The Crippling Patriarchy

For weeks, I have been on pins and needles to write this blog. I have written a lot about gender and domestic violence in the past. It always makes men uncomfortable. It puts them on edge because it's not the fluffy sexy stuff people want to read. Domestic violence is the unwelcome guest at any party. People feel terribly for an abused woman, but they want to remain at arms length because of the codependency and other issues the person often has.

I get it.

It's amazing how our culture promotes both domestic violence and rape. Straight men are literally raised with this toxic idea on how to perform masculinity. Gender is such a social construct that part of the reason DV is so constant is that men don't know how to behave. It's like they are so busy pounding their chests and asserting their manhood that some will do it at the expense of health and respect in the relationship.

There is always an idiot or two that says the woman pushed him. It's codependency, they push each other. It's a vicious cycle. Or they say she deserved it. No one deserves to be abused by a partner. And then they tell me I am bitter and to get over it. Yes, I am bitter the laws did more to protect my abusive partner than they did me.

No, I will not "get over it." If you have a friend or family member that is stalked or harassed by an intimate partner you never get over it. You are fucking furious.

It's amazing how much straight cisgender male culture promotes the slavery and entrapment of the straight cisgender female. Straight men do it unknowingly, even the good ones. I am by no means saying all straight men are evil. No, there are lots of good ones who are wonderful friends, brothers partners and fathers. But there is this construct that makes women subservient.

For instance, a man isnt a so called gentlemen if he doesn't pay for dinner. When I suggest both people split the check and get the relationship off on an equal footing women especially hate this. It's like they are not conditioned to be equal but demand it. And when they get it, they don't know what to do with it because they lose their status on the punishing end. It's always also assumed the man is the bread winner and has to take care of the woman. This is a terrible notion and a punishing one at that. It's an insult to people of both genders.

Then it is one set of rules for the man and the other for the woman. The man can parade his ex's around and speak about them at his leisure because he must mount his conquests on the wall. The woman when she speaks about hers isn't "over him." The second the woman says something about them she is demonized for her jealousy. Yet when the man says something about a woman's past partner he is asserting his manhood.

Lest we forget the cliche that a man can have as many partners as he wants and be king and a woman has as many partners as she wants and she is a slut. A lot of women slut shame not because they are even evil, but it's the internalized fear we have of the judgement and therefore we would rather have stones to throw at others rather than ourselves.

A man who is friends with all of his ex's is not a nice guy ever in my experience. This is a straight cis male enjoying being on the top of the patriarchy. This is a straight cis man parading his trophies. Often, this man is using these trophies as a way to keep his woman in her place, letting her know what came before her. When she gets jealous it's all her fault. It's like saying she deserved it because of what she wore, this is the same metric.

As a woman, we always fall into the trap of bad mouthing the woman before us, growing jealous. Meanwhile it is just the man's way of keeping us in our place. If we are jealous and do not focus on the fact he is trying to control us through the structure the paradigm has created, we cannot question his ineptness in the relationship let alone lack of so called manhood. This is just a mirage and distraction from the real issues.

More often than not, you should be weary of a man being friends with an ex. If there are children involved, it is understandable if they are friendly. You should be for the sake of children. While your relationship might not have been stable, you need to create a stable ground for the children.

But if the ex is regularly irking in without these factors, beware. This is a woman who is readying to do his dirty work upon the break up. She will too as as they are all tethered to the paradigm. He is the evil man behind the curtain and they are his demonic workers ready to torture you on command, and ready to again be a mirage to a larger social issue.

My view on DV is this, that the issue is not in fact with the fathers but with the mothers. Many times, women are taught to be more demure and kind in relationships. This means not standing up for themselves. When men with weaker mothers meet women who are willing to oppose them, this becomes too much for their challenged manhood. Therefore they lash out physically and emotionally.

I remember once as a kid I got into a fight with my brother about the clicker. (This dates me I know). My brother hit me because we were kids and sometimes you hit your siblings, it's what you do when you are 8 and 10. My mom came down on my brother like bloody hell fire. She said, "You have to do all your sister's chores. You could have hurt her."

When my brother protested, my mom informed him, "Someday that will be a girlfriend or wife. You will get in big trouble if you settle your disputes that way."

But the bigger issue is that we are so married to gender construct. This is why there is so much homophobia and transphobia. Because the LGBTQ crushes the straight cisgender construct. Actually this is for the best. Because gay relationships are much more equal than straight ones. Someone isn't always asserting their dominance and ultimately wanting the upper hand because of what is or isn't between their legs. While they have issues like every couple does, there is not the issue of gender dominance.

I find that many straight men accuse lesbians of "man hating" because they reject the notion of straight sex. Really and truly, these women experience sexism and homophobia at once. There are some who are on the defensive because they have been bullied by small minded cisgender men who don't realize that this is a situation where their manhood is not needed and it isn't personal.

A lot of cisgender straight women accuse butch lesbians of "not trying to be beautiful" because they don't wear dresses or makeup like such things make a woman beautiful. It's not wit, personality, or style. It's the clothes she wears and the man she fucks. YIKES! In my experience many butch women are the most beautiful people I have ever met inward and outward.

Then there is the transphobia that you have to be the gender you were born even if the gender doesn't fit who you are. You need to fit into the box of the social construct. Transfolk crush the social construct. They have found a way around it. They embrace fluidity. We should all in my opinion. I am not saying there is anything wrong with being straight and cis, but don't be so married to performing the roles you are given to the point where it makes you a toxic, bigoted, bully boy/girl asshole.

This post was in part inspired by a male comedian who wrote in effect that if women comedians market themselves as sexy they deserve to be disrespected by creepy bookers and harassed. It made me angry. Like the Harvey Weinstein victims deserved that predator as well. This is the straight patriarchy who serves and promotes rape culture and this idiot was just their facebook messenger.

In closing, Kleopatra killed herself because Augustus Caesar was going to take her captive. She didn't want to be his prisoner in chains and would not let that vicious patriarch win. Shakespeare tells it as a love story between her and Mark Anthony. This is the historical falsehood society has embraced because it makes Kleopatra in need of a man because therefore she is more feminine. If the truth were told, she would come from a position of strength. And that position of strength would be one more thing to challenge the patriarchy.

So yes, here is a sexy photo of myself that I took with my consent. It's red lingerie. Some will hate this blog and say I deserve to be assaulted. Others will hate me. Either way, I am not your prisoner in chains mutherfuckers. So take that rape culture, take it around your bloody fucking neck.

