Old Age Is Not for Sissies. Neither is Parenthood.

Since the start of March, I have had two surgeries on my back, and Mark has had SEVEN vertebrae worked on. So we've been doing a lot of lying around "resting" (taking pain medication and sleeping), and slowly increasing our activity level as we're able. I've concluded that retirement is Purgatory unless you have some good hobbies. Personally, I have decided to keep working as long as I'm able, because otherwise there's a real danger of being BORED. TO. DEATH.

Now when I meet with friends over a drink, all we talk about is our aliments and medications. When I was in my 20's I defined "old" as when you talk less about sex than you do about your aches and pains, treatments, etc. So I am now officially old by the definition of that smug little bastard I was in my 20's. Although Testosterone therapy helps, but that's talking about my medication again.

For a few days there after I started back at work I was waking up in more pain than the day before. It apparently was my muscles, which were weak from lying around so long, spasming with the return to normal activity. I'm happy to say I am not feeling BETTER, not worse, each morning and so I think there's a chance my fantasy of going back to the gym and walking around high on "lack of pain" could come true.

Today is also my older daughter's 21st birthday. I am SO proud of her, she's got her life together, has a plan for her education, professional, and social life (she's engaged), and is executing that plan successfully. I'm feeling a primal desire for a grandchild. I swear, I never thought I'd be like this, but when my daughter hit about 17, the urge started to grow. I talked to my mother about this before she died, and she confirmed that she felt exactly the same way when my brother and I hit that age.

I'd like to be a grandfather when I'm 45. If all goes to plan, that's entirely possible. I'm 43 now, she's going to get married next Valentine's Day, and then... well, she was born 9 months and 1 week after my wedding, and I was 21 years old.

Amazing to me how a couple of 22 year olds can pull it all together and be good parents, on top of working and going to school. So many 22 year olds I know don't know their ass from their elbow, but there's a certain "this shit just got REAL" about having a child that makes you stop worrying about yourself, and makes you get your priorities in line.

So, I may be middle-aged and not getting any younger, but at least the great Circle of Life is turning. I suppose in caveman days, seeing your healthy grandchild was a sign that the tribe was succeeding, and therefore there might actually BE an evolutionary desire to pressure your children to breed. I know if my Mom were still alive, she'd be quietly yearning for a great-grandchild, and spend a lot of energy keeping her mouth shut.

I called my daughter to wish her a happy birthday, and I blurted out "Now give me a grandchild!"

Thankfully she has a sense of humor, and her response was "Well, I'm going on a date tonight in a slinky dress, so who knows?"

I replied, "I don't care as long as it's healthy!" and we both had a good laugh.

So, here's to those who have kids "too young". It's terrifying, you think you have NO idea what you're doing but you do your best. People who have kids in middle age are more educated and they THINK they're prepared, but I don't think I'd have the energy to keep up with a toddler at my age. That's why I want to be a grandparent at 45, and not a parent. You can spoil them rotten, and hand them back when their diaper need changing.

What WOULD Jesus do? I mean REALLY?

The Castro has always had its share of homeless young people panhandling on the sidewalks. But recently their numbers have jumped because the Haight Ashbury got fed up and kicked THEIR "gutter punks" out, and they migrated to the Castro.

I was raised a Christian (yes, Mormons are 100% Christian), and Jesus was quite consistent and clear about how he thought the wealthy should treat beggars. In all the accounts of his life, kindness to beggars seemed to be what he spent most of his time talking about. And while I'm not a Mormon or a member of any religion, I still believe that there was a dirty, socialist, hippie who lived in Israel about 2000 years ago, and he really did think the rich needed to stop being assholes and start caring about those in need. And that matters to me, because

Harvey Milk Died Today

When I was 3 years old, I made some comment about boys marrying boys, and my mother corrected me, and said that wasn't allowed, that boys had to marry girls.

I thought it was terribly unfair. I guess I was already gay.

On this day when I was 8, in far away in a place I didn't know about, Harvey Milk was murdered as he was beginning his term as the Castro's first gay representative. And the man who shot him got off on the so-called "Twinkie Defense".

According to my mother, the reason the ERA failed to pass was because it would have made gay marriage legal. I thought that maybe in another 50 years, gay men would be allowed to marry each other. But certainly not in my lifetime.

When I was 11 I began to read about a terrible illness that 35 gay men in New York and San Francisco had died of, in Discover Magazine. They called it "AID", for Acquired Immune Deficiency. Soon, my issue of Science '81 arrived (it was way "smarter" than Discover, but not impenetrable like Scientific American), and the nightmare began to unfold. The message was clear: If I acted on my feelings, I would die horribly.

