My boyfriend Joe and I decided to finally get a place of our own. It had been long enough and we were doing well financially, with my shows and our cleaning jobs, that we felt that we could afford something small for the two of us. One of our cleaning clients happened to have recently bought a small property on Richards Ave. in Ventnor a block from the bay and she offered to rent it to us. We took the obligatory tour of the little one bedroom and immediately fell in love, it was very quaint with a porch, living room with a mantle, dining area and a kitchen to the left and a bedroom to the right towards the back of the house. The bathroom was tucked under the stairs going up to the apartment above but we thought that was charming, even though that meant taking daily baths since there was no room for a shower stall.
We moved in quickly, we didn't have that much to begin with so there wasn't a whole lot to haul across the island. We settled in, getting as domestic as a drag performer and tortured artist could possibly get in the middle of suburbia, since that's what Ventnor is compared to Atlantic City, although in condensed form. There was an attached garage and a little front and back yard that Joe quickly commandeered for his artistic needs and I cordoned off a bit of the porch to store my costumes and accessories. It was an idyllic time in our lives, the money was coming in, the rent was cheap and we were enjoying our lives as a couple. Of course in short time, our home became an end point for our nocturnal wanderings, we routinely came home with an entourage after a night at the Studio Six or wherever else I had been performing. Alcoholic libations were plentiful and we continued our party well into the mornings, watching the rest of our little block wake up to begin their day as we drifted off to sleep.
Halloween came that first year and Joe and I went mad with the decorations, transforming the entire driveway and front yard into a haunted house, with creepy sounds coming from the hidden speakers in the azaleas and crazy glowing televisions lining the lawn with bizarre images flashing on their screens, along with the copious spider's webs and insane decorations that we came up with to scare the neighbourhood children. We dressed up and frightened the kids as they came up to our front door, the panic was clearly evident on their faces but you could also tell they loved every minute of it. We had a blast decorating and giving them a good thrill for our favourite holiday.
I'm not sure when I saw him for the first time, but I clearly remember to this day the first time I saw the old man in our kitchen.
Actually, I think it was summer of that first year. I had fallen asleep on the couch watching the telly (no idea where Joe was) and when I woke up it was getting a little dark and, as I glance across the room, I saw an old man wearing a hat, shuffling back and forth in our little kitchen. There was no door to the room so I had a clear view. He would go to the sink and then stand in front of the washing machine and then turn and go out of view. Of course, I was startled out of my skin, I had no idea who this was in my house and how he got in! I jumped up and crept across the living room to see further into the kitchen and, curiously, no one was there. Confused, I walked across the dining room and turned on the kitchen light, nothing was amiss, and I looked at the back door and it was locked tight, from the inside.
Needless to say, I was freaked out a little. I ran through all the possibilities and could only conclude that I had dreamt the entire thing. But I couldn't shake the feeling that what I saw wasn't my imagination running wild.
Joe and I went about our lives, planning a big event at the club (I think it was our Fantasy Show, to benefit Dooley House in Camden) and everything was as normal as it could be in our lives.
One day, I came home from a cleaning job, unlocking the inner porch door and I went to put my supplies down by the doorway and when I looked up, there he was plain as day, the old man in a hat shuffling back and forth in the kitchen again. Of course, I jumped a little and gave a start but he didn't notice or respond. As he wandered to the back of the kitchen, that's when I saw him simply vanish, melt away into the air as if he was never there. This time, I was unnerved but more convinced that I hadn't dreamt him up and what I saw was a ghost. Of course, the scientific side of me continued to doubt what I saw but it was so real, and this was the second time, that I could come to no other conclusion.
I saw him more and more over the months and I finally had to tell Joe. Of course, he wasn't surprised at all, he had seen him, too. He told me he'd see him when we were snuggled on the couch, the old man would appear and do his little thing in the kitchen and then walk to the back and disappear. The sightings became so common that we just accepted that he was there and didn't give it any more thought. Of course, when our cat would come walking in from the kitchen when we had let her out the front door earlier, that would freak us out a little knowing that, somehow, our old man ghost was letting Lesco back in the flat.
After one after-party, we all staggered awake in the late afternoon, clearing our heads of the night before. I came out of the bathroom and our friend Michelle was on the couch, I asked her how she slept and she hit me and said, 'Why didn't you tell me about the old man with the hat in the kitchen!'
Well, we explained that we didn't want to sound crazy by telling people about our little ghost. And the fact that we didn't tell anyone and she saw the same thing only confirmed that we had an actual ghost in our home. He seemed to be benign and, over time, it became a badge of honour for our friends to see him. We were all in on the little secret, not revealing anything until someone said they saw him, each person confirming for the rest of us that our ghost was really there.
Joe was always out in the front yard, tinkering around, and one day I woke up to him covered in dirt and our entire lawn was missing. He decided to make it a wildflower garden and began transplanting bushes and flowers and landscaping the little patch of land into his new vision. In short time, it bloomed and blossomed into a beautiful little garden, flowers grew at different times, bursting with colours all over. The neighbours would come by and tell us how lovely it was and that's when we began to hear stories of the original tenants. They were an older couple who were very much in love. The neighbours said that the original couple would have loved the new front garden, they always had flowers around. We were happy to know that little bit of information and figured our ghostly old man was one of the original tenants, who simply wasn't ready to leave his home.
Time went on and, for whatever reasons, Joe and I eventually moved from our flat to other places. We had heard friends of ours moved in but hadn't seen them for nearly a year. Eventually, I saw one of them at the Studio Six one night and he came straight over to me in a beeline and playfully hit me on the shoulder saying, 'Why didn't you guys tell us about the old man with the hat in the kitchen!?!'
I guess our little ghost was still keeping an eye on things at Richards Ave.
True story.
Happy Halloween!
31 October 2014
09 October 2014
Stockton College Speech Notes (Delivered On 10 Oct)
I want to thank Lydia for inviting me to speak today.
Opening remarks, nervous, first time.
I was asked to come speak to you about the A.I.D.S. crisis in the early years.
I'm not going to bore you with a million statistics and graphs, and I'm of an age where a Powerpoint presentation is way beyond my skills so I'm simply going to tell you my story from my point of view.
Considering I lived through it, I have a unique perspective on the history of the crisis.
I always knew I was gay, from a very early age. Growing up in a small town in the Collingswood area I was the ONLY gay person for as far as the eye could see. And it was nothing like what you have now and conveying what that is like to your generation is nearly impossible. I knew nothing about being gay and I knew no one who could help. No Internet, no magazines, nothing. But my childhood years were idyllic, my friendships were tight and I have remained friends with many of them to this day.
Eventually, after my parents divorced I moved in with my father in Atlantic City, and as a young teenager, for the first time, I was thrust into a world completely different from anything I have ever experienced up to that point. Although AC is not exactly a big city, it was full of cultures and races and people I have never encountered up to that point, my freshman year was at a preparatory school and there wasn't much diversity there.
School was strange to me, especially being gay and I never fit in. I was bullied and picked on, I hated going to certain classes, I'm sure things haven't changed that much.
But one day, in our English class, not your normal English class, it was more of an open forum where we'd discuss ideas and books and language more than simple rote studying, the subject of gay people came up and one of the kids said, 'Don't get off on New York Ave., that's where they all hang out!'
Needless to say, when I left school that day, I got off the Jitney at New York Ave.
I had no clue what I was in for. The street was alive with my people! I couldn't believe it.
Discuss the street, bars, restaurants, people, boarding houses. Snake Alley.
At that time, the gay population in AC rivalled New York and San Francisco. It was incredible.
And it was all in the open. We even had a gay beach in front of the Claridge.
A short time later, I went to my first gay bar, no one checked IDs back then, and saw things that schooled me about gay life instantaneously!
After that, I started going out to the nightclubs and that's when I saw someone from school for the first time, a lesbian named Lydia, ahem, although we called her Libby. She was just as shocked to see me.
Needless to say, we became the best of friends. The next day at school, glitter still on her eyes from the night before, she showed me a version of ACHS that I didn't know existed. She outed EVERYONE to me! There were gay teachers, many of the students were gay, and many of the most popular ones, and I was astounded that all of this was right here in the school right under my nose.
As I got a older, the popular culture began to change, MTV was HUGE and showed America that there were all sorts of people out there. Annie Lennox and Boy George with their gender-bending looks advanced the notion that being gay was not icky any more, and it became very fashionable. And films like 'Making Love' were being shown, putting the gay thing centre stage. Suddenly, I was popular, at least in certain circles, and I felt accepted in a way that I never had before.
I had a few boyfriends at the time, now that I think about it they were much older, but it was nothing long term. I wasn't even worried about getting anything because everyone said you just go to the clinic and they'll give you some meds and you're back to business the next weekend. I wasn't very promiscuous but I was active, I was a horny teenager and there were thousands of gay men out there to meet!
Now, growing up, my family was always very newsy, we watched the morning news shows (I remember when GMA debuted) and we watched the news at dinner and discussed current events at family gatherings, some getting very heated. I never stopped being this way, I had subscriptions to Time, and Science magazines and I read The Press every single day.
I began seeing these odd new reports, buried in the back pages of the mags and papers, about this mysterious disease that seemed to be affecting Haitians and druggies and gay men. And then, as time went on, the articles were closer to the front, and getting longer. And then they began naming it. G.R.I.D. gay related immune deficiency or the gay-plague but the mystery of it deepened. How was it spreading? Why was it spreading?
But things in AC continued humming right along, the parties and the clubs were packed, the restaurants and the boarding house were full, it was all a gay ol' time here on New York Ave.
But I was intrigued. And I started seeking out whatever I could find about this new disease that was showing up in the gay world. I was curious as to why it only seemed to affect these certain populations. At that time, we knew NOTHING, and there was so much misinformation out there. But I continued to read on, trying to figure out why this was spreading and why it was happening.
The gay population in AC started talking about it, too, since, by then, it was becoming front page news and was on the broadcasts. Now, the people affected were dying. And at an alarming rate. The big cities like New York and Frisco began showing large rates of infection and the cancers and lesions were popping up everywhere and they still had no idea what was going on. It was getting scary.