April Unwrapped

Unplugging

I have been extremely involved since the start of election season. Donald J. Tramp was a spokespuppet for an anti-Trump group. We marched in Cleveland. Then we covered the debates in Las Vegas. When things didn't go our way, we marched with NYCLU.

Then there is The Lady and President Tramp. It got into it's first festival. I am excited.

However, as of late I have been feeling some activist burn out. A friend of mine who has been involved in ACT UP for over two decades cautioned me to pace myself. He has been arrested a bunch of times and more. He even admits he takes breaks.

The whole kneeling thing has made me crazy. I have never met more obnoxious people and have seen more nasty mud slinging on both sides. There have been people on the left saying more cops should die. People on the right have been insisting on violence against the kneelers. I just wanted to tell them that if they care so much, why don't they march or volunteer?

Oh no. That would take work.

My mom was a Title IX activist in college. It was the 1970s and the women's team wanted letter jackets for their winning season. The men got them and their season was not as successful. As the captain, my mom acted as media spokeswoman, not only speaking to the press but ultimately requesting they had special meal times and study halls like the men.

I am proud of my mom for her activism, but like many Second Wavers she had enough of the infighting in the movement. Plus it takes a lot of time and energy to be an activist. So when she graduated from college my mom taught, coached, married, had kids, and enjoyed her life. Her contributions helped many other women, but the sun had set on her time as an activist and she was moving on.

Then again, that is the thing about activism, the freaking infighting. There have been events I have been at where Black Lives Matter shows up. The middle class white activists cringe each time fearing they will get violent. Meanwhile BLM are allies in the movement. I have never had anything but wonderful experiences with the vibrant, fresh energy of BLM. They have always been positive in my encounters with them. But the racism and.....dont even get me started.....

And then of course in the LGBTQ there are so many cisgender queer people who are transphobic. I have seen this too at political marches and have played den mother. I want to scream, "STOP IT! FUCKING STOP IT!"

Then among women there is the sex positive thing, but the shaming of Hugh Hefner. Then there is the argument burlesque is feminist and then there is the argument that it is stripping. There is the believing the victim, but also not encouraging the victim to take responsibility to see their patterns and perhaps learn so they don't forever become a victim. When I bring this up, and I qualify myself as a DV person, I get shit. I want abusive men punished, but codependency is a two way street. Both partners are sick in an instance of DV. Yet it seems none of these people, many who have never experienced it, do not want to hear me.

I want to say that if we want to be strong we can take responsibility. We can not buy things that offend us. Change the channel. Anything but the whiny stupidity.

And then who can be considered a woman. I have been to feminist events where trans people have been barred. If someone wants to take a paycut and be cat called come on in. If someone wants to identify as nonbinary I am not stopping you. But there are people who disagree with me violently.

I just can't with any of you anymore.

To top it off, the weekly fights with right wing nuts have been too much with their grammar errors and other hate flinging on the internet.

The straw that broke the camel's back was Las Vegas yesterday. A man who is mentor and means quite a bit to me lives there. He was safe in bed during the shooting as he has been hard at work on an event, plus he is 70. While he is very active in the entertainment business, like many Las Vegas locals he has no use for the free concerts on The Strip.

However, my worry was his daughter would have been there with her boyfriend or cousin. They are 22, free concert age. But luckily they weren't there. None of my LV peeps were there. However, the daughter of my mentor had a friend who was critically wounded. I was sick for that young man and his family.

Still, the talk of the event made me sick as people wouldnt shut the fuck up about it. And then they want gun control. And then they want to talk about mental illness. Having had a mentally ill partner I can educate people on the subject. I tried a few times to tell people how we need to talk about BOTH. It was like talking to a wall.

Especially since my ex, a mentally disturbed Iraq War vet, fired his service weapon at the wall during a psychotic break in which he believed the ghost of the soldier that tried to kill him came back to get him. Needless to say, there was no ghost. However, there were neighbors who had children. The cops were called and there was a lesser charge he plead down to in exchange for some information on another crime. The firearm was taken away obviously. No one was hurt thank God.

Still, my ex withheld this information from me when we got together. I found this out after we broke up. The fact my ex and people like him can get a weapon frightens the living fuck out of me. Either way, when people began to deny Sandy Hook I had to log off. This shit was waaaaaayyyyyyyy too fucking much.

Last night, I was talking with two kiddos who identify as nonbinary at the haunted house I am doing full body puppets at. The election came up. Tensions flashed. Both were quick to remind me as a cisgender white woman I would be fine. I wanted to tell them how involved I had been and how my life and political experience eclipsed theirs. We were all politically opinionated positioned in our perspective corners.

Then one said, "No more talk of politics, it's too stressful."

No wiser words had ever been uttered in the last several months. The tension bubble was burst. They were like me. They couldn't do it anymore. They had burnt out. They put up a boundary and I more than accepted it. I wanted to borrow it for my own use.

Another one of the kiddos, a nonbinary person who went to Smith, admitted that they had been knee deep in activism marching quite a bit themselves. However, like myself they were taking a much needed break. At that moment, we connected. We showed up. We made our statements. Now we just couldnt........

This is why the haunted house was such a stress release. And we are operating full body puppets. I have done ventriloquism obviously, hand and rod, bunraku, Balinese shadow puppets and even marionettes but never full body. While they are heavy at times it pays alright and I look forward to the challenge. Plus people seem relatively nice and chill. I need the laugh. I need the break. But most importantly, this is a chance to learn and grow as a puppeteer.

This young kiddo from also told me she is set to attend a South Asian family wedding this next weekend. I learned they were practicing the dance of the single cousins, aka their version of the bouquet toss. It would be two days of fun, and henna tattoos. That was so much more interesting, informative, and fulfilling than any political conversation I have had in some time.

And a week before, as I was leaning towards taking a break, I met from guys going to the Mets game who were middle of the road Trump supporters. They saw my trunk and I did a show with Donny. They laughed. They weren't evil and didn't have fangs. They just voted the lesser of two evils.

Monday I went to an acting class and did a fun monologue with an amazing teacher. I return next week. Days before, I applied to graduate school for my writing and am awaiting a response. (GULP). I have also been accepted into an Onion writing workshop that I look forward to, and am set to do more modelling and release a calendar.

