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Hello you guysss! Beautiful day today in Pennsylvania :)

Oh boy! where do I start?

Yesterday was a good day for me. It was one of those peaceful happy days that not many people have often, so I really tried not to take it for granted- and I didn't.

Relationshipwise everything was wonderful. I really mean that... BUT then came the night.

Okay where do I begin?... well I was sexually rejected. Straight to the point.

So based on everything you guys have read on my blog, you guys can tell that I am sensitive on that area of my womanhood. I really dislike being rejected. What woman doesn't?

It doesn't matter how beautiful you are, if you are rejected by the man you love, you feel UGGGLY! and you feel crushed. That's how I feel.

I have felt rejected before and it ussually lasts the whole night and then I get over it in the morning and just remember that he loves me and that he always wants me, but that it just wasn't a good night for him. Well, this time is not happening. I feel just like I felt the moment it happened... I actually feel worst. I'm not mad, I am just... hurt.

Usually when you have a great day with your partner, you have this fairytale idea of how the day is going to end. So do I, but I guess it didn't happen. Now, rejecting is bad in itself- but you have to be careful on what moment you reject.

He rejected me when I had my fucking clothes off.

I am not mad, just want to make that clear. I am swearing just because in a way I am mad at myself. I always throw myself out there to him sexually and I don't rely on these kind of moment. The more you throw yourself out there the more it hurts.

I cried so much last night over this. That is another thing that makes me mad also. I hate crying.

He tried to make it up to me, but girls come on! you know it feels like a "job" after something like that happens. It might not be that way, but it feels like they are just doing it to please you, and that is a turn off on itself.

Another thing is that he didn't "verbally" reject me, but his actions spoke for themselves. He was falling asleep, and I ... well I was LITERALLY moaning.

See what I mean about throwing myself out there? I went all the way to a place that I shouldn't have gone to. To dangerous to my ego and pride.

Then I cried and I got really angry, not at him.. just angry- period. Then you start thinking silly things about how you should make him feel the same way, but then I realized that I won't even have to. It is going to take me some time to get over this one, because every time that the sex topic comes up, I am going to remember last night and feel really bad. Horniness and hurt don't work very well together.

I am sure that he NEVER meant for any of that to happen. I believe it in my heart, but like I said to him...

It really doesn't matter if you meant it or not because in the end... it hurts just the same.  :(

But anyways...

It's summer and I'm not in college so, I'm gonna spend my time watching movies and eating... YAY! :)

Have a good week!

It's no real surprise that the man who compared gay marriage to bestiality should be unpopular amongst London's gay and lesbian community.  What is surprising is that the chinless twat turned up in the first place.

With his administration falling apart at the scenes faster than anyone could even of hoped for it will be intersting to see if Boris has the gall to show up at the Rise festival next weekend in Finsbury Park.  Sales of rotten eggs are set to soar if the bumbling fuckwit has got the guts to face the people of Central London.

Although to give him credit, he's doing a fine job of showing up the Tories as being the bad joke they are.

Chewing PMS pills like they are candy while sitting on 2 bloody pads (can we say ridiculously heavy flow day?) clutching my heat pad doesn't make my sound bitter does it? I've even had a bag of Cheetos. Something I had quit doing. I know if I get up and do something (like mop my disgusting bathroom floor) I wont feel quit as shitty. It is just so hard to start.

In other news classes start back Tuesday. Thank God!!! I need something (besides cleaning) to do. I hope that I like them. It is strange to think that I did this for 4 and a half years and after 1 quarter I can't do it for 3 weeks without losing my marbles just a little bit. I know for the first bit I was pregnant, then I lived in the newborn fog. Then it was walking and talking and weaning and then potty training.

Now P is pretty self-sufficient and I just spend my days answering insane questions and telling him no a lot. No wonder I am ready to go back to class. I can't decide if it sucks more to be me and say no 4,000 a day or him to hear no 4,000 times a day. He wants to throw everything and leave legos everywhere (even though he is the one that ends up stepping on them and hurting his feet) and break things. He begs and begs to do something and then when I let him he doesn't like it or changes his mind. I know that it can be overwhelming to him, but good grief!!

There are so many things  I want to blog about that are just too complicated for me to try to put into a post. Politics being one of them. I do think about things other than how miserable I am. It just seems to be the shitty things that I blog about lately. Some days I am not depressed and don't hate myself and I can think to myself that maybe I could finish school and even go on a date again.

Then something like a letter from the college saying I have to pay $500 by Tuesday or I am dropped from my classes comes in the mail. Even though I am sure it is an error it still makes me want to freak out a little. It reminds me that I have nearly 3 more years and how am I going to make it and what if I flunk out and on and on.

Something as innocent as a picture could depress me. I might let someone take my picture 3 or 4 times a year, usually at family holidays. That is 1 or 2 pictures and I've had enough. So I had forgot about the last picture of me and P at that festival a while back. My mom emailed me a copy of it a few weeks later that just depressed me. She wasn't trying to hurt my feelings when she added a note saying she had touched up my tummy a little. As much of a bitch as she can be, she isn't ever cruel.  But the idea that my own mother thought I wouldn't be hurt by her thinking that I needed photoshopping makes me want to cry.

Enough of that crap. I'll go clean something. At least cleaning is usually something I can do without fucking up and dirt doesn't mind my fat ass. I just love mood swings, they are almost as much fun as bloating, cramps and diarrhea. In an ideal world we wouldn't have all this crap. I'm sorry, but if they can make pills for men to have erections they should be able to make a pill to cut this crap out every month.