For the first time, I saw gay men on TV. They were sick. They were scared. Then they were angry. And they became powerful, even as hundreds, then thousands of them died. They would NOT be ignored.

Today, I am 42. I have HIV, yet I enjoy a normal, healthy, active life. I am legally married to the man I love most in all the world, and soon (fingers crossed) every other gay man in California will have that right restored. I cannot possibly understand the sacrifices others have made, and the work that others have done, to allow me to have this life. I am ungrateful, and I always will be, compared to the gratitude I should feel.

No human heart can feel that much gratitude. So thank you. Thank you a million times over, for your sacrifices. For your work. And for the hope and vision of a future where I can take so much for granted. And just be happy.

Happy birthday to me!

I really enjoy my birthday, and I think I'm very blessed that it's the day AFTER Valentine's day. Because all the places I'd like to go on my birthday, restaurants, bars, whatnot, are pretty much quiet the day AFTER Valentine's Day, and everyone, single AND coupled, is breathing a collective sigh of relief. Valentine's Day is just too stressful to too many people, as are most holidays. And since Valentine's Day doesn't typically involve travelling to be with family, the collective sigh of relief is immediate.

I was unable to make it to the stores yesterday until 10pm. By then, the looting of the half-price Valentin

e's Day chocolate was nearly complete. The stuffed animals were in disarray, but still there. It's as if people get caught up in the frenzy for the chocolate, grab a little stuffed gorilla, and then think "Wait. I can't eat this. What the hell do I want this for, even if it IS half price?" and toss it back into the pile. And really, who wants a little stuffed gorilla for Valentine's Day anyway? Although I suppose it COULD remind me of a few of my favorite gay porn stars.

It's not JUST the greeting card and candy companies that push this. We push it on ourselves. Driving to work I listen to the radio, and I begin to wonder why nearly EVERY SINGLE song on the radio is about romance. Lost romance, angry breakups, longing for romance... all of the the MOST STRESSFUL parts of courtship and partner selection. I've been through all that, and now I'm settled into a positive, healthy relationship where I don't feel the need to prove anything and neither does he. "Taking each other for granted" doesn't SOUND like a good thing, but I guess if you toss in the appropriate gratitude it becomes "Knowing we can count on each other". It's not full of angst. It's not as "exciting" as when we were first dating, and I'd swing from the rafters showing off my sexual prowess in order to win his heart. The truth is I didn't have to do that to win his heart, and he didn't have to impress me to win mine. We're married. We know the punchlines to each other's jokes. We know the same punchlines to life's jokes. The world around us has become in large part one giant inside joke between us. You don't hear many songs on the radio about this, maybe "She's Always a Woman to Me" by Billy Joel. But I'm dating myself.

The best relationship is one where each of you feel inspired to become a better person, and do so. It's not about fixing each other, it's about improving yourself because you want to be the man he sees when he looks at you with love. That's a tall order. And it's not romance. It's real love, the kind that makes you work hard to be better. And they don't sing about it on the radio. Which is one reason why I listen to NPR so much of the time.

I'm not dead.

It's good to be back! My birthday is tomorrow and I've decided to start some new good habits. Like shining my boots on Saturdays. And flossing. And blogging.

I think I like Groundhog Day and Valentine's Day so much because as a child, they were mini-holidays leading up to my Birthday. My mother must have done a great job of making my birthdays special, because I've be
en waiting for a lavish surprise party for the past 30 years.

My mother used to always make me a pink strawberry heart-shaped birthday cake. And she wondered why I prefer the company of men? Actually she was quick to point out that she made that for me eac

he Quik Chocolate.
h year because I ASKED her to. I had this thing for pink and sugary I guess. I loved Quik Strawberry milk. And it's recently come to my attention that it is a DIFFERENT rabbit than t
Since Quik Strawberry milk seems to be a part of MANY of my fellow sodomite's childhood, I can only conclude that the strawberry bunny was a clever weapon created by the homosexual agenda to recruit young minds. Or maybe we were just a bunch of Nancys that liked pink.

But, on a more masculine note, Daddy and I are going to the LAS VEGAS SMOKEOUT in April, not to be confused with the Great American Smokeout that has an entirely different agenda. Daddy has discovered that smoking a pipe is sexier and less expensive than smoking cigarettes. And I've always loved the smell of pipe smoke.

Las Vegas Smokeout 2012: