My Brothers and Me.

Our first time together since 1985. I would tell you stories, but then, I'd have to kill you.

Find Joey (From Jason)

For those who may be interested, America's Most Wanted is planning to do a segment on my "adopted son" Jason Hungerford's aunt, Joey Lynn Offutt, who has been missing from Sykesville, PA since July 2007.

The show will air on FOX on Saturday, November 15. The exact air date of the segment is subject to change due to late-breaking news or recent captures. But as of right now, that's the date that is planned for the story to air.

For more information you can visit the Find Joey website: http://www.findjoey.org

It's My Daddy's Birthday!

Happy birthday, daddy!

I'm so lucky and thankful that both my parents are alive. They're really the coolest people on the planet, even though they are rock-ribbed Republican Baptists, the type that get ridiculed mercilessly in some places as being either stupid or out of touch or ignorant.

But my folks are anything but that. They are kind, smart and generous to a fault, and if they're ignorant about anything, we have a saying in the South. Ignorance can be fixed. Stupid can't.

Generally, since they know I'm a progressive Democrat, we avoid discussing politics, especially in this heated climate where everyone seems to desperate to be putting Hate on whoever they're running against, especially if they're behind (hint, hint).

What I know about my folks is that if anyone needs them, they'll be there instantly. Recently, when the hurricane blew through, my daddy, who is in late 70s, was driving back and forth every night from this damaged senior center to a town many miles away in order to transport people needing help. He's that kind of guy. He'll do anything for anybody.

I wrote, in my song "Preacher and the Nurse," that he's my hero and that I could never in a million years be the kind of man he is. I'm just glad he and my mom are still around.

Right now, with yet another stock market plunge, I think a lot of "Depression era" folks are going to be teaching us about how neighborhoods, communities of faith and others will have to relearn how to band together and support each other -- cuz help ain't gonna come from politics.

Our little church in Buna, Texas was filled with poor folks, most of whom worked rotating shifts at the noxious paper mill down the road. I learned first hand, back there, that we only have each other if we're going to survive hard times. Buna was living hard times already even without stock market crashes or full-out depressions.

And it was my daddy, Brother Neil, who was right there for anyone who needed him, including the four boys stomping around his house.

Happy birthday, old man. And thank you for being the man you are.

Fires and Friends.

A very close friend of mine, Ernie, had a terrible fire in his home and I've been talking to him a lot. He and his partner, Chris, are emotionally devastated. It happened this past Sunday and the enormity of what it all means is just beginning to sink in.

It was an electrical fire that was caused by a short circuit in the wiring of a surge protector connected to his computer. It got tangled and twisted in some way and caught fire under a big oak table. Then it swept through the whole top floor -- den, living room, bathroom, kitchen and dining room.

He had just left the apartment, too. Around 9:15 Sunday morning.

At 9:45, he was sitting on Sunset Blvd. having breakfast with another friend of ours, Danny (who's an indie filmmaker), watching the fire engines roll right past.

Scary. Horrible. But, ruled the Fire Marshal, an accident.

Ernie and Chris are modest people who do not seek the spotlight (though Ernie gave me permission to talk about them here). They're not in the show biz, but they they love movies, theater and going to concerts. Our conversations are always about art and music and politics and religion and life. We laugh a lot. Say the worst, most inappropriate things. We can be real with each other, something that's rare. And I'm writing all this because I'm thinking of them and how much I love them and I don't know how to express how utterly devastated I feel for them.

Of course, when I saw Ernie on Monday morning, what I actually said was, "How could you do this to me?!?!"

He laughed out loud, but his eyes immediately reverted back to sad.

It's what he always says to me when I have bad news. A signal between friends that you already know. Ernie and Chris are far from rich. They've spent the last 25 years together, working very hard, scrimping and saving enough to get the mortgage on this, their own place in a small apartment building.

This past July, there were married at West Hollywood City Hall. I was there, taping the whole celebration.