As I wondered around the neighborhood this Fourth of July weekend something was missing. 

When I was young it was overly apparent that July 4^th was on everyone’s mind. There were flags everywhere. And not just flags, but various banners and sometimes even lights. 

People do forget. 

After 911 I noticed an increase in patriotism. Flags could not be kept on the shelf at your local hardware store. I saw flags everywhere – not just on the outside of homes but on cars as well. 

Fast forward a couple years and even though we have a multitude of soldiers still around the world fighting, the effects of 911 have worn away and general apathy has once again set it. 

I almost forgot my flag this year – caught up with packing for a much needed vacation – I thought to myself, “what I hassle it would be to go up into the attic, get the flag, and fix the mount that had broken the previous year.” 

Those thoughts, however fleeting they may have been, bothered me. Somewhere there are soldiers just wishing they could be home and fly the flag in their own yard. Needless to say I, of course, put up the flag and actually purchased a second one to put out front as well. 

It is easy to get caught up with life’s inertia. With everyone looking at an upcoming election, the economy, and raising fuel and food prices, we forget to show our appreciation for the basic freedoms we enjoy everyday. 

I think I will have to fly the flag extra days this year – seems we need to remember now, more than ever, how good we have it. 

This attitude seems to differ with much of the teaching I hear these days. We are always trying to talk about who we are in Christ. It doesn’t matter who I am in Christ. What matters is who Christ is in me! I am a slave, He is everything. I don’t need to pump myself up with pop-psychology, self esteem building words. I choose the words of James, I am a slave. This doesn’t mean I walk around with a woe is me attitude. It is better to be slave to the king than to be owner of nothing. He is the best master in the universe. He cares for His slaves!

Lord, help me find myself in You. Help me humble myself and trust You. Simply being Your slave is better than anything this world has to offer.

We left Fargo on Saturday morning for the trip down, making the requisite stop at the outlet mall (and liquor store) in Albertville. Staying at the Radisson downtown is super convenient during Pride, as you walk pretty much everywhere. We ate at the IDS Center and then pre-gamed for the En Vogue concert at the festival. Let's just say I was having a lot of fun that night...

...when I bumped into a couple of the stars from Noah's Arc. I really hope I didn't make too much of an ass of myself :) .

After a great show from Deborah Cox and En Vogue we returned to our hotel room, had a few more drinks, and then went to the Gay 90's. One of our party stayed back at the hotel room though as they had too many Apple Pie shots when we were at the park for the concert (aka they passed out). The night at the 90's was a lot of fun, I made out with a boy and I got to see one of my friends unleashed - she made out with everyone and grabbed their junk too. It was awesome, but boy was I hung over on Sunday morning.

We dragged ourselves out to the parade, for a little while, on Sunday morning.

Al Franken was there (like last year) as was a rainbow dog. Yep, some guy dyed his dog red/orange/yellow/green/blue/violet. We eventually left the parade before it ended and went to Panera Bread - which doesn't sit well with me when I'm hung over. We made the walk to the park to browse the festival, which was as commercial as usual. Then we went to Uptown and ate at the Independent - my steak was awesome.

Sunday night was spent somewhat at the Saloon (I got to know some of the Grand Forks gays that I'll be around when I move in August) and then at the Gay 90's again. Sunday was less fun as a group since we all kind of scattered in separate directions. I ended the night not at my hotel room... if you know what I mean ;) .

We were slow about getting out of town on Monday. Checked out of our hotel room at noon, then headed to Edina to eat at the Cheesecake Factory (yum!). It was an awesome weekend and definitely one of my most fun prides ever - fun group and we did a bit of everything. Most important there was no drama. Year 4 was definitely the best pride ever... and I can't wait until next year.

Later!

I got a basic sewing machine for my birthday a few months ago, and while I got through the small stack of mending and altering fairly quickly, I hadn't decided what my next project/s would be.

The internet has all kinds of fun stuff, and I found this tutorial for a tote bag at Sew, Mama, Sew!, and I thought that would be a good stepping stone for me:  more complex than the straight hemming and stuff I'd been doing, but still pretty much stitching rectangles together.  I didn't have any "home decor" fabric, but I did have some navy blue cotton with white polka dots from a dress that I decided didn't fit right anymore.  I had taken out the zipper from the dress to repair the case on my memory foam pillow a couple weeks ago, and that went...um.  I'm not posting pictures of it, but it'll serve.  Zippers are tricky.

Anyway, so I was cannibalizing the dress anyway, and I was feeling like busting out ma maquina de coser, and I thought I'd try to do a half-scale version of the bag.  Although I don't have any of the fancy tools that the tutorial mentions (oooh, xmas list!), or even good sharp scissors, I barrelled through it and came up with this little number:

Which I'm pretty pleased with.  I managed to line up the dots of the patch pocket to those of the bag itself (more or less), and while my seams aren't totally straight, it turned out better than I thought.  That is, it turned out.

The scale may not be clear, but the bag itself is about 7 inches high, so  it's just a little thing, good for the don't-leave-the-house-without-em basics: wallet, keys, phone, lip balm. 

So yes, I will be returning to this pattern at full scale once I get some properly heavy fabric (and the right needle for the fabric).  I may make a few of these as presents, since they're meant to be used as permanent washable grocery bags, and there is really NO reason to be taking plastic bags from the store.  MOM. 

