Blog Title: Gay News Bureau

The Bible Belt is glittering. Current news, travel information, relocation tips for visiting and moving to the Swish Alps. From Divas to dykes, this is news you can use

It's a Scandinavian kitchen for me, thank you very much!

I've put it off long enough. I've GOT to update my kitchen. New sink and faucet, new dishwasher...a whole bunch of shiny new stuff. Most of what I have now doesn't work properly, or leaks, or is just plain UGLY.

In the appliance department, I spot a washer. It's in my price range, but it's got a stainless steel front. I would really prefer white.
I look around for a sales clerk.
Nobody.
I wander around for a few minutes, looking at the appliances.
6 or 7 minutes pass, a woman wearing an orange apron walks into the appliance area.
She sees me playing with the dishwasher, but keeps her distance.

I'm thinking: who the hell is Sharon, and what does her being on break have to do with the price of tomatoes? Or the color of dishwashers, for that matter?

«I work in Lawn and Garden.» The clerk says to me. Then, giggling, she shouts, «Earl! Earl!» and trots down a nearby aisle.

I'm thinking: Well, Earl might be Sharon's supervisor, or at least someone who knows if a particular washer is available in white.

Orange apron grabs Earl's arm, giggling, and they continue walking down the aisle, away from me. I'm left fondling a Maytag with nobody else in sight. As far as I could tell, Earl wasn't the kind of man that most girls would giggle over, but what do I know about the madcap affairs or personal tastes of Home Depot workers? At any rate, I stand there for a few more minutes. No other orange aprons in sight.

Screw it. I'm going to Lowe's. It's a short drive, because God knows there's a Lowe's or Home Depot on every corner of the world now. Right beside Starbuck's.

In Lowe's, the appliance department is empty. Apparently the Lowe's equivalent of 'Sharon' is on break here, too. I wander around looking at dishwashers for a few minutes. Nothing catches my interest, and that's good. I would have been totally pissed if I had found one I like, with no Sharon to give me details about cleaning ability, noise level of operation and pricing.

It dawns on me: I remember Fred talking about a place in Lee's Summit that had good service and prices that were lower than most. Lee's Summit is only a few miles away, and I think I can remember how to get to the place.

As I'm walking out of Lowe's, past the lawn mowers, I hear a clerk tell a customer, «Well, I'm not sure about that. I usually work in the paint department.»

I get to Lee's Summit. I'm not in the store 10 seconds when a young woman approaches and says, «Hello! How can I help you?» Naturally, I'm caught off-guard by not having to track down a sales clerk. «Uh, well, I'm looking for a dishwasher.»

«Ok! I'll get Bjorn to help you.» About that time a 40-ish looking man is walking toward us. «Bjorn, this gentleman is looking for a dishwasher.»

Bjorn holds out his hand to shake mine. «Hello. I'm Bjorn. I can show you our different brands. Do you have a particular model in mind?»

This is where my «fairy» kicks in. Bjorn is gorgeous. I'm a sucker for tall, slender men. Bjorn is MORE than just tall and slender. He's handsome. VERY handsome. I would normally think of a name like 'Bjorn' as being Scandinavian. This guy doesn't really look Swedish, or Norwegian, but so what? He's beautiful. And he's holding his hand out to me.

I notice a clever little tuft of curly hair at the base of his throat. Stuttering, I shake his hand and say something like, «Uh.....I....I....I'm....Y......Y.....Yip. N....no.....I......d......d....don't know.....wh....what kind I w.....w....want.»

Bjorn proceeded to show me two models in my price range. He showed me EVERYTHING about the machines. If I had a question, he answered it. Without hesitation, without having to ask someone else, and without telling me he didn't know because he usually worked in another department.

I thanked him and told him I'd be back. I will, too. I'm going to buy 4 dishwashers, 3 refrigerators, a dozen garbage disposals and at least 2 ovens. And Bjorn is going to write up every order.

Farewell, C Shift. The adventure ends.

We returned from Europe on a Sunday. I was scheduled to work the following Thursday.

By Wednesday, my stomach was in knots. I couldn't sleep. When I did sleep, I had nightmares of the seven machines I ran coming after me. It was like a really bad horror movie. I'd hear a noise upstairs. With nothing to protect myself except a non-working flashlight (picture a slightly heavier, slightly balder Tippi Hedren in The Birds), I'd climb the stairs to find one of the machines glaring at me. I'd turn and run back downstairs, only to find another machine grinning menacingly as it approached me. I'd run outside, through the woods, and fall down. (Of course.) Rolling onto my back, I'd see all seven machines romping through the trees to feed on me. I would see my supervisor hiding behind a tree,

C shift is no longer part of my slowly-getting-back-to-normal life. It was interesting while it lasted, in a sick sort of way. I met some very nice people, paid off a few bills, financed the trip to Germany/Austria and realized how lucky - if poor - I am to be able to set my own hours at my own company.