As for my show, it will be at SOLOCOM in November at the PIT Loft.

I intend to be back to fight for the rights of people who are HIV/AIDS positive, abused women, LGBTQ, mental health/addicts, and others who suffer under abuse of those in power.

However, I need a break to stretch and grow. I need to take a breath and get my brains back before I shave my head, open my window and throw out my computer. You have your right to your opinion, I have my right to mine.

But we are both currently assholes.

Now for my nightly mango.

April Unwrapped

Choosing Myself

I remember when I was a kid I was watching Beverly Hills 90210. In a famous scene where I am ashamed to say I got emotionally invested, Kelly had two suitors. One was Brendan Walsh, the self-righteous good guy import from Minnesota. The other was the trust fund tormented on again/off drug addicted bad boy Dylan McKay. As they are jockeying for her, Kelly tells them, “I choose me.”

Yes. I am ashamed I know this and it is etched in my memory. I am a child of the 90s, which means I have watched all the Lifetime Moment of Truth Movies. Yes, Kellie Martin is my oppressed woman spirit animal.

However, it makes sense for this next part of the blog so bear with me.

Fast forward many years later. I am crashing the Gay Pride Parade with my boss Bruce and my friend B. I am dressed in an outfit from my costume box. B is dressed like Diana Ross. And Bruce is himself. Of course we had a new adage to our group, a youngster by the name of Juicy with rainbow socks who sometimes spoke in an English accent, and sometimes a Jersey accent. Perhaps he was trying to be Madonna. Bruce was making the most of his Pride trip, and had his Grindr app out and ready to go.

When not running the singing telegram company, Bruce is a meditation expert and yogi. When I freak out over the phone Bruce is always telling me to breathe. He is telling me to come to peace with the crazy. Then again, it’s easy for Bruce. He always has some hot guy in his bed.

The morning had been a crazy one. I had gone to church, and now was getting ready for Pride. While the label of the church I attend is Christian, I consider myself more of a Believer. The reason I use that tag is because I grew up with so called Christians who were hateful people. The only way God was ever going to love you was if you were straight and white. Otherwise you were Shit Outta Luck. My belief is God didn’t make a mistake when he created anyone, and assholes come in all shapes, sizes, and orientations. Same with good people. So yeah, in the words of the Monkeys, “I’m a believer!” Okay, bad joke.

Anyway, on my way to the parade, I was walking past the community center of sorts. This weird fringe church rents it out. In NYC, space is expensive, and when you can make extra money on the space you do it. And when I say these people are bizarre, they scare the living willies out of me. But their money is green like everyone elses, right? Anyway, this unfortunate looking young woman was standing out front, scowling. Apparently, her belief system is once you turn your life and will over to whatever crazy God they worship you have to throw away your comb and say goodbye to MAC cosmetics because they are made by Satan. She had mousy brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in several weeks let alone combed, Ramona Quimby freckles, and a blue shirt with a Bible quote. Yes, we are talking a stable individual. Because all normal people just have those clothing items laying around.

I would have had no problem with God girl except for what she said when she saw me walking down the street in my costume. She said to her friend wearing a red shirt with a Bible verse, “I can’t believe my eyes. Look at that thing. You better get the children inside before it comes any closer.”

I don’t know what was worse, her fashion sense or her shitty personality. No wonder good Christian men look at porn, Jesus! Plus to even indicate I might hurt children is just terrible and asinine on so many levels. But she was bitching because she knew I was headed to the Gay Pride Parade. Why else would I be wearing a flamboyant outfit, and why else would she be seething and scowling? So basically this was a Twat for Jesus. Even in the most liberal city in America, it’s amazing how bigots still are wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing. This is why Upworthy continues to fight. Idiots unfortunately have opinions and homophobia is alive and well.

Nonetheless, I shook off the Twat for Jesus when I got to the parade. Bruce is an expert parade crasher. I did not know this until he told a white lie. We were late and were trying to catch up with our float. As we crashed, we picked up Juicy as I mentioned. Finally, we decided on the Google float because it had the best music. We danced alongside this group of strangers. Officer E, my gay puppet, nicknamed Officer Handsome and Officer Bottom by my gays on various occasions, marched/crashed with us as well. He was frisking gay boys and kissing the ladies. Skipping down the street, I high fived and hugged strangers. It was peaceful and fun. Rumor has it the cops fight over who will work the Pride Parade because there are never any fights. Seriously, they throw sparkles and make the world pretty? How could you hate the gays?

Down the street, a young woman recognized me from television. Actually, she recognized Officer E from his Travel Channel clip. I was just there. She hugged me, kissed me on the lips, and without warning shoved her tongue down my throat. She was quite beautiful so I didn’t mind. Plus in the state of New York I can have both an ex-husband and an ex-wife if I so desire. However, some warning about the tongue would have been nice.

After having a stranger’s tongue shoved down my throat, which made me feel pretty because it had been a long winter, I came across a church supporting the Parade. They held up signs that said, “God created you, knew what he was doing, and Jesus thinks you are FABULOUS!” I wish Twat for Jesus could have seen that. I wish she could have seen me being tongue kissed by a stranger and Bruce on his Grindr app getting lucky. Then her head would explode. That would truly be an act of God. Unfortunately, she was probably getting anal from some closeted kid who was too ashamed to come out because he still needs to graduate from his Christian high school. And plus he can dream she’s a dude and anal doesn’t count, right?

We ended up joining the float of the gay football team for a bit. And basically we danced for forty blocks. As the parade wound down, and Officer E got a shout out from the drag queen emcee, Bruce and I found ourselves in deep conversation.It was about love. It was about distinguishing between love and love/hate. We agreed that love/hate was always bound to end in disaster because it would turn to pure hate. Bruce explained people entered into these relationships because they always wanted to be chosen. They were desperate to be chosen, therefore putting out something that wasn’t real to the world. Bruce explained that is why you must always choose you.

He told me once I figured out who I was completely, it would be easier to choose myself. And that way I could find a relationship that was not only loving but real. It was because I would find a partner that chose himself. And because we chose ourselves we wouldn’t be desperate and wouldn’t put out something to the world that was fake. This was deep, way deep. It was also true.

It made perfect sense on a core level. When it came to love I never chose myself. My disaster of an engagement was me choosing someone else and making him my Higher Power because I believed no one would ever want me. Instead, I found myself isolated from my friends and family because I didn’t want them to know how badly I was really being treated.