But then the link was made that the transmission might be blood borne, and that gay sex was what was transferring the disease to the next person. Once I heard that, it made sense to me, because sharing needles also involved blood. Personally, I became a monk at that point. I was scared out of my wits and in the prime of my youth, I did not want to risk my life.
Unfortunately, many gay men did not believe that was how it was transmitted. They considered that an attack on the gay lifestyle, the free love, free sex, reckless abandonment, the whole concept of being a gay person, they took the link to be political and not medical and didn't change their habits.
As the years went on, of course, we accepted the fact that H.I.V. was being transmitted sexually but, curiously, as we watched the news reports of people dying in all the large cities through the mid eighties, we here in AC seemed to be an oasis, no one was obviously sick, no one had lesions, no one had anything as far as we could see.
But a little organisation started called the South Jersey A.I.D.S Alliance and we dutifully paid tribute but we thought it was for THEM not US and most of us continued on.
Until it hit us.
Yes, we were mercifully a few years behind the curve but when A.I.D.S. hit the island, it made sure to make up for lost time.
Now we started hearing about so-and-so being sick. Oh, I heard so-and-so was at that A.I.D.S. doctor, Miss Thing saw him there. Oh, did you see so-and-so, he don't look good. We still didn't have a handle on how dangerous this was, or how devastating it would become.
Until our friends started dying.
Once we hit the 90's, the crisis was on our doorstep like a hurricane.
How can I convey to you the horror of that era? It's really hard to give you an idea of what was lost during those days. Imagine, if you will, that a third of your Facebook friends were to die within a year. I lost that. And more. At one point, I started going to funerals more than I was going to the club. One of my closest friends committed suicide once he found out he was infected, because back then it was a death sentence and he did not want to die suffering. I went to the hospitals to sit vigil at the bedside of my friends, cooling their skin, taking care of the lesions, giving what little comfort I could and seeing them waste away right before my eyes. They looked like zombies, or skeletons, or Holocaust survivors, so thin and sunken. Grey skin. Sores. It was heartbreaking to see these once healthy and loving and vibrant people wasting away and there was nothing that could be done.
And then the backlash started.
Where once it was a badge of honour to be gay, or to know someone gay, now we were pariahs. And not just to the straight community, who blamed us for the disease we had no idea we were spreading, but amongst our own people. Suddenly no one would touch anyone. No one wanted to get sick. It was taboo to even mention someone's name that was infected, as if the simple act of saying their name out loud would magically infect you too. We were so scared. Scared to live. Scared to love. And we were getting bashed and hurt and vilified. And we were dying. Dying horrible deaths.
And that's when we started to find our strength, in the bleakness of that horrendous crisis, we realised that no one was going to help us and we had to FIGHT BACK. We had to ACT UP! We had to FIGHT A.I.D.S.
I went to ACT UP rallies here in AC and we were screamed at and made fun of but we screamed back and made a statement. We began to get angry and we wanted something to be done.
One day, all the magazines and newspapers and galleries in New York did A Day Without Art, blacking out all photographs, and artwork, and fashion, and everything that the gay community excelled at to hit home to the wider community that we matter. That we all contribute to this world and that if we lose this community, we lose a lot more than just a few undesirable people. We lose our humanity.
But we in the gay community in Atlantic City also saw a greater need. Our friends were so sick and they had nothing. The medicines at the time were experimental and expensive, and they were too sick to work to afford them. That's when we came up with our Miss'd America Pageant, a fundraising spoof to raise money for the South Jersey A.I.D.S. Alliance because they were our home-grown organisation and they helped our friends right here. The people we danced with. We ate with. Our roommates. Our friends.
We did other benefits, ceaseless benefits to raise money because there was no money to be had. The president, Ronald Reagan, wouldn't even say the word A.I.D.S. Imagine if he made a speech to rally the entire scientific community to find a cure at that time, imagine how many people would still be here.
It was so hard, the fights were so hard. GMHC in New York and other organisations popped up in every city, fighting to get funding, to get treatments, to release drugs, to get help, to raise awareness. There was nothing, because it was just druggies and gays dying and no one cared.
But over time, we began to get angels and heroes. Poor dear Ryan White became the poster child, literally, of how A.I.D.S. was NOT a gay disease but everyone's disease.
Finish with how we began to change perceptions, how things changed.
Friends from youth. A whole generation missing. Friends from now.
Talk about getting tested at the Oasis.
Talk about Jimmy Hyde.
But remind them that the crisis is not over, you buried Shante Jefferson a few months ago, and that she died of A.I.D.S.
Opening remarks, nervous, first time.
I was asked to come speak to you about the A.I.D.S. crisis in the early years.
I'm not going to bore you with a million statistics and graphs, and I'm of an age where a Powerpoint presentation is way beyond my skills so I'm simply going to tell you my story from my point of view.
Considering I lived through it, I have a unique perspective on the history of the crisis.
I always knew I was gay, from a very early age. Growing up in a small town in the Collingswood area I was the ONLY gay person for as far as the eye could see. And it was nothing like what you have now and conveying what that is like to your generation is nearly impossible. I knew nothing about being gay and I knew no one who could help. No Internet, no magazines, nothing. But my childhood years were idyllic, my friendships were tight and I have remained friends with many of them to this day.
Eventually, after my parents divorced I moved in with my father in Atlantic City, and as a young teenager, for the first time, I was thrust into a world completely different from anything I have ever experienced up to that point. Although AC is not exactly a big city, it was full of cultures and races and people I have never encountered up to that point, my freshman year was at a preparatory school and there wasn't much diversity there.
School was strange to me, especially being gay and I never fit in. I was bullied and picked on, I hated going to certain classes, I'm sure things haven't changed that much.
But one day, in our English class, not your normal English class, it was more of an open forum where we'd discuss ideas and books and language more than simple rote studying, the subject of gay people came up and one of the kids said, 'Don't get off on New York Ave., that's where they all hang out!'
Needless to say, when I left school that day, I got off the Jitney at New York Ave.
I had no clue what I was in for. The street was alive with my people! I couldn't believe it.
Discuss the street, bars, restaurants, people, boarding houses. Snake Alley.
At that time, the gay population in AC rivalled New York and San Francisco. It was incredible.
And it was all in the open. We even had a gay beach in front of the Claridge.
A short time later, I went to my first gay bar, no one checked IDs back then, and saw things that schooled me about gay life instantaneously!
After that, I started going out to the nightclubs and that's when I saw someone from school for the first time, a lesbian named Lydia, ahem, although we called her Libby. She was just as shocked to see me.
Needless to say, we became the best of friends. The next day at school, glitter still on her eyes from the night before, she showed me a version of ACHS that I didn't know existed. She outed EVERYONE to me! There were gay teachers, many of the students were gay, and many of the most popular ones, and I was astounded that all of this was right here in the school right under my nose.
As I got a older, the popular culture began to change, MTV was HUGE and showed America that there were all sorts of people out there. Annie Lennox and Boy George with their gender-bending looks advanced the notion that being gay was not icky any more, and it became very fashionable. And films like 'Making Love' were being shown, putting the gay thing centre stage. Suddenly, I was popular, at least in certain circles, and I felt accepted in a way that I never had before.
I had a few boyfriends at the time, now that I think about it they were much older, but it was nothing long term. I wasn't even worried about getting anything because everyone said you just go to the clinic and they'll give you some meds and you're back to business the next weekend. I wasn't very promiscuous but I was active, I was a horny teenager and there were thousands of gay men out there to meet!
Now, growing up, my family was always very newsy, we watched the morning news shows (I remember when GMA debuted) and we watched the news at dinner and discussed current events at family gatherings, some getting very heated. I never stopped being this way, I had subscriptions to Time, and Science magazines and I read The Press every single day.
I began seeing these odd new reports, buried in the back pages of the mags and papers, about this mysterious disease that seemed to be affecting Haitians and druggies and gay men. And then, as time went on, the articles were closer to the front, and getting longer. And then they began naming it. G.R.I.D. gay related immune deficiency or the gay-plague but the mystery of it deepened. How was it spreading? Why was it spreading?
But things in AC continued humming right along, the parties and the clubs were packed, the restaurants and the boarding house were full, it was all a gay ol' time here on New York Ave.
But I was intrigued. And I started seeking out whatever I could find about this new disease that was showing up in the gay world. I was curious as to why it only seemed to affect these certain populations. At that time, we knew NOTHING, and there was so much misinformation out there. But I continued to read on, trying to figure out why this was spreading and why it was happening.
The gay population in AC started talking about it, too, since, by then, it was becoming front page news and was on the broadcasts. Now, the people affected were dying. And at an alarming rate. The big cities like New York and Frisco began showing large rates of infection and the cancers and lesions were popping up everywhere and they still had no idea what was going on. It was getting scary.
But then the link was made that the transmission might be blood borne, and that gay sex was what was transferring the disease to the next person. Once I heard that, it made sense to me, because sharing needles also involved blood. Personally, I became a monk at that point. I was scared out of my wits and in the prime of my youth, I did not want to risk my life.
Unfortunately, many gay men did not believe that was how it was transmitted. They considered that an attack on the gay lifestyle, the free love, free sex, reckless abandonment, the whole concept of being a gay person, they took the link to be political and not medical and didn't change their habits.
As the years went on, of course, we accepted the fact that H.I.V. was being transmitted sexually but, curiously, as we watched the news reports of people dying in all the large cities through the mid eighties, we here in AC seemed to be an oasis, no one was obviously sick, no one had lesions, no one had anything as far as we could see.
But a little organisation started called the South Jersey A.I.D.S Alliance and we dutifully paid tribute but we thought it was for THEM not US and most of us continued on.
Until it hit us.
Yes, we were mercifully a few years behind the curve but when A.I.D.S. hit the island, it made sure to make up for lost time.
Now we started hearing about so-and-so being sick. Oh, I heard so-and-so was at that A.I.D.S. doctor, Miss Thing saw him there. Oh, did you see so-and-so, he don't look good. We still didn't have a handle on how dangerous this was, or how devastating it would become.
Until our friends started dying.
Once we hit the 90's, the crisis was on our doorstep like a hurricane.
