Metrosexuals Unite!

M is for Manhattan!
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

“New York State Senator Thomas Duanne (D-Manhattan), who is gay, said he wants to know whether McGreevey abused his office in any way. Because being gay or having an affair would not, by themselves, give someone cause to resign, he said.”

~ He’s Out & Out, AM New York, August 13, 2004

Exactly.

For as good or bad this sudden and surreal emancipation declaration from Jersey’s scandal-ridden governor may be, one thing is for certain (is anything ever?)—this revelation is both a setback and a godsend for the gay community.

It rises to the occasion in terms of the former because, like a true politician, McGreevey announced his candidacy by spinning an association between one’s sexual orientation and one’s patriotism—“I am a gay American,” which essentially gives this once scarlet letter A front-page FDA stamp-of-approval.

And, oh what timing! For being gay, or at least being sensitive, self-aware, and having a keen eye for fashion is seemingly all-the-rave in America now. Today’s new tolerance even rivals the supremacy gay-culture once held during the hey-day of the disco days, because now—its just all in the open.

So darling, loosen those hips, paint those lips and wiggle your toes, because even God knows its okay to be gay(-like) now.

Metrosexuals Unite! (just kidding)

That said, this headlining soap-box announcement from the no-longer-so-honorable Governor James McGreevey also is a setback for the rainbow coalition, because it immediately establishes another less-than complimentary relationship between homosexuality and politics, as if to blatantly say “its NOT okay to be gay and govern.”

Duanne added “Would a heterosexual governor resign on the grounds of having a sexual affair?”

Ask Bubba (or just buy the book).

Thinking sdrawkcaB

Nicky! and the Beautiful Ms. Kate
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Thinking sdrawkcaB

Nicky, the almost-four year old, came running into the kitchen nook this morning where I was working and grabbed at the chess board that was on the table. I noticed that he was completely and care-freely butt-naked, and so I immediately reacted, “Why is your underwear off?”

Startling him, if only because he had not realized he was doing anything wrong, he stuttered and replied, “Because, because I was going to the bathroom upstairs and left them off.”

“Okay,” I answered with the roll of my eyes, adding, “Please go upstairs and put your underwear back on. And then you can come back to get the chessboard.”

In a flash, he had returned and was properly dressed as I had ordered. Except that his briefs were on backwards. So I implied he turn them around by looking at him sternly and pointed out, “Nicky, your pants are on backwards.”

He somewhat-innocently replied, half shyly, half wryly, “But I like it backwards.”

I was intrigued and softened by his earnest reply, and so I pressed, if only because I was questioning my own thoughts on the matter, “Why do you like it backwards?”

“Because it looks funny backwards,” he responded with a slight smile that teetered on the edge of hope and persuasion.

I immediately burst out laughing at this point and was instantly won over to the dark side of juvenile amorality, that special place where impropriety knows better because it doesn’t know any better.

He smiled back and grabbed at the board as I said, “Okay” and ran barefoot away to the living room to play with his older brother.

I really was quite taken aback by how ludicrously bothered I had initially been by the whole incident and amazed at how silly it was for me to hold to my prudent sense of order in response. It is utterly amusing to reflect on how serious we take life as adults sometimes.

As difficult and bothersome it sometimes seems to be a parent, especially when I am trying to focus on “accomplishing” something, I am grateful for moments like these that remind me about how grateful I should be to have children who reveal how inane our rules of behavior and the rickety frames of "mature" thought can truly be.

nothing but my timorous imagination

A Few Hours of A Late Summer Afternoon 124
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

This morning, as we rolled down the elevated eastern bank of the Hudson, I imagined the moment when I would look across the River to a flat Manhattan, a city without an erection, the metropolis of all metropolii castrated spitefully by fanatical fundamentalists who, with bitter gall, decimate the promethean dreams of millions by bringing down the empire state to its knees with a single inimical swath of a scythe that swipes out the proud pinnacle that once touched the sky, piqued the heavens, inspired awe—and instilled a false sense of foolish pride, imperial accomplishment and haughty determination in the horde of the huddled drones that once filed to and fro below, frantically passing at the base of this stalwart monument positioned against the horizon and stealing the fire that was once the sole privy of the gods.

Swerving about the curve of 46 degrees, we eased into the tunnel, the Orphic orifice that once commuted so many of the aspiring to better destinies, but now merely threatens to lead the resigned toward a judgment day imposed before its time. Here at the mouth of the grimy inferno, I closed my eyes, as I do each time I surmise I am entering the end, and consoled my soul in silence as we shuttled through onto toward the light, the salvation of illuminating grace which lies at the other end of this bridge underwater, the photogenic cue that allows us to begin anew as we emerge from bowels of the earth, and allow the sun to give birth to hope once again.