I suppose I'll miss the paycheck, small though it was. I will NOT miss getting out of bed at 3:45 a.m., working 12 hours on my feet constantly, and listening to straight boys talk about their sexual prowess with women. Then, after getting home, fix dinner, tomorrow's lunch and falling into bed no later than 8:00.

On days when I wasn't there, I was doing pretty much the same thing at the print shop. But it's MY print shop! If I want to sit down, I sit. If I want a cup of coffee, I drink it. If I want to write inane missives like this one, I write.

Two full-time jobs is one too many. Besides that, and more importantly, my father is now home from the assisted living place, and not doing very well. I get to spend some time with the old boy, make sure he's taking his drugs and generally enjoy NOT being at a hell-hole job. Even though tending to some of his needs is like a full-time job sometimes.

I got a very nice phone call from my lead man yesterday. He's been doing his job, and the job I had, because they haven't hired and trained my replacement yet.

He was just being nice. He knows of my father's health, and knows I can't do two jobs and take care of my dad. But it was nice of him to say, anyway. Looking back, it's understandable, too. I mean, I actually DID my job. A lot of people just leave in the middle of their shift. No warning, no notice, nothing. They just get fed up and leave. Some just decide to not come to work any more. Some of them never even complete the training sessions. They're smarter than I am, I suppose. They realize pretty quickly what a crappy place to work it is.

So halle-freakin'-lujah! I'm now getting back to life as I knew it pre-C shift! The wolf is at the door, but my sanity is intact.

Diversity Weekend Events: August 1-3, 2008

Antique Queens from far and near it's Eureka's 14th annual Yards and Yards of Yard Sales. Friday and Saturday 7:00 AM to 3:00 PM. Find locator maps at shops and restaurants. Sponsored,oddly,by the Greater Eureka Springs Chamber of Commerce.

GET HITCHED! Domestic Partner Certificates. The courthouse is closed Saturday and Sunday. City Clerk's office is in the City Hall, lower level of the Western Carroll County Courthouse, 44 S. Main. Office hours are 9:30 AM - 12 Noon and 1:30 to 4:30 PM.

SPEED DIAL YOUR GAY SPIRITS. Mistress Lynne Sterling has been using Gay and Lesbian Tarot cards for amazing readings with fantabulous results. DaBen's Door, 45 1/2 Spring, Choose from Daughters of the Moon or the Brotherhood Tarot. 1:30 - 6:00 PM.

MIX and MINGLE the Marquee's Princess Welcome Mixer, 309 W Van Buren, Happy Hour Prices and Food Specials. 7:00 to 9:00 PM. All ages admitted to restaurant. Must be 21 or older to enter Cantina and Game Room. Come feel the warmth ...feel, touch, hug, squeeze, grope, claw, whip...Mix and mingle with locals and visitors from around the county. Hosted by: Marc and his friendly staff. (Open for dinner 4:00 -10:00 PM)

Rock and Roll with Rachel Fields New Delhi, 2 North Main. 6:30 ? 10:00 PM «She will kick you in the face with her voice and then she will not apologize for days, maybe weeks...then, one autumn day, when you least expect, she will call you up, and say, «sorry chum.. that's how i rock & ROLL!»and you just have to deal with it. CAUSE IT'S RACHEL FREAKIN FIELDS MAN!!!!» ? Fulyclothedgirl.

Start Flexing Those Vocal Cords: Karaoke with Tiny and Lady A, Henri's Just One More 19 ½ Spring, 9:00 PM Friday and Saturday. And thanks to the Henri's gay-friendly karaoke King, there's never a shortage of diva tracks to sing, from Bette and Britney to Cher, Madonna and Barbra.

EUREKA'S UNDERGROUND the subterranean and always gay Eureka Live, 35 North Main, Vibrant-Summer Dance Music.

HOT SEXUAL ENERGY at the always popular Tiki Torch Club and their Summer Diversity Dance Par-Tee. Arrive early this place fills up fast. All new deck and summer food menu.

Miss Greater Arkansas 2008 Miranda Meridian drags in the YARD! The Lumberyard Bar and Grill, 105 E Van Buren. Show Time 8:00 PM.

Miranda Ray takes on Jack's place! 10:00 PM, Jack's Place, 37 Spring. NO COVER.

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Antique Queens from far and near it's Eureka's 14th annual Yards and Yards of Yard Sales. Friday and Saturday 7:00 AM to 3:00 PM. Find locator maps at shops and restaurants. Sponsored-oddly-by the Greater Eureka Springs Chamber of Commerce.

STRADDLE THIS: DIVERSITY BIKERS 10:00 AM, Brunch & Fun Run. Iron Horse Stables, 4022 Hwy 62 W, meet at 10:00 AM then ride to the PDA. 3:30 PM Raid the TRADWINDS Pool Party & Fun Run! Starting at Planner Hill Parking Lot.