But, now. Suddenly, they needed a place to stay. What about their clothes? And work? Pictures? Music? Videos? Kitchen stuff? Miraculously, the downstairs bedroom was spared. But the water and smoke damage is extensive. Danny and I are gonna go with him on Friday so Ernie can see that part for the first time. The personal loss is incalculable.

But you know, they also have one other thing: a community of friends. Both Ernie and Chris take friendships very seriously, and everyone who knows them, loves them. Despite the gravity of the loss, what I saw in the faces of the friends was an eagerness to help. To do anything.

Sleeping was merely a matter of moving upstairs, thanks to Joie, who, when I walked in, had taken over talking to the contractors sent by the building co-op while Ernie sat on a small balcony smoking (and crying).

He told me, "I'm smoking again. I had just stopped."

Chris was out getting sandwiches. They assured me there was nothing I could do. Their burned apartment was blockaded.

But looking in the door, it was a black gaping maw. Horrible is its utter blackness.

They will survive this. E was already back in his office by Tuesday, though his boss offered him as many days off as he needed. They did not have fire insurance, but building itself does. So, hopefully, the basic rebuilding costs will be covered.

As for whether their "legal" marriage will survive November 4, that's in the hands of others, apparently, with this hideous Proposition 8. Fires can burn them out. Politics can strip them of their rights as a couple, but they will survive all of this because they are massively and insanely loved.

And that's something no one can take away.

Maggie Gets Quoted in USA Today!

My friend and mentor and buddy, Maggie Heineman (that's us, left, in 2006), was mentioned today in USA Today in an article about biking.

Maggie Heineman of Medford, N.J., came to the pursuit late in life. Sitting at the breakfast table in the Old Tavern at Grafton on Day 2, the trim, attractive 72-year-old tells of a lifetime of yo-yo dieting until, at age 67, she got on a bike.

"My goal is to be cycling when I'm 85 because it's social. And it's fun," she says. 

The article goes on to mention how a lot of states are creating new biking paths, and then connecting them together to create a bike version of a highway system across the country. I think this is a terrific idea. 

But I'm very proud of Maggie. And I agree with the reporter. She's a total babe.

Who Knew From Pismo?

Travis Terry as Macbeth.

Phone. Michael. "Hey, why don't you drive up the coast with me up past Santa Barbara tomorrow?" (This was last Friday.)

He pushed, "I'm sick of the city. I just want to get out of this town, and also, Travis is doing Macbeth in Pismo Beach."

"Oh, right! Shakespeare in the park. I'm in. I've never gotten to see him. Is he a good actor? No, wait. Don't tell me. Let me just experience him. So, it's outside?"

"It's in a park on a beach, so bring beach stuff. Do you sit out in the sun?"

"Never. But I have swimming trunks."

"Well, I don't know what's there or what we'll do. So, I'm bringing towels and a blanket."

He picked me up about 10am and I packed a little bag with swim stuff, some munchies. And off we zoomed, his hybrid purring like a kitty cat.

It had been awhile since we'd had a chance to just chat and gossip. Took about four hours to get there. But Michael wasn't sure which beach it was. All he had was street exit. So, we got there, and after driving around lost for about 20 minutes, we found it.

Pismo Beach.

Now, I'd heard of Pismo Beach before, usually wrapped up in a punch line. After all, it's a "P" word (and P words are funny, per Neil Simon).

We pulled up to a guard booth. The man inside asked if we were planning on driving on the beach.

(Driving on the beach???)

We looked at the beach and saw that on the left, the shoreline was packed with trucks, SUVs and cars. I don't think I've ever seen that before. To the right, were people only.
First we got lunch at a "seafood restaurant" right near the beach. I knew we were in trouble when I saw that the menu opened to FRIED SEAFOOD PAGE. It was the worst menu I have ever seen in my life. We ordered fried seafood, all of which was made from frozen fish.

Michael and I marveled, "How is it that they managed to make fried food tasteless?"

