I Just Need A Little Jo Anne Worley

Saturdays in Washington usually mean one thing, and that’s Showtunes at Jrs!  As someone who loves the theatre but unfortunately can't perform in shows anymore because of my travel schedule between Portland and Washington, this 3 hour weekly romp through musicals of old and new fills a special void for me.  

Showtunes at Jr's

Whenever I go to New York City, I frequent a little basement establishment in the Village called Marie’s Crisis which features a live piano player, singing bar tenders and a jam packed crowd of Broadway hopefuls.  Marie’s Crisis even tops the weekly Jrs show because it’s live.  One of my best friends Chad is on special assignment in New York City and loves Marie’s Crisis as much as I do – well maybe not quite as much but suffice it to say he enjoys it.

Marie's Crisis in NYC

I called Chad this afternoon to see if was enjoying all that the Big Apple has to offer, and I was shocked to hear that after being gone for almost 3 weeks, he hadn’t been to Marie’s Crisis yet, but that it was on his to do list.

Chad and I met through mutual friends several years ago on an outside patio on 17^th Street and despite our respective political views in the nation’s capital mirroring James Carville and Mary Matalin, we’ve been terrific friends ever since.  What I like most about Chad is that we travel really well together and on our sojourns, we always try to get in some sort of musical performance be it a show or singing karaoke into the wee hours of the night.

Chad and I en route to Hawaii

It was during Chad’s first trip to visit me in Maine that he imparted the magic of Jo Anne Worley to me.  With the top of the Jeep down and sunglasses donned, Chad belted at the top of his lungs, “I just need a little Jo Anne Worley,”  en route to Ogunquit for yup, you guessed it, an evening of showtunes at the Front Porch.  Not familiar with Jo Anne Worley, I asked Chad to explain, and his description of Miss Worley went something like this, “You know her Boo.  She’s the warbling singer with the over the top voice from Laugh-In fame.”  It became a trademark saying between us and I would always beg for Chad’s “I just need a little Jo Anne Worley” whenever we traveled after that.

Jo Anne is indeed over the top.  She’s full of life, she’s super funny, she’s got moxie and maybe even a little touch of crazy – the good kind.  That’s why I like her, and that’s how I like my Showtunes – over the top. 

So here’s to you Chad and the city that never sleeps.  You just need a little Jo Anne Worley, and I bet you can find it at Marie’s Crisis.  When I visit in April,  it will be a part of the required itinerary complete with a hot dog from Papaya around 4 am. 

Until then, I will have to settle for my weekly Showtunes fix on 17^th Street.  The magic begins around 5 pm and while you might not see Jo Anne Worley there, you might be lucky enough to hear an impersonation of her from Blaise toward the end of the evening.

Blaise or Jo Anne Worley?

Call On Me

In between rounds at the bi-weekly trivia game at Jr’s, one of my dearest friends, Jim, announced that he needed some new material from ITunes to include in his workout mix.  Rising to the occasion, I grabbed a piece of paper and informed him that I knew the perfect song for his repertoire.  Trying to avoid the spills of lady drinks (aka Rose Kennedys) on the bar, I wrote 5 words on the slip of paper:  Call on Me – Eric Prydz.  Then, we went back to the game and managed to place third after an abysmal start.  Being a school night and all, we called it a night at the conclusion of the game.

The following morning, while having my daily iced coffee, I received the following email (expletives removed) from Jim via Facebook, “So I look in my shirt pocket this morning, and I’m like Omigod, some guy named Eric Prydz said ‘call on me’ but didn’t give me his number.  Then I googled it.  D’OH!”  Nearly spitting out my iced coffee, I doubled over with laughter as it was perhaps the funniest thing I had heard in weeks, especially given the racy video that accompanies the song on You Tube.

But it made me think.  No one actually gives out their phone number anymore.  In fact, no one ever calls anyone anymore.  Tweets, texts, emails – you name it – short quips and status updates have replaced meaningful conversations either face to face or over the phone, and I am as guilty as the next person.  In fact, I would venture to say I have a downright phobia of talking on the phone and have even removed my land line here in DC although I keep the land line in Portland just to remember the good ‘ol days.