God-given Mockumentary «They're Coming To Your Town»?! NOPE! Documentary Movie Screening, «For The Bible Tells Me So.» 10:00 AM, Eureka Historic Auditorium.

HUGS and KISSES! PDA in the Park. PUBLIC DISPLAY OF AFFECTION (PDA) photo shoot, 12 noon, Basin Park band shell, downtown. A G-rated opportunity to smooch your sweetie-or the perfect stranger-for posterity. FREE HATS WHILE THEY LAST. Music Styling by Mountain Spout.

JESUS IS SO GAY! Case closed. Get used to it. I read it on the Web. Panel Discussion on «True Christian Diversity and the Inclusion of GLBTI's» at the Eureka Springs Historic Auditorium, 12:30 PM.

SPLISH SPLASH! Fur Swim Party. Tradewinds, 141 West Van Buren. 1:00 PMish to ?. Limited parking. FREE to the public. PG! No Glass! BYOB- Bring Your Own Bear and BEER! Water, Ice, Soft Drinks and Towels compliments of the Tradwinds.

NOW WITH LIVE POSSUM! Cletus Got Shot.Basin Park, 3:00 PM and then onto the New Delhi Café, 4:00 ? 5:45 PM.

Daniel Helminiak has a vision! (or is it just good ole' August heat stroke) Author, Lecturer, Psychotherapist, Priest and Theologian book signing at the New Delhi Cafe, 3:00 PM.

SQUEAL! SQUEAL! SQUEAL! Paddle faster, I hear banjo music. Mountain Sprout at the New Delhi Café, 6:00 ? 10:00 PM.

DINNER-DRAG-DANCE. Miss Greater Arkansas 2008 Miranda Meridian is back for a encore dinner show 6:00 PM at the Lumberyard Bar and Grill, 105 E Van Buren. Stick around and swing, rock and boogie to the sounds of Greedy Fleet, 9:00 PM.

SOMEBODY ELSE'S LIFE! Comic Actor/Writer Jerry Rabushka in a one man performance that will have you laughing so hard that you will barely be able to catch your breath as he transforms into characters that show what gay life is really about. 8:00 PM and 10:00 PM, EUREKA LIVE, 35 N Main, Underground.

Start Flexing Those Vocal Cords: Karaoke with Tiny and Lady A, Henri's Just One More 19 ½ Spring, 9:00 PM Friday and Saturday. And thanks to the Henri's gay-friendly karaoke royalty, Tiny & Lady A, there's never a shortage of diva tracks to sing, from Bette and Britney to Cher, Madonna and Barbra.

HOT SEXUAL ENERGY at the always popular Tiki Torch Club and their Summer Diversity Dance Par-Tee. Arrive early this place fills up fast. Check out the all new deck and summer food menu.

Miranda Ray takes on Jack's place! 10:00 PM, Jack's Place, 37 Spring. NO COVER.

MUNCHIES?! The After Hours Breakfast at the New Delhi Café, 2 North Main, 10:30 PM ? 3:00 AM.

IMPORTANT REMINDER- BE COOL, BE SEEN, BE SAFE and avoid those Diversity buzz-killers like getting a DUI or trying to find a parking place downtown. Eureka Springs Limousine. $5.00 point to point. Call 479-244-6320 for your PICK-UP
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Sunday, August 3

Hang Over Remedy. Name That Tune With Sandy at the Smokehouse Café, 580 West Van Buren, 8:30 A.M to11:30ish, biscuits as big as your head. WIN Fabulous Prizes!

PRAY 4 FORGIVENESS! Nondenominational Worship Service at St. James Episcopal Church,34 Prospect Ave, 12 Noon.

ROCK GODDESS Tiffany Christopher and Teddy at the New Delhi Café, 2 North Main, 5:30 ? 9:00 PM.

CALLING ALL DOROTHY'S! Lucky 13 Outdoor Cinema presents: Double feature «Across the Universe» & «Wizard of Oz» , music of «Dark Side of the Moon» The parking lot at ONE NORTH MAIN STREET. Movies projected on the side of the Basin Spring Bath House Building across from THE NEW DELI CAFE. Gates open at 7:00pm, movies start at dusk PRE SHOW CONTEST: Dorothy Look-A-Likes. WIN BIG!!!!!!!!!!!

Matthew Shepard's mother to speak at NWA gathering

Judy Shepard, the mother of Matthew Shepard, a 21-year-old gay man who was murdered in October 1998 will speak in the Multipurpose Room of the Student Center on the campus of Northwest Arkansas Community College (NWACC), Wednesday June 25th from 7 P.M. to 9 P.M. Judy and her husband, Dennis, created the Matthew Shepherd Foundation in his memory. She will discuss her experience of losing a child to a hate crime, her efforts to strengthen hate crime legislation, and her efforts to carry Matthew's message of respect and dignity for others.

Please join us for this event and show your support for our GLBT community! The public is welcome to attend.

