The Phone Slave

Okay, now that I've finished up a hot bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, I finally decided to take out my mobile phone and see who's contacted me since yesterday morning. Yes, that's right... a day without answering my phone. A day without returning text messages.

I know, I know -- I hear it every day. I confess that I just plain suck at answering my mobile phone. It's not that I hate the world, or that the person that's calling me has somehow pissed in my milk... rather, some people are slaves to their phones. I'm not.

I work next to a phone that rings constantly for up to 16 hours a shift. I walk two dogs, which leaves no hands available to answer the phone. I mow a 1/2 acre lot almost constantly due to demonically-growing grass/weeds, which makes it far too noisy to hear if someone calls. I commute to and from work, and would rather not plow into an 18-wheeler talking on the phone about a sale at Armani Exchange. I don't have a phone clip to hook my phone into my belt loop and the matching t-shirt that says, "iBitch". It simply means that I have a brave, new world out there that I occasionally explore free from technology.

As I've mentioned before, I'll never understand society's dire need to take calls no matter where they are... especially the guy chatting on his phone from the confines of a stinky bathroom stall. And don't get me started with airline passengers that have to be told 50,144 times to turn their frickin' mobile phones off so we can depart on time.

*sigh* Sheep... mere sheep.

Nonetheless, I tolerate such addictions because we are all different. For those of you who are frustrated with guys like me that don't answer the phone immediately, I humbly ask for reciprocal toleration. Phones are nowhere near the top of my priority list... never have been... never will be. If it's an emergency that can't wait until I check my voice mails and return your call, chances are better if hang up and dial 9-1-1.

I'm a dinosaur... living in the past when there were no mobile phones. Please don't be mad at me or any others like me. It doesn't mean we are cheating, lying, stealing, or in the middle of something... promiscuous. It doesn't mean we are angry, reclusive, or arrogant. It just means that some of us out there are resistant to total assimilation by technology. It's nothing personal... 99% of the time... I swear.

The Three Doors

It's a cool, wet morning here in North Texas... eight years and one day removed from one of the most vicious, history-altering events of our great nation. Some spent 9/11/09 in a prolonged state of reflection. For others, like one of my friends and former high school classmates it served as a reminder of 'why he hates God... why he's now an Atheist'.

Of course, technically, he can't hate something that he doesn't believe in because that would acknowledge its existence... but it was a very bold statement to make on a worldwide stage such as Facebook or Myspace. So, for those of us who identify ourselves as Spiritual or a member of an organized religion, why was 9/11 "allowed" to happen in the first place? Why did those terrorists slaughter many Americans? What message were they really trying to send?

In my opinion, the seeds of religion run deep into the soil of countless acts of violence, oppression, and suffering that have stained this world's cloth with the blood of innocent people. Life on this planet is morphing into something that is increasingly unsustainable, and when Gayagenda.com's James Hipps challenged me with the question of how to counteract the effects of the Religious Right, this unsustainable state of affairs has become more and more apparent to me.

I believe we have reached the end of a hallway and now stand before three doors. Behind one door, there are endless acts of violence based upon unprovable beliefs that will eventually make 9/11 seem like a blip on the radar screen. Behind door number two, the disproportionate ratio of natural resources to consumers will serve as a catalyst for our arrogance, which will trigger a human-spawned Armageddon that will kill billions. And, behind door number three... there is a single shopping basket. Inside, there's logic, common sense, reason, and hard evidence -- enough to make 7 billion doses of a potion that will provide a greater sense of self-awareness. A potion that will help us see any and all outdated claims and beliefs regarding religion.

The problem is, the doors are not numbered, and we can't open more than one at a time; but one must be opened. So, how do we counteract the Religious Right? I bluntly believe that you can't make someone change... you can only poke holes in their beliefs, such as question what the Bible says about hermaphrodites. If it doesn't say anything or specifically address the implications of God's children who are born with both sexual organs, then certainly, one can draw into question the basic foundation upon which the Religious Right draws their power.