Just kidding, my mom doesn't read this.  You want one?

This is not to say that my parents do/did not love me in their own way. But I remember standing at my father's casket after almost everyone had left on that terrible night that they call "the viewing" and just keening (a word that my friend Kathleen gave to me years ago) and apologizing for not making him proud. It was an intensely personal moment, and one that I had not planned on, and I wish to god that everyone had left me alone until it had passed, but of course, my mother sent someone over to keep me from making a fool of myself, and so, it was left unresolved because it was an apology that I truly felt that I needed to make. My father never saw me dig myself out of the hole that I had fallen into. After my divorce, I went through a succession of short-lived jobs and he despaired that I would never find myself, but I did. I went back to school. He never had the chance to get to know my second husband, a man who stepped in and really was there for me and my children when we needed someone, a man I really think that my father would have respected and liked. My father never had the chance to see any of this. So much was left unresolved.

My mother, on the other hand, has been around for all of this, and still doesn't quite know what to make of me. She still believes that I'm the same person I was ten years ago: lost, irresponsible, guided by my twofold grief. That I have changed she is unwilling to acknowledge for it is easier to believe otherwise. And so we have reached an uneasy existence: One in which I try to do my best by her with her many ailments and failing memory, and I promise myself not to be impatient when she makes remarks that could be construed as cutting. This is my only parent, I tell myself. I have no idea how many years I have left with her. She is not outwardly loving, and I remind myself that she is a child of the depression, that perhaps they did not have time to say "I love you" to one another in a family of 12 children, that hugs were probably sparse in a family in which the mother died young, that my own mother did not have a mother after 8, and was sent to live with sisters and so, while she was cared for, perhaps outward signs of affection were not passed out generously.

So I have to be content to know that deep in my heart, I am not a failure. I received many A's on my report cards. I supervised a newsroom before I was 20. I finished graduate school at 21. I've done some pretty cool things in life. But that doesn't stop the deep-seated insecurity that I carry with me to this day. Was my father proud of me? I hope so. The not knowing is a wound that pierces me. And this brings me to the second part of my entry: the fathers who are alive and have no concept of how they wound their children no matter how old they are.

I have tried to teach my children since an early age that they are all valuable people, yet I sense in each of them insecurities of different sorts: deep personal insecurities in one that come from a sense of abandonment, emotional insecurities in another because of a sense of not understanding the concepts of the give and take of love, and basic social insecurities in another because of a feeling of not understanding society and his place in it. Luckily, these insecurities can be worked on and there is still time for some parental love and understanding to help. Granted, motherly love can only go so far, and it is only a balm, not a curative, but if accepted, it can help. But in spite of it all, the one thing that we all give to each other freely are these three words: I love you. Each and every day. I'd like to think that that helps.

But what about the adults in my life who I see still hoping for recognition from their parents without ever getting close to acknowledgement? How much will it take for some parents to realize that their children are successful adults, living, working, and succeeding in a hard world that is actually not tied to their parents any more. The truly awful reality here is that some parents will not allow for that one moment of pride to slip between the overall facade of disappointment and bless their child with acceptance for being who they have become, choosing instead to hold onto the disappointment, whether that disappointment is leftover from a decade or even two decades ago. These individuals cannot let slip the noose of supposed injustice done to them, some wrong on some slate that has been tallied and memorized by only that person, while everyone else has moved on, happily ignorant through the years, thinking that yes, perhaps the purported love and forgiveness were genuine, not given with an unspoken caveat, i.e., yes, I forgive you, but only if you behave as I would have you behave.

Put that fatted calf back in the freezer. You haven't lived up to my expectations yet. Well, sure, you're a successful adult by everyone else's standards. You've put yourself through school? Great! But it wasn't the school I wanted you to go to. You own a house? Great! But it's not where I want you to live. You're married with children? Great! But it's not to the person I chose for you, and those aren't really your kids. You've expanded your horizons to learn about new ideas and concepts? That's wonderful, but they aren't in the approved curriculum. You've traveled to far away places and seen new things? My, my how you've grown, but was that really the best way to spend your money? You've become politically active? Well now, you know we don't believe in voting for that party in this family. Actually, I don't know who you are any more. I really think that you need to come home and spend more time with your real family. We have more work to do.

It's been going on since Mars fought Jupiter. Since Antigone stood up for what she believed in. Those darned kids, always getting into trouble, not following the rules.  But seriously, I wonder how many of us have run out of time and let our pride get in the way and not said what we should have said. I swear it will never happen to me again. I will never stand before another coffin and realize that I haven't said everything that I needed to say, as a child or a parent. Nothing is worth that moment of pain, that realization that that moment is never going to end.

All I really want to do is to fall into
The emptiness that is
The space in-between us
To break this division
All I really want to do is to fall into
The emptiness that is
The space in-between us
Erase it and bring us together again

My life's like an open book
Nothing is hidden when you look
You break through my boundaries
Revealing my insecurities
But through my pride
And through my shame
You show me love
You show me grace
I'm not looking back
Till I see your face
& I'm running straight to you
Because

Here I am saying I need you
I know I need you
Here I am, I'm coming to meet you
Cause I want to see you

...

Thanks to all who serve our country, and God bless them all.