After lunch, we decided to just walk on the beach. The sun was not quite beginning to set and it was a beautiful day. Michael had the sun screen still in the car, but this wasn't going to be our camping site, so we'd just walk for a few minutes -- which turned into a couple of hours. We walked for a good three miles and back, down to a pier we saw stretched out over the water.

Took a little longer than we anticipated, but the water felt good on our feet (though there was a yellowish tinge to the surf -- we didn't know if it was pollution or some kind of yellow sea foam. We imagined getting back to the car with our feet melted off the skeletons).

This is the view from the end of the pier:

Pismo Beach Pier.

The beach from the pier:

As you can tell, the landscape is beautiful with its rolling hills.

Michael.

Me at Pismo Beach.

I think the best way to describe Pismo Beach, aside from the fact that it was spotless, is that it was kind of like the New Jersey of California beaches. This is where "normal folk" go, as opposed to the Beverly Hills set with their fancy cabana boys and Mai Tais (though there are some hotels on the beach going for $300 a night).

I liked it here. No one putting on airs or trying to impress anyone else with their yachts. Just "folks" taking a weekend from the inland territories south of San Francisco and north of Santa Barbara.

As the day was waning, we decided we better find out where the "Shakespeare Under The Moon" was happening, so we found an Information Booth there on the pier. As you can see in the pic, not fancy, but very nicely kept.

And there was a poster for the "Independant Players." (And no that's not a misspelling. They have an "ant" on their main page.) They'd be up farther at Dinosaur Cave Beach, which turns out to be a smaller park sitting on some craggy cliffs.

Michael, who reads this blog, knows that Jimmy loves to take pictures of me asleep on holiday. So, here's the obligatory "Steve Sleeping" shot at the place where we finally spread out a blanket and got ready for Macbeth (Or, as they call it in the theater, "The Scottish Play." You're never allowed to say "Macbeth" when you're in a theater. It's bad luck.)


Happily, we did not have to play Green Room Perjury with Travis (not that there was a green room), who, to my utter delight was playing the title role. In fact, he was better than good. He played Macbeth with a solid mastery of the language, managing to make ol' Mac look both heroic at first, and then cowardly and then insane without ever missing a beat.

I cannot imagine working outside like this and trying to convey character, much less keep from falling off the stage. But he did it. And both he and the excellent little rag tag band of troupers managed to hold the crowd of several hundred completely transfixed for the two hour performance. Even the kids were mesmerized by the show, as they laughed at the funny parts and gasped at the climactic beheading. Bravo!


The next morning, I saw that I had what we in the "I Love Lucy" trade call "Don Loper Red" arms, neck and shoulders. It looked like someone painted me. But it didn't really hurt all that much. And I'm so glad I was able to spend time with Michael.

It's hard, when you're a couple, like Jim and I are, to find time to hang separately with friends -- something that I think is important for couples to do. So, even though I miss Jim terribly with him still being in Florida (until Monday), I've been able to spend quality time with several of my other friends (though I suspect Jim might be bribing them to do so just to keep me out of trouble).

I know it would have been difficult for the three of us to pile into Michael's car to make that trip. So, it was the perfect little holiday. And best of all, I finally got to see Travis perform -- who, by the way, did not know we were coming. And that was my favorite part of all, surprising him so far away from home.

Same-Sex Couples Offer Insight Into Gender and Marriage - NYTimes.com

Article from the NY Times about how gay couples compare to straight couples in terms of their relationships.

June 10, 2008

Gay Unions Shed Light on Gender in Marriage

By TARA PARKER-POPE

For insights into healthy marriages, social scientists are looking in an unexpected place.

A growing body of evidence shows that same-sex couples have a great deal to teach everyone else about marriage and relationships. Most studies show surprisingly few differences between committed gay couples and committed straight couples, but the differences that do emerge have shed light on the kinds of conflicts that can endanger heterosexual relationships.