Don’t get me wrong; I have a love affair with Facebook, and it’s allowed me to catch up with some old friends which would have otherwise been impossible in the midst of our busy lives.  But have I really started using the “check-in” application on Facebook?  Yup – guilty as charged.  In fact, I get a special thrill about checking in at certain places like the gym and leaving out the frequency of other check-ins like Jr’s thereby confusing people that I lead a super human life committed to healthy living.  Once an intern asked another staffer of mine who Peter’s friend Jr was because she had heard me speak of him often?  The staffer laughed and replied, “Oh that’s just a bar he likes to go.” 

But in between all the electronic check-ins this morrning, I decided to nervously pick up the phone and actually check in with an old friend and colleague whom I haven’t spoken to in over a year.  The conversation actually lasted more than 2 minutes, and we employed the full use of complex sentences complete with proper subject and verb agreement.  In those ten minutes, I learned a lot and even laughed a little.  And amazingly, like riding a bicycle for the first time in years, I remembered how to do it:  communicating in real life and not over an electronic device that relies on satellite signals.

Most importantly, we got to share updates on our dogs that we got together in a parking lot in Fryeburg, Maine 13 years ago this May.  They both have gray hair now, they both move a little slower, they both have had unsightly lumps and bumps that are commonplace for dogs, and they both are a little hard of hearing.  But I learned that my friend’s dog has cancer, and it caused me to think back on all the joy both of our dogs have brought us.  Our two dogs even flew together on a small plane out to the island of North Haven because we had missed the ferry for a staff retreat.  We thought about putting scarfs over their heads and sunglasses on as they deplaned just to invoke a little Jackie O drama, but we didn’t. 

My Older Dog Alex

You never know how long you will have with a beloved pet, but you come to appreciate each moment a little bit more the older they get.  And it’s exactly for learning this kind of information that we should put the blackberry down and pick up the phone once and a while.  We might just have a meaningful human interaction that is actually worthy of a status update or check-in.

Soccer Practice

It was a gorgeous October afternoon in 1989, windy but sun shining bright.  Coach Lofgren began practice by announcing we were going to have an intra team scrimmage rather than doing the normal routine.  Immediately dread came over me because that meant shirts and skins, and I knew I would inevitably be relegated to the skins team.

And sure enough I was.  So wanting to throw up the pizza and salad I’d had for lunch that day in the cafeteria at Biddeford High School, I took off my shirt and skulked to my position on the field as fullback and waited for the ribbing to begin.

Now I should preface this by saying I really enjoyed my teammates and many of us remained close friends during high school.  As such, the teasing was never meant to be mean, and I could occasionally find the humor in it. 

“Hey Chandlah,” yelled one of my teammates from mid field in a classic Maine accent.  “Where did you get your moon tan?  Working at Wellby Super Drug all summer?”  I let out a sigh of relief because at least it wasn’t a fat joke and truth be told, there was in fact not a speck of summer bronze in my skin.  Thinking back, soccer season was the only time of year I even approached being in shape. 

I loved the sport as it was really the only one I ever played.  I’m pretty sure I can thank my dad, who played three sports during high school and college, for instilling in me a love for the game.  Much to his dismay, I never really could dribble a basketball, let alone get it in the hoop.  Maybe that’s why when substitute teaching physical education (yes, it’s true – don’t laugh) at a local junior high school after college, I called “off sides” in a basketball game with eighth grade boys.  Let’s just the say that the male members of the faculty, who heard about my error within minutes of class ending, had a good time at my expense.  In any event, I know my Dad was proud I did play one sport and that I played it pretty well.  I guess that is what being well rounded is all about.

Unfortunately, I took being well rounded to a new level and somehow made eating a part of my curriculum vitae.  Fatty, chub, man boobs, pudgy, - you name it, I’ve heard it all.  And if I didn’t hear it, I had certainly thought it.  Every time I looked in the mirror, I would remember those trips to Sears to the Boys Department in the late 1970s where you had three choices in size – slim, regular and husky.  I was never greedy; I never felt a need for slim, but just once I would have liked to buy a pair of regulars.  But my body didn’t agree, and the pair of huskies and I would go home together, a match made in heaven.

