Kudos.

In late September I was asked by Angie McMahon, "Have you heard about this Rally to Restore Sanity that Jon Stewart is having in DC?"
"Yes."
"Is anyone doing one in Chicago?"
"I haven't heard. I don't think so."
"I wonder why. Want to help me plan?"

I may have said "Sure!" and then chugged a little more beer. The thing is, Angie McMahon isn't all talk.

I believe it was the next day that the Facebook page for the Chicago satellite of the Rally to Restore Sanity was launched. The initial intent was to get enough people interested in attending in order to find someone with the know-how to plan and coordinate the entire thing. On September 22nd, I wrote to Angie: "458 people attending so far! Angie, this is so great!!" By early October that number grew, and grew, and grew. As I write this, the number of people who "liked" the Chicago satellite rally on Facebook is at a whopping 7,969. Talk about a snowball effect.

For the past month, I have watched from the sidelines as Angie has rallied followers, talent, local production companies and sponsors, started a Paypal account to raise funds, and basically man an entire movement all by her lonesome. As the month-long time line dwindled into weeks, then days, people on Facebook started to get agitated, antsy. Would the city of Chicago even grant us a permit? Is this thing actually happening? Why doesn't Angie just call Oprah? Angie herself was a skeptic. I never was.

I knew that, on October 30th, I would stand in Grant Park and watch hundreds (and possibly thousands) of people gather to simply say, "Enough of the bullshit. Let's just get along already." And I knew Angie would be at the helm. At times I felt extreme guilt for not participating more in the planning of this event. I didn't do what I could to help a person who found herself in the middle of internet-based mayhem and bedlam. As independent and determined as I tend to be, I have been known to find a "mother hen" or two to guide me along certain paths in my life. Angie McMahon has been one of my hens since I moved to Chicago in 2007. So, when I saw people criticizing my mommy, I went on the defensive.

Most people have been supportive and considerate throughout this entire process, and I know that Angie is grateful to them. They outweighed the naysayers by a landslide. The rally happened. And for the better part of it, it was a peaceful gathering of moderates willing to laugh off idiocy and say, "To hell with ignorance." But I also witnessed people coming down hard on Angie and giving her lectures on how she was "losing the crowd" by not letting them simply watch the DC rally on a jumbo tron. How it was "unfair" to the speakers because no one wanted to listen to them. They'd all rather see Ozzy Osbourne perform. "You're involved in theater, you should know when you're losing your crowd."

I couldn't help it. I went on the defensive again.
"Ma'am, there are still a ton of people here and they seem to be listening. If people want to watch TV, they can do it at home."

Yet another woman told Angie not to "allow" people to swear into the microphone. Yes, Angie McMahon has directed several scripted productions but, ladies and gentlemen, this was not one of them. Angie never called people to Grant Park to watch TV together. It was clear from the beginning that Chicago's satellite would stream some live footage from the DC rally, but we would also make this a rally of our own, inspired by the one held by Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. As these women walked away, I grabbed Angie and I said, "Remember, all you did was start a Facebook page and fuck them if they don't like it." Their bitching and moaning defeated the entire purpose of gathering in the first place. This was intended to be a peaceful event. Angie later took the stage and eloquently restated what this rally was about, what she had intended to do, and thanked those who stayed to listen to our speakers and performers who had taken special time out of this beautiful Saturday afternoon to "share this moment" with all of us.

I couldn't have been more proud of my mother hen. I am a person who has a hard time planning what I should eat for lunch. Angie McMahon plans rallies that are "bigger" than herself, and she does it with grace. Those of us who know Angie are well aware that she is notorious for biting off more than she can chew. But, we should never underestimate her ability to break down that bite into easy-to-manage proportions after the fact. Not to make this a feminist thing, but what a remarkably strong and determined woman! I realized today how lucky the world is that Angie is raising daughters.

Please, if you see her around town in the next couple of days, give Angie a pat on the back, a simple "thank you" or a "well done." Do not buy her a drink. She's pregnant. But she does deserve some credit. She became an accidental leader today, and she did a damn fine job.

Raise a glass (of milk) to Angela McMahon!

It had to happen sooner or later...

To the woman who saw "WILL CALL" on her invoice and thought she had to call the box office to reserve tickets she'd already paid for...congratulations. You, madam, have destroyed what little faith I had left in humanity. It's been a long time coming, and many have gotten close, but you take home the coveted prize. Best of luck de-evolving back into an ape.

Prepare ye...

Are you scared yet? You should be.

People love riding horses. Personally, I've never had much luck with it. The first time I ever got on a horse's back my cousin was riding her four wheeler beside us, and the horse freaked the fuck out nearly sending me, an eight-year-old novice to horseback riding, flying across a dirt road where I would have, inevitably, plummeted to my untimely death.

The second time I rode a horse, I was on a beach in Swansea, Wales. It was amazing, that was until the dude took off running and my saddle started slipping. To Whom it May Concern: You didn't put the saddle on correctly and, if I hadn't landed on sand, I may have been seriously injured. Sincerely, Casey.

