Stillettos and Sneakers

Chicago Bound

Fri, 16 May 2008 19:10:00 GMT

Off to fabulous Chicago to sing like a loon with the delicious and delectable Honey West. It would be even better if we actually rehearsed our show, but I think if we did, no one would recognize us.

Video Friday (Judy Garland-"What's My Line"/ Hayward and Duke-"Valley" Clip)

Fri, 16 May 2008 19:06:56 GMT

Back in the day when game shows were about us, the viewing audience, and not about a bunch of people sitting around hooked up to a machine talking about sleeping with Grandma in an unnatural way while hubby looks on in horror, there were shows that invited living legends to be their guests.

I miss "Password", I miss "To Tell The Truth", and I really miss "What's My Line"? A terriffic show where the ordinary guy with the extraordinary profession used to sit in front of a famous panel and allow them to ask yes or no questions in order to find out what the name of the job was. A great game, and always entertaining.

And here's a classic episode.

I think the best part of this is not only watching Judy fidget, giggle and guffaw, but listen to the audience when the panel asks her questions.

"Do you sing?"

They erupt in applause.

"Do you act?"

They errupt in applause.

It's amazing. I've never heard this audience react like this before. They're on her side. They're with her. She's had her time in the tabloids, been exploited and grilled and she's attempting another come back, and the audience is right there with her. This is great, great stuff.

Toward the end, as she's leaving the stage she plugs her latest movie: "Valley of the Dolls". Interestingly, she says:

"I'm the only one who doesn't pop pills."

And here, in one of my favorite scenes from "Valley" is the brilliant Susan Hayward and equaly insane Patty Duke (trying for her second Oscar, I think.) Hayward is magic in this movie, but if you watch it a sceond time, just try and picture Judy in the same costume, the same wig, and playing the same woman. I think this would have changed the movie entirely. Unfortunately, Garland was just too sick to complete the film. She filmed one scene (which has never turned up anywhere) and she did record "I'll Plant My Own Tree". That's as far as she got, and then she was fired.

But still....this is a great clip. These two women aren't kidding around.

California Ban's Ban

Fri, 16 May 2008 18:53:03 GMT

The California Supreme Court has overturned a ban on gay marriage, paving the way for California to become the second state where gay and lesbian residents can marry.

The case involved a series of lawsuits seeking to overturn a voter-approved law that defines marriage as a union between a man and a woman.

With the ruling, California could become the second state after Massachusetts where gay and lesbian residents can marry.

"What happens in California, either way, will have a huge impact around the nation. It will set the tone," said Geoffrey Kors, executive director of the gay rights group Equality California.

California already offers same-sex couples who register as domestic partners the same legal rights and responsibilities as married spouses, including the right to divorce and to sue for child support. It's therefore unclear what additional relief state lawmakers could offer short of marriage if the court renders the existing ban unconstitutional.

A coalition of religious and social conservative groups is attempting to put a measure on the November ballot that would enshrine California's current laws banning gay marriage in the state constitution.

The Secretary of State is expected to rule by the end of June whether the sponsors gathered enough signature to qualify the marriage amendment, similar to ones enacted in 26 other states.

The cases before the California court were brought by the city of San Francisco, two dozen gay and lesbian couples, Equality California and another gay rights group in March 2004 after the court halted San Francisco's monthlong same-sex wedding march that took place at Mayor Gavin Newsom's direction.

I think Chrisanne and I will march on down there come December on our 12th wedding Anniversary and get a little legal certificate. This is historical and we need to be a part of this. However, I want to make a point of letting these people know that their stupid, archaic, pious laws generated out of fear and ignorance had absolutely no bearing on our own marriage. We’ve been married now for 11 years, and I feel no differently now that the United States is finally waking up out of a deep, dark trance. We aren’t getting married, we are renewing our vows.

Now the real question is….do I wear white? I mean, who am I trying to kid here?

Rupaul's Back

Fri, 16 May 2008 18:47:42 GMT

Dear God in Heaven…..are you kidding me with this? I don’t know why this makes me a little wary. Maybe I’m pre-judging. Maybe I’m sitting in judgment. Maybe I should be happy that our community is being seen at all. I should feel that way. I know I should feel that way. But to be honest, I feel like screaming out my back window and covering my face in piles of old applesauce.....and I don't know why.

A.I. Roundup

Thu, 15 May 2008 08:30:20 GMT

Hot off the Perez Hilton Presses:

We've heard David's side, but….what about the producer's side?

Now, executive producer Nigel Lythgoe is speaking out.

Nigel says, "'Banished' is a terrible word, isn't it? It sounds like we're in some far-off kingdom. He has been asked not to participate in the choice of music with David or be in the room when David is working out his routines that he wants to sing. He's fine to be in the studio, nothing wrong with that. We just want David to be able to be free like everybody else to get on and do what they want to do."

So what about the reported argument that occurred over Jeff influencing David to use other lyrics during his performance of Stand By Me?

To that Nigel adds, "There was a lyric change that happened that was a total misunderstanding. Just another, um, step along the way of us saying, 'Okay, this is what we want to happen from now on.'"