Suomessa on ehkä maailman tylsin pride, onhan siinä vähän väriä yritetty saada, mutta muuten se on kyllä aika väritön. Mutta mielummin tylsä ja rauhallinen kuin uusnatsit kimpussa. Ollaan niin pieni maa ja meitä on vähän, että ei sellainen väriloisto ja karnevaalihenkisyys jota jossain nähdään edes varmaan onnistu jos ei yksinkertaisesti voimavaroja ole pienessä maassa tarpeeksi. Lisäksi Helsinkin priden järjestää helsingin seta. Pitäisi olla enemmän yhteystyötä ja järjestäjän olisi hyvä olla useamman järjestön muodostama kokonaisuus. Olen kuitenkin tyytyväinen siihen, että suomen pride on näinkin hyvä ja mun puolelta tulee kiitos työntekijöille. Itse toimin muutamassa järjestössä, joiden nimet jätän mainitsematta ja tiedän, että työ ei todellakaan ole helppoa ja ulkopuolisen on helppo arvostella ja ehdotella Käytännön toteutus on usein aivan jotain muuta.
Ja Hyvähän se mun on sanoa, kun itse olin sateenkaarilippuineni täällä kehä III:n ulkopuolella. Vietettiin Mikon kanssa omaa prideä sängyssä, oli picnic ja kaikkea. Ruoka oli vain nestemäistä, sopivan suolaista ja vähän makeaakin, sitä ei ollut sinänsä paljon ja ravintosisältö oli enimmäkseen proteiinia... Ja ennen kaikkea tuoretta ja sopivan lämmintä.

Kohta päästään saunaan.

Unfortunately, it was overwhelming. I got a lot of pressure and expectations from teachers who previously taught my older brother finding him to be a prodigy and only disappointment in me. I felt out of place when I found other students to know more than I did. I was terrified of numbers, I found that the loopy ABC's actually stood for the alphabet and we were expected to compose short paragraphs using them everyday. I had trouble spelling my short name. For a while, I came to hate my name... cursing it for the difficult letters that refused to loop in continuous lines.

I eventually figured out what everything stood for and found that I was a particularly good artist when it came to drawing assignments. I was so good my classmates would offer to give me their lunch moneys just to finish an illustrated assignment for them. I also found that I liked writing as it kept a record of things and events.

I later found that I could combine my drawings and writing together to create picture books. I horded as much scrap paper as I could, bind them into miniature books and drew and wrote endlessly. I eventually composed a storybook that involved a girl, faeries, white dwendes and black dwendes. I made sure to give my dogs guest appearances. It took me a very long time to finish the book but when I did, I treasured it and kept it in a plastic envelope with all the other scrap paper filled artwork and makeshift books. I showed it off to my parents who simply read it and said “Good job.” Surprisingly, neighbors and relatives who saw it seem really impressed especially with the carefully colored pictures.

My room was usually littered with scrap paper, scattered pens and pencils but I eventually cleaned it up and put them away. It annoyed me when my mom had a habit of telling me to clean it up right when I'm in the middle of drawing. One day, I found that my plastic envelope had disappeared and looked all over my room wondering where it was. It was no longer in its usual place and wondered what might have happened to it. My mom was burning freshly cut grass in the back and since she had just cleaned up the house, I went to ask if she might know where my plastic envelope was. I didn't really have to wonder what could possibly have happened to it because on top of a bench was an empty plastic envelope just a few meters away from the bonfire. I asked why she burned my drawings. The reply I got was that it was what I get for not tidying up my room. My room was tidy and there weren't any scattered debris of any sort. I was too afraid to present any challenge as she didn't seem to be in a good mood either. I felt an urge to drag the burning embers of my artwork from the flames.

I don't know if it was a deliberate action taken by my mother. I would later try to nag her for some details why she could possibly have decided to take those drawings instead. Other answers I was given was that she needed kindling and they were they only scraps of paper she found. The envelope contained the very first story I wrote and finished and I had always hoped that I would keep it forever. When I explained this, I was told that I can always make another one.

Later on, I would continue to draw further but wrote stories less. My writing was limited to what was assigned in school. Future creative writing proved fruitless as I found that I had trouble finishing any stories. I found that my drawings made me somewhat of a celebrity in school on the other hand. Everybody else seemed really impressed and amazed with something that came so easily to me but was ignored or didn't amount to much in my mother's eyes.

I would later find hints from my mother's conversations with neighbors or a few of our relatives that she made sure to instill humility in her children by treating them normally. My older brother was often suggested to skip grades because of how smart he was to which my mom would reply that she was afraid if he could cope socially so she wanted him to stay among children the same age as him. When I was brought up, it amounted to something along the lines that it would be fruitless since we didn't have any connections, were poor and art education was expensive; I was a girl, and I would probably grow out of the artsy phase someday. She took special attention with my younger brother until we found that he turned out to be a math wizard in high school.

I'm not sure if I came to be a nuisance to my mother later on when I ended up competing in art competitions often as my school's representative and won most of them. I kept fighting the pride that bubbled up reminding myself that it was a sin, playing back her comments about humility. The cheers and loud applause from a crowd while on stage to receive an award often brought butterflies in my stomach and euphoria but would dissolve when I would look back to catch a glimpse of my seemingly bored mother. When I find my thoughts drifting to wanting her to be proud of me, I would suddenly remember how blessed she must feel for having three gifted children, one of them standing on stage being awarded for her achievements right now... and then... pride. She must be feeling it. She's trying to be humble about it right now. I secretly wished to see pride in her eyes but I neither saw it when I turned or felt it behind me.