This event is sponsored by the Gay-Straight Alliance at NWACC and People Respecting Individual Differences & Equality (PRIDE) at the University of Arkansas.

Nashville Students Score a Unanimous Win

In yesterday's report of our visit to the 2008 ACLU Membership Conference, we mentioned a fellow speaker by the name of Evie Farnsworth who has been working with a group called Support Student Safety.

Their mission: To convince the Metropolitan Nashville Board of Education to add sexual orientation and gender identity to the public school anti-discrimination policy.

At yesterday's meeting, the Metro Nashville BOE voted to approve Support Student Safety's recommendation.

All nine members of the Metro Nashville BOE also voted to ratify the 2008-2009 employment contract, which includes, for the first time, protection of employees based on sexual orientation and gender identity.

Go Nashville! Great job, Evie, Support Student Safety and the Tennessee Equality Project.

Mrs. (and Mrs.) Smith Go to Washington

One hundred seventy three days after four ordinary civilians armed with laptop computers hunkered down in a Eureka Springs living room to Google the subject, the first Domestic Partnership Registry (DPR) in Arkansas became a reality on June 22, 2007.

Three hundred and fifty three days later, Jan and I traveled to Washington, D.C. to talk about Eureka's DPR at the 2008 ACLU Membership Conference.

I didn't think I was going to make it through the security checkpoint at Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport.

There we were, shuffling along behind a line of people who deferentially presented their papers to an officious official behind a podium bearing an enormous, glittering «Department of Homeland Security» seal.

Homeland? What country is this? There's something about referring to the United States of America as «the Homeland» that's always been a mite too Stalin-esque for me.

When I see someone with a «Homeland Security» seal, I either want to bang a clenched fist to my heart and cry, «God bless the Homeland, Comrade! Long live Bush!» or I want to break into the old Cheech and Chong routine, «But I can't sign ze papers! You have put your zigarette into my eyee-e-e-e-e!»

I managed to fight both impulses--barely. After a thorough inspection of my person and papers, the Airport Commissar decided I was insufficiently threatening to be an enemy of the state. He waved me on with a dismissive gesture....

Where I encountered the pitiful sight of people compliantly removing their jewelry and shoes and shuffling through the phalanx of Homeland Security commissars, all of whom were waving wands and rubber-gloved hands, barking orders. «You! Stop right there! I'll tell you when to go! Take that laptop out of its case. All the way out! This bottle of lotion is not permitted! Give me that mouthwash!»

I had a moment of inner rebellion. «What the hell?» I thought, «This is ridiculous. I'm going to a meeting about civil liberties. By gum, I'm not going to take off my shoes! What's next? 'For your own safety, please remove your jewelry, shoes, gold teeth and dentures, then step to the left for the disinfection procedure?'»

So I marched towards the walk-through enemy-of-the-state detector. «Stop!» A large woman whipped both rubber-gloved hands up, palms out, in a commanding gesture. «You!» she snapped, «Put your shoes on the belt! Step out of line! You!» (pointing at someone behind me), «Step through!»

I briefly toyed with the idea of making a Patrick Henry scene: «Give me my ECCO cognac leather Wave sandals or give me death!»

But then I thought about Jan having to call the ACLU: «Uh, sorry we missed our flight. Kim pitched a fit in security so they're interrogating her about the Eureka Springs branch of al Qaeda. No, no. There's no such thing. But I have to wait and see if they're going to ship her to some former Soviet black site for further questioning. If they let her go, I think we'll just head back to the pig farm and take our shoes off there...but, hey! Thanks for thinking of us!»

I put my shoes on the belt and joined the group dutifully shuffling down the line.

We flew. We landed. We attended the opening festivities of the ACLU membership conference. More about that later. First, there's more about the epidemic of shuffling down the line.

Our hotel was lovely, a few blocks from the White House. We could see the Washington Monument outside our window so we were excited to do a little site-seeing, specifically, the sites that represent the history of the great democratic experiment known as the «United States of America.»

We started our walk at the Washington Monument. As we were strolling beside the reflecting pool towards the Lincoln Memorial, I looked across the pond and saw a woman marching along with a red umbrella. There were about 100 people following her in a line... like baby ducks.

Then we got closer to the Lincoln Memorial... and over here was a man with a green umbrella and a line of baby ducks behind him...over there a woman with a yellow umbrella and a line of baby ducks behind her. «Ah,» we belatedly realized, «Tour guides.» It seemed like the next logical step after the airport security checkpoint. «For your own safety, please remove your jewelry, shoes, clothes and dentures, then follow the umbrella. Stop! You! Get in the red umbrella line! Don't make me get out the taser!»

We laughed at it for a while, in a sardonic sort of way, until we got to the Vietnam Memorial...where the spectacle of thoughtless, mindless baby ducks shuffling by and pawing at the gifts left at the memorial with cotton-candy-sticky fingers was too much callous disrespect for both of us. Jan got very quiet. I teared up. She looked at me, «Are you OK?» «No. Are you?» «No.»