How can I convey to you the horror of that era? It's really hard to give you an idea of what was lost during those days. Imagine, if you will, that a third of your Facebook friends were to die within a year. I lost that. And more. At one point, I started going to funerals more than I was going to the club. One of my closest friends committed suicide once he found out he was infected, because back then it was a death sentence and he did not want to die suffering. I went to the hospitals to sit vigil at the bedside of my friends, cooling their skin, taking care of the lesions, giving what little comfort I could and seeing them waste away right before my eyes. They looked like zombies, or skeletons, or Holocaust survivors, so thin and sunken. Grey skin. Sores. It was heartbreaking to see these once healthy and loving and vibrant people wasting away and there was nothing that could be done.
And then the backlash started.
Where once it was a badge of honour to be gay, or to know someone gay, now we were pariahs. And not just to the straight community, who blamed us for the disease we had no idea we were spreading, but amongst our own people. Suddenly no one would touch anyone. No one wanted to get sick. It was taboo to even mention someone's name that was infected, as if the simple act of saying their name out loud would magically infect you too. We were so scared. Scared to live. Scared to love. And we were getting bashed and hurt and vilified. And we were dying. Dying horrible deaths.
And that's when we started to find our strength, in the bleakness of that horrendous crisis, we realised that no one was going to help us and we had to FIGHT BACK. We had to ACT UP! We had to FIGHT A.I.D.S.
I went to ACT UP rallies here in AC and we were screamed at and made fun of but we screamed back and made a statement. We began to get angry and we wanted something to be done.
One day, all the magazines and newspapers and galleries in New York did A Day Without Art, blacking out all photographs, and artwork, and fashion, and everything that the gay community excelled at to hit home to the wider community that we matter. That we all contribute to this world and that if we lose this community, we lose a lot more than just a few undesirable people. We lose our humanity.
But we in the gay community in Atlantic City also saw a greater need. Our friends were so sick and they had nothing. The medicines at the time were experimental and expensive, and they were too sick to work to afford them. That's when we came up with our Miss'd America Pageant, a fundraising spoof to raise money for the South Jersey A.I.D.S. Alliance because they were our home-grown organisation and they helped our friends right here. The people we danced with. We ate with. Our roommates. Our friends.
We did other benefits, ceaseless benefits to raise money because there was no money to be had. The president, Ronald Reagan, wouldn't even say the word A.I.D.S. Imagine if he made a speech to rally the entire scientific community to find a cure at that time, imagine how many people would still be here.
It was so hard, the fights were so hard. GMHC in New York and other organisations popped up in every city, fighting to get funding, to get treatments, to release drugs, to get help, to raise awareness. There was nothing, because it was just druggies and gays dying and no one cared.
But over time, we began to get angels and heroes. Poor dear Ryan White became the poster child, literally, of how A.I.D.S. was NOT a gay disease but everyone's disease.
Finish with how we began to change perceptions, how things changed.
Friends from youth. A whole generation missing. Friends from now.
Talk about getting tested at the Oasis.
Talk about Jimmy Hyde.
But remind them that the crisis is not over, you buried Shante Jefferson a few months ago, and that she died of A.I.D.S.
20 September 2014
Ventnor, At Night
Summer crept back into the night air, the heavy clouds rolled by overhead making the dusk a little darker, the shadows a little deeper. You can feel the humidity rising, coming in along the light breeze. I took our dog Ricky out for his evening walk, keeping along our usual route and allowed him to take his time, getting a good sniff here and there and leaving his mark for the next dog to investigate as it walked by. Along Jackson Ave. the island is pinched, there are only a few blocks between the ocean and the bay and I could see from the ocean side that the sunset looked interesting as it set over the bay and I tried to hurry Ricky up so I could catch a glimpse of it but he had his own agenda and took his time with each pole and bush. We wandered by the little convenience store at the corner, looking for the two Asian women who are usually sitting on the steps but they weren't sitting out tonight and we hurried along. After a few more very important stops for Ricky, we made our way along the bulkhead that protects this area of Ventnor and there in the distance the clouds were lined up, spectacularly catching the deep blues and purples of the final dusk, the sun had already set behind the horizon. I snapped a few quick shots with my mobile phone camera, making sure to get the rippled water in the shot as it reflected the last of the light in the sky. Satisfied, I continued to walk and noticed Ricky giving me an impatient look as if his sniffing were far more important than a stupid sunset. You can't smell a sunset, you can't eat a sunset, you can't hump a sunset, so why bother? I imagined him thinking.
Up ahead down the street that runs along the bay, I could see the lights of a cop car and, in another try to hurry Ricky up, I made my way down to see what was going on, dragging him along when he got too involved in deciphering whatever it is dogs learn from the various smells they come across. The police car was blocking access to the cross street, where a fire truck was parked at the other end of the block, it's lights also lighting up the night in red and blue and white. Ricky and I made our way up the street, jumping over the running water in the gutter, water that I guessed came from the fire truck. As we got closer, Ricky continued to sniff the trees and bricks, oblivious to what was going on, and I sniffed the air, to see if it smelled of fire but I didn't smell a thing. A man was on his mobile phone standing beside his van, talking to someone furiously as the firemen stood in front of a house, dark and intact. Children were all over the street playing and running between the parked cars but evidently I missed any excitement beyond the flashing lights. We made our way to Ventnor Ave. to circle back and regain our usual route and picked up where we left off, being followed by older kids who I could hear gossiping about what happened at school.
We made it to the little park that faces the bay and looks over to the ball parks in Ventnor Heights, where, although it's posted NO DOGS on every post, bulkhead, tree, and lamp in the line of sight, no one seems to see the signs judging by the piles and piles of dog droppings lying in the grass all around. I let Ricky get a good sniff of whatever he needed to smell and we made our way from this tightly packed neighbourhood, where the houses are all jumbled together, built all in a row, each the same but changed over the years and wandered into another part along the back bay where the houses get bigger and are much older, each with a bit of lawn or garden.
I hear a crowd, and glasses tinkling, music playing but not too loudly, and we continue our walk when I come across a house party, a very genteel house party. On the side lawn was a beautiful dining table set for twelve, with a few well dressed people at some of the chairs deep in conversation and finishing up the wine they had had with the dinner that was obviously finished. The candles were still burning, glasses sparkled in the light and on the porch you could hear the rest of the dinner party, drinking and laughing, enjoying this beautiful late summer evening. Ricky paid them no mind but I strained to hear a bit of the conversations, to no avail, as we walked further and further away, the quiet sounds of the city silenced them to a whisper.
Onward we walked, up to Ventnor Avenue again, and made our way, passing an elderly couple here, a group of people waiting for some ice cream at Carisbrook Ice, and dodged the cars coming in and out of the Wawa parking lot in a hurry to get wherever they were going. As we neared the street where the fire had occurred, a group of teens came careening around the corner on all manner of skateboards, some running along side, in shorts, boys, long hair, no shirts, girls, sneakers, bare feet, a cacophony of laughing and the grinding of wheels on the pavement and they jumped off the sidewalk and made their way around the fire truck that was sitting across the street. The lights flickered across them, creating shadows and bright, and they continued on to where they were going, hurriedly.
Ricky and I turned, we were at our street, and walked in the near darkness, the trees hanging over our heads and blocking the light from the street lamps. Once down the street the silence again overtook us and we were alone.
Inside, Ricky ran to gulp down some water and met me back on the couch and we sat and watched some television.
Up ahead down the street that runs along the bay, I could see the lights of a cop car and, in another try to hurry Ricky up, I made my way down to see what was going on, dragging him along when he got too involved in deciphering whatever it is dogs learn from the various smells they come across. The police car was blocking access to the cross street, where a fire truck was parked at the other end of the block, it's lights also lighting up the night in red and blue and white. Ricky and I made our way up the street, jumping over the running water in the gutter, water that I guessed came from the fire truck. As we got closer, Ricky continued to sniff the trees and bricks, oblivious to what was going on, and I sniffed the air, to see if it smelled of fire but I didn't smell a thing. A man was on his mobile phone standing beside his van, talking to someone furiously as the firemen stood in front of a house, dark and intact. Children were all over the street playing and running between the parked cars but evidently I missed any excitement beyond the flashing lights. We made our way to Ventnor Ave. to circle back and regain our usual route and picked up where we left off, being followed by older kids who I could hear gossiping about what happened at school.
We made it to the little park that faces the bay and looks over to the ball parks in Ventnor Heights, where, although it's posted NO DOGS on every post, bulkhead, tree, and lamp in the line of sight, no one seems to see the signs judging by the piles and piles of dog droppings lying in the grass all around. I let Ricky get a good sniff of whatever he needed to smell and we made our way from this tightly packed neighbourhood, where the houses are all jumbled together, built all in a row, each the same but changed over the years and wandered into another part along the back bay where the houses get bigger and are much older, each with a bit of lawn or garden.
I hear a crowd, and glasses tinkling, music playing but not too loudly, and we continue our walk when I come across a house party, a very genteel house party. On the side lawn was a beautiful dining table set for twelve, with a few well dressed people at some of the chairs deep in conversation and finishing up the wine they had had with the dinner that was obviously finished. The candles were still burning, glasses sparkled in the light and on the porch you could hear the rest of the dinner party, drinking and laughing, enjoying this beautiful late summer evening. Ricky paid them no mind but I strained to hear a bit of the conversations, to no avail, as we walked further and further away, the quiet sounds of the city silenced them to a whisper.
Onward we walked, up to Ventnor Avenue again, and made our way, passing an elderly couple here, a group of people waiting for some ice cream at Carisbrook Ice, and dodged the cars coming in and out of the Wawa parking lot in a hurry to get wherever they were going. As we neared the street where the fire had occurred, a group of teens came careening around the corner on all manner of skateboards, some running along side, in shorts, boys, long hair, no shirts, girls, sneakers, bare feet, a cacophony of laughing and the grinding of wheels on the pavement and they jumped off the sidewalk and made their way around the fire truck that was sitting across the street. The lights flickered across them, creating shadows and bright, and they continued on to where they were going, hurriedly.
Ricky and I turned, we were at our street, and walked in the near darkness, the trees hanging over our heads and blocking the light from the street lamps. Once down the street the silence again overtook us and we were alone.
Inside, Ricky ran to gulp down some water and met me back on the couch and we sat and watched some television.