The message in "In the End", is, in addition to "don't take life for granted"- No matter what the outcome is, the journey itself is more important. What we've learned in life proves to be invaluable, and thus of far more worth than material gain, "perfection", or anything else. This also means that mistakes are what makes life worth living. The Ends doesn't justify the Means, and the Means doesn't justify the Ends, because both are irrelevant. The Journey itself is all that really matters in the long run. That's the message, in fewer words, they [Linkin Park] were trying to convey.

That's also a lifestyle which has defined my whole life, although I didn't *know* it till recently. I think in many ways, I was living life the *right* way long before I knew what was right, as if I was being guided by God, spirits- use your imagination...(!) I've learned (to word things a bit differently) that what's really important is not *what* we decide, the decisions we make, or the outcome of these decisions- be it good or bad. These things are trivial in comparison to the importance of knowing why we ourselves made those decisions. That is, motivation is what is most important.

As I said in Pride, "we exist to find meaning", and that meaning is in our motivation- because without motivation, which is in turn ultimately driven by pride, "we are nothing". That is, we cannot learn from our mistakes unless we know why we made them, and we cannot help others with their problems unless both of us know why the problems exist. I have written a few posts that were inspired by the troubles of a certain co-worker, but I did not until recently consider that I could not help them until I knew the source of their problems. Well, I was looking for the source, but in all the wrong areas. I was thinking circumstantial, when I should have been looking life. Once I considered that they had perhaps not learned from their mistakes because they did not know what the mistakes were- it became clear: they were immature. I will detail this in a future post, probably named "Immature", but don't expect it too much :P

I have spent so much time these past couple years trying to get to know myself- an unrelenting obsession. Although I was doing it for myself, I had no idea how much that the problems in the world, and lack of success of people can be directly attributed to people not knowing themselves. most people assume they do, and/or allow other people to take that responsibility, when those very people don't know themselves either. In other words, it's the Blind leading the Blind- a one-way ticket to hell-on-earth, to hyperbolize.

I've always considered myself the "unconventional" type, but really, what is convention? If convention is merely a signature characteristic, then I just have more unique conventions than most. One of these conventions is doing or saying things that I know are radical, unusual, controversial or just-plain-stupid. The reason why is not because I want to look like an asshole, dunce, or know-it-all, but so that I can find out why things are the way they are- what the motivation behind traditions, "common-sense", "do-not's", etc. is. I want to know, even if it means getting hurt (actually, I'm jaded to pain by now). Just the other day, I pedaled my bike to full-speed, then slammed on both breaks simultaneously, in from of a parked vehicle. I knew it was dangerous, but I wanted to find out exactly why. I knew I would fall, but that wasn't important. It was a very exhilarating experience- the bike did a full 180* flip- and luckily I didn't get a scratch. The bike was fine too, although the light was completely busted.

Every once in a while I come across an opportunity which a voice inside tells me is fate. When that happens- it's quite magical, because it's almost like I have power over the future. The first instinct was to go along with fate, but after thinking about it a while, I realized that fate does not exist to decide life for us, over even to give us the decision. Fate exists so that we do not take life for granted. Fate exists, so that we can recognize why we made the choice- that's the gift God has given us. The only thing we can't control is destiny- for all of us it's the same- pretty simple: we die.

So not every time I see fate reveal itself, I thank God (though I don't know who or what "God", or even if he "is") for the opportunity given me, to not just make the choice, but understand why I made it.

Yesterday, right after playing wolfteam i go to pride search and im little bit shocked because i saw this pride. Its HOODARMY4 registered by BurhanPower. FYI, he is ex-member of HOODARMY3. Automatically, this new pride is ally to all HOODARMY pride and other pride that ally to HOODARMY. Fight United!

“Our forebears have said that the duty of the king is to rule and not to destroy. Just as a seed sprouts, grows into a tree and yields fruit, a people protected by the king come to his rescue in times of need.”
“What you say is true,” the lion said and added a condition. “If you fail to send one animal every day, I shall kill all of you.”

“Agreed,” said the animals and began roaming the forest without fear and sending one of their own folk to the lion for his lunch. One day it was the turn of a hare. He started leisurely on his last journey and saw a big well on the way and saw his own reflection when he peeped into the well from curiosity.
Suddenly an idea struck the hare. “I will somehow tempt the lion to the well and persuade him to jump into it,” the hare thought to himself. It was late in the evening when the hare reached the lion's den. The lion was hungry and so angry and decided to kill all the animals when the hare came and knelt before him.

“First, you are too small for my lunch. Second, you have come late. I shall kill you and all the others too,” the lion warned the hare.

“My lord, it is not my fault or the fault of other animals.”

“Let me know who it is who delayed you and I will kill him at once.”

“Our folks have decided that it is my turn today. Since I do not make a full meal, they have sent three more hares with me for your meal. As we were all coming to you, a big lion came out of his den and demanded to know where we were all going.”

“We are all going to Bhasuraka as his meal according to our arrangement, we said. The big lion said that this jungle belonged to him and that all animals obeyed its orders. He also told us that you are a cheat and asked us to bring you to him for a trial of strength. Whoever is the victor will become the king. He commanded me to summon you to his fort. That's why I am late. It is now for you to decide,” the hare told the lion.