My problem with weight would only grow worse after high school as the dreaded college pounds crept on one by one and I began a lifelong rollercoaster of ups and downs with a new diet around every bend.  Sometimes, I wish I had a do over, that I could go back and  become the athletic, muscular guy I always secretly admired.  But as the song from Rent, one of my favorite musicals of all time, goes, “forget regret or life is yours to miss.”

So in late 2009, after a dreadful annual physical that revealed everything from high blood pressure to dangerously high cholesterol, I decided to do something about it.  I changed my diet, started exercising and even hired a personal trainer.  It felt good going back to my high school reunion last summer having lost almost 50 pounds.  I considered taking off my shirt for the event, but alas, still no tan.

I still have a ways to go to my goal of 155 pounds  – the recommended high end weight for my age and height.  I don’t know if I will get there, but I am actually having fun trying, and I both feel and look healthier.  Maybe the 5K will help me to get there.

One thing I do know though, you can’t stop living just to lose weight.   Maybe that’s why I ordered the lasagna last night at Floriana’s, my favoite local Italian restaurant in DC.  You can’t change the past, only the future.  I am thinking chicken cutlets are in order for dinner tonight and a viewing of Johnny McGovern’s Soccer Practice.

Serendipity

Admittedly, no post was planned for today, but when you are “present in the moment”, you discover things that would otherwise go unnoticed.

At approximately 3:17 pm this afternoon, one of my interns placed a letter on my desk, a letter I would have typically transferred to the circular file.  The letter was dated January, 2011, but because all mail sent to Congressional offices is irradiated at a facility in the Midwest, we receive it about one month later.

The letter was written by Patrick Crowley, Chairman of the Board of the Association for the Preservation of Historic Congressional Cemetery!  One week ago, I didn’t even know the Congressional Cemetery existed and so, to receive a letter from them a mere 4 days after my visit on Sunday was serendipitous indeed.  (See Post from Monday - Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Gay Men’s Chorus Concert)

Before noticing the date at the top, I began to read the letter and secretly hoped that Chairman Crowley had heard of our pilgrimage to this historic site and wanted little ol’ me to become the national spokesperson for their preservation efforts.  Or maybe he would want me to perform a costume karaoke benefit harkening back to my performance days in Portland, Maine!  Could this truly be happening?  Doubtful – so I reached for a chicken cutlet to slap across my face and quickly snapped out of it as the true intent of the letter became clear.

Generically sent to Hill Staffers, it was to announce that this year they would be launching a 5K benefit event called Dead Man’s Run to help restore our country’s first national cemetery as it ascends to the rank of National Historic Landmark.  In short, it was a recruitment effort to register Congressional teams for the run.  Ok – exercise and not singing.  Hmmmm?

The significance of the moment not lost on me, I chatted with others in the office about forming a team and sincere interest ensued. The 5K run is slated for May 8^th.

So here’s the deal.  We’re going to do it!  Let the games begin.  With the nicer weather coming, I’ve been looking for a reason to start training hard again, and this might just be it.  There’s also those  last pounds to lose in the effort to reach the ever elusive goal of 155, which I was sorely reminded of this past weekend as my good friend Gary announced he had in fact reached his goal.  And boy does he look great!  Not that I am competitive or anything.

Maybe the answer to “are we there yet?” begins and ends at Congressional Cemetery, symbolically I hope and not literally.  They say all roads lead to Rome, but for me I am starting to think most roads at least lead somewhere up to Capitol Hill, perhaps more specifically the Congressional Cemetery.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Gay Men's Chorus Concert

Tragedy tomorrow - comedy tonight.

Much to the pleasure of teenage girls and gay men across the country, Glee started back up with a new episode after the Superbowl which can only be described as epic.  Coach Sylvester, in a desperate attempt to erase her boredom with her cheerleading team and spice things up, distributes chicken cutlets for her team to wear as “falsies”.  As the girls complain, Coach Sylvester tells them to slap themselves with a chicken cutlet, perhaps hoping they will somehow snap out of it and see things her way.