15 January 2014
A Resume
To the Board of the S.J.A.A.:
When A.I.D.S. hit Atlantic City and began to devastate our gay community, I began a personal campaign to help combat the disease and raise funds for our local organization to help those friends and neighbours of mine in dire need.
As Miss'd America 1995, I developed a personal relationship with the S.J.A.A. and was honoured over that year of my reign to serve as the spokesperson for the organization. In the years before and since, I took part in many fundraisers for the them, including Drags-R-Us, the Red Ribbon Bingos, and many other events.
I have also done outreach at the Studio Six whenever we had special events, I have entertained support groups at the Church of the Ascension, and have promoted the S.J.A.A. and the Oasis for decades in my online blogs, the social media sites, and through all my years working at the nightclub.
My work ethic has always followed the old adage; a job is not worth doing if it's not worth doing well. That ethic has always helped my in my various careers in the casinos and nightclubs that I've worked at. Nearly every job I have held has been in a supervisory position. From my very first job at Trump's Castle, where I was promoted to supervisor the evening before we opened (at the ripe old age of 18), to opening the Showboat, Tropicana's first expansion, and the Taj Mahal, where I was brought on to help refine and 'straighten out' the coin department which was in serious disarray at the time. I have great organizational skills and I'm very good at logistics and my years on the stage and behind the bar have honed my interpersonal skills to fine point. My show, Mortimer's Cafe, was the longest running show in Atlantic City and showcased new talent and cultivated diversity, many of the performers have gone on to their own successful careers. I am intimately connected with the city on many levels through the various jobs I've held, and have maintained friendships to this day with the people I worked with over the years.
At the nightclub, I started there as a promoter (at the ripe old age of 16) and over the decades, I was the featured performer, barback, bartender, and eventually the assistant manager. During that time, the club expanded and grew and that came with a whole new set of learning experiences that I can bring to the board of the S.J.A.A., namely, a penchant to work well under pressure and in a rapidly changing environment.
I have been to many social functions for the city, attending fundraisers and events and met many of the city's movers and shakers (surprisingly not all of them have been indicted) and have a working knowledge of our local city government and it's political climate.
I'm also well known for my various letters to The Press of Atlantic City, even being featured as a guest columnist with an article I wrote about bullying. My passion is evident in my letters, and my love of the city is also well documented. I have also been featured in the Philadelphia Inquirer on occasion, and have a friendly relationship with a few reporters there.
I am currently serving as a Foundation Board Member for the New Jersey chapter of Phi Kappa Delta, helping them to promote and raise money for scholarships for Richard Stockton College students and, through them, I have been learning the ropes concerning the processes used in foundation boards.
In closing, I was deeply honoured to be approached as a possible addition to the board of the S.J.A.A. and I hope that through this resume, you will find that I might have something to contribute to the board and would make a welcome addition.
Thank you for your consideration,
Mortimer
When A.I.D.S. hit Atlantic City and began to devastate our gay community, I began a personal campaign to help combat the disease and raise funds for our local organization to help those friends and neighbours of mine in dire need.
As Miss'd America 1995, I developed a personal relationship with the S.J.A.A. and was honoured over that year of my reign to serve as the spokesperson for the organization. In the years before and since, I took part in many fundraisers for the them, including Drags-R-Us, the Red Ribbon Bingos, and many other events.
I have also done outreach at the Studio Six whenever we had special events, I have entertained support groups at the Church of the Ascension, and have promoted the S.J.A.A. and the Oasis for decades in my online blogs, the social media sites, and through all my years working at the nightclub.
My work ethic has always followed the old adage; a job is not worth doing if it's not worth doing well. That ethic has always helped my in my various careers in the casinos and nightclubs that I've worked at. Nearly every job I have held has been in a supervisory position. From my very first job at Trump's Castle, where I was promoted to supervisor the evening before we opened (at the ripe old age of 18), to opening the Showboat, Tropicana's first expansion, and the Taj Mahal, where I was brought on to help refine and 'straighten out' the coin department which was in serious disarray at the time. I have great organizational skills and I'm very good at logistics and my years on the stage and behind the bar have honed my interpersonal skills to fine point. My show, Mortimer's Cafe, was the longest running show in Atlantic City and showcased new talent and cultivated diversity, many of the performers have gone on to their own successful careers. I am intimately connected with the city on many levels through the various jobs I've held, and have maintained friendships to this day with the people I worked with over the years.
At the nightclub, I started there as a promoter (at the ripe old age of 16) and over the decades, I was the featured performer, barback, bartender, and eventually the assistant manager. During that time, the club expanded and grew and that came with a whole new set of learning experiences that I can bring to the board of the S.J.A.A., namely, a penchant to work well under pressure and in a rapidly changing environment.
I have been to many social functions for the city, attending fundraisers and events and met many of the city's movers and shakers (surprisingly not all of them have been indicted) and have a working knowledge of our local city government and it's political climate.
I'm also well known for my various letters to The Press of Atlantic City, even being featured as a guest columnist with an article I wrote about bullying. My passion is evident in my letters, and my love of the city is also well documented. I have also been featured in the Philadelphia Inquirer on occasion, and have a friendly relationship with a few reporters there.
I am currently serving as a Foundation Board Member for the New Jersey chapter of Phi Kappa Delta, helping them to promote and raise money for scholarships for Richard Stockton College students and, through them, I have been learning the ropes concerning the processes used in foundation boards.
In closing, I was deeply honoured to be approached as a possible addition to the board of the S.J.A.A. and I hope that through this resume, you will find that I might have something to contribute to the board and would make a welcome addition.
Thank you for your consideration,
Mortimer
14 January 2014
Open Letter to Caesars Entertainment
I read my discharge paper with sadness and regret since I wasn't given a proper chance to defend myself, as I was promised, and the fact that I was losing a job I enjoyed and you were losing an excellent employee.
I freely admit that I violated the company's policy concerning internet postings, and, in hindsight, I realise it was a mistake to post the photo but I did so innocently and without malice.
As I explained in the piece of paper given to me to write a brief statement, I had posted a photo earlier that day of the beautiful sunrise that I get to see from my workstation and, when I saw the young gentleman walking around with his pants hanging, I thought it funny that I also got to see the 'moon' as the popular expression goes. Since I have been using the internet and social media for many years, going back to the early days of dial-up, I am well aware of the dangers of workplace postings. In my defence, although the person in the photo I posted somehow found the picture and recognised himself, the actual photo does not show his face, nor does it identify him by name, nor does is there any identifying features about his clothing to give anyone the inkling that it is someone specific. It was a grainy photo from across the room of an anonymous person walking around in public with his pants hanging down.
My intent was of the incongruous juxtaposition of images (sun/moon), and I had no desire, want. or need to embarrass or humiliate one of our patrons.
On that point, I want to also remind you that I have always followed all the Total Service training that I received in orientation and through the many refresher courses that I was given since my employment began in March of 2013. Many of the guests that came to Bally's Spa remarked about my professionalism, my work ethic, and my friendly personality. A few even wrote comment cards praising me for the job I did, and I was very humbled that they took the time to do so. The job required a personal touch and with my decades of experience in the service industry, I was more than capable of bringing my skills and experience to the job and give the guests a professional and personable time during their visits to the spa. With recent cutbacks, we stopped providing a daily newspaper for our members and massage guests so, in the spirit of delighting the guest, I made sure to bring in magazines that I receive at home so they had reading material. It was something extra that I felt would make the guests more comfortable. I always made sure we had supplies, took extra care to provide help and services beyond my job description, and always went out of my way to make our spa members and guests feel special.
I was also given a few notices from my coworkers and supervisors about my excellent job performance. I freely admit that before I began working there, I had been unemployed for quite a while (aside from a few acting jobs) and I was very grateful for the chance to work at the spa and went above and beyond to show that I was capable, appreciative, and eager to prove myself. I had never called out, nor was I ever late, and I covered any shift I was asked. Because I was happy to do it and happy to have a job.
And, although I have been discharged for posting photos because one person objected, I need to remind you that through the many photos I've posted of the spa and the attendant facilities, I generated business for Caesars Entertainment, business that would have never happened without my promoting. Yes, being a former bartender/club manager, I am used to posting about my job as a means of generating business. And to that point, I had friends from around the country come and stay at Bally's for several days, and used the spa and pool because I had posted photographs on my social media sites. No one seemed to even know all of this existed at Bally's and, through my extensive friends lists, I opened up a new market for the casino/hotel and Atlantic City.
In addition, I have been recently elected to the board of the South Jersey A.I.D.S. Alliance and the Greater Atlantic City LGBT Alliance, which produces many successful events throughout the city, including the Miss'd America Pageant, and I fully intended cross-promote with these organisations as a way of generating business for both parties, not the spa and pool specifically but Bally's and Caesars as a whole. With my termination, both my organisations and Caesars properties will miss out on many exciting opportunities over the coming season.
I write this because I don't think I was given the chance to properly defend myself, I don't feel I was able to express how much I enjoyed working for Caesars Entertainment/Bally's Spa, and I don't think that my one transgression should result in my termination. Believe me, should there be any way you reconsider and hire me back, I promise you that I will never post another thing about Bally's Spa or Caesars Entertainment again. Point of fact, I haven't posted a thing since I was suspended and was supposed to be interviewed about this situation for the investigation.
I urge you to reconsider. I think Caesars Entertainment and myself are a great fit and I would be able to continue being the excellent employee that I've proven myself to be during my tenure and your corporation will benefit from my skills and professional work ethic.
Sincerely,
Mortimer Spreng
I freely admit that I violated the company's policy concerning internet postings, and, in hindsight, I realise it was a mistake to post the photo but I did so innocently and without malice.
As I explained in the piece of paper given to me to write a brief statement, I had posted a photo earlier that day of the beautiful sunrise that I get to see from my workstation and, when I saw the young gentleman walking around with his pants hanging, I thought it funny that I also got to see the 'moon' as the popular expression goes. Since I have been using the internet and social media for many years, going back to the early days of dial-up, I am well aware of the dangers of workplace postings. In my defence, although the person in the photo I posted somehow found the picture and recognised himself, the actual photo does not show his face, nor does it identify him by name, nor does is there any identifying features about his clothing to give anyone the inkling that it is someone specific. It was a grainy photo from across the room of an anonymous person walking around in public with his pants hanging down.