We rapidly fled the park and left the umbrellas and sock-footed baby ducks who gazed blankly at the mute evidence of one of America's greatest tragedies behind... far behind.

We waded into the streets near the Smithsonian and the National Gallery of Art...where we found hordes in matching t-shirts, being herded here and there by junior homeland security wannabes with whistles. «Toot! March over here blue shirts! You! Red shirt! Go back to your line!»

That was Washington, in a nutshell: People blankly marching in formation, wearing matching clothes, following the orders of people with umbrellas and whistles. Oh, and Starbucks. As the «church on every corner» is to the Bible Belt, so is Starbucks to every corner of D.C. The obligatory Starbucks in our hotel exited on to K Street. So, as I sat sipping lattes, I thought about indicted lobbyists.

We cut loose from the national monument scene for a lunch in Chinatown. Lured by a sign that read, «Seafood Restaurant,» we climbed the stairs to an obscure Chinese restaurant on the second floor of a nondescript building.

Tattered, greasy newspaper articles about the owner's contribution to Washington D.C. and democracy lined the foyer. It was two in the afternoon and the place was nearly deserted... just us, an elderly man yelling epithets into the phone in what we assumed to be a heated Chinese dialect... and the other table. Interesting.

There sat an excruciatingly well-groomed woman with steely eyes, making a forceful presentation, punching the air with hands that glittered with diamonds. Two Asian men in suits. Behind them, a large table of deferential aides. All around them, expressionless young men with ear buds and telltale weapon bulges in their custom-cut suits. There was a trade deal in progress.

«State is in on this,» said the steely eyed woman. «We need to get you with the Chamber.» Pause while the steely eyed woman made a call on her cell phone. «We're about done. Get a car and security over here.» Back to the two Asian businessmen, «About the human rights situation, we can take care of that if you'll offer some scholarships.»

We had no idea who any of the people were but, from the context of the conversation, we got the distinct impression that, if we had known their identities, it would have been an occasion for a call to a news tip line. Or, perhaps, Crime Stoppers.

The reality of Washington D.C. versus what Washington D.C. theoretically represents was almost enough to make me lose my faith in the longevity of the Republic. But, then again, there was the ACLU Membership Conference which answered a question I've had for a while, «Where are all the people who are paying attention? Who care enough to defend the principles that founded the U.S. of A?»

We arrived in time for Sunday's opening dinner with featured speakers Arianna Huffington, Jan Crawford Greenburg, Rachel Maddow and the only guy I crush on: Glenn Greenwald, recovering constitutional lawyer/current author and blogger. (No, I don't want his body. But I do love his mind.)

The discussion topic was, «Looking Ahead: Political Realities of a Post-Bush America.» The crowd that I could see, and I couldn't see much of it... huge room, thousands of people... was mixed in every way. Men and women, families, couples, singles, young and old, people of every race and apparent combinations of races. The speakers made their speeches but the best part was the questions from the audience... lots of questions from young people (18-30) along the lines of, «How can I make an impact?» It made me feel a whole lot better about life in the Republic to see so many young people thinking and strategizing for the eons ahead.

I did have two favorite questions and answers. One, «What do we do to protect ourselves from governmental abuses like the ones perpetrated by the Bush administration?» Glenn Greenwald's answer, «The Founders anticipated governments just like this one. The Constitution gives the people the tools to protect ourselves. We just have to use them.» (Well, that's it, isn't it? There you have it.) Greenwald mentioned the I-word (impeachment) and the crowd erupted into cheers.

Two, a man asked, «Why do we use the words the Right has come up with? Like 'conservative?' The people who call themselves 'conservatives' aren't conservative at all. They're radical. They want to make radical changes to the Constitution. Why do we call them 'conservative?'» I have the same question myself, especially since I read ????????Don't Think Of An Elephant!. (Rachel Maddow's answer was, «It's lazy shorthand. It's lazy, but we use the words as shorthand because everybody knows what they mean.»)

Jan's and my part came the next day at a presentation called, «Get Busy, Get Equal: Pushing for LGBT Equality in Your Community.»

Faithful Gay News readers know the story of Eureka's DPR... how four ordinary civilians started the process of creating the first domestic partnership registry in Arkansas... and how the idea was embraced by the city government of Eureka Springs... and how the citizens of and visitors to Eureka Springs carried the idea further, defending the ideal of civil and human rights that the Eureka Springs DPR represents even when, especially when, imported thugs got the strange idea that it was necessary for them to school the progressive and enlightened population of Eureka Springs (and the even stranger idea that they are welcome to do so.)

That was what the ACLU wanted us to talk about, what it's like to just wade out there and do something about a civil rights issue that stresses you out... even if it's only four people, or two, or one. Even if you don't have any experience. Even if you don't have any money to throw at the cause. Even if you feel like everybody is going to think you need a nice, long vacation in a place where the authority figures all around you have white coats and pill cups.