(snip)

In heterosexual couples, women did far more of the housework; men were more likely to have the financial responsibility; and men were more likely to initiate sex, while women were more likely to refuse it or to start a conversation about problems in the relationship. With same-sex couples, of course, none of these dichotomies were possible, and the partners tended to share the burdens far more equally.

Yes. Here's how we share the housework.

"We outta clean the bathroom."

"Yeah."

A week later:

"We outta clean the bathroom."

"Yeah."

...when same-sex couples argued, they tended to fight more fairly than heterosexual couples, making fewer verbal attacks and more of an effort to defuse the confrontation.

...

“When they got into these really negative interactions, gay and lesbian couples were able to do things like use humor and affection that enabled them to step back from the ledge and continue to talk about the problem instead of just exploding,” said Robert W. Levenson, a professor of psychology at the University of California, Berkeley.

Jim and I almost never fight. I fact, I can't remember the last time we even had a fight. But, one time, we were really going at it when he suddenly thought of a funny punchline. So, we paused for the punchline, had a great laugh and then returned to the fight. But by then, all the air had blown out of the confrontation and we settled it instantly.

One of the most common stereotypes in heterosexual marriages is the “demand-withdraw” interaction, in which the woman tends to be unhappy and to make demands for change, while the man reacts by withdrawing from the conflict. But some surprising new research shows that same-sex couples also exhibit the pattern, contradicting the notion that the behavior is rooted in gender...

When people ask us the secret to our long relationship, it's the fact that we just ignore each other. But we're happiest ignoring each other together.

Blogged with the Flock Browser

My Nephew, Jonathan AKA Mr. Casanova.

One of the nicest things to be happening this year is that all my nieces and nephews are coming of age, some in college, some just out of college and some just graduating high school. I previously wrote about Geoffrey stirring things up at his high school in west Texas.

Last week, I finally got together with my nephew, Johnathan, who came out here to L.A. earlier in the school year to attend the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandise. And, no, he's not gay like his Uncle Steve. So, girls, have at him. He also has way more cool than his Uncle Steve.

Proof: In addition to going to school, he's making money by throwing parties in hip L.A. night clubs. He's apparently getting very good at it because the clubs are now pursuing him, and he's getting the kinds of hip, young people these clubs crave.

They call him Mr. Casanova, and he has a MySpace page.

The picture adjoining this blog is his current facebook photo, Jonathan standing with a beautiful blond girl. Who knew he had it in him? Not here six months and already he rules this town. Is Hollywood great or what?

Since he's studying design, he said his most favorite discovery is the fact that Los Angeles has more art deco buildings than just about any other city. He said he didn't know much about art deco, but now he's really fascinated by it, and by old Hollywood. For instance, his favorite activity is going to the Silent Movie house on Fairfax and watching an evening of silent movies. (They have an organ and everything.)

So, in six months, he went from a Texas yahoo to a cultured, intelligent, hip, Mr. Casanova who hangs out with the glitterati, rules the Hollywood nightlife and he's my nephew???

Call me Uncle Proud.

PSAs For Safe Schools Coalition

I ws asked if we could make some Public Service Announcements for the Safe Schools Coalition, a non-profit group that helps teach educators about how to create a safe school environment for GLBT young people. It was a request from Ethan at TransFM, which is an outrageously fun "internet broadcasting network" featuring transgender performers.

After recording this one featuring Jim's voice, I made up a video to go along with it. What do you think?

The Deceptive Danger of Ex-Gay Groups.

I wasn't going to write this entry today, but I feel like I must. I received an email from a guy who is active in his gay Christian church, but who went through all the exgay programs. His story was very typical. First, an exorcism to release the "gay demon," followed by exgay therapy programs, followed by encouraging him to "reject" the "gay identity."

Following in faith, he became a leader of exgay programs, got married, endured this marriage even though he never became opposite sex attracted (but was encouraged to marry by those who said that "God would provide") until he finally lost it completely and ended up doing hard drugs and wasting his life in sex clubs until he contracted HIV and almost died. In fact, they had pulled the plug on him. But, miraculously, his lungs healed and he came back to life.