My intent was of the incongruous juxtaposition of images (sun/moon), and I had no desire, want. or need to embarrass or humiliate one of our patrons.
On that point, I want to also remind you that I have always followed all the Total Service training that I received in orientation and through the many refresher courses that I was given since my employment began in March of 2013. Many of the guests that came to Bally's Spa remarked about my professionalism, my work ethic, and my friendly personality. A few even wrote comment cards praising me for the job I did, and I was very humbled that they took the time to do so. The job required a personal touch and with my decades of experience in the service industry, I was more than capable of bringing my skills and experience to the job and give the guests a professional and personable time during their visits to the spa. With recent cutbacks, we stopped providing a daily newspaper for our members and massage guests so, in the spirit of delighting the guest, I made sure to bring in magazines that I receive at home so they had reading material. It was something extra that I felt would make the guests more comfortable. I always made sure we had supplies, took extra care to provide help and services beyond my job description, and always went out of my way to make our spa members and guests feel special.
I was also given a few notices from my coworkers and supervisors about my excellent job performance. I freely admit that before I began working there, I had been unemployed for quite a while (aside from a few acting jobs) and I was very grateful for the chance to work at the spa and went above and beyond to show that I was capable, appreciative, and eager to prove myself. I had never called out, nor was I ever late, and I covered any shift I was asked. Because I was happy to do it and happy to have a job.
And, although I have been discharged for posting photos because one person objected, I need to remind you that through the many photos I've posted of the spa and the attendant facilities, I generated business for Caesars Entertainment, business that would have never happened without my promoting. Yes, being a former bartender/club manager, I am used to posting about my job as a means of generating business. And to that point, I had friends from around the country come and stay at Bally's for several days, and used the spa and pool because I had posted photographs on my social media sites. No one seemed to even know all of this existed at Bally's and, through my extensive friends lists, I opened up a new market for the casino/hotel and Atlantic City.
In addition, I have been recently elected to the board of the South Jersey A.I.D.S. Alliance and the Greater Atlantic City LGBT Alliance, which produces many successful events throughout the city, including the Miss'd America Pageant, and I fully intended cross-promote with these organisations as a way of generating business for both parties, not the spa and pool specifically but Bally's and Caesars as a whole. With my termination, both my organisations and Caesars properties will miss out on many exciting opportunities over the coming season.
I write this because I don't think I was given the chance to properly defend myself, I don't feel I was able to express how much I enjoyed working for Caesars Entertainment/Bally's Spa, and I don't think that my one transgression should result in my termination. Believe me, should there be any way you reconsider and hire me back, I promise you that I will never post another thing about Bally's Spa or Caesars Entertainment again. Point of fact, I haven't posted a thing since I was suspended and was supposed to be interviewed about this situation for the investigation.
I urge you to reconsider. I think Caesars Entertainment and myself are a great fit and I would be able to continue being the excellent employee that I've proven myself to be during my tenure and your corporation will benefit from my skills and professional work ethic.
Sincerely,
Mortimer Spreng
07 August 2013
Mr. President, It's Up To You.
What has been simmering in the background is now becoming a full-fledged bonfire and I can not, with all the fibre of my being, continue to remain silent about the injustice going on.
The United States must lead the nations of the world and call for the 2014 Winter Olympics to be removed from Sochi, Russia to another host country or for an all-out international boycott of the Winter Games itself.
Gay men and women are being baited, beaten, raped, and killed all with the sanction of the Russian government simply because of who they love. A portion of humanity is being hunted and punished simply because they are different and the world can NOT simply stand by and sanction these horrific acts by staging an international sporting event, pouring millions and millions of dollars into their country, and turning a blind eye to the willful hatred perpetrated by the powers that be on not only their own citizens, but those gay men and women competing in and attending the Games as spectators and fans.
With the recent announcement that anyone displaying overtly gay 'propaganda' that attends the Winter Games will be arrested and forced to answer to this draconian Russian law, Vladimir Putin has declared all gay men and women targets of his government and we can not allow our fellow Americans to walk into such dangerous conditions.
How can we allow our citizens enter a country that has threatened their very rights as Americans to live their lives freely, in the pursuit of happiness? How can we look away when our American citizens may be jailed or assaulted for being who they are?
Shall we, as Americans, attend the Winter Games knowing what is happening like we did when we entered the Berlin Olympiad in the 1930's knowing what Adolph Hitler was doing to those he considered inferior? The laws against Jews had already been passed by the start of the games and the same thing was happening to them that is now happening to Russian gay men and women. This is government sanctioned bigotry, this is government sanctioned hate, and this will be government sanctioned murder, no, this will be the genocide of a group of people who had the misfortune to be born gay under this fascist regime if we don't take a stand.
History has already shown us the way this will end. We can not, as citizens of the United States of America and members of the human race, blindly participate in the Games being held in a country that is blatantly, willfully, and openly denying it's own citizens the very rights we hold so dear. We can not give President Putin validation by holding the Games in his country.
Call to remove the Winter Games from Russia, President Obama.
Do not allow this horrific part of history to repeat itself.
The United States must lead the nations of the world and call for the 2014 Winter Olympics to be removed from Sochi, Russia to another host country or for an all-out international boycott of the Winter Games itself.
Gay men and women are being baited, beaten, raped, and killed all with the sanction of the Russian government simply because of who they love. A portion of humanity is being hunted and punished simply because they are different and the world can NOT simply stand by and sanction these horrific acts by staging an international sporting event, pouring millions and millions of dollars into their country, and turning a blind eye to the willful hatred perpetrated by the powers that be on not only their own citizens, but those gay men and women competing in and attending the Games as spectators and fans.
With the recent announcement that anyone displaying overtly gay 'propaganda' that attends the Winter Games will be arrested and forced to answer to this draconian Russian law, Vladimir Putin has declared all gay men and women targets of his government and we can not allow our fellow Americans to walk into such dangerous conditions.
How can we allow our citizens enter a country that has threatened their very rights as Americans to live their lives freely, in the pursuit of happiness? How can we look away when our American citizens may be jailed or assaulted for being who they are?
Shall we, as Americans, attend the Winter Games knowing what is happening like we did when we entered the Berlin Olympiad in the 1930's knowing what Adolph Hitler was doing to those he considered inferior? The laws against Jews had already been passed by the start of the games and the same thing was happening to them that is now happening to Russian gay men and women. This is government sanctioned bigotry, this is government sanctioned hate, and this will be government sanctioned murder, no, this will be the genocide of a group of people who had the misfortune to be born gay under this fascist regime if we don't take a stand.
History has already shown us the way this will end. We can not, as citizens of the United States of America and members of the human race, blindly participate in the Games being held in a country that is blatantly, willfully, and openly denying it's own citizens the very rights we hold so dear. We can not give President Putin validation by holding the Games in his country.
Call to remove the Winter Games from Russia, President Obama.
Do not allow this horrific part of history to repeat itself.
21 July 2013
I read the headline "Parade organizers say event bigger, honors city spirit' and nearly spit my coffee across the table since, just a few days prior, I was informed that the float we were planning was rejected by the Miss America Parade committee because we were deemed a 'mockery'. They evidently thought the former winners of the Miss'd America Pageant were not respectable enough to be included in the parade this year. The theme of the float, sponsored by a local seafood restaurant, was going to be Under the Sea and we were planning to dress as glamourous mermaids with light-up tails. That constituted a 'mockery' and we were denied entry.
I would like to let them know exactly what Miss'd America represents and detail our city spirit.
In September of 1993, after a horrific decade of losing our friends and families to A.I.D.S., a small group of drag performers in a local gay bar put together a good-natured spoof of the venerable Miss America Pageant, calling it the Miss'd America since we 'missed' being in the actual pageant (get it?). It was a fundraiser to help our friends in the local community. What started that year as a small spoof quickly blossomed into a smashing success, year after year, bringing more and more people to the show and raising much needed money and awareness of A.I.D.S. All the proceeds raised went to the South Jersey A.I.D.S. Alliance (S.J.A.A.) and was distributed through them to people of all races, creeds, orientations, and sexes who were in the South Jersey community and living with the disease.
This is how we show city spirit.
In addition, the producers, writers, actors, musicians, technicians, venue owners, waitstaff, choreographers, set builders, back-stage hands, costumers, and anyone else involved in the production of the Miss'd America Pageant have never taken ONE THIN DIME for their services. Every Miss'd America since 1993-2006 has been done FREE OF CHARGE by everyone involved. The chairs and tables were donated by the casinos, lighting and sound and video were also donated, no one expected payment nor would they have accepted it if offered. We all realized that by taking one dollar, that was one less dollar that could help the members of our city, of our family, of our community who were battling the effects of A.I.D.S.
This is how we show city spirit.
The old adage, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, could never be more appropriate than in this situation. We, as a community, have ALWAYS enjoyed the Miss America Pageant and parade. Most credible accounts give credit to the gay community for the whole 'show us your shoes' phenomenon. Everyone knows to go to New York Ave. and the boardwalk during the parade, long known as the gay street in Atlantic City, for the most enjoyable time. And any look backstage at Miss America will find many gay men and women working behind-the-scenes. We have honored and supported our Miss America for decades upon decades and took great pride in Atlantic City's grande dame of pageants.
This is how we show city spirit.
Now, Miss America left the city, rather abruptly, for the west coast and we were devoid of our beloved pageant. Many non-casino businesses relied on the revenue generated by Miss America week, since most of the support staff have been coming back for decades and knew the city well and frequented it's many hidden gems year after year. The city suffered, but we endured. And Miss'd America continued on. We got bigger and better, and even performed the production twice in Boardwalk Hall, which was the pinnacle of our little 'mockery' of a pageant. We continued the tradition of the pageant, in our own little way, and brought fun and excitement back to the city whilst Miss America was gone.
This is how we show city spirit.
And now that Miss America is back, they have the unmitigated gall to deny us a float in their parade and declare us a 'mockery'. We, who have selflessly put on our little pageant to raise money for the community, is being called a mockery by an institution that only raises money for itself. We, who were born out of the very community we live in, are denied entry in a parade by the same organization that wants to promote city spirit. Although I am angry with their decision, I am more hurt than anything else. Our mockery was always done with love. Our mockery was always done with admiration. Our mockery was always done in honor.