As I would characterize the overall theme of Washington D.C. as «mindless herds in matching t-shirts following umbrellas, shoe-less, guzzling Starbucks,» I would characterize the overall theme of the ACLU Membership Conference with the Nike theme song: «Just do it.»

The other storyteller at our part of the conference was a young woman by the name of Evie Farnsworth who, as a high school student, led a small-party charge to convince the Metropolitan Nashville School Board to add sexual orientation, gender identity and expression to the city-wide school anti-discrimination policy. (At last word, the school board was expected to vote, «Yes.» Because... why? The Nashville students with no experience and no money just did it.)

By the time I left for the land of umbrellas and Starbucks, I was mighty tense and irritable about all the opportunities missed over Eureka's DPR. The last thing I read before I dutifully took off my shoes at the airport was an article about how Eureka's DPR is no big deal. Nothing to see here Move along.

As someone who has spent a fair amount of time earning a living by helping clients capitalize on opportunities... I just want to bang my head on my desk. [whack whack] A little vision please? Step out of the bell jar? Look around? See the possibilities? [whack whack]

But my trip to Washington D.C. reminded me of something important, at least to me:

Business success is dependent upon capitalizing on opportunities. Political success is dependent upon convincing shoeless people in matching t-shirts to follow your umbrella.

The people are supposed to lead the leaders. That's the way our system is set up.

Oh, you don't think the people have the power to scare the crap out of their «leaders» and bring their so-called leaders to heel? Two words: Terry Schiavo.

I came back from D.C. as a believer in the Nike creed, «Just do it.» Something. Anything. Talk about it. Write about it. Blog it. Paint it. March.. hold a bake sale. Ride a horse, naked, down Spring Street, playing a Ukulele..

Whatever your interest, whatever your cause, just do it... because the people in matching t-shirts are hungering to see your umbrella and hear the sweet «toot-toot» of your whistle.

If you don't have the slightest idea where to start, well, here you go. One word with a dot in the middle: aclu.org

Some days are better than others

My father is now in an assisted living home since performing a half gainer down the basement steps, breaking a hip and smashing his face to the tune of 12 stitches. He calls the place the assisted dying home, or The Prison. Thankfully, the home is only about a mile from Hell's Half Acre, so I'm able to go see him every day, and I call him at least once per day.

Physically, he's doing better than expected. He gets around pretty well with the aid of a walker. Emotionally, he's not doing very well at all. He's becoming depressed. I can't blame him. The home, nice as it is, is not home. Being there strips one of self esteem and independence, and on some days it takes a real toll on him.

I went by to see him yesterday afternoon. He was in a good mood, talkative, and relaxed. We had a 45 minute visit and discussed the gas prices ('goddam Bush!') politics ('goddam Bush!') the economy in general ('goddam Bush!') and the war in Iraq ('goddam Bush!').

It was a good visit. I called him later that evening and was talking to a totally different person.

Y: You sure? I can't imagine them not giving you the pills, dad. I mean, they have forms they have to fill out, you know, record everything.

D: Well, I asked for them. They said I already took them, but I didn't. They're probably hoarding them to sell on the black market or something.

Y: Well, I'll talk to them about it, but I can't imagine them purposely not giving you the pills you're supposed to have.

Hey, I'm thawing a pork roast. I'll pick you up at about 4:30 tomorrow afternoon. We'll have dinner here at the house.

Y: No it's not. I'm fixing dinner anyway, and it'll get you out of that place for a while.

This too shall pass. Dear God, please make it soon.

My father is 86 years old. Almost 87. He's in fairly good health for someone his age, and gets around well. My mother died 15 years ago. He's lived alone since, taking care of the house, the car, himself, etc. He cooks his own meals, with some help from me and one of my brothers who lives nearby. My other brother lives part time in Georgia, part time in Branson, but is in town to see the old man about once per month or so.

He entertains himself by going to auctions and estate sales, and bringing home shit nobody wants.

'Look at this! It was in a box I bid on. Got the whole box for 2 bucks!' he says, proudly holding up a dusty lava lamp with no electrical cord.

He buys clothes at these sales, washes them, and donates them to local women's shelters and a home for wayward youth. It's a sort of hobby for him. It keeps him out of the taverns and lap-dance clubs, so I don't have any problem with him doing this, even though I'm continually telling him, 'No, dad, I don't need a pair of size 10-1/2 tennis shoes with no laces.' or, 'Why would you buy 4 Igloo coolers when you already have 6?'

His washer and dryer are in his basement. He's up and down the steps often, doing laundry and playing around in his workshop.