Now, he's happy as a clam, singing at a Metropolitan Community Church and is partnered with a great guy, and they are deliriously overjoyed at having found each other, and true love.

Now, imagine if he had known from the beginning that he could have by-passed all the snake oil phony exgay theology and the suicidal activity and gone right into a healthy relationship. Unfortunately, the exgay groups don't tell this part of the story. They're too busy pushing their expensive programs and their phony therapies that don't work for anyone.

I stumbled upon an article by Exodus International Vice President, Randy Thomas, where he talks about how a mother sent her 19 year old Christian-raised son into his office to get "fixed."

The boy brought his boyfriend with him and Randy basically told them that they could either be gay or they could be Christian. But that was their only choice. End of story.

In other words, they could choose each other and the love they feel for each other, or they could choose to burn in hell. Naturally, Randy didn't put it to them in just those words. The leaders of Exodus have learned to use more slippery language than that.

But how does a 19 year old tell the difference? Here's what the 19 year old hears in his head: IF YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO THAT BOY SITTING NEXT TO YOU, YOU WILL BURN IN HELL. Randy, of course, doesn't make a distinction to him about the difference, in Baptist theology, of being "saved" and being a "Christian."

In fact, what Randy did tell them was that what they felt for each other wasn't "true" love like perpetual celibate Randy has with his fetishized Jesus figure. (Seriously. You should hear him describe his Penthouse Story version of him and Jesus together in his fantasies). He tells them that what they feel is merely a substitute for the real thing.

This is why so many gay Christian teenagers either try to kill themselves (through drugs and sex or gunshots to the head) or end up depressed. They believe this crap being foisted upon them.

I questioned Randy about whether he meant to imply this in his article but he was uninterested in clarifying. His agenda is solely to sign up recruits, lobby Congress against gay marriage and continue the cult-like teachings of this discredited theology and therapy.

This past summer, Exodus held a national conference and the group Beyond Ex-Gay, which uses language far more kind than I do, held a parallel conference near there where they invited the leaders of Exodus to listen to the stories of the ex-ex-gays, and the damage done to them by the myriad of scattershot "ministries" that fall under their umbrella.

Exodus refused to join in. As I said before, they turn a blind eye to the people they've damaged.

They are afraid to face the truth of the spiritual violence inflicted by their misbegotten programs. They live in this little fantasy world where a Magic Jesus that they conjured up in their mind is going to magically transform them into heteros.

In a way, it's like the lottery. Gay people join these groups with the promise of "change" -- millions of dollars are spent on their advertising campaigns by groups like James Dobsons' -- and the promise of heterosexuality is held out there for them. But it never quite gets achieved. Oh, they hear stories of people who've "changed." Just like we see stories on the news of people who won a billion bucks in the lottery.

But, just as the man who wrote the letter to me testified, no one actually changes into heterosexuals. Randy Thomas is not a heterosexual. Alan Chambers, the President of Exodus International, though married, is not even a heterosexual. He admitted as much in a recent video that he "lives in denial" every single morning. He denies his same sex attraction and goes on in his marriage pretending to be straight, thinking that if he pretends long enough, it will come true.

So, these closet gays in admitted denial are leading others in a classic case of serial denial.

And why do they do this?

Because someone convinced them that if they don't turn straight, they won't get to heaven.

So, they practice their deceit. They wage their war against us. And they get to stand in a room full of everstraights, getting pats on the backs. Uncle Toms who've betrayed their own people in order to score a few good points with a group of folks who, otherwise, wouldn't give them the time of day -- the same way they won't give the time of day to the people they've injured.

Meanwhile, I can only hope that those two 19 year old kids who experienced the emotional and spiritual abuse from Randy Thomas cling as closely to each other as they can. The phony gay-hating Jesus created by Exodus International exists only in the minds of those whose paychecks depend on this fake monstrous creation.