Another friend of mine also fell off her horse that day, and she grew up training them. Now, I know these are instances where human beings had a hand in making horses lose their shit, but it seems to happen more often than not. Instead of being completely bitter about my experiences with horseback riding, I put myself into the horseshoes and came up with a little theory-- Horses do not want us riding them.

Think about it. Back in the day, long before we had automobiles and animal rights, we rode horses into battle where many of them fell victim to musket-shot wounds, death, broken legs, you name it. If you were a horse, wouldn't you be a bit angry over this? I think I would.

I'm pretty certain, if I were a horse, I'd be mad as hell, guys. First, you ride my ancestors into war, getting them maimed and killed, when they were reluctant to go in the first place. We're a peaceful species. We don't want to quarrel. Then, you get all smart, invent the automobile, and now you want to ride me for fun?! OH, HELL NO!

Humans, we should be prepared. We should respect horses or be prepared for the day we see the great equestrian uprising. Hey, I'm not happy about it, but it's bound to happen. So yeah, you should be afraid, because I'll bet, once they train up a bit, those sons of bitches can and will fight.

Spread the love...

Today, like many others, I am wearing purple to honor those young people who have been bullied due to their sexuality. Last night, oddly enough, I came across something I wrote about five months ago about my propensity to befriend gay men and to honor my uncle, a man who died far too young, before he could come out. I thought it fitting to post that on my blog today.

I love and miss you every day, Jeffrey.

If I told you I could pinpoint the day when I first noticed this,well, I'd be lying. It probably hit my radar about the same time I started doing theater on a regular basis, though I can't even recall exactly when that was. It was a self esteem boost for sure! No less than ten, attractive men vying for my affections, telling me I'm great, I'm beautiful, complimenting my clothes. They just couldn't get enough of me. They loved my opinionated bitchiness and appreciated my need for quiet time and space. They shared all of my interests and fawned over my Cher impression. They made me feel like a princess, so loved and respected. The only drawback...they detested my T & A.
Yep, since a very youthful age, I have been a gay magnet.

My mom says it comes from my uncle Jeffrey. He died when I was nine. He was effeminate. He loved soap operas. One of my most vivid memories is of him watching something like "As The World Turns" or the "Young and the Restless" on the couch in my grandmother's living room. A heated fight broke out between a couple on the show. It was more than my nine year old brain could handle at the time. With one swift and dramatic move, the male half of the couple pulled a handgun and BANG!

Then, from the sofa, there came the loudest intake of breath I'd ever heard, a hand to the chest, his jaw dropped as he shouted, "He shot her!"

I knew I loved that moment then, though I never quite knew why until just recently. I now know that was my first sister to gay man moment. I'm so glad that I didn't miss out on that.

Jeffrey passed away several months later-complications due to viral pneumonia. Now, of course, we all know that means he had the AIDS virus. When it's the early 90's, and you live in the south, AIDS is a dirty word. You simply cannot say it. And, if you do, people are going to judge it. I recall a kid in my 10th grade chemistry class saying that all people with AIDS should be taken to a deserted island and bombed. I also remember nearly being expelled for the tongue lashing I gave him following his little speech. Very few in my school knew that I'd lost someone to that virus, someone very important. I simply couldn't talk about it, not because I was ashamed, but because I absolutely refused to allow this small-minded community judge someone they barely knew.

My mom says that, as I've gotten older, I am Jeffrey reinvented. His love of pop music, dance, theater, and bad tv all dwell inside of me. It's as if I took all of his favorite things and created a little home for them in my heart without even knowing. I honestly believe, if he were alive today, he would be my best friend. That belief brings about in me a sadness I cannot quite put into word, and yet it comforts me profoundly as well.

Recently, a really good friend of mine had speculation that her younger cousin was gay and too afraid to come out to the family. She kept trying to find ways to talk with him about it that wouldn't make him uncomfortable, but no such luck. He found me on Twitter not too long ago. We wrote back and forth a total of three times before he admitted his sexuality to me. My friend simply said, "Casey, you're like a gay whisperer."

I don't know where it comes from or why they flock in my direction, but they do. And I can't say that I hate it. I absolutely love the attention. But, having a personality that lures gay men can have its downfall as well. I know of two guys I've kissed in my lifetime who turned out to be gay. I really liked both of them, too. And then there's my first boyfriend from when I was five, my first kiss. He's rumored to be gay as well. So, if my friendship doesn't lure you from the closet in which you shouldn't hide, surely my saliva can.

I'm not bragging. I'm simply stating the obvious. Gay men love me, and I can't help but love them back. As someone who was heavily influenced for the first decade of her life by a man who had to hide his sexuality, I feel it is my duty to stand beside all my gay and lesbian friends and help them find their voice when they need it. I hope and pray that, in my lifetime, I'll see a world where those friends of mine can marry someone they love. It's a world my uncle never got to witness. I hope that when I pass and we meet, where ever that place may be, I get to tell him all about it. And then we get to geek out on tv and stuff.