And I consider it a slap in the face that I can not show my city spirit in the parade that was born in this city.
Mortimer
Miss'd America 1995
I would like to let them know exactly what Miss'd America represents and detail our city spirit.
In September of 1993, after a horrific decade of losing our friends and families to A.I.D.S., a small group of drag performers in a local gay bar put together a good-natured spoof of the venerable Miss America Pageant, calling it the Miss'd America since we 'missed' being in the actual pageant (get it?). It was a fundraiser to help our friends in the local community. What started that year as a small spoof quickly blossomed into a smashing success, year after year, bringing more and more people to the show and raising much needed money and awareness of A.I.D.S. All the proceeds raised went to the South Jersey A.I.D.S. Alliance (S.J.A.A.) and was distributed through them to people of all races, creeds, orientations, and sexes who were in the South Jersey community and living with the disease.
This is how we show city spirit.
In addition, the producers, writers, actors, musicians, technicians, venue owners, waitstaff, choreographers, set builders, back-stage hands, costumers, and anyone else involved in the production of the Miss'd America Pageant have never taken ONE THIN DIME for their services. Every Miss'd America since 1993-2006 has been done FREE OF CHARGE by everyone involved. The chairs and tables were donated by the casinos, lighting and sound and video were also donated, no one expected payment nor would they have accepted it if offered. We all realized that by taking one dollar, that was one less dollar that could help the members of our city, of our family, of our community who were battling the effects of A.I.D.S.
This is how we show city spirit.
The old adage, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, could never be more appropriate than in this situation. We, as a community, have ALWAYS enjoyed the Miss America Pageant and parade. Most credible accounts give credit to the gay community for the whole 'show us your shoes' phenomenon. Everyone knows to go to New York Ave. and the boardwalk during the parade, long known as the gay street in Atlantic City, for the most enjoyable time. And any look backstage at Miss America will find many gay men and women working behind-the-scenes. We have honored and supported our Miss America for decades upon decades and took great pride in Atlantic City's grande dame of pageants.
This is how we show city spirit.
Now, Miss America left the city, rather abruptly, for the west coast and we were devoid of our beloved pageant. Many non-casino businesses relied on the revenue generated by Miss America week, since most of the support staff have been coming back for decades and knew the city well and frequented it's many hidden gems year after year. The city suffered, but we endured. And Miss'd America continued on. We got bigger and better, and even performed the production twice in Boardwalk Hall, which was the pinnacle of our little 'mockery' of a pageant. We continued the tradition of the pageant, in our own little way, and brought fun and excitement back to the city whilst Miss America was gone.
This is how we show city spirit.
And now that Miss America is back, they have the unmitigated gall to deny us a float in their parade and declare us a 'mockery'. We, who have selflessly put on our little pageant to raise money for the community, is being called a mockery by an institution that only raises money for itself. We, who were born out of the very community we live in, are denied entry in a parade by the same organization that wants to promote city spirit. Although I am angry with their decision, I am more hurt than anything else. Our mockery was always done with love. Our mockery was always done with admiration. Our mockery was always done in honor.
And I consider it a slap in the face that I can not show my city spirit in the parade that was born in this city.
Mortimer
Miss'd America 1995
28 May 2013
Diagnosis
I've been going through some emotional turmoil recently that I've been keeping off the social media sites and have only discussed with a few close friends. I'm still not altogether comfortable writing about it but today is especially trying and I needed an outlet for my feelings and, hopefully, some support.
Today, my friend (and step-mother), is undergoing a double mastectomy and reconstruction due to the cancerous masses they found under her arm and in her breasts. All of this has happened quite fast, she was only diagnosed two weeks ago, and I'm still trying to come to grips with all the implications. My father is taking this stoically, as usual, but I know he's extremely worried.
During this crisis, my sister had long-overdue surgery to fix a series of sinus problems and my niece had a recent health scare that had us all worried. She's going to Philadelphia today to undergo steps to resolve the issue and her prognosis looks great.
I have to work today, so I can't be with the family for support (which is killing me). I've been an emotional wreck for the past two weeks and, predictably, I've been trying to ignore the problem since I don't know exactly how to deal with it.
I've been counselling with a few friends who have gone through this and they have eased my mind, I know intellectually that she'll be fine and that this diagnosis isn't the death sentence it once was but this is all new to me. I know A.I.D.S., through all my years raising money for the S.J.A.A. and having friends living with the disease. I don't know cancer, so this is all unknown territory for me.
Today is going to be a rough day of many phone calls and emotional rollercoasters. I have faith in Sally's doctors and in her strength that she'll recover and flourish.
Keep her in your thoughts, if you would.
Today, my friend (and step-mother), is undergoing a double mastectomy and reconstruction due to the cancerous masses they found under her arm and in her breasts. All of this has happened quite fast, she was only diagnosed two weeks ago, and I'm still trying to come to grips with all the implications. My father is taking this stoically, as usual, but I know he's extremely worried.
During this crisis, my sister had long-overdue surgery to fix a series of sinus problems and my niece had a recent health scare that had us all worried. She's going to Philadelphia today to undergo steps to resolve the issue and her prognosis looks great.
I have to work today, so I can't be with the family for support (which is killing me). I've been an emotional wreck for the past two weeks and, predictably, I've been trying to ignore the problem since I don't know exactly how to deal with it.
I've been counselling with a few friends who have gone through this and they have eased my mind, I know intellectually that she'll be fine and that this diagnosis isn't the death sentence it once was but this is all new to me. I know A.I.D.S., through all my years raising money for the S.J.A.A. and having friends living with the disease. I don't know cancer, so this is all unknown territory for me.
Today is going to be a rough day of many phone calls and emotional rollercoasters. I have faith in Sally's doctors and in her strength that she'll recover and flourish.
Keep her in your thoughts, if you would.
30 January 2013
Flexing My Creative Writing Muscles
The following is a "definition" I came up with out-of-the-blue for my Facebook nightly Safe Word:
He sat down, exhausted and covered in the spatter of blood. He couldn't catch his breath, the excitement and thrill of the kill still coursing through his veins, the adrenaline pumping his heart into overdrive. His brain couldn't focus on one thought for long, he was in ecstasy. This was the culmination of an entire day of stalking and he felt a vicious satisfaction in the final resolution. His murderous intentions hit the magic number and he was surprised at who drew the short straw at the end, surprised and happy. The first person he saw was the paper delivery boy, driving by with his pimpled face and throwing the newspaper onto his lawn. He began his grim count of the day, that was one. He will live.
When he went out to get it, he saw the little neighbourhood children lined up at the bus stop just a few yards from his home. He slowed his movements, keeping his gaze on them as he bent over, silently counting them, adding them to his daily tally. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. And the parent standing there with the kids, that's eight. Now his count was nine, nine who will live and his quota was nearly half over. He retreated back into the house, stifling the horrific visions that clouded his mind. Visions he found exhilarating.
After breakfast, he holed up in the darkened bedroom, savouring his isolation, not wanting to rush through the day, making it last. He wrote a little, checked a few websites. Read the paper. He waited.
A knock at the door roused him from slumber, he must have fallen asleep. He padded to the front door, peered through the spyhole and saw blurry, distorted faces moving to and fro. He opened the door. Standing there were two Mormon missionaries. He made his excuses, parrying any argument they had to convert him, he was beyond redemption today, and got them to leave, to bother the next house along the way.
That was now ten and eleven.
He ordered lunch from the local pizza joint. His usual meal, half a cheesesteak and fries. The goateed delivery guy came quickly, considering it was just after noon. He paid, with a nice tip and let him go. That was only number twelve. Not yet.
After eating, he cleaned up and decided to take a shower, he was getting closer and closer and he wanted to make sure everything was ready when it happened.
He sat in his living room, towel draped over his waist loosely, clicking through the channels and mindlessly watched whatever was on. He liked the feeling of his leather couch next to his naked, wet skin. A dog barked outside, from the fenced-in yard next door and he turned his head to peer out the partially opened drapes to see two young teen girls walking by, books in their arms, loudly chatting about whatever it is young girls chat about. Numbers thirteen and fourteen. They, too, will live to gossip another day.
Suddenly, the postman came into view and walked up to his door, he could hear the sound of the mailbox open and close through the wall as he dutifully shoved the letters and magazines and bills into the little tin box. He continued to watch him through the window as he walked away, and got up, securing the towel around his waist and opened the door to get his mail. He watched the postman, number fifteen, walking up to the house next door and hand the mail to his neighbour that owns the barking dog. There's number sixteen.
They will all live today.
He threw the day's mail on his kitchen table, the excitement building too much now for him to concentrate on what was there. He'll deal with it later and went into the bedroom to get dressed. It was getting close now, and he wanted to be ready.
As he got dressed, formally, with a clean white button down shirt, a nice pair of black trousers, one of his nicest ties, skinny and striped, he could hear noises coming from the backyard. From the bedroom window he saw the landscapers unloading their equipment, doing it with a practised ease, both tanned and dirty from the constant sunshine and the job, respectively. They started up the lawnmowers and began their work. He added them to the count. Seventeen and eighteen. It was getting so close now.
Too close, his pulse quickened and he retreated to the bathroom to finish getting ready, trying to focus on the task at hand and calm his rising nerves. He combed his hair, adding a little gel to keep it in place. Brushed his teeth. Retreated into the mundane in an effort to savour the moment that was coming so soon.
The phone rang, loudly and unexpectedly, jarring him out of his reverie, and he fumbled with the touch screen trying to unlock it so he could answer. It was his daughter.
"Hullo, sweetheart! Why are you calling?"
"Daddy", she said in her high, plaintive voice, "can I go over Jessica's house now? We have to do a project for class and she's my partner and we need to get this done by tomorrow and her mom said I could have dinner there and she'll bring me home after that so can I please go to her house? PLEASE?"
She said this all in one breath, the way children her age talk, as if the fate of the world hinged on his answer.
"Of course, sweetheart. Just tell Mrs. Kane that you need to be home by eight, I want to check your homework before you go to bed."
His daughter screamed in delight and thanked her daddy over and over and hung up abruptly.
He smiled to himself.