UPDATE: If you think this hate-filled Jesus is not a huge part of the world of Exodus and its supporters, read this account of a man going back to his childhood Baptist church.

Buna Texas, My Hometown 6

In this final episode, our favorite barber Wendell Widener returns to talk about his yellow house, we meet the justice of the peace who tells us about strange weddings and court cases, and we go down to the bayou down near Port Arthur and meet two old folks crabbing (after crossing over the Rainbow Bridge). The documentary ends there. It was time to go back to New York. Sadly, Wendell died not too long after this and I haven't been back to Buna since then. I'm sure my high school buddy, Glenn, is still on his little ranch. I'm sure the downtown looks pretty much the same. And life goes on.

Happily, my folks are still alive and I'm ready to make me some more chicken gumbo.

Buna Texas, My Hometown 5

We meet two good ol' boys who live on small ranches. One raises rabbits as food and the other raises a few cattle -- and was one of my best friends in high school. WARNING: Though nothing graphic is shown, part of this may be disturbing to animal lovers. I didn't comment or criticize. I just pointed the camera and allowed him to speak. Remember, a lot of these small town people are living in survival mode. This is how they are able to feed their families.

Buna Texas, My Hometown 3: Mom's Chicken Gumbo Recipe

I asked my mom if she would demonstrate how to make authentic south Texas gumbo. Thanks to the invention of the microwave, the "roux" is now easily made. But there's still a trick to getting it done just right...

Buna Texas, My Hometown 2

In part two of my 1986 documentary, my mom and I visit an old graveyard and then the church where my daddy was the pastor and I played piano. At the church, you will hear some TRULY deep south country singing. This is the real thing.

Buna Texas, My Hometown 1

Although I was born in Arkansas, my family moved around a lot. My high school years were spent in a tiny, little town called Buna, Texas down in the southeast corner of the state up against the Louisiana border, on the border of the Big Thicket National Forest. Buna was actually a sweet town full of interesting and warm people.

In 1986, just after Jim and I met, I made a trip back home to Buna and brought a video camera along. It was one of the first things I ever shot. With my mother in tow, we cruised around Buna. The tape was locked away in a cabinet for a long time. Finally, last month, we transferred the VHS tape to a digital file. I've edited the footage and have uploaded it to YouTube in six parts. Here is part one:

SF Preview Number 2

If the crowded sold out house for our second preview is any indication of what's to come during our run here in San Francisco, I think we are headed for a lot of fun in this town. Just like the first preview, the laughs started right at the opening line and got bigger and bigger as we plowed through act one.

But it was in the silences! This theater is acoustically perfect for our show. Even with the air conditioning running, it's perfectly and totally silent. You can't hear any machinery. No whoosh. No humm. I wish more theaters understood how important this kind of thing is. We live in a world full of background noise. Everything around us is whirring and beeping and clicking and roaring. We're so used to having white noise pervading all our spaces.

But being in this theater, when the lights are low and the emotional moments begin to happen, it's almost like being out in the middle of the country where you can hear and feel the silence close in on your ears. How often do you actually experience total quiet and stillness?

Last night, I first detected this magical awareness when we began to go into "Where Is God?" Once again, this song stopped the show. I've been trying to put my finger on why. It comes right after the scene where I'm trying to quit my "Baptist rock and roll band" -- where I shout out of desperation, "I'm an atheist!" Then I cross over, berating myself for being unable to tell them the truth. But it's the follow-up lines that seem to cut like a knife here, when I shout, "I was so angry. Angry that I had been lied to my whole life!"

That's when I first felt it.

The ambient lighting is just enough that I could see row after row of same sex couples, both male and female looking at me, eyes wide in total recognition.