Then I chose a number of people who weren’t worthy of my company, and got upset when they didn’t choose me. Most of the time I felt like my brain was being sucked out, and I was wasting my time doing stupid shit with these shitheads. Finally, I found a guy who treated me alright. Everyone around me pressured me to choose him. I did. I figured he was a lawyer and I could have a great life. But he ended up being one of the biggest liars I have ever met. This dude could lie about the weather and do it with a straight face.

Why me? I didn’t deserve this. But yes I did kind of. I was being inauthentic and was desperate to be treated well after being used as a punching bag. Everyone was quick to point out he had a job and I was forced into the relationship by those around me. I chose him and I chose what I thought I was. I didn’t choose me.

During various points in my life, I found myself desperate and wanting things, only to have them repelled by the universe. Bruce explained because of my state of desperation I wasn’t giving them the option of accepting me. He explained to envision my day, and choosing what I would want to do during that day and time. Rather than having my time wasted by idiots doing stupid things, etc. Bruce explained when I did this, my world would materialize and everything would open up to possibility.

As we had this discussion, I saw all the young gay kids. These days, they are coming out as teenagers it seems. They were only starting to do that in my time. Seeing them made me realize these kids lived in a world that not only doesn’t want us to choose ourselves, but they were being told on a larger scale not to choose themselves because what they were was wrong. They had the finger pointed at them by mobs of morons like Twat for Jesus. Already, none of us ever feel good enough from time to time for any variety of reasons. But this was making it worse.

Suddenly, there was a part of me that felt super, duper important for crashing the Pride Parade with B and Bruce. I was letting these kids know it was okay to be who you were, no matter who that person was, as long as you lived and loved safely without injury to yourself or others. I was letting these kids know that they counted. Yes, they could choose themselves. That way they didn’t have to choose something else like a partner who treats them like crap or any other time wasting vice.

Or maybe we are just giving ourselves too much credit.

I also thought of Bruce, and how spiritual he is. He is loving and accepting of all beings, even his most difficult of clients. The Twat for Jesus on the other hand is judgmental, bigoted, and a hateful bully. I grew up with shitheads like her. Of course, this made me want to see Bruce fight the Twat for Jesus. He would kick her ass with his mind waves and meditation vibes.

And then I thought of it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t reading the Bible. If she did she would know Jesus was a peace lover, accepted all people, and by all standards would be a socialist today. Instead, she is embracing hate speech that probably aren’t even her own words. If she was asked to explain her beliefs, she probably couldn’t do it. The poor thing is so confused and probably doesn’t have a cohesive thought of her own. Most bigots who hide behind the shield of empty faith and misused Bible quotes don’t. She’s not choosing to have her own thoughts. She isnt choosing to ask questions. She isnt choosing her. Poor thing, no wonder she is so lost.

As I get older, I get better about accepting who I am, liking it, and going with the program. I look like a baby doll that escaped from a toy store. My hair is bright blonde. I talk like a red neck chipmunk on meth. I am exceedingly eccentric but am good under pressure. I am a puppet master, singing telegram deliverer, and verbose writer.

I am also stressed out host/producer. So come to my show/book signing at Don’t Tell Mama 343 W. 46 st.

And when all the forces of nature are pulling me and I feel stressed and like I am not enough, a desperate woman. I will look them in the eye and say, “I choose me!” 

Everyone's Gone to the Moon (Jonathan King)

My parents were kids of the 1960s. It was when space exploration began. It was when Neil Armstrong first set foot on the moon. Years later, in his work as a lawyer my father would meet John Glenn. Actually, it was Senator Glenn. Like everyone else in the whole world it seemed he was friends with my Uncle Mack. Well, he wasn't really my uncle but he was a near and dear friend of my dad's we called Uncle Mack.

 Uncle Mack lived with his common law wife Felicia, who invented earrings. The earrings she invented were designs that covered one's whole ears. Ballroom dancers and women of that variety typically sported my aunt's creations. Felicia had a son who was gay. Her explanation for this was that when he was sixteen years old, he was abducted by aliens. It had all begun in a supermarket parking lot. He had gone to return the cart to it's rightful place and disappeared. Her son Donny turned up six months later. Apparently Donny was wandering the street with his head shaved speaking in tongues. The once proud cassanova was now after men. He came out to his parents and they were shocked. The father disowned him. Felicia shrugged and blamed it on the UFOs.

Donny and Felicia became notorious on the party circuit. Felicia would tell the story about the UFO abduction, and Donny would show off the scars in the back of his head where he claimed they put on brain plugs. Felicia would say this was the exact moment Donny became gay. Donny would talk about how a huge alien came up to him and this is where it happened. Conversion Therapy was a constant course of action but always failing. My father's theory was that Donny wasn't abducted by aliens. Instead he was just doing a lot of drugs as a result of being raised by his mother. This is why he went along with the alien story so willingly.

When my dad would talk about Felicia, he would grimace. He put up with her because he loved my Uncle Mack like the surrogate father he never had. Uncle Mack would respond by changing the subject to an exciting story about his days as a Teamster, like the time he dodged a car bomb Jimmy Hoffa planted in his car. Everyone would be entranced and the conversation would not be so strange.

Once my sister Skipper made the mistake of asking what planet the aliens were from. She was seven and didn't realize Felicia was cukoo for coca puffs. My brother Wendell elbowed her and that was the end of that. It was an excellent question, so excellent that I think it's better even to this day that the answer remains a mystery.

Felicia went so far as to take this theory to my Pop Pop. Yes, my dearly departed grandfather. He was a Navy Vet from World War II that served in the Pacific Theatre. After the war, he married my Nunni and served as a swim coach for his six children and meet ref. A mild mannered guy who loved to laugh, my grandfather was generally easy going and accepted everyone. Felicia found herself speaking to my Pop Pop. She got to the place in the story where her son got abducted by aliens and turned gay. My Pop Pop had enough and walked away. He said to my mother, "What is wrong with that woman? On second thought I don't want to know. Keep her away from me."

"Oh you mean Felicia. She's crazy." My mom replied apologetically. She and my Pop Pop were quite close.

My Pop Pop just took a breath and said to my mom, "Annie, she says her son got abducted by aliens."

"I know." My mom said.

Pop Pop then told her, "She says that's why he's gay."