The doorbell rang at that moment and he went to answer it, noticing the FedEx truck parked out front through the partially opened drapes in the front window. He opened the door and saw a clean-cut young guy, impatiently waiting for him to sign for the package. He quickly did so and let number nineteen walk away to live, and deliver again.
At that moment, he saw his beautiful wife drive up to the house and pull into the driveway. He waved to her and waited for her to get out of the car. She walked over, and he couldn't help notice how beautiful she was, and gave him a big smile and kiss, asking him about his day. He kissed her back, long and deep, savouring the moment, feeling the love he had for her. And knowing now what he must do.
They walked in the door and he shut it firmly behind her, turning the lock on the handle quickly, silently. She took off her suit jacket and threw over the back of the kitchen chair, picking up the pile of mail sitting on the table and rifling through it, inanely talking about something that happened earlier today at the office.
He wasn't listening.
He slipped the knife silently out of the butcher block holder, the largest one in there, and stood behind her. She was intently looking through one of the bills, her focus on her conversation and the paper in her hand. He got closer and closer, smelling her perfume that still lingered on her blouse from this morning and he plunged the knife in her back.
She gave a little strange sound and he pulled it out and plunged it in again... and again... and again.
Unfortunately, vigesimation was a cruel and random condition. Fate took him through the day, through the grim count, and she ended up being number twenty.
She had to die.
He sat down, exhausted and covered in the spatter of blood. He couldn't catch his breath, the excitement and thrill of the kill still coursing through his veins, the adrenaline pumping his heart into overdrive. His brain couldn't focus on one thought for long, he was in ecstasy. This was the culmination of an entire day of stalking and he felt a vicious satisfaction in the final resolution. His murderous intentions hit the magic number and he was surprised at who drew the short straw at the end, surprised and happy. The first person he saw was the paper delivery boy, driving by with his pimpled face and throwing the newspaper onto his lawn. He began his grim count of the day, that was one. He will live.
When he went out to get it, he saw the little neighbourhood children lined up at the bus stop just a few yards from his home. He slowed his movements, keeping his gaze on them as he bent over, silently counting them, adding them to his daily tally. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. And the parent standing there with the kids, that's eight. Now his count was nine, nine who will live and his quota was nearly half over. He retreated back into the house, stifling the horrific visions that clouded his mind. Visions he found exhilarating.
After breakfast, he holed up in the darkened bedroom, savouring his isolation, not wanting to rush through the day, making it last. He wrote a little, checked a few websites. Read the paper. He waited.
A knock at the door roused him from slumber, he must have fallen asleep. He padded to the front door, peered through the spyhole and saw blurry, distorted faces moving to and fro. He opened the door. Standing there were two Mormon missionaries. He made his excuses, parrying any argument they had to convert him, he was beyond redemption today, and got them to leave, to bother the next house along the way.
That was now ten and eleven.
He ordered lunch from the local pizza joint. His usual meal, half a cheesesteak and fries. The goateed delivery guy came quickly, considering it was just after noon. He paid, with a nice tip and let him go. That was only number twelve. Not yet.
After eating, he cleaned up and decided to take a shower, he was getting closer and closer and he wanted to make sure everything was ready when it happened.
He sat in his living room, towel draped over his waist loosely, clicking through the channels and mindlessly watched whatever was on. He liked the feeling of his leather couch next to his naked, wet skin. A dog barked outside, from the fenced-in yard next door and he turned his head to peer out the partially opened drapes to see two young teen girls walking by, books in their arms, loudly chatting about whatever it is young girls chat about. Numbers thirteen and fourteen. They, too, will live to gossip another day.
Suddenly, the postman came into view and walked up to his door, he could hear the sound of the mailbox open and close through the wall as he dutifully shoved the letters and magazines and bills into the little tin box. He continued to watch him through the window as he walked away, and got up, securing the towel around his waist and opened the door to get his mail. He watched the postman, number fifteen, walking up to the house next door and hand the mail to his neighbour that owns the barking dog. There's number sixteen.
They will all live today.
He threw the day's mail on his kitchen table, the excitement building too much now for him to concentrate on what was there. He'll deal with it later and went into the bedroom to get dressed. It was getting close now, and he wanted to be ready.
As he got dressed, formally, with a clean white button down shirt, a nice pair of black trousers, one of his nicest ties, skinny and striped, he could hear noises coming from the backyard. From the bedroom window he saw the landscapers unloading their equipment, doing it with a practised ease, both tanned and dirty from the constant sunshine and the job, respectively. They started up the lawnmowers and began their work. He added them to the count. Seventeen and eighteen. It was getting so close now.
Too close, his pulse quickened and he retreated to the bathroom to finish getting ready, trying to focus on the task at hand and calm his rising nerves. He combed his hair, adding a little gel to keep it in place. Brushed his teeth. Retreated into the mundane in an effort to savour the moment that was coming so soon.
The phone rang, loudly and unexpectedly, jarring him out of his reverie, and he fumbled with the touch screen trying to unlock it so he could answer. It was his daughter.
"Hullo, sweetheart! Why are you calling?"
"Daddy", she said in her high, plaintive voice, "can I go over Jessica's house now? We have to do a project for class and she's my partner and we need to get this done by tomorrow and her mom said I could have dinner there and she'll bring me home after that so can I please go to her house? PLEASE?"
She said this all in one breath, the way children her age talk, as if the fate of the world hinged on his answer.
"Of course, sweetheart. Just tell Mrs. Kane that you need to be home by eight, I want to check your homework before you go to bed."
His daughter screamed in delight and thanked her daddy over and over and hung up abruptly.
He smiled to himself.
The doorbell rang at that moment and he went to answer it, noticing the FedEx truck parked out front through the partially opened drapes in the front window. He opened the door and saw a clean-cut young guy, impatiently waiting for him to sign for the package. He quickly did so and let number nineteen walk away to live, and deliver again.
At that moment, he saw his beautiful wife drive up to the house and pull into the driveway. He waved to her and waited for her to get out of the car. She walked over, and he couldn't help notice how beautiful she was, and gave him a big smile and kiss, asking him about his day. He kissed her back, long and deep, savouring the moment, feeling the love he had for her. And knowing now what he must do.
They walked in the door and he shut it firmly behind her, turning the lock on the handle quickly, silently. She took off her suit jacket and threw over the back of the kitchen chair, picking up the pile of mail sitting on the table and rifling through it, inanely talking about something that happened earlier today at the office.
He wasn't listening.
He slipped the knife silently out of the butcher block holder, the largest one in there, and stood behind her. She was intently looking through one of the bills, her focus on her conversation and the paper in her hand. He got closer and closer, smelling her perfume that still lingered on her blouse from this morning and he plunged the knife in her back.
She gave a little strange sound and he pulled it out and plunged it in again... and again... and again.
Unfortunately, vigesimation was a cruel and random condition. Fate took him through the day, through the grim count, and she ended up being number twenty.
She had to die.
10 October 2012
Where The Hell Have I Been? (Originally Published 5 Aug 2009)
Current mood:
busy
There's always a reason!
My reunion with my Ex has cooled to the point of ice-age. There are a lot of reasons for that but I am not comfortable listing them here, even with my now limited audience. Fancy that! I used to bare my soul, evil and all for the entire world to see back in the J-Land days but now, after a few lessons learned over the years, I have been schooled in the art of discretion. Oh, I'm sure a few items will slip out here and there but for the moment, where Joe is concerned, the less said, the better. He will always be my friend, though. That makes me happy.
On the work front, I have been at odds with my manager concerning my Friday nights. He's been unhappy with the turn-out (as have I) and he wants to sit down with me to see if there's anything we can do to salvage the event. Now, while all this has been going on and I haven't been behind the bar, Friday's have gotten better and better, as I had thought they would. It has taken time to build a crowd but they are coming. Of course, now I am on the outs with my boss so who knows what's going to happen.
I do! (But it's another thing I am not at liberty to say. Don't worry, you'll all be the first to know!)
My mother came for a day trip to the island of love and it was WONDERFUL! I'm going to write about the trip later today, I just wanted to post something to remind myself that I'm alive.
Off to the flower shop.
Holiday Malaise. (Originally Published 8 Jul 2009)
Current mood:
bored
I was hankering for a walk but the sun was out in it's full glory. Luckily it wasn't hot, just bright and I really didn't feel like slathering sunblock three-thousand all over me just to take a little constitutional. It's sticky, smelly and uncomfortable. The stuff works (and I definitely need it) but I try to avoid using it when I can. So I waited through the day for the beginning of sunset (which is around eight or nine at night) to take a nice, long healthy walk.
I also figured that waiting until later on the Sunday of a holiday weekend would also help me avoid the mass of shoobies that infest my city each year.
Boy was I dead wrong.
A bit of dumb luck was on my side for the first part of my walk. I started off in Ventnor (a block from the Wawa for those who know the area) and strolled down Atlantic Avenue, looking at the clouds in the sky, the people on their porches and dodging the cars that tried to kill me when I crossed the streets. I made it to Atlantic City in one piece and found myself on Pacific Avenue, wandering by The Knife and Fork, peering in to see if Becky from the Art of Flowers was there. It's one of her favourite haunts. She wasn't and I continued along Pacific, noting the lack of Eastern European kids in the city this year. Usually by now, you can't walk ten feet without hearing Russian or Ukrainian or Estonian or some other Slavic language. Now, there are so few in the area and I've heard it's because there weren't enough jobs so they issued far fewer work visas. Before I knew it, I was down by Caesars and I decided to cut through to the boardwalk to see how things were there.
My first clue should have been the mass of people in the casino itself. Just trying to get past the zombie slot players was a chore and I took the steps (the gods know these well fed Americans weren't going to use the stairs!) and made my way to the boards. Insane! It was like those Fifties movies where you see so many people on the beach, no one can move! I was astounded that the city was still so bloody busy! I zigged and zagged through the crowd, my years of training by working in a casino really helped and before I knew it, I was down by Resorts. That's where the insane shoobie woman was running around, screaming something about "NOOO! The fleas!!!!" and jumping up and down in a circle and ducking her friends. She was truly Ancora crazy and I somehow ended up in the middle of the crowd that began to surround her (as they always do for some strange reason). I found the nearest exit through these really cute surfer boys and ran up the three outside levels of steps and into Tramp Touch My Hole...err...I mean...Trump Taj Mahal. I wandered down the enormous hallway to Plate, the restaurant where my friend Carlos works but I couldn't find him. It was surprisingly slow in the casino but I figured everyone was outside on the boards. I took the steps down through the main atrium and made my exit out the front door, ducking the army of Asians and dashing past the little Indian lady in full sari and smoking like a fiend.