“In that case,” Bhasuraka told the hare, “show me that lion. I will kill him and have him for lunch. According to the elder’s territory, friendship and gold are the rewards of war. Wise men do not go to war unless there are gains.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the hare, “what you say is true. But the big lion lives in a fort. He knows that the king without a fort is like a cobra without fangs and an elephant without heat.”

“Stop that nonsense and bring him here. Don't you know that you have to crush the enemy and disease at the first opportunity? Otherwise, they will grow in strength and crush you.”

“But the big lion seems to be very strong. Haven't you heard elders saying that one should not go to war without assessing one's own strength and the strength of the enemy? He who meets the enemy in haste will perish like the locusts in a fire.”

Growing impatient, the lion roared, “why all this tall talk. Show him to me.” Asking the lion to accompany him, the hare took him to the well. He told the lion that the big lion was there in that fort and showed him the well. The lion then peeped into the well and mistaking his reflection in the water for the big lion jumped into the well to kill him. Thus the foolish lion perished and all the animals in the jungle lived happily ever after.

Moral:
Wit is superior to brute force.
(This Panchatantra story is from The Loss of Friends.)

Svenska kyrkan behöver tala om Jesus, om förlåtelse och försoning, om himmelen och om att Gud har en räddningsplan för vår skapelse till evighet. Tron på Jesus. Det kan och bör göras i vilket sammanhang som helst, så som Jesus gjorde. I en mängd sammanhang blir Ordet förknippat med sagor, och tilltron till Ordet sjunker. Vilket Ord som helst som Jesus säger duger att läsa i ett rosa tält på pride, och Svenska kyrkans uppgift bör vara att att utlägga det i Sanning, och bönen bör vara att det tas emot i tro till frälsning.

Läs även andra bloggares åsikter om Jesus, Mona Sahlin, pride, europride, ordet, Bibeln

Gazet van Anwerpen had wel aandacht voor de vermeende harde aanpak van de Antwerpse politie, maar daarbuiten hebben vooral gay media bericht over NaviGAYtion. Soms met een zeste controverse, maar controverse verkoopt nu eenmaal.

Maar in dit Web 2.0-tijdperk kan je rekenen op de 'burgerjournalist' of gewoon: de gebruiker. Op Flickr en YouTube bijvoorbeeld vind je wel beelden.

De media-aandacht had uitgebreider gekund, maar na vijf edities is het nieuws voor de gewone media wel wat af. Nu nog wat impact hebben op buitenlandse toeristische kanalen.

NaviGAYtion 2008 op Flickr.
FalcomFair op Flickr.
NaviGAYtion 2008 op YouTube.

Its funny, I grew up in Los Angeles and moved away when I was just 19 years old.  My entire adult life was spent in the UK.  All of my adult thoughts were really formed there.  Coming back to the United States has been a bitter sweet thing for me.

I have to say that I love living in California way more than England for the weather.  I wake up each morning to sunshine and blue skies.  That right there gives you a way more positive energy from the get go.  But as with anything they both have their own strengths and weaknesses.

I miss having proper holidays (vacations for you Americans).  Two weeks a year seems barbaric to my now British mindset.  Im used to 6 weeks a year now and utilizing all of them to travel.  Its a culture shock to say the least.  I don't know how people here stand it!

Brits have a funny way of looking at Americans as though that we are a classless people with no sense of architecture or history.  I have to laugh at that, as anyone who visits Slough or Bracknell, or Milton Keynes can see that Brits don't get it any better than we do in the architecture department, and anyone visiting places like Blackpool, or the East End of London will surely see that classless is something that they themselves have an abundance of in their own backyards.

On the other hand, American's see Brits as being either oh so cool or the Villains.  Every Hollywood movie either casts them as the sex symbol, or the big bad guy to be scared of.  Especially the devil.  Ever noticed that?  When talking with young people they think its oh so cool to be married to a Brit and have lived there for 20 years.  They see me as being "exotic".

When I came back to the US after living there for so long, I definitely came back sounding as a Brit.  People still ask me, although much less now than before.  Im trying to tone it down, because people just cannot understand what is said, even though it is proper "English" that is spoken.  Besides, my brothers tease me mercilessly.  I still say words people don't understand.  Petrol = gas, trolley = shopping cart, shop = store, hoover = vacuum, carpark =parking lot.  I forget the American word for things alot.  I also have to remember to spell things with a "z" rather than an "s", and "er" rather than "re".  Thank God for spell check.

I don't miss the National Health Service in the UK.  Its nice to be able to see my doctors or call them when needed without having to wait months on a list.  Its nice to be able to look up and receive my test results from my own computer rather than having to wait for my doctor to get back to me about them.  Its nice having hospitals with up to date equipment and technology that are clean and feel and somewhat sanitary.

I think it is interesting that the Pilgrims came to America to escape religious persecution.  It seems to me that anyone in the US these days that isn't a W.A.S.P. gets plenty of that shoved at them.  So I wonder that the point was and if they actually achieved what they set out to do?  

Another thing they sought to change was Taxation without representation.  Just look at the people living in Washington DC.  No benefit there huh.

I feel sad that our country has become so isolationist.  I feel sad that we are becoming a Theocracy rather than a Democracy.  Its not what our founding fathers had planned for us at all.  I feel sad that we feel that our way is the best and ONLY way for the world.  How arrogant we have become.