"I know Dad. I know." My mom repeated. She had heard the story a million times like we all had. It got more bizarre every time.

"You know, her kid's gay. He isn't hurting anyone. Why can't she just deal with her gay son and stop making up some stupid story? It makes the kid's life worse and it makes her sound like an idiot." My grandfather observed. He was right.

Felicia's son might or might not have been abducted by aliens, but accepting that he was gay was difficult for her. This was still the 90s, the age of Don't Ask, Don't Tell. My grandfather despite his advanced age had more insight than anyone at the party. He could cut through the crazy story to see the truth, and wouldn't stick around to hear any of the bullshit.

This week my grandparents would have been married for sixty something odd years had they both lived. For the record, I have a cousin who has been struck by lightening three times and survived. So we are good at knowing which crazies are real and which aren't.

RIP Pop Pop.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Pre-order my DVD Broke and Semi-Famous @
www.aprilbrucker.com

Appearances and Assumptions

Saturday George Zimmerman was found not guilty. I am not writing about how that disgusted me, although it did. I am not writing about how a kid died because he wore a hoodie and had a bag of Skittles, although we all know he did. Hell, I could go on all day about the overzealous Neighborhood Watch cop wannabe now afraid of vigilantes. But the truth of the matter is, that’s not what I want to write about. I want to write about how assumptions based upon stereotype cripple people not only as individuals but as a whole, and how they are crippling us as a nation.

When I first moved to New York City I really didn’t have black friends. Actually I had one growing up, but she did the stereotypical thing of having a child in high school. She was one of five black people in our school, and they were all related. After she had her kid we drifted apart, but we were still friends. I had a friend who dated one of her cousins in high school, and immediately this young woman was labeled. Of course we were told growing up that as white women we should never date black men. Be friends yes, date no. Oh and it was understood that he would be lazy, he would beat us, and leave us stranded with his child. Then I moved to New York and met black women who didn’t have children in high school but went to college. I met black men who didn’t beat their girlfriends, didn’t go to jail, and didn’t leave their women stranded to care for their children alone. Yes, there are trashy black people. There are trashy white people. There are trashy people of every freaking race.

Ironically I became fast friends with a lot of black people. Believe it or not, I was raised more like them than the white prep school kids I went to classes with. Whenever we misbehaved growing up, they got beaten by their dad or mom. So did I. They went to church every Sunday. So did I. As a matter of fact their parents made sure they knew their Bible. Mine did too. More often than not I found them easier to relate to than a lot of the white kids around. Oh, and I voted for Obama. Not because he is black you racist, but because he is a friend to women.

When I moved to the city as well, I had never been around so many damn people who spoke Spanish. Like every high school kid in America, I was forced to grin and bear the language. Every class, there would be people making some joke about deporting Pablo. I’ll admit, I am guilty of laughing. To us people who spoke Spanish were usually illegals. Why did we have to learn what one of my classmates called “the language of restaurant works?” Upon moving to the city, I remember getting on the wrong train in a Spanish neighborhood and having a run in with a dude who had a grill, skin missing, and looking back was probably either schizophrenic or high on crack (both make you sexually rabid). Needless to say after chasing me around the train station and telling me he was going to rape me, I ended up throwing a box of cookies at him and getting on the train. After that, I was not a big fan of anyone who spoke Spanish for sometime.

But that was an unfortunate human error on my part, and a power greater than myself straightened that out. Friends were put in my life who were not only wonderful people, but spoke Spanish as a first language. There are my friends at Vibe West. Then there is my talented friend Carlos. Oh and then Eduardo, or Tio Ude who is the most fantabulous costume designer ever. My dearly departed friend Chacho, who I would have trusted with my life and I know who’s spirit still is around me. Derek and Fernando who are Mexican and legal, and the list goes on. Oh and yes, some of the Spanish folks who work in my hood are illegal, but so what? They are working. They aren’t bothering anyone. They are living quietly. Leave them alone. And they are working which is more than I can say for some people I know. Bottom line, there are shitty people who speak every language in the world. However, there are also good people. For instance Pat Robertson speaks English and he is a dreadful human being. Also, one does not represent all. Thank goodness I figured that out otherwise I would be watching The 700 Club.

Then of course where I grew up there was the belief Muslims were terrorists who were all worshipping Allah is the guise of Satan. When 9/11 happened, several of my male classmates joined the army to “blow up towel heads.” Upon getting ready to move to New York, I was told by several former classmates to stay away from Arabs as well as adults.

Well I moved to the city and found out the opposite was true. A lot of Arab Americans are good Americans. They work and own stores in my neighborhood for the most part. In my experience, they are friendly hardworking people who care about their business, their customers, and their families. Every Halloween they give out candy and put up decorations because they want to fit in the place they now call home. Oh and their children aren’t making bombs because they are working in the stores on weekends and during summer break.

But these hurtful stereotypes set us back. It’s like saying gay people seek to recruit children and are child molesters. Most of the LGBTQ people I have come into contact with would never dream of hurting a child, and they would jump in front of a mac truck before they did. And while there are some gay pedophiles, there are a lot of straight ones too that are equally disgusting and we never hear about them recruiting our children for the straight world. It’s like saying all Jews are cheap. While some may be, I have met generous Jewish people in my lifetime. It’s like saying all Catholics are insane and intolerant, I have met some that are but many more that are wonderful people of faith. I could go on all day.

I had a disturbing encounter with a young woman the other day in a store. Basically she was on the big girl side. She marched up to me, and unprompted told me I was too skinny and needed to eat more. I was really angry because I have struggled with my weight and know how it feels when people are awful to you. I remember mouthing off to her and flipping her the bird, said “this is what a size two looks like, bitch” and walking off. I took my anger to facebook like a mature woman of dignity and grace. However, the truth was, this young woman was spiritually sick. She probably has been tormented her entire life by people who are size two. Meanwhile she assumes my life has been easy which was arrogant of her. Not to mention I used to be forty pounds heavier so I know how nasty people are. However, she was so lost in her despair that she didn’t realize that looks can be deceiving, and perhaps I can identify with her more than a lot of people. While I made the mistake of feeding into it, this addresses a much bigger problem.