And don't even get me started about finding life on other worlds. Just think of the motives that drive those in power to ensure that we never truly know that answer unless E.T. lands on the White House lawn. Of course, if the Bible specifically addresses that scenario as well, please let me know where you find it. The bottom line is -- over time -- more events will unfold that cannot be affirmed in the Bible, and thus bring about questions that will erode the Religious Right's credibility, with or without our help. In a nutshell, Mr. Hipps... the answer is either time or opening up the door with the shopping basket behind it. Hopefully, we won't kill ourselves in the meantime.

Twist of Fate

I just wrapped up a guest appearance on James Hipps' Blogtalk radio show, featured every Wednesday on Gayagenda.com. It was truly an honor and a refreshing experience!

I was just about to crack open some wine and kick off the 3rd season of The Lair, when I ran across an article in the local news. Apparently, several pro-Gay Christian billboards have been spotted along one of Dallas/Ft. Worth's major arteries, Tom Landry Highway (Interstate 30). And so the fiery debate begins.

In an incredible twist, a woman driving down the freeway sees this gargantuan billboard and gets all riled up and pissed off... so much that she fires a scathing email stating that she didn't appreciate the Lord's words being twisted to fit someone's needs. But lady, dare I ask... Doesn't EVERYONE do that? As a matter of fact, aren't YOU doing that right now by getting upset because someone interpreted the word of God in a way that YOU didn't agree with?

While I applaud these local churches for apparently endorsing gay acceptance, one could easily argue that they 'accept' gays in their congregations and collection plates -- but not necessarily incorporate gay acceptance in their sermons.

I'll dig up more info on the five churches that sponsored these billboards and get back to ya. In the meantime, this receives a YELLOW light.

Is There an Artist In The House?

The Black Man Next Door has been working feverishly on a gay fiction novel, and things are coming along very well. A special thanks to those friends who have been very encouraging and supportive along the way. Finally, there may be light at the end of the tunnel.

Eventually, I'll have a dedicated website and a Facebook page for the work. But in the meantime, does anyone know someone that's great at book cover illustrating? GLBT or GLBT-friendly artists are welcome to hit me up for more details!

The Mt. Rainier Escape

I've spent the last week here in the Seattle area, and I must say, it's been a really fun trip. Not only did I finally make the trek to Mt. Rainier, but I also got the opportunity to do a lot of soul searching.

During my little excursion, I got a chance to hang out with some of the best co-workers I've ever been with. They were welcomed company, yet, oftentimes I felt alone in a strange way.

I laughed, drank, ate, hiked, and had a good time with very cool people -- but deep down, I knew that they would never be able to understand or relate to me on a level that gave me a true sense of belonging.

So, I have come to accept quite a few things... things I refused to accept up to this point. I've been running from some things in life and clinging to other things that just don't want to be held... situations that I can't change nor control. I've set an unrealistic bar of expectations in my personal and professional realms. I am who I am, and I can't expect everyone to touch the tip of the iceberg when it comes to understanding or relating to 'me'. The fact is -- through all of my blessings and accomplishments, there lies a thin layer of sadness that I just can't seem to shake. I feel as though life is hollow at times, filled with nothing but shallow, evil people and false hopes.

It's very hard to maintain optimism in today's world, almost overwhelmingly so. Too many people think they have all the right answers... the right ways to live... the entitlement to suppress and demean those who are different. But, as I strolled through the mountain meadows of wildflowers, I was able to escape from the jadedness and dig deep within myself to figure out if I need big changes.

There was once a very happy "Kevin"... a Black Man Next Door who always had a smile... confidence... a sense of impervious hopes and aspirations. There was no feeling of 'going through the motions'... constantly longing for the next day off from an extremely stressful job. There was purpose... meaning... and as I took in the smell of fresh, pine air, I realized that somehow, someway, I'd have to get myself back to the "Kevin" I used to be.

In order to do that, I had to list what is in my life now that was or wasn't there then. Hmmmmm... I didn't have my current job, some of my current acquaintances and friends, a house, and the memories I've built between then and now -- just to name a few.

I can't do anything about the memories and the choices that I've made along the way... only to use them as references to build something better. My house may have brought more bills upon me, but it certainly isn't my source of angst at the moment.

That leaves my job, current acquaintances, and friends. As I wandered through the snow near Mt. Rainier, I finally realized what I had to do. Like Mother Nature, I must do what I need to do to restore balance. Right now, the scale is too heavy with negative influences. The only way I can find that balance is by getting rid of that little by little until the scale is level again.