You see, for straight audiences, this is an observable moment. They see a gay guy up there and they're LEARNING our journey of self-discovery -- out of a religion that teaches you to hate what you are into the world of not-knowing, but feeling so liberated that you can finally just scream your truth to the heavens. And whether you go through an "atheist moment" or not, it's the same thing. YOU FEEL YOU'VE BEEN LIED TO YOUR WHOLE LIFE. (Not intentionally, of course. But it's the same thing. It's a LIE that gay and lesbian people need to change who they are in order to be at peace with God. It's a LIE that only heterosexuals are worthy of a spiritual life. All of it. Lie after lie after lie. And you live with it your whole life. And then one day, if you're lucky, if you don't put a bullet in your head, you finally break free and SCREAM at God or the church or the world or yourself or whomever, but it's the moment of true liberation when you finally tell the Reverend Righteouses of the world to go to hell.)

And here, in San Francisco, where gay people go to find refuge from those who think we're some kind of freaks of nature who need to get "fixed," I stood there on that stage and, without warning, seeing those faces full of understanding, I was suddenly filled with RAGE. The same rage I felt the day I stood out on my front lawn, fist raised to heaven screaming, "I DON'T BELIEVE ANYMORE!"

The words came out of me, "ANGRY THAT I HAD BEEN LIED TO MY WHOLE LIFE." And the SILENCE.

The silence.

That palpable, unbelievably powerful silence hung in the air. These people weren't observing a teachable moment. They were living it with me. They had been there. They knew EXACTLY what I was feeling. The funny, silly, comedy that they had been laughing at and hooting over suddenly turned on a dime and now we had raised the stakes. This wasn't just a funny little play about two big queens. This was a show that was dealing with demonstrably heavy subjects, some of which were probably still twisting and turning in the guts of the people watching.

Yeah. Where the hell IS God?

And by the time Jimmy joined in with Marie Cain's awesome lyrics, "If he can send tornadoes and the fatal flood / bury whole cities in a wall of mud / Put a deadly virus in a baby's blood..." the tension was so thick you could cut it with cat's whisker.

The ovation was thunderous. You know, one of the greatest things about having an audience trust you is that when you deliver something they've been thirsty for, they are most appreciative. And the thing about our show is that it's not a political screed. We are not agitprop theatre. This is a personal story. A true story. It's just us telling the truth. If they trust us enough to finally get aboard our craft even knowing that we will be going through some stormy seas, we believe it's our sacred duty to take them through safely. Yes, kids. This is going to be a harrowing ride. But you will be safe in our arms.

During act two, I could hear sobbing all over the audience as Jimmy sang (beautifully, I might add), "You Are A Stranger." And it's fun to sing the words, "Indian summer in San Francisco / I can feel the approaching winter / When the skies will all turn gray / And that's just how they'll stay" here IN San Francisco.

The other moment that really got to me was at the end, just before, "Sower and Scarecrow." They laughed as Jimmy, as the anger-filled homophobic evangelist says...

You know what? I'm not going to write any more here. There are people reading this blog who have not seen the show and I don't want to give away too much. All I can tell you is that, once again, the silence. The utter stillness of the next moment almost killed me. The last line I say just before this song never meant so much.

I don't want to take anything away from the experience of doing the show in New York. It was truly wonderful. But nothing in my experience in life equals what's happening right now on that stage in San Francisco. I wrote the producer, Ed Decker, and just thanked him over and over and over again for this opportunity. This experience.

And the beautiful, stunning silence.

Focus On The Music.

A tribute song Amy Lynn and I wrote for her friend and mentor, Casey. We recorded this in Bill Goffi's living room in New York:

Youth Pride Chorus Documentary

For anyone in NYC next week, their Spring concert is on JUNE 13 at 8pm at New World Stages!

Bill Clayton Lennon Piano Diary Part 2

Our Dinner with Charles Nelson Reilly.

In the previous blog entry about Charles Nelson Reilly, I mentioned a home video from 2000 where we had dinner over at his house. The comedy started from before we even got into the house. We fished around our shelves, teeming with old videos, and found it. It's very short, but there is Charles hamming it up for the camera every time I turned it on him.