Then, once I’ve scurried across the dirty and pungent streets and back into the steel and concrete trap of the landmark corporate building I work in, I just sit and wait. While colleagues sit and debate where and when, and everyone feeds the fire of nerve-wracking, composure-attacking over-anxiety, of having survived the day we shall not forget, of letting virulent jihads and crusades against manifest destiny and the audacity of western sovereigns vying to maintain their dipsticks in crude oil , siphoning the soul from mother earth to feed the greed in the name of “progress” and the voracious egos of those who populate her surface; while all this is happening we just quack like sitting ducks or like humpty-dumpty waiting upon the wall, awaiting the fall of the evil empire that fissures a crack in its royal head, that push-to-bush that topples the crown to the ground, and shatters the crass righteousness which neither allies nor a brazen attitude can put back together again.

They’re now saying the data that prompted the panic and alert is dated, and thus the enemy’s intentions may be dead. Hence, instead of ushering the doom, let’s hope than that this delusion of impending gloom was thus for naught, and nothing but a wrought of my timorous imagination.

every living moment (under siege)

The Twin Towers
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

In rememberance of today's 4th year anniversary of the tragedy of that occurred on September 11th four years ago, I am posting a few photographs that will never allow me to forget.

I was here in the city when it happened and it changed me life and had an impact upon me like no other event in my life. In memorial to this tragic day I offer my journal which documents some of what I, and likely many others, went through that day and a long time thereafter.

*

every living moment (under siege)

“Doubt is a thief that often makes us fear to tread where we might have won.”
~ William Shakespeare
so under psychological siege we can either seize being, frozen in a state of paranoia, imprisoned within the invisible cell of the unknown, or we can continue taking advantage of every minute that is afforded us during what is ultimately a short life anyway.

for regardless of the looming threats which resound with the flutter of helicopters overhead and fighter jet fly-bys, along with the bullying visual reminders which burly special forces with automatic weapons strapped across their shoulders present to us as we pass them on our way to our concrete and steel terrorist traps, we must persevere and continue appreciating every moment and forge on living as if there will be a tomorrow.

don’t get stuck in the muck of fear. granted, one should continue to be aware and prepare, but allowing threats to paralyze our otherwise privileged lives will not change what are unforeseeable or uncontrollable circumstances otherwise.

most of us cannot just upheave and leave the metropolis to escape a fate worse than the threat. we cannot simply say, “i’m not going to work today.” and even if we could, should nothing happen, we still have to face the same threat tomorrow.

so, as woeful as what we cannot see may be, we are still really in charge of our destiny every step of the way. thus, it is vital to continue believing that what you do now paves the way for a better tomorrow. don’t let the public panic and media hyperbole beset you with apprehension that immobilizes you. move on, put those blinders on if you must, but trust in the notion that life is short and we must take advantage of every living moment.

Shakespeare wrote “love is not love which alters when alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove,” likewise living is not life which cowers when death merely looms, or retreats with the evil who evil exact. no, living a worthy life is more courageous than that, for it accepts the inevitable track we are all rolling upon and strives to overcome by determining the course of our ride.

Complimenting The Spice of Life

Complimenting The Spice of Life
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

This morning I came across the recipe for candied pecans that I had stuck in the middle of my current read, Exuberance, while I was in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago.

I was utterly enamored with the complement of chili pepper that the hotel restaurant used to make their candied pecans (which I had to complement breakfast and dinner for three days running). And so, I was compelled to ask the chef how to make them.

What occurred to me when I rediscovered the piece of stationary was that I could interminably compliment the world and all the wonderful elements that congeal to create life. Whether it be through photography or via verse or excited essays like this, I realize and reveal how grateful I am to be part of this beautiful and blissful experience we call living.

Life truly is wonderful.

Ceci Est Mon Dieu (This Is My God)

Ceci Est Mon Dieu (This Is My God Take Quatre)
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

For the story behind this foto in English, click HERE

Ceci Est Mon Dieu

Je couchais dans la mare de kiddy sur mon dos, admirant le ciel bleu profond, quand j'ai soulevé cette balle avant moi, et, tout de suite, j'ai eu mon épiphanie—peut-être, un des plus grand je jamais ai eu.