Three weeks ago, he fell down the steps. He broke his hip, rammed his face through the basement door window, and was generally banged up pretty badly. Thankfully, he had his cordless phone with him. Odd, because he NEVER carries it. It's always by his chair in front of the tv. He was able to call my brother, who came over to survey the damage. My brother immediately called an ambulance and they took him to a local hospital.

Six stiches in one eyelid, six more in his lower lip, and one titanium hip joint later, he's out of the hospital and on a walker. He says it's remarkable how little pain there is. I hope he's telling the truth. The real, real bad part of all of this is that he's now in an 'assisted living facility', which is a politically correct way of saying 'warehouse for old people who have no family to care for them, or whose family can't be bothered'.

We've GOT to get him out of there, ASAP. He's not getting the physical therapy we were told he would get, and is surrounded by The Living Dead.

He calls it The Prison. He's been there almost two weeks now. When I took him there from the hospital, we were 'greeted' by 4 or 5 ladies in wheel chairs, gazing into space at nothing.

I got him to his room, past several people in chairs staring at the floor. A television is blaring on one side of a large room with people in a semi-circle around it, looking at anything but the tv. Thankfully, his roommate is somewhat verbal. He can actually put words into sentences that kind of make sense. Sometimes, anyway.

I'm helping him arrange his room when I look across the hall. A woman is holding herself up with the aid of the door jamb. She screams, 'Haaatteeeeeyyyy!! BLAT! Haaatteeeeeeyyyy! BLAT! BLAT!! BLAT!!' I don't know if she's welcoming us, threatening us, or introducing herself. I wave and smile, 'Hello there!' It seems to help, or maybe confuse her, but she stops screaming. A few minutes later, 'Haaatteeeeyyyyyy!! BLAT!' (cough, cough, wheeze, caugh) «Haaattteeeeeeyyyyyyy BLAT!!' all over again.

My father looks at me, 'Do you think there are people here who know what year it is?'

'They're not all like her, dad.' I say, not really believing it. 'Besides, this is only temporary. You'll be out of here in no time.'

'God, I hope so. If anything would make a person want to go home, this place is it.'

My father is not the least bit confused or senile. He's a little forgetful, sometimes repeats himself, but is more 'up' on politics and world & local affairs than most people half his age. At 86 years of age, he's allowed to be a little forgetful. He's earned the right to repeat random thoughts without someone condescendingly saying, 'Now now, it's going to be ok, Mr. Yip.'

We get his room set up, and walk around the building for a few minutes so he can practice with the walker. The place is clean and tastefully decorated in muted colors. The staff is - seemingly anyway - attentive and friendly. We walk back to his room. In spite of the cleanliness, the odor of urine and feces is never far away. Lysol and shit. What a combination.

It's time for dinner. An orderly comes to the room to help dad find his 'assigned' seat in the dining room. 'Can you please...please...seat me by somebody who can talk?' my father asks. 'Well sir, tonight we must seat you in a specific place, but maybe we can move you to another table in the future.'

'Thank you. I'd appreciate being with people who are able to talk and not just stare.'

To see a man who has always been so strong, fiercely independent, confident, smart, handsome and tall, reduced to stumbling around on a walker among people who cannot feed themselves, who drool continually and helplessly soil themselves, is more than just depressing.

I've got to get him out of there. Nobody deserves a fake life like that. Certainly not my father.

I went to the car to drive home. After the stress of the day, out of my father's eyesight, I gave myself permission to cry.

Eureka Springs Gay Community Fights Back

After almost a year of anti-gay propaganda from American Family Association and assorted other homophobes, the Eureka Springs gay community is asserting itself in print and on-line.

What began in December as an effort to persuade regional gay magazines to publish travel stories about Eureka Springs has produced substantial dividends:

«With all it has to offer the LGBT traveler,» Bradley David Williams wrote, «Eureka Springs should be considered on par with Key West, Provincetown and Palm Springs as a gay vacation destination.»

In a precedent-setting show of solidarity, at least two dozen gay and gay-friendly businesses--retail shops, restaurants, B&Bs and bars--contributed advertising--thanks in large measure due to the hard work of Fusion Squared co-owner John Jarrett and Alvin Byrd from A Byrd's Eye View. Byrd also managed to convince the City Advertising and Promotion Commission to advertise for the first time in a gay publication.

Eureka Springs Mayor Dani Joy, acknowledging the importance of such locally-based tourist initiatives, attended a reception at Marquee's restaurant May 14 to mark the publication of OutSmart's travel story.

Sadly, although invited, no members of the Eureka Springs City Council showed up--thus continuing their year-long silence about anything having to do with the Domestic Partnership Registry, Diversity Weekends, gay tourism or the bashing of the town by the AFA.

«What impressed me most,» Lainey Millen wrote, «was learning that about 35 percent of the residents are LGBT and there are 60 gay-owned businesses here . . . It is not odd to see same-sex couples walking down the street hand-in-hand or even kiss. Locals don't blink an eye. The LGBT and straight communities commingle and socialize together.»