Fast forward a week.

My friend Evan and I are on our way to the Gay Mens Chorus’ production of Let’s Hear it for the Boys – A Swinging Tribute to Gays in the Military in celebration of the successful passage of the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.  Rather than take a cab, we decide to walk on a day that is akin to Pooh’s Blustery Day.  It was roughly 3:30 pm when a funny thing happened on the way to the Gay Men’s Chorus concert.

There – in the middle of the sidewalk on P Street – somewhere between 16^th and 15^th street lay a falsie.  We couldn’t believe our eyes as I snapped a picture and Evan declared, “Alert! Alert!  Drag queen down on P Street.”  I told Evan to slap himself with it in honor of the joyful Glee production from the week before, but he wouldn’t oblige.  I knew it was going to be a good night.

Arriving at the concert after downing a quick slice of Whole Foods Pizza, we noticed a van parked up front with a panoply of liberal bumper stickers; my favorite read “Focus on Your Own Family.”  In we went to the Epiphany Church, ever so appropriately chosen for this concert, where little did I know I would have my own epiphany.

Much to my chagrin, the concert, while excellent in terms of singing quality, thematic structure and fanfare, was not your typical peppy production replete with men dressed as women sporting snappy boas and attempting to walk in high heels.  But rather, it was a historical, somewhat somber, historical romp through the history of gays in the military, albeit with a peppier Second Act which included If You Were Gay from Avenue Q and Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.

During one of the narrated interludes between musical selections, we learned of Leonard Matlovitch, the first person to mount a legal challenge to the military’s policy on gays in the 1970s.  Matlovitch was described as one of the most famous gay icons in the 1970s and graced the cover of Time Magazine for his courageous fight.  It was then that we discovered he was buried in the Congressional Cemetery in Washington with a tombstone that reads, “When I was in the military they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one.”

For the remainder of the concert, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Matlovitch, and then the real life significance of the repeal bill we had passed in Congress hit me like a ton of bricks.

After the concert, while describing the evenings to our friend Blaise, we quickly agreed that a sojourn to the Congressional Cemetery was in order, marking the first adventure in the journey to get “there”.  Blaise, known for his penchanche for creativity, announced, “We shall bring flowers.”  We agreed to meet at 1 pm the following day with a promise to dine afterwards on Barracks Row – a fitting conclusion to our military adventure.

Because of uncooperative behavior from my younger dog Hunter, I was of course running late the following afternoon.  I picked up Blaise, Evan and Orlando around 1:10 pm and sure enough, Blaise did not disappoint as he carried a dozen red roses which matched his pink shirt and cranberry Converse sneakers.  God love him!

We then set out to find the Matlovitch gravesite in the Congressional Cemetery which is located at 1801 E Street, SE Washington, DC.  The weather, which was supposed to be 50 degrees and sunny, was instead overcast and breezy, a perfect match for the mood of our visit.  We arrived at the cemetery and began looking for the landmark.  Unfortunately, we hadn’t done the proper research to know exactly where it was located.  I had wrongly assumed it would be a small cemetery, but instead we were greeted by a sprawling land mass of American history which housed the final resting places of famous individuals like former Speaker Tip O’Neill, Edgar Hoover, Congressman Tom Lantos, the only Holocaust survivor ever elected to Congress, among others.

Blaise asked,” What does the tombstone look like?” while the ever industrious and inquisitive Evan searched wildly on his IPhone for clues that would guide us to our destination.  Harkening back to my mother’s answer for the “Are we there yet?” question, I assured everyone that we would know it when we saw it.

After walking through the cemetery for nearly an hour, we began to approach our original starting point but armed with the new clue that Matlovitch was located in the same row as Edgar Hoover whose grave was surrounded by an iron fence.  Just as Orlando pointed to a plot surrounded by just such a fence (which turned out not to be the correct one but pretty close), I proclaimed, “I see it, I see it.  It’s right over there.”