*

Une heure plus tard, Enzo, mon plus vieux fils, me demande, &quot ; le Papa, si vous pourriez avoir trois pouvoirs super, que seraient-ils ? &quot ;

Il a pris tout mais un simple moment pour moi rendre compte ma réponse. &Quot ; bien, premièrement je voudrais le pouvoir à toujours par heureux. Deuxième, j'aimerais que le pouvoir pour ait fait des autres heureux, surtout ceux-là qui sont en apparence souvent fâché, triste ou autrement le mécontentement. &quot ;

Hélas, quand j'ai obtenu ai enfoncé sur pense à une troisième superpuissance, Enzo m'a interrompu et rétorqué, &quot ; Aucun Papa ! Ceux-là sont pouvoirs pas de super ! vous avez à vouloir des pouvoirs comme ‹ volant, › ‹ devenant invisible, › ‹ tirant le feu, › ou ‹ la force super-humain › …"

« Oh, » j'ai répondu, « je je devine ne sait pas alors, » et couché de retour encore pour tremper dans le soleil qui miroitait sur l'eau, pour j'avais décidé que dans la poursuite de santé d'esprit et de sérénité, je n'allais pas commencer une discussion philosophique profonde avec ma six année vieille—pas parce qu'il ne sonderait pas ses profondeurs ténébreuses, mais principalement parce que j'ai su qu'il prendrait probablement D'un intérêt et demande interminablement à "Why?" à chaque virage.

*

Et ce n'est pas jusqu'à présent, sur ce reflet épistolaire, que je vois que l'élever de ma divinité et ma réponse à l'enquête hypothétique de mon fils était en fait, en effet, connecté.

Parce que, comme j'ai conjecturé avant, je crois (indubitablement je fais) qu'un courant fort de passage d'optimisme me—l'un qui me donne pouvoir croire en la soi-actualisation, la force redoutable de la volonté individuelle, et la conviction qui il y a un petit bon dans presque tout le monde et tout. De plus, si pas plus d'une manière importante, c'est ma conviction et ma volonté pour partager cette énergie positive avec les autres, si seulement s'arrêter beaucoup le même pouvoir dans eux.

But A Number

The Aftermath
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

I gather no one will really want to read the following story, but it is part of my reality, and so I relay the following if only for my own good.

Yesterday I realized I’m getting a bit older.

As young as I will my spirit to be, Age still has my number. So far, she’s been pretty good to me. And so, I sincerely cannot complain.

Yet, yesterday I had a minor operation—the surgical removal of a cyst that had been benignly rearing its ugly head just above my left clavicle. It was a tiny thing, no bigger than a bothersome blackhead. Alas, as innocuous and almost inconspicuous as it had been, just sitting there under my skin for the last couple of years, the doctor and I agreed that it was best to have it removed.

*

The night before, in a shirtless unguarded moment I was letting my belly hang out, and as it protruded over my waistline I thought and sighed out loud, “Oh, boy…”

My eldest son, Enzo, The Precocious Six-Year-Old, immediately jumped upon the opportunity to ask one of the million questions he asks everyday, saying, “What? Papa…”

I hesitated answering, primarily because I was being self-conscious, and by not telling the truth I would not have to face my reality. And so, I just brushed him off with a smile and answered “Oh, nothing.”

Alas, he could detect the deception in my curtly glib answer, and thus prodded again. “Come on Papa, tell me…What were you thinking?”

I pondered for a moment and asked myself, “What are you afraid of? What would be the harm in being honest here? “ So, foolishly I replied, “I was just thinking about how fat I feel.”

And then, as shocked as I should not have been, Enzo shoots point-blank without a blink, a punch straight to the paunch, “Well, Papa, you are fat.”

Yikes. How’s that for a dose of reality? His utterance was pure as could be, merely an innocent and objective observation from a child yet to be tainted by the rules of sensitivity.

Hence, it did not irk and jerk me as a regular insult might, but it did bite me a little nonetheless. And so, as any almost-forty American male might react, I resigned myself to the standard middle-aged resolution—“I’ve got to get back in shape.”

Point being, after the operation and Enzo’s observation I’m felling a little older, not in a bad way though, for I still believe that Age is but a number.

*
Last night I was with my good friend Robert and during a moment of enlightenment I declared that “My past was all good. Why should I think otherwise. Really, what good would it do me to reflect upon the past with anything less than a positive disposition?”

Regardless of the fact that I was declaring this to someone who was in the middle of earning his doctorate in history, I maintained that looking back must be done with the same attitude that we look forward with—for the victorious write history, and the losers merely dwell upon it.

And so, I must think positively about each day that passes and every telling sign that I am passing with it. For thinking positively equals being positive(ly).

And albeit I possibly, quite plausibly, am being wholly delusional, in that exuberance meets mid-life crisis sort of way, I must say that I am quite happy believing the bullshit anyway…

So, why should I think otherwise?