I took Pacific Avenue again, this time facing West but by now, the sun had made it's way low on the horizon and I was safe from it's evil rays. Strangely, the traffic was light along the avenue, in harsh counter-point to the crush of humanity on the boardwalk, a block away. I kept my pace brisk and sailed down the street until, once again, I was at Caesars.
Here's where I had my own moment of madness and went BACK into Caesars to the boardwalk to once again attempt walking through the masses.
I gave up rather quickly. I ducked into the Boardwalk Hall underpass that exits from the boards to Pacific because no one goes through there because it's scary and dark. I finished my walk down Pacific and finally made it back home.
Where I sat and did nothing.
Again.
Strange Dreams (Originally Published 29 Apr 2009)
Current mood:
vexed
That's when the realization came to me: I had that dream before. Well, not that particular dream but the continuation of one. It's like a television mini-series and I just got to watch the next chapter. It was my London dream, where I moved to that great European capitol a few years ago and have lived there since. I've never been to England (or out of the states, for that matter) but, where my dreams are concerned, I feel as if I have. I have friends there, not transplants of people I know in my life here but actual friends. My friends and family have come to visit. I have a flat and a job. I have been through the city many times, I even know the neighborhood, where to buy groceries and sundries, where the best laundrette is. I have no clue if such a neighborhood exists in London for real but in my dreams, it's very real to me. I have other dreams similar to this as well. Some of them are fanciful, the old flying dream or where events in my life are happening together that can't possibly happen due to the timeline. But there are a few dreams where things are fully formed, and compleatly out of my experience and I wake up, suddenly, and feel like I have been ripped from one life into another.
Right now, I'd rather be in London.
Dance Recital! (Originally Published 2 Apr 2009)
Current mood:
fascinated
Believe me, if you know Joey G., this makes perfect sense.
On the day in question, he rang me up and I had TOTALLY forgotten about it. I talked to "him" and he told me to ring Joey and tell him I wasn't going. I couldn't go because, frankly, I was (and am) poor. I knew that if I answered the phone, I was going and that's exactly what happened. The phone rang and the next thing I know, I got ready, Joey was out front and off we went to Delaware!
He decided to take Route 40 which cuts through South Jersey to the Delaware Memorial Bridge. This route, hot cats and cool chicks, is very, very, very rural. We drove past cows, horses, farms, silos, CowTown (a rodeo, of all things!)! I was definitely NOT in my element. Some of the homes were very beautiful but they were in the middle of nowhere. We mused that gods forbid you forgot the milk at the store, it would take thirty miles round trip to go back to the supermarket and home again. "He" rang in route and was a bit surprised that I was on my way to lovely Delaware. The weather, which was forcasted to be rainy and overcast, cooperated and cleared up, giving us beautiful blue skies and wonderful puffy clouds, the perfect compliment to our trip through the garden state.
We arrived at the DuPont Country Club and I changed into dress pants in his chariot. I wasn't going to wear them for the ride. I hate them (the zipper is a bit wonky) but I had to dress nice for the event. And, forchrissakes, we were at a bloody country club!
It was very froufrou and I LOVED it! We met Donna Boyle, a very good aqaintence of mine, pulled up and we all entered together. Joey and I went to the men's dressing room (which I found odd that they separated the sexes, I'm used to real dressing rooms) and he got ready. He and Donna were performing, the headliners, acutally! Once we got settled (read: drinks) we found an empty ballroom and they rehearsed. It was interesting listening to their shorthand. They have their own language for the dance moves which were named after various people. It went like this:
"I think we should do the Shelia and Frank here"
"No, I was thinking the Donna Dip would work better"
"Okay, then we'll do the Tom and Diane into the 123 Slide"
Or something like that. They knew what they were talking about. They finished, Donna went off to get ready and Joey and I wandered around (read: more drinks).
I decided to stake my claim at table four and watch the others. Music was playing and there were a few dancers. I just love W.A.S.P.s, they are so uptight. You just know they haven't farted in about fifteen years. The dancing started and I absorbed every minute of it!
They absurdity of the performers was only outmatched by their sincerity! Some of them were rather too old to be there, some were too large to be thrown around but they were hoofing it like pros and I was actually impressed. After a bit, though, I was getting a bit tired of seeing the "host" of the show, the entire affair was to showcase his students and he danced with EVERY BLOODY ONE OF THEM! He looked like a young Liberace, somewhat handsome, if you like the type. By now, the cocktails had kicked in and I was feeling antsy. I wanted food and I had to wait through intermission, more dancing by "Lib" and then, just as my patience was up, Joey and Donna came out and danced.
They stole the entire show.
Of course.
It was flawless. I especially loved the part where he spun her on the floor, walked away, had a drink, a cigarette, checked his email and then returned to lift her back up just when she slowed down!
After the applause, we got to eat. Joey wasn't having the potatoes nor the albino asparagas so once I was finished my plate, we switched and I ate what he had left. Such decorum at a country club, I know, we're hopeless. The women around us were trying not to laugh (or that fifteen year fart would have burst out) at Joey's and my conversations.
I went to get another round and saw the hail come down on the golf course, the promised storm clouds rolled through and played havoc around us.
We finished up our food, said our goodbyes and suddenly Joey and I were off, back through South Jersey, laughing at the events of the day and watching the storm as it headed for the coast of South Jersey, our destination. The lightening was beautiful, darting across the skies for miles and miles ahead of us and we marveled at the wonder of Mother Nature.
And then laughed some more!
Plans (Originally Published 27 Feb 2009)
Current mood:
smitten
Chuck, the head floral designer, has been doing a bit of spring cleaning at The Art of Flowers (where you should get all your floral needs). It’s freaking me out. Every time I go in the back workshop, he’s bent over in half and climbing into one of the shelves that house the vases and whatnot that they use for the arrangements, finding lost treasures. Then he’ll be sitting on the floor, going through one of the many cabinets, sorting through the accessories and the paraphernalia used to help make said arrangements. This is a daunting task, people. The workroom is huge. I, though, benefited by acquiring some of the cast-offs, mainly the broken or nicked candles, which are burning nicely in my bower as I sit here writing this. It’s not quite dawn, the night skies are only now giving way to the rising sun. I am up early again, this time at five-thirty in the morning. I was up at two, three-fifteen, four-ten, four- forty, five-oh-five and I got really tired of tossing and turning (all by myself). Now I’m up, sitting here with a cup of tea in my hands, candlelight and Lappy light competing with the ever creeping dawn just out my windows, a vitamin B-6 pill dissolving under my tongue and I’m trying to figure out what the hell to do today.
.. ..
I do have to get my ass to unemployment to sign up for partial benefits. It’s always good to suck on the government teat when they are just giving away money (see: bankers, auto makers) and it’s a good way to supplement my income until bloody town starts hiring again!
.. ..
Other than that, Miss Patti is torturing me to bus all over ....Atlantic.. ..County.... with her on errands, not exactly in my top three hundred and fifty-seven thousand things-to-do list. I’ll probably go with her but I’ll see if I can procure a chariot first.
.. ..
Insomnia sucks!
.. ..
It’s supposed to be an even better day today, in the sixties with sun shining brightly. I can’t wait!
.. ..
Umm…who just said that? Not gothic, pale, vampiric, night-crawling, sunblock three thousand wearing Mortimer!
.. ..
Time to shower (which I haven’t done in days! EWW!) and get moving (although most of the city is either still sleeping or on their way home).
A Most Glorious Day (Originally Published 27 Feb 2009)
Current mood:
giddy
.. ..
I have been watching movies again. My good friend lent me ten new DVDs and I have been entranced with three out of the four I viewed over the last two days.
.. ..
First I screened “Nomad (The Warrior)”, which I found to be rather formulaic. And miscast. The Mexican lead trying to pass as a descendant of Genghis Khan is all you need to know. He was cute, though.
.. ..
Second up was “Zodiac”. An excellent movie from beginning to end and rather graphic.
.. ..
For the third film, I chose to watch “Sleepy Hollow” (since it was well after midnight) which I had always wanted to see. It’s a cute retelling of the legend and I enjoyed Tim Burton’s take on the classic tale. The cast is a who’s who of British actors most of which are in Harry Potter.
.. ..
When I woke up after a few hours rest (insomnia, release me from your cruel clutches) I decided to keep the gothic theme going and watched the amazing “Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street”. Absolutely amazing! I really had reservations about the cast (non-singers in a decidedly demanding musical) but I was happily entertained. It was gloomy and dark, just the way I like it!
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I had company for breakfast at Brittany’s Café, that is, once I got myself together. I did a quick workout, and threw on a black T-shirt, faded black jeans and my suede thrift shop blazer and then ran down to meet him. We sat in my favourite spot and ordered and ate, it was nice to see a friendly face across the table so early in the morning. I didn’t have to bury my nose in the newspaper and I didn’t care a whit for the gossip around me.
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The day was turning out quite nicely and we took a drive to Gardener’s Basin and walked around for a bit. He then drove me back to The Art of Flowers (where you should get all your floral needs) where he left me to my devices. I stalked everyone on Facebook and MySpace for a while and I chatted with Chuck and Jack. I decided that I couldn’t waste such a nice day and I burst out of the shop and began aimlessly wandering through the city. Before I knew it I was nearly back at Gardener’s Basin (it’s at the western tip of Absecon Island) and I trekked back through the various spots I am normally known to visit, making the rounds through the city proper. I ended up on the boards and bee-lined my way home, basking in the fifty-four degree temperature. It was lovely.
I picked up a Greek salad for dinner and by five o’clock, I was home and in front of the telly, watching the extras included on the “Sweeny Todd” DVD.
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My mobile rang off the hook once I got home, my friends are still on the late shifts and I seem to be keeping right proper farmer’s hours! They wanted me to meet them for dinner/drinks/whatever and I begged off.
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Now I am going to try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s goal: Unemployment!
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