That people are guilty of judging on the basis of appearance. We all do it. We all group and generalize because as people, that is what we can go on. What is the first thing we attack in an argument, a person’s looks because it is right there on the surface. Often times it is not the issue. Yes, criminals can be black, but I have white cousins who have tested the system. Yes, creepy men can be Spanish, but I have met some white creepy men as well. Yes, Arabs can be terrorists but did we forget about the white Army of God or the white NRA? I could go on but I am just repeating myself.

Bottom line, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr said not to “Judge a person by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” This also means not jumping to conclusions when someone looks a certain way. That means not to assume someone is a criminal because of their outward appearance. That means not to assume someone is a pedophile because of their orientation. That means thinking before you make assumptions. That means don’t fill your heart with unjustified, uninformed hate. Rather think and investigate before you assume, because when you assume you make an ass out of u and me.

Otherwise, unfortunately, someone else will have to bury their teenage son because they were carrying a bag of Skittles and wearing a hoodie in the rain.

Love 

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.aprilbrucker.com 

29 x/y Is a Must See

29 xy

When I go to a place like the Wild Project I expect to see risky, experimental work. Upon attending the Fresh Fruit Festival, I expect to see work addressing the LGBTQ experience as it changes. Work that is experimental can either be groundbreaking or an exercise in masturbation with no point. A theatre experience that highlights the plight of a marginalized minority now finding their voice can be moving or a pity fest. 29 xy, conceived, written, and directed by Marcus Yi was experimental and groundbreaking in a good way. Despite being in a gay play fest, it was not a whine fest about the LGBTQ experience. Rather, it was an out of the box, fun, avante garde, deep, spiritual moving piece that addressed everyone the questions they had.

The reasoning for the title, 29 xy, is because this age group is on the cusp of Generation X and Generation Y, but also it is a question about one’s gender and gender roles throughout the whole thing. Can women and men feel? What do they want? What do gay people want? What do straight people want? What do we all want? Can we work together or are we forced to be butting heads?

The piece begins with an ensemble number. It was men on one side, women on the other. They asked important questions about what generation they belonged to. Grotowski inspired, 29 xy had much of a physical theatre element to it. The first vignette began with a man and a woman dancing. The voiceover played where the man and woman argued about who was superior and who’s ideas were better. On several occasions there was a competition with push ups, etc. At the end of the vignette it was understood that the two would always be dancing together and against each other as the dynamic of the world changed.

From there the actors did the Brechtian move of breaking the fourth wall and introducing themselves to the audience. I wondered why this was done, but however was going to give the piece a chance to develop. After meeting the actors, and for the record I met London, then there was another series of vignettes. These challenged gender, identity, and ones perception. 

Memorable vignettes included two girls saying things like, “Yeah!” and then playing paddycake. This was a humorous yet social commentary on how women will dumb themselves down in order to either appease a man or to fit the box society has constructed for them. These two young women would later be seen on the stage with two other actresses, dressed in drag. Both the actresses dressed as men also spoke in gibberish and each of the girls were wooed by them. The “men” then fought it out and ultimately the girls walked off with the actor they believed to be more “manly.” This was a commentary again on female roles, but also a Meisner-esque experience in that dialogue is only subtext.

Of course there were other more telling shout outs to the Generation X and Y. One was the vignette where the actors did monologues about things that were “wanted.” One young woman was dressed as a nun and talked about how another deity was “wanted,” a sort of a kinder, softer Higher Power. Another was an atheist who wanted company for the end of the world. The third, a woman who was dressed as a cat was applying for a job as a professional housecat. Laugh out loud as well as telling, she is a testament to how desperate this generation is for jobs. After her was a man who had a fetish, he wanted someone dressed as Super Mario to “come and fuck him.” Lastly, it was a straight woman who simply wanted a lover. This vignette, reminiscent of SNL when it was still funny, highlights Generation X/Y’s dependence on craigslist and all the foolish things people ask for.

My favorite parts of the show, however, were the letters. One young woman, who’s graduate program sent her a request for donations, was unemployed. She basically told them off in a monologue. This spoke using comedy about the alienation this generation feels in the job market, as people washed on the shores during the recession. The other was a monologue from a young man who had just broken up with his wife, obviously a college sweetheart, and was sleeping with everything that walked. In this monologue he details sex with everyone from the barely legal tartlette at the bar to her sister. However, though the humor was something deeper. It was that despite the social stigma on men having feelings, they do. That men do not only feel deeply but also think deeply and love deeply, even if they veil it through inane discourse about their sexual conquests.

My second favorite part of the show was the audience awards. During this portion, audience members are given awards. Later, when I interviewed Marcus Yi himself, he told me this was why the actors introduced themselves. Categories included “Best Lover”, etc. I won the “Terrorist Killer” title for rape and torture of terrorists. I was brought up onstage by the actors and given the award. This was a fun spectacle and got the rest of the audience involved.

Of course then the show was back to the monologues and vignettes. One sweet vignette was a man and a woman performing partially in Russian and partially in English about how they couldn’t live without each other and loved each other. This kind display showed that love knew no boundaries regardless of race, color, sexuality, or language.

Following this was a humorous vignette about a gay man who had his first visit to a bath house and about how when he finally got there, it wasn’t what he expected. It ends with him telling a oignant anecdote about being at the HIV clinic when his friend tested positive. After that was a powerful monologue about a young man who was a math genius that was spurned. The love affair began in math class but ended with him shooting his lover. Whether the lover was male or female was hard to say. Perhaps it was meant to be ambiguous, again, addressing that love can lead and land in heartbreak no matter what the orientation. Finally, another gay man appeared. This time to speak humorously yet honestly about the stereotype that gay men are feminized, and about how women view them more as gossip buddies and wardrobe consults than people. The monologue in this vignette addresses how stereotypes marginalize in more ways than one, and we group people as a whole rather than individuals.

29 x/y then of course ended with a dance party. While I was sad to see the show end, there is something about being pulled onstage by the actors and dancing that makes it all awesome. 29 x/y was an awesome experience, and Marcus Yi is the next great voice in Downtown Theatre. While the piece is woven together in a threadbare fashion, it fits well and the risk is worth watching.

Several Yi ensemble regulars peppered the cast such as Sonia Nam, Richard Glucksberg, and Lauren Gralton. However, one should also watch for these names Alyssa Shari Ross, AJ Heekin, Tatyana Kalko, Amy Melissa Bentley, Leigh Hendrix, Erica Wiederlight, London Griffith, Shane Hall, Matthew Pohlman, Patty Santa Cruz, Luis Restrepo, and Taras Chopenko. All worked as strong unit with not one weak link amongst them. Each has a promising future in the theatre ahead of them.