So, my dusty, rocky trails at Mt. Rainier have come to an end. Soon, I'll fly back to Dallas and grow a bigger sack of nuts that will be needed for some hard decisions ahead. A deep breath. A plane ride. A fast-beating heart. I know now what I must do.

"Honey, It's Just Broken"

So, has anyone watched the old, classic movie, "A Christmas Story"? If you have, the lamp pictured to the left should come flowing back into your memory banks. The next question is, how does this lamp end up as a blog post?

Good question. I'll get to that momentarily, I promise. In the meantime, perhaps you can relate to the nice person that brought home his/her first lover to meet the parents. Maybe you can relate to the feeling of the first kiss... the first time in the sheets... the long line of memories spawned by a relationship that you deemed to be a very special part of your life.

Now, say that life backhands you in the face, and you are betrayed by this 'special lover'. In fact, it happens over and over again until something even worse happens -- you come down with an STD, you are taken advantage of, or you are used and abused, etc. These relationships are analogous to the leg lamp from "A Christmas Story".

If you've watched the movie, you know what happens to this leg lamp, right? And how does the father respond? He attempts to glue it back together and return it quickly to its pedestal by the window. Then, the world could see its prominence and influence once again. Of course, the lamp is broken beyond repair, and no amount of glue is going to make it whole again.

In a way, perhaps the father saw this as an escape from the reality that his wife's legs will never look like that again... an escape to something that could get his hormones raging again, like they were during his younger days. Nevertheless, internal dialogue kicks into the father's brain... "Honey, It's Just Broken" ... and he gets rid of the lamp and moves on.

As I cross paths with more and more men in the dating world, I wonder to myself, when is that internal dialogue going to kick in for them? Will they run out of glue before they realize that the leg lamp will never be the same again? Will they grow tired of gluing its gaping cracks, and then worrying/wondering when it's going to come crashing down again? When will they stop ignoring the store with a Mega-Sale on premium lamps?

*Sigh* I guess some men look for a new lamp... some men buy another case of glue.

I used to be the man that spent my whole paycheck on glue... and I often wonder what kept me going back for more. Seriously, what is truly behind the difficulty in letting someone go? I can't speak for all the other guys that are still squirting glue at a broken lamp, but I used to think it was the power of sentimentality at work.

Now, I wonder if I was running from something... maybe a deep seeded fear of being alone? Maybe I was running away from some sort of inequity, deficit or surplus? Maybe the glue-squirters of the present are running from something, too?

Whatever the case may be, my key to ditching the glue was to accept that while shopping for just the right lamp, very good things can happen in the dark!

The Lost Art

So, yesterday I was at work minding my own business when "BLING!" I got new email. It was from a man (whom I'll refer to as Witch Doctor) that I was in the dialogue phase of the whole dating scene. We had seemingly developed a good rapport, but things were suddenly cut loose from his end via text message last week.

Quite honestly, I've learned to expect that most of the time -- call me jaded, that's fine. Perhaps 10, maybe even 5 years ago, I'd be pretty upset and distraught. Nowadays, I toss it over my shoulder like grains of salt. But, this e-mail I received represented a lost art in today's society. As I read his words, I honestly couldn't believe that he had sent this message... an apology.

I checked to make sure it went to the right person. The correct name was in the header... yep... he was aiming this right at me. It was a package with lost art inside -- one of the best gifts a soul can receive -- an apology.

Now, maybe you appreciate a detailed explanation embedded within an apology. Me, I don't particularly care to have explanations 99% of the time. I believe that, unlike my coffee, the less cream you add to an apology, the better and more sincere it becomes. No rationalization. No excuses. No justification.

Witch Doctor had nailed it down, and he certainly did his homework on performing this lost art in a way that I find pure and sincere. He acknowledged what happened. He said, "I'm sorry if I hurt you in any way." There was no 'blame-transfer' or anything like that.

As such, I had to thank Witch Doctor for restoring my faith in the belief that there are still people out there that care about others' feelings. To me, sincere apologies are one of the most fantastic pieces of art. I wish Witch Doctor all the best, and I hope that he finds nothing but peace and prosperity in his future.