Like giddy children at the sound of the ice cream truck’s impending arrival, we scampered to the site, amazed to find several other gay soldiers buried in the immediate vicinity.  As a silence overcame us, Blaise descended upon the plot and arranged the flowers at the base of the headstone and concluded with a flourish of water from a spray bottle to give the roses an extra glisten for the camera.  The unfortunate lack of sunlight didn’t allow the so called glisten to be captured on film, but trust me that it encapsulated the full drama of our visit.

Satisfied with finding our little bit of history, we ventured off to Barracks Row and ate typical American fare at Molly Malone’s.  Orlando ate lobster macaroni and cheese which he lamented did not include a slice of bread to mop up the creamy cheese at the bottom of the bowl.  Evan chose the veggie burger which he enthusiastically announced was the best veggie burger ever as he attempted to decipher its unique ingredients that made it taste so damn good.  Blaise and I opted for the Black and Blue Burger which we both agreed was excellent.  Oh, and I can’t forget, the poutine-esque French fry dish we all shared as an appetizer was salty, but intense!  I highly recommend a visit to Molly’s.

We all agreed that our visit to the Congressional cemetery was excellent as we reflected on the end of an era – passage of the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, the first stand alone gay rights legislation ever passed by the United States Congress and done so with bi-partisan support!

As we waved goodbye to Molly Malone’s, we passed the entrance to the Marine Barracks, and I thought to myself, “Soon gay soldiers will be able to serve with the same integrity and freedom they swear to uphold when they enter the Armed Services.”

So - are we there yet?  To be sure, the answer is no.  But I would be remiss if I didn’t note just how we far we have come and the lightning speed with which we are headed to full equality.  Blaise, who very much remembers the story of Matlovitch as it unfolded in real time in the 1970s and 1980s, often comments that he never though he’d see some of the changes he’s seen in his lifetime, and that now they are happening much quicker than he ever expected.

Until we get there, perhaps all of us should slap ourselves with a chicken cutlet and snap out of it.  Let us focus on our own families and help our nation to fulfill the promise enshrined in our Pledge – With Liberty and Justice for ALL.

The Journey Begins

From the back of the blue station wagon with wildly hot wood paneling, provided exclusively to managers by Tupperware, I asked for probably the 76^th time, “Are we there yet?”

“You’ll know when we get there,”  responded my mom Nancy, her patience being seriously tested.

I thought about her answer and found myself wondering, “How will I know if I am there if I have never been there before?  I mean what a dumb answer.”

And after pondering that for all of about 2 minutes, “I asked again,  “Are we there yet?”

Fast forward 33 years, and I return often both to my question and to my mother’s response which doesn’t seem quite so dumb now. 

The milestone birthday of 40 will be here at the end of the year.   Not quite dreading it but also not jumping up and down for it to come, I find myself turning inward never quite content with the here and now, but striving to find the self awareness to know when I am in fact truly there.

So where is there?  That will be the subject of this blog – a journey to break free from the monotony of existing and find the will to really start living.  It will be a personal journey to break free from the black and white and to find comfort somewhere in that gray zone.

It will not be an exercise of merely writing for the sake of writing, but rather conducting a series of experiments to see if we can in fact get there – wherever there is.  And how appropriate given my life circumstances traveling back and forth for work between Portland, Maine and Washington, DC?   I often can hear, “Suitcase in Another Hall” playing in my head as I pack and then unpack and then pack again.

I often get asked by friends, “Which place do you call home?”  Sadly, the answer is never the same.  Some say home is where you hang your hat, but since I don’t wear hats, that won’t work for me. 

And there’s the song from Priscilla – Queen of the Desert where the drag queen sings, “I’ve been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me.”  So they board a bus with a giant high heel shoe on the top and travel across Australia to find themselves.   Well I am certainly not going to try that, but I digress.

I did try clicking my heels three times however, but sadly, just like the hat cliché, that didn’t work either.  “So are we there yet?”  you may ask.   Not yet, but my bags are packed again, and I’m ready to start looking in earnest.  I do believe I’ll know it when I’m there.  Maybe you will too.

Coming Soon - Stay Tuned!