Much love to Robert Jeffrey Pilkenton!

Aileen makes the world go 'round

"I was bullied the other day at the laundry mat. I was just in the depths of despair and crying about life to my mom on the phone, I just do that sometimes. And this black boy walked up to me and said, 'Yo. Yo. You gotta hole in your pants.'"- Aileen May

Humanity needs to get better. Period.

In the past few weeks the It Gets Better campaign has blown up all over the internet, causing various celebrities to record themselves reaching out to gay teens who are being bullied in their schools. Where I do believe in gay rights and I think these people have their hearts in the right place, I have some major issues with this entire campaign and the circumstances which caused its formation.

First of all, the trigger for this particular blog was a post on PerezHilton.com where he reported on a gay kid who was beaten on his school bus while two adult, school officials were present. After the report, Perez wrote, "And to that 14-year-old, we say this: IT GETS BETTER!" True. It most likely will--once you graduate college. But what are we doing about these bullies? The media and the parents of these kids who are victims of taunts and sometimes violence keep putting all of the pressure on school faculty to make the difference. I've said it before, and I will say it again--kids are smart enough to hide their evil bullshit from adults, plain and simple.

In most cases, a group of jackasses intent on tormenting that child who is considered "weird" or "different" will wait until an adult's back is turned. They are not going to carry out acts of violence where they can get caught. Their lack of compassion for their fellow human being may display their ignorance in a fine way, but there's a difference between ignorance and stupidity. You can be ignorant and still be cunning. Why can't the media speak directly to the parents of these kids accused of torturing their classmates to the point of suicide? Do the important lessons of respect, kindness, and love not get taught directly in the home? The parents in these cases should be questioned and confronted. Who are these people and how are they raising their children? Because that is the problem. All of this responsibility cannot be put on the schools. Meanness is a learned behavior, and it is learned, in most cases, in the home.



Also, as my roommate stated this morning, all of the videos posted as part of this campaign are recorded by celebrities--actors, public figures, musicians. Not to downplay their intentions at all, but these people are rich and famous. Of course it got better for them! I really hope the videos are working, but perhaps getting some every day, average Joes to record messages will make an even bigger impact. Surely there are some Starbucks baristas, some struggling artists, some grad students, some secretaries, some office interns, who feel the same way-- it gets better because you will find people who accept you for you.

And lastly, I feel great sympathy for the families of these kids who have decided to take their lives rather than deal with the pain of being tormented daily. I've heard their stories, their complaints to school officials for months, even years. I cannot judge them in any way, because it is not my place, but I do know that, if it were my child and I had the ability to do so, they would be home schooled. I would do everything in my power to make that child's days better. If you can't feel safe sending your child to school, it's a sad thing, but you probably shouldn't send them. Don't trust others with your own child, trust yourself.

The It Gets Better campaign is a great thing, a wonderful thing. But, as a sometimes cynic myself, seeing only celebrities spreading the word can be a bit off-putting. And I can see how it could be translated as, "Hey, kid. It gets better. Just endure this torment and this hell long enough to make it big, then every one will love the fact that you're gay." We should be teaching acceptance to the bullies, not tolerance to those being bullied.

This ain't a love song

This is a photograph of a random activity I took part in many months ago. It is not recent.

I put this up because I just came across someone's blog and it is full of photos of all their daily activities. They're not dull! Compelling photographs with witty and fun captions, present! I thought, "I should really think about doing a photo blog."

Then I thought about how lazy I've become about uploading photos and I realized that is something I will never do.

I felt I should share this.

Today Was A Good Day, Ice Cube

I'm watching Dateline NBC.

The story is about a man who was wrongfully accused of murder, put in prison, and nearly put to death before the charges were dropped.
While being interviewed the man was asked how his freedom felt. He said, "It was the best day of my life." He paused and then said, "Aside from the day I married my wife here. Sorry."

Dude. Don't apologize. Sure, it's a social nicety for every one to say that their wedding day is the single most important day in their life, (Until, of course, their first child is born. And if they have more than one child...well...don't get me started!) but very few people have lived out the scenario you have, so live it up! Be honest! Absolutely. Yes. You were sentenced to death for a crime you did not commit and nearly fried in the electric chair. The day you walked out of prison, hugged your friends and family, pet your dog, put on your old street clothes, drank a beer, watched your own TV, and had a home cooked meal again...that is, without a doubt, one hundred percent, the best day of your entire life! And if that woman sitting next to you who vowed on your wedding day that she'd love you for better or worse does not understand that, then she is selfish and doesn't really love you at all. You don't need her. Tell her to suck it. (That was a terrible dress she had on anyway.)

The best day of your life should be the day you actually met that person anyway, not the frou-frou wedding.