So, as it turns out, the American Family Association was not far off the mark when in January it deemed Eureka Springs «the San Francisco of Arkansas» in it's vile video entitled «They're Coming to Your Town.» In case that reference was too vague, the AFA also awarded the town the titles of «gay hot spot» and «national hub for homosexuals.»

Naturally, as a result, LGBT travelers across the nation are now checking us out.

NOTE: The ad deadline for Verge's June Pride issue has been extended to June 6. Contact John Jarrett at Fusion Squared (253-4999), Alvin Byrd at A Byrd's Eye View (253-0200) or the magazine: www.vergekc.com. As a favor to Eureka Springs, the magazine is offering half-off rates for half- and full-page ads.

OF PARKING SPACES, INSANITY AND CUTE COPPERS

I get to my office for a fun-filled day of cookbook publishing. I park in my building's driveway, unlock the office door and decide I'd rather play on the Internet than work. Hey, it's MY business. If I want to play before working, who's to tell me I can't?! So there I sit, checking out Geekfest and a few of my favorite www's.

At about 6:30, I see a man walk up to the front door of my building. He pounds his fist on the door. Doesn't knock, POUNDS. WTF?! He walks away. I open the door. He's about 10 feet away on the sidewalk. 'Can I help you?' I say. 'Yeah. MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR!'

A description of my building, driveway and parking lot to help you form a mental picture that you probably don't want to see, but I'm going to tell you about anyway. It's relevant to this fascinating story.

My office is next to an apartment building. There's a narrow driveway between the two buildings ? about 12 feet wide ? that I own, leading to a small parking lot (which I also own) behind my building. The only access to the parking lot is this narrow drive.

They came with the building when I bought it about 15 years ago. The property line of the apartment building ends at a small sidewalk that runs parallel to my drive.

Sometimes, people living in the apartments park their cars in my drive or parking lot. Usually, I ask them not to park in my lot, and it's not a problem. They all have assigned parking on the other side of the apartments, but they have to walk all of 75 feet or so to get to the main entrance of their building. If they park in my lot, they only have to walk about 10 feet.

In the scheme of things, this is not a life or death situation. Just an inconvenience for me to move my car whenever they want to get out, and for them, because they have to wait for me to move. Besides, it's private property.

Ok, now back to this riveting tale. (Soon to be a major motion picture starring George Clooney as Yip [I wish], Ashton Kutcher as the troubled door pounder, and somebody [ANYbody] from Grey's Anatomy as the cute copper. Special cameo appearances by Gene Hackman, Morgan Freeman and that girl from Little Miss Sunshine...just for the 'cuteness' aspect.)

'MOVE YOUR GODDAM CAR!' I stand there for a second, trying to figure out what's going on. The guy is glaring at me. Under different circumstances, I would have thought he was kind of cute...in an unhinged sort of way.

In a split second I realize what's going on. He's apparently parked his car in the lot behind my building. When I got to work, there were no cars in the driveway, but I can't see what is or isn't behind the building.

He takes a few steps toward me, 'FUCK YOU! MOVE YOUR GODDAM CAR NOW! YOU SON OF A BITCH! I'LL MOVE THE CAR IF YOU WON'T AND IT WON'T BE PRETTY!'

When one is as old as I am, there's not a lot left to be scared of. But this guy is scaring me. I recognize most of the people who live in the apartments, but I've never seen him before.

One thing I know for sure, he's emotionally unstable. Even though I really dislike being threatened, I decide that discretion truly is the better part of valor.

'DON'T FUCK WITH ME! HURRY UP AND MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR! HURRY UP, GODDAM IT! IT'S GONNA GET UGLY IF I HAVE TO MOVE THE FUCKING CAR FOR YOU, AND I WILL!'

'HURRY THE FUCK UP! MOVE THE GODDAM CAR NOW! YOU WANT ME TO MOVE IT FOR YOU? HURRY UP GODDAM IT!'

I get my key and get in the car. He's driving a late-model Ford pickup, which is a few feet in front of my car in the drive. As I'm starting my car, he puts the pickup in gear and lurches toward me, stopping inches from my front bumper. I back out, he screeches tires and shows me his middle finger. (That was a clever touch. Original, too.) He burns rubber down the street.

Wow. I go back to my office, trying to figure out exactly what just happened. All of this took place in the span of about 1 and one-half minutes.

I call the police. A (nice looking!) cop shows up and takes my statement. I describe the guy and his pickup. I have his plate number, give it to the copper who runs it in his computer. Nothing of interest regarding the plate number comes up.

I say to the cop, 'I appreciate your coming. This may be trivial stuff, but the guy really did scare the crap out of me.'

'Glad you called. This is what we're here for. If this happens again, call us immediately. He could be 'on' something. We don't want this to get out of hand, or physical.'

(BTW, casting is now being arranged for the Broadway musical version. Unfortunately, Ethel Merman is not available for the part of Yip.)