacts wearer.  This has only reinforced my belief that I would most assuredly die in a post-apocalyptic world, sooner than later.  I'll be running through the woods, a tree branch will whack me in the face and my glasses will fall into a leaf pile.  Or I'll step on them while rummaging for them.  Either way, I'm a zombie smorgasbord.

Sorry, bun.  Save yourself.

Happy 54th Anniversary, Mom & Dad!

Today marks my parents' 54th wedding anniversary.  They were married August 26, 1961.  

My parents are very different people. They met on a blind date in the late 50's.  She wore sweater sets and blushed easily.  He was an ornery greaser prone to mischief.  But if every good girl loves a bad boy and if every bad boy just wants a mother, then of course they'd hit it off and get married.

From all appearances, my parents had and have a happy marriage.  It's changed recently because of Dad's Alzheimer's and the fact that he lives in a nursing home.  But if the very fact that my mother visits my father two times a day every day (only missing in cases of extreme weather or doctor appointments), then her devotion to him suggests that their marriage is still good and filled with love.  My biggest wish is that they would be in a different situation than they are, but I think they are demonstrating what a good marriage is all about:  sticking with each other for better or worse, sickness and health.  It's not the retirement they would have chosen for themselves, but at least they still have each other.

If my parents had any marital discord through their 54 years together, it was most likely the mashing of their innate characteristics:  Mom's sometimes puritan tendencies vs. Dad's resilient "good-time Charlie".  It's probably not only what initially attracted them to each other, but also most likely served as the stumbling block that would, at times, sully an otherwise perfect relationship.  Many was the time where Dad's "life of the party" attitude was met with Mom's arm-crossed disapproval.  And what's even more interesting about all of this is that I seem to have inherited both of these qualities from them. The pugnacious duo of Dad's accelerator and Mom's brakes lives inside me.

In my life, "Mom's brakes" have won out 99% of the time.  For the most part, I've prided myself on knowing when "a little too far" was far enough, when to cash in the chips, when to stop the tomfoolery.  But occasionally Dad's accelerator has gotten some use as well.  I lived a bit of a reckless life the last few years I was in DC.  "Dad's accelerator" caused me to push some boundaries that I might not otherwise have pushed.  But Mom's brakes eventually prevailed.  I decided to leave DC altogether to start fresh in Chicago.  And how very lucky I am that I did just that.

Of course, I celebrate many other wonderful qualities I've received from my folks, whether genetically, physically, or naturally.  I am the best of my parents, and am thankful for all the wonderful love and support I have received and continue to receive from them.  Today I celebrate them and their dedication to each other.  They are leading by example and continue to show me what it means to truly love someone.

May 2005

Things That Annoy Me #513: "Share A Coke"

Coke - enough already.

The "Share A Coke With..." campaign was cute and all, but it's over.  I'm tired of it.  And tired of the energy that's been wasted on this whole travesty.

First of all, there's no Dop can.  Despite standing in front of open cooler doors for hours, much to the chagrin of every 7-Eleven clerk in the city, I did not find a "Share a Coke with Dop" can.  So screw you.  I went through the complete list of all 250 names that you figured were worthy of a personalized can.  No Dop.  But I bet Divya, Griselda, Lakeisha, and Vishal are all feeling pretty full of themselves at this point.  Are those your relatives?  Double-screw you.

Yeah, I know I can order a personalized Coke bottle online with my name on it (ooo, how fun!).  But I don't care to spend $10 on something I shouldn't have to beg for.  What's that?  I can download a virtual bottle instead of the real thing (note the double entendre there)?  What the hell good is that going to do me?  My dry mouth isn't virtual, you moron.

Building on that concept, your attempt at being all-encompassing by using "names" such as Bestie, Superstar, Legend, and Better Half is just obvious proof that somewhere in the process you all got together and said, "Let's call it.  This idea is flat-lining."  Even YOU lost interest in it.

And, it's no secret I don't like many people.  So having to search for a Coke can that does NOT display the name of someone I don't like is simply a waste of my energy and my time.  I don't want to drink out of a Carla can or a Brad can or even a Julian can.  I can't stand those people.  And I can't stand you for reminding me that those people even exist in the world.  Besides, it's not doing anything to quench my thirst either.  If nothing else, I'm actually getting MORE thirsty as I sift through can after can looking for ANY name that won't make me think the can is actually full of some kind of poison.

I'm not sure why all this matters to me anyway because I haven't had a Coke product in about 30 years.  I'm a Pepsi guy - Diet Pepsi that is.  And to be even more specific, Now Aspartame Free Diet Pepsi, if you must know.  I've been a DP fan since back when the can was white and then turned light blue and then turned silver.  I remember driving back from the beach in 1985 and noticing a billboard on Route 50 that showed the new DP can design and being excited about the change.  Yeah, me and Diet Pepsi go way back.

So I guess this isn't about drinking your product at all.  But I still use you to clean my toilet, so there's that.