This experimental work would have made Grotowski and Brecht proud. Can’t wait to see what is next from Marcus Yi, one of the brightest rising stars in the American Theatre. 29 x/y is a must see

www.aprilbrucker.com

Jesus Wrote My Blog: What He Thinks of the Election

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

I am hi-jacking April's blog today to clear up a few things before the election. Some of my children, the ones on the short bus, claim to have read my book. Many cannot read to begin with so they probably listened to the book on tape version. But let's clear the air about the Bible shall we? For starters, I never wrote it. The Bible is basically a diary of the happenings of life before and after me. I am just that important, what can I say? I have millions of followers coupled with an absentee father who let me get nailed to a cross. My mother was a Virgin. My father was a carpenter. What I am trying to say is that MY STORY HAS BEEN LOST IN TRANSLATION MANY TIMES. Some people added their own spice and some things got mistranslated in general. I have been in Hebrew, Latin, Greek, and English just to name a few. Cool, huh? Random House will you give me a book deal?

Now that we are on the subject I have never, ever disrespected women in my scriptures. There has never been anything said about a woman's right to choose. I think women need to choose to respect themselves and have fun but be smart about it. After all, I shacked up with a lady of the night and she was one of my best followers.

Also, I never said anything about disrespecting gay people. Let them be gay. Let them marry men and women. As long as they are decent people. Gay men created Broadway and make pretty music. They make the world a more beautiful place. Lesbians are the best plumbers, contractors, and stage managers there are. Plus they have a monopoly on softball, volleyball and basketball. God made no mistake when he made these decisions. Did I mention they wrote a musical about me? Oh gosh I am melting. Hugh Jackman come on over!

This same misunderstanding and hate was the catylist beind the anti-Civil Rights movements in the South. Many preached that I said that blacks were better off as slaves and subserviants. I never said such a thing. If anything, in case you haven't heard the blacks make better music in their churches and I have more fun there. God also gave them the ability to make great music and to play basketball and football. Racism disappears when there is money involved. The devil created racism and God created money. You decide which one wins.

We have a black president right now too. He's got my vote.

As for our Jewish brothers and sisters, they might not believe in me and that's fine. They cook well and their mothers nag and I empathize because I grew up with a Jewish mother. That is why I know the importance of hard work, discipline, and balancing my check book. When they get to heaven I always make sure they are my accountants. God makes no mistakes.

I like the Arabs too. They believe I am a minor profit. While some people would kick and scream it's like being a huge star in America but only a supporting actor in Japan. I can live with it.

I feel like a woman should have the right to choose. No one goes to the abortion clinic because they are bored on a Thursday.

I feel like the gays should marry. Let everyone be excited about planning the wedding.

I feel like there should be socialized healthcare. Everyone regardless of who they are deserve to be cared for by a doctor. In case you did not hear I love all and come in the form of a beggar from time to time. That is why all my children should be cared for.

Pat Robertson is not my creation. He is an alien.

Mitt Romney is not a Mormon but secretly worships the devil. I don't take it personally, Satan needs her fans too. What, you thought the devil was a man? Come on, something that angry and deceitful must have some hormonal influx once a month.

So vote wisely tomorrow. Also, keep those affected by Sandy in your prayers. They did nothing to deserve this devistation. My father is doing his best to deliver. We all are. The end of the world is not coming you morons. Instead we have a few hundred more years of this. My dad is having too much fun with his toy creations, I am just walking on water to keep in shape, and the angels are playing poker. If the world ends it will be the end of our fun.

Son of God out

Praying to Aliens

When I was a kid I had an aunt and uncle, well they weren’t really an aunt and an uncle. More or less my dad’s good friends. We had known them forever. They were Uncle Vince and Aunt Nelly. Uncle Vince had worked with the Unions back in the day, and had a run in with Jimmy Hoffa that resulted in Hoffa planting a car bomb in my Uncle Vince’s car. Uncle Vince missed by a minute, thank God. Anyway, Uncle Vince was married to some religious nut before meeting my Aunt Nelly. She was all into the whole Catholic thing. It was too much for him so he left her for my Aunt Nelly.

My Aunt Nelly in a word was insane. She had her hair dyed white blonde, and would rack up the phone bills calling The Psychic Friend’s Network when it was on television in the 1990s. Aunt Nelly was the one who turned me onto astrology, tarot, and other things. She even fashioned her own Ouija Board. We had fun playing with it, but my father reminded us that we were Catholics and were to engage in no such things. He said it was the gate to hell. But we all knew my Aunt Nelly was insane. She insisted that her dead husband, the one she cheated on to no end, haunted her basement. He walked there with her dead mother that she never got along with either.

According to her, Aunt Nelly’s dead husband was much too controlling. And her dead mother was too judgmental, but in the afterlife everyone had become good friends. While this was quite the revelation, Robert Stack and the crew of Unsolved Mysteries was nowhere to be found.

One day we were having some sort of backyard party, I think it was for my sister’s first Communion. My grandfather, who at this point still worked full time and played tennis was in attendance at this affair. I have insane family members, so he has the patient of a saint. My Aunt Nelly and my grandfather struck up a conversation. They talked out their kids. My grandfather talked about all six of his. He mentioned my mother was a champion swimmer, my uncle a lawyer, my other aunt married a dentist and had a daughter who was trying to be a professional ballerina. Of course there was my other aunt who was in dental school, and then the other aunt who was a periodic actress. And then there was my uncle, a high school art teacher who was trying to sell his paintings. Of course he also mentioned my grandmother, who while quite insane was a poet and was currently trying to get her work published.

Then it came to my Aunt Nelly’s kids.

Aunt Nelly mentioned she had four. Her first was a daughter who she said refused to speak to her. Apparently, when my Aunt Nelly left her husband, her daughter took offense and asked, “Why is my mother such a whore and why does she dress in provocative clothing?”

Then she mentioned another daughter, who grinned and beared my aunt. Apparently they had come to some peace, only if my Aunt Nelly was forbidden to talk about her estrogen treatments, her sex life with my Uncle Vince, and the fact that both her dead mother and dead husband were friends in her basement.

Then there was a son who actually had a good relationship with my aunt, probably because he lived in California, hardly called, and visited once a year.