Still, at the same time, my heart couldn't help but swell with pride when I visited Washington DC and saw with my own eyes the beauty of our Nation's capitol and all we have achieved in our 232 years.  We have put men in space and on the moon, we have created machines and healthcare advances benefitting all of mankind.  We have made air travel possible.  (I was gonna say easy - but have you been to an airport lately?)

I have traveled all over the world and I must say that there is no where that I would rather live given the choice.  Although England still pulls at my heart.  The people there especially.  The culture, the wit, and the lifestyle.  They have all become part of who I am.  Sometimes I feel very foreign in the US.  Yet this is the place I choose to call home.

Happy 4th.

The one act dramedy musical play that chronicles the coming out story of Mormon returned missionary, ex-temple married, father, former male escort, former drug user, and excommunicated LDS Church member Steven Fales will now grace the stage in London. 

Critically acclaimed, the play was awarded the  Overall Excellence Award at the 2004 New York International Fringe Festival. It received the 2008 Oscar Wilde Award Nomination for Outstanding New Writing in the Theatre at the Dublin International Gay Theatre Festival and a New York Outer Critics Circle Award Nomination for Outstanding Solo Performance.

Fales is quoted on  http://www.affirmation.org/:

Fales says ‘I wrote the play so that my children would some day be able to understand their gay father” and he adds “I kept thinking that if I were to die, there wasn’t anyone I could fully trust to tell my kids who their ‘wicked’ gay dad really was and how much I loved them.”
(Fales’ former mother-in-law is celebrated Mormon poet Carol Lynn Pearson whose autobiography Good-bye, I Love You (Random House 1986), poignantly recounts her relationship with her gay ex-husband who died of AIDS in her home. Steven Fales married their oldest daughter, Emily and together they have two children whom they raise in Salt Lake City, Utah.)

He also wrote a book with the same title that was a recent finalist for a Lambda Literary Award.

I saw his play here in San Francisco last year and found it to be a very enjoyable, touching experience. Fales is able to deliver his coming out story with a very human truthfulness with all his foibles laid bare but with a sincerity at its core.  His love for his children comes through, as he struggles as a man who comes to terms with his sexual identity in the middle of a marriage,  in a conservative religious environment. It is a convulsive, messy coming out process for him.  Thank goodness, he survived it to write and perform this play.

Confessions of a Mormon Boy is a MUST SEE for anyone who is interested about how someone overcomes the impossible....and who lives to sing and laugh about it.

Information on the London Performance Run

CONFESSIONS OF A MORMON BOY
Written and performed by Steven Fales
28 July to 30 August
Wednesday to Saturday at 9.30pm Sunday & Monday at 7.30pm (90 minutes)
Post-show discussions on Mondays 4, 11, 18 and 25 August.
Tickets £15 concessions £12 Ticket Sales 0870 033 2733
New End Theatre, 27 New End, Hampstead London NW3 1JD
www.newendtheatre.co.uk
5 minutes from Hampstead tube     fully air-conditioned

http://www.mormonboy.com/

So we had great plans for Pride Weekend in San Francisco.  We'd take the train (and bus) to San Francisco, catch the Saturday night Castro Street party, then the Parade and Festival Sunday, and ride the Amtrak home.  Well....   as they say, the best laid plans of mice and men.....

I've never ridden Amtrak, so I was looking forward to it.  In the week prior to the festivities, I booked my seat on the Amtrak San Joaquin out of Fresno for a round trip.  Now, I'm NOT a morning person, and the train was leaving the station at 6:50 am!  This presented me with a conundrum.  To make it up there in time, I'd have to either just stay up, or try to go to bed early and get up at around 4am, to have enough time to drive to Fresno and meet up with the guys.  I knew this was problematical, but I made the reservation anyway.  The more I thought about it, the more I didn't want to drive to Fresno.  I canceled my reservations, and changed them so that I could catch the train in Hanford instead.  That way, it would only be about 20 minutes of driving, rather than 50 or 60.  Well, that plan didn't last long.  Friday night was a BBQ at Ted's.  At first I was not going to attend, but later changed my mind, with a bit of coaxing from Ted.  He suggested I just stay the night, and we'd all catch the train in Fresno.  Ok, so I canceled the reservation AGAIN!  Right back onto the website to reserve out of Fresno, as I had originally done.  Uh oh....  the website says it can't book my reservation!  Some cryptic error message (no doubt inspired by Windows error messages!) that provided no information about why I could not rebook was flashed on my computer.  I went to call reservations, and got one of those wonderful "all our operators are busy" and the wait time was "estimated" at 12 minutes. I hung up.  Once I got to Fresno Friday night, Ted explained what the problem was. Seems the website can't handle bookings in the last 24 hours before a scheduled departure.  So I called on the automated system, and made reservations that way.  Whew.... I thought for sure I was going to miss the train!

The Friday night BBQ went well, Ted's a great cook!  And we watched some movies before the light-weights went to bed.  I grabbed my sleeping bag and stretched out on the floor, but of course I can't switch my sleep schedule like that, so I wasn't sleepy.  I spent most of the night trying to find something interesting to watch on television.

Saturday morning rolls around, I haven't really slept, and it's time to get moving!  Time keeps marching on, waiting for no queen.  We finally get everyone in the car, and I know we're going to miss the train.  Sure enough, we pull into the Amtrak Fresno station, at 6:58, and the train is long gone.  Note: when Amtrak says they depart the station at a particular time, they mean it!  So we get refunds and start trying to figure out what to do next.  The next train arrives later in the day that we want, so we decide to take my car instead. A fateful decision.  The drive up to San Francisco was fine, no problems.  We got up to the hotel and parked the car and made arrangements to check in later, as it was just before noon.  Off to find lunch, and wander around the City.