That’s when she came to her last son, her so called problem child by the name of Dan. According to my Aunt Nelly, Dan had been a rebellious teen who one day had disappeared. He was walking behind a car. My aunt had apparently called the police. There was no rhyme or reason for why he had just up and left. And when they turned their heads he was gone. A search was put out and the young man was never found. Eight months later she got a call from the mountains in Colorado. Apparently, he was on a lot of drugs and had been living in a commune with a gay cult. When she asked Dan how he got there he was unsure. He said he didn’t remember. But after watching a special on television and deducing the clues my Aunt Nelly had come to one conclusion, her son had been abducted by aliens.

My grandfather stared in disbelief. My Aunt Nelly continued to explain that her son had never previously been gay but now he was gay and this was the only way she could explain it. When she confronted her son with the evidence he agreed. Apparently he had been in the parking lot when the aliens had just snatched him. When they snatched him they had introduced him to an alien God and once he got the message he was dropped back onto the planet into this gay cult. According to my aunt the UFOs were the reason her child was gay, did drugs, and chanted in tongues when he spoke about God. This was all too much for my grandfather who, despite being the nicest little old man with the tolerance level of a saint. He got up, told her to shut up, and walked away. My sister and I exchanged a glance of what.

Afterwards he told my mother never to invite the woman who he classified as “absolutely dreadful” to a party he was at again. This says a lot because at the time my grandfather had my Aunt Rhonda in the house, who worked all the Renaissance Faires and would be in fairy character around the house. He dealt with that peacefully. However, this was all just too much for him.

My grandfather, always well ahead of his time said, "The kid's gay. I don't see any problem with that. The problem that I see is that his mother is a nutcase."

My brother made some remark about how Sally Struthers was perhaps my Aunt Nelly’s true Lord and Savior and that this was the message her son carried from the space ship. Then my mom informed us it has been much worse. During an adults only gathering at her home, my Aunt Nelly invited her problem child Dan who testified to his alien abduction, talked about life on the spaceship, and left everyone aghast.

My dad chimed in, “Anne, you should tell your dad that it could have been worse. Not only did we get to see Dan testify to his alien abduction but then he showed us the place in the back of his skull where they probed him shortly before he became gay once and for all.”

There was a silence in the room. My mom just said, “Bill, I think we will leave that detail out for my dad. He’s been through enough.”

Needless to say we never did meet Dan. Some people are in denial about what makes their child gay. Others accept it. I think this was a bizarre mixture of both. My aunt was accepting of her gay son, but she was blaming the flying saucers for the fact he liked men just as much as she did. Either way, it seems they were praying to the aliens.

Love April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Pleasantly Surprised

As you all know I host my own show on YouNow.com called Confessions. Last night I invited a friend of mine on who recently went through a gender transition and is now an F to M. Translated, when he was born a biological woman but always identified as a man. I asked Shai to do the show to add a little depth to things. Thus far the show has been a lot of tawdry sex stories and I wanted to mix it up by giving someone who truly had something to say a true platform. And that person would be Shai.

To give you a little background on my friendship with Shai I knew him when he was living as a woman. I remember him being unhappy as he struggled finding himself. I remember him also suffering with bouts of severe depression. During that point in our friendship I would worry about him. I knew him to be a butch lesbian at the time though and thought perhaps he, well rather she at this point, was going through a rough spot. It was however when he came out as trans and asked to be referred to as male pronouns that it all clicked. The word trans has only entered our vocabulary in the last decade or so and even still we are struggling to understand it. I do believe nature makes mistakes and unfortunately sometimes people can be born in the wrong body.

Over the past year I had seen Shai transform into a strapping young man. As I witnessed this I thought perhaps I should make my show a platform for some activism. That’s when I asked him to be on.

Truth be told after I asked I felt a flinch in my stomach. Being the Mama Foxxx of Confessions I know we get people from all over in the chat on YouNow. While Adi Sideman and company are good about manning it, it just takes one moron to make someone feel unwelcome forever. I was ready to play Ninja though. The way my chat works is that there is no racism, anti-Semitism, homophobia, transphobia, or weightism of any kind. If I see that the person is reported and they are banned. But with the advent of a trans-person what would the reaction be? Would there be an onslaught of this? I was prepared.

When Shai came on his mic wasn’t working. It looked like they were going to vote him off. Oh no, this was already going to be a disaster. However once the mic began working Shai started talking. That’s when the people in the chat pleasantly surprised me. They asked intelligent questions about Shai’s transition as well as his taking of testosterone as well as the surgery required to reassign one’s gender. In addition they also wanted to know more about Shai’s life and skills. Very confidently, in a deep male voice, he informed them that he could beat box and rap. He rapped a little for us, told us about his welding and his parakeet sat on his shoulder the entire time. The audience responded in turn with love and support not only for his bravery to tell his story but for his courage to be himself. I was pleasantly surprised at this. Not only was I proud of my friend Shai for finding happiness and taking perhaps one of the biggest risks one can take to do it, but also for my friends and fans on the younow chat for being supportive, inquisitive, respectful and tolerant. I would have to say I was so pleasantly surprised I almost cried. And even better the audience not only did not want Shai to go but they want him back every week!

My only regret was having to bump him out after a while. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to hear more about his new life or transition which were very fascinating but unfortunately there were five more people waiting to go live, I had started late, and as host it is unfortunately my job to keep things moving. And unfortunately that means being the bad guy. But if any one of my broadcasters took a risk last night it was Shai, and he taught us all a little something about what it truly takes to be brave.

This morning I kept thinking why I was drawn so much to activism and giving people like Shai a platform to do it. The answer was, not only was I bullied as a child but also went through the nightmare of an abusive relationship as an adult. And the reason I am so sympathetic to LGBTQ causes is that the friends who got me through that time in my life were mostly gay. They cooked for me, did my hair, and gave me the smack in the head I needed. Because of those experiences not only don’t I like to see people bullied in any way but will give anyone a platform for any sort of activism, especially LGBTQ people.

I also thought about what a wonderful new network YouNow is. Adi Sideman and Robert Galinsky have gone out of their way to make it safe and welcoming for anyone of any walk of life, ethnic background, sexual orientation or faith. In essence perhaps we have created an internet utopia.

As for Shai, I am pleased to call you my friend and best of luck on your journey to becoming the man you always dreamed of being. You now have a new set of friends and family members at younow.com who want you to come back every week. Xo April