Boy, these guys can shop!  Shoe stores, A&F, Macy's, and I don't know what else.  My room is finally ready, thank goodness!  We can crash for a while!  I'm bushed.  Ted's on the phone several times to one of the guys who came to the BBQ, but did not come up to SF with us.  Ted finally talks him into driving up and joining us. Another fateful decision.

Later that evening, after a brief nap, it's off to the Castro.  The straggler joins us, and we ride the Muni subway from the Powell Station over to Castro.  The street is already packed, and we dive in.  The guys grab some pizza at "Escape From New York" (that was a movie!) and chow down.  It looks nasty, so I pass.  Eventually we ended up at Badlands, and after waiting in line for an hour or so, we got in.  Now, Jim can't dance (see my very first blog), so I just stood and sat around and watched.  Some nice eye candy moving around, and dancing.  It didn't take long for the drama to start, though.  Someone said something...  someone got pissed, and the evening came to a screeching halt.  Back to the hotel, which I didn't really mind, since I was dead on my feet by this point.  I ordered room service for dinner.  Probably the most expensive hamburger I've ever had!   But pretty decent, considering.  I opened the curtains on the floor-to-ceiling-wall-to-wall windows in my corner room and drifted off to sleep watching the lights of the city blink at me.

Sunday morning and it's time for the parade. And then past time for the parade to start.  Oh well, I've seen parts of it before, so we'll catch whatever we catch.  We get together, and go find lunch at Mel's Diner.  It's built into an old building in the city, so it's not too much like Mel's Diner, but it goes with the 50's Happy Day's theme as best it can.  The food was so-so.  Off to the parade. Then past the parade. Seems the Festival grounds is our destination.  We spent the afternoon there, enjoyed the sights, and I got sunburned on my head and face like nothing I've had before!  The weather forecast was for overcast and cloudy, so I left my hat in the car, locked in the parking lot.  Another fateful decision!  (I'm peeling now, looks terrible!)  But anyway, we had a good time at the Latin pavilion, saw some hotties.  Once 4:30 starts nearing, I'm watching the clock like a hawk, since the lot I'm parked in closes at 6pm. I'm NOT going to miss that deadline!  We make it with time to spare, and start working out the next stage of our excursion.  Dinner in the Castro is the decision, and the late comer will follow us over there.  A very fateful decision.

We're South Of Market, close to the Moscone Center.  We have to find our way to Castro.  Ted's navigating, using his Blackberry to get directions from Google or Yahoo or somewhere, and off we go. Go this way. Go that way. Turn here... no, wait, go gayly forward.  Our little two vehicle convoy sticks close together, and as we near Castro....  it happens.

BANG!  The latecomer introduces his truck to my car.  Fortunately, no injuries, and damage is relatively minor.  He's really bummed out, and once we make it to Castro, parking is impossible.  I find a spot, but he can't and between that and feeling really bad about the collision, he decides to just head home.  We had a good dinner at a place who's name escapes me now, something like "Firewood".  The drive home afterward was uneventful, with the other three sleeping most of the way!

So....  we missed the train. That led us to taking my car.  A fifth member of the gang is talked into coming up Saturday afternoon.  That brought the other vehicle to the area.  Drama happens at the club, so we leave early.  The first half of Sunday went pretty well, but later things unraveled.  Driving around San Francisco, traveling unfamiliar streets, brought us together at the wrong time.  So many plans, so many decisions, such an unexpected outcome!

I'm hoping next year works out a bit better!

The following is his Bio from the Feast of Fools web site:

Sal-E works ferociously as a cosmetologist at Milio’s Hair Salon in Chicago, Illinois. Born and raised in Chicago’s northwest-side he quickly developed a reputation for creating original costumes that are inspired by found objects and result in a wide variety of looks. From a psychedelic baroque monarch to a heroic comic book figure Sal-E is one of the most requested nightclub personalities and is seen everywhere on extreme make-up photo galleries.

His message is one of dressing the part and living the life of self-empowerment, color and simply having fun. One could mistake his abilities to transform himself on a daily basis as mutant shape-shifiing, but it’s all in the skill of his hands and make-up box.

A regular contributor to the Feast of Fools, he’s well known across the internet as a folkloric figure of the Club World and of the urban nightlife experience.

My personal opinion is that Sal-E is so beyond a drag performer or even a traditional entertainer.  I believe he is a living work of art. His make up and the intricacies of his costumes speaks to a creative mind that is so far and above the the crowd that it is awe inspiring.  He takesodds and ends; and transforms them into clothing and a living canvas of art of his fac and body.

I hope that someone who has the means gives this talented man a larger stage to share his art with the world. He is a talent to be reckoned with, and if you are ever in Chicago and he is performing - catch his act.   Also, tune in to the Feast of Fools (http://www.feastoffools.net/) and search their archives for the shows he is in because you will find out that he is one nice and funny guy!

So when Barack Obama was criticized early in his campaign for not wearing an American flag pin, I empathized with him knowing that people show their pride in their country in the most subtle of ways and just by wearing a pin, waving a flag, or singing patriotic songs doesn't mean that someone is any more patriotic than me.  Especially when so-called patriots do so twice a year.

Clyde Haberman's article in the New York Times on July 4, 2008.