As for the reports that they didn't want Jeff backstage to be "fair" with the other contestants that don't have any outside help with their song selections and arrangements.

To that Nigel adds, "No, no, no. It has nothing to do with fairness. We just want everyone to have an equal opportunity, and if that's fairness, fine. But this is more of just the fact of let's take some pressure away here, you know? It's like anybody appearing in front of their mom and dad. Let's just open up the pressure cooker, release the pressure, and you just get on and do what you gotta do."

This is David Cook’s contest, I believe. No question. He has everything Archuletta has with the added bonus of a massive amount of stage presence. It's not just that music seems to move him. it's that it engulfs him. I haven't been crazy about every musical choice he's made, but I never get tired of watching him. I know that no matter how I feel about the song itself, HE feels a certain way, He knows what he's singing. He understands it. He's alway present in a way that he shares with us. I love watching his Shapes: his feet, his head, his whole body turning into different thing that make perfect sense to him. It's not about right or wrong for me (ever), its more about what works and what doesn't. And most everything he does works like gangbusters.

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some David Archuletta, and I’d buy his albums. His voice is gorgeous, and his lack of sparkle may have to do with his age, but as it stands now, if he arbitrarily Gestures one more time like he’s hyped up on valium and flagging down a cab, I’m going to scream. It’s the battle of The Davids for me.

Bill's Big Bazoo

Thu, 15 May 2008 08:21:55 GMT

The only good thing about O’Reilley is this hilarious and truly filthy remix of his massive brain hemorrhage he had throwing his little boy tantrum at his staff. If you haven’t heard the real tirade, this is fairly close. O’Reilley apparently blew a gasket when his feed crawl didn’t have all the info he needed in order to close his radio show properly. So, instead of relying on any kind of improvisational skill, he tore his crew a new one.

Isn’t this the guy who wrote a kid’s book?

Huge Thanks to Are You There, Blog?

(NSFW, VERY STRONG LANGUAGE)

A New Perspective

Thu, 15 May 2008 08:17:16 GMT

As with all good friends, Michael and I were chatting about Hollywood, show business and what it was like to live among the very talented and the very thin. Not to mention, the very anti-weather.

There really isn’t weather out here in LA. It’s either a bit rainy, or a bit chilly for a couple of days, and then its sunny and 72 for the rest of the year. That’s not weather, that’s a commercial for Viagra.

And as he asked if I was taking care of my heart and my body out here, I told him:

“My heart-absolutely. But I love doughnuts too much to worry about the other thing.”

To which he then e mailed me this little gem:

American Heritage Dictionary

zaf•tig or zof•tig adj.

1.Full-bosomed.
2.Having a full, shapely figure.
3.See Alexandra Billings

This is what makes a good friend, a good friend.

Re-Crowned

Wed, 14 May 2008 20:11:37 GMT

Snowball's Chance.

New Blog

Tue, 13 May 2008 19:19:09 GMT

New look!

Thanks to Eric M!!!!

Whaddya think??

Collage

Mon, 12 May 2008 09:24:22 GMT

A collage of memories from my childhood. I tried to stay away from the teenage years, and just concentrate on what images I could think of from the first things I remember until about 11 or 12 years old. It was fun putting this together, and a bit of a surprise to find out what I considered important and what I didn't. Sheila inspired me, and now I think I have to do a teenage one as well. Of course, that would require me actually remembering the 70's. We'll see how well that goes, won't we?

And just for the record, I had a bowl of Cap'n Crunch this morning.

Who knew when I memorized this choreography that I was watching two Oscar winning actors? All I cared about was The Sweet, Sweet Sway.

One of the two movies I saw with my brother. At the time, I didn’t really understand what the heck I was watching. But I saw my brother entranced, so I tried to emulate him as best I could. And then, Minnelli happened to me, and my life as a performer changed.

My first acting teacher.

The first musical I saw on the big screen. Streisand memorized me completely.

Even as a kid I knew this was an important movie. When I got into the theatre I assumed everyone would be this witty and this prolific. I wanted Art to be more prominent in the real world. I constantly got my worlds mixed up. Still do, actually.

Video Friday (Anita Mann)

Fri, 09 May 2008 21:28:37 GMT

Anita Mann (that's right....Anita Mann) is a part-time performer, according to her. She pulls out this alter ego for benefits and special occasions. I know this is what she wants, but to be honest, this needs to happen on a regular basis for me. This woman is a comic genius.

Here she is, in a small tribute to Gesture and Architecture. Watch the TV very, very closely.

I mean the TV on the chair, not the one in the dress.

Video Friday (Patti LaBelle-"The Aphabet Song")

Fri, 09 May 2008 21:24:11 GMT

There is absolutely nothing this woman can't sing. Even when it comes to The Alphabet, Labelle can't hep but allow the music to fill her soul. Her entire Shape changes. She falls through some kind of magic looking glass when she's singing. It's not that she's alone in her music, she's anything but a selfish performer, but it's as if she simply has no choice. No matter what the circumstances, she has to move. She can't sit there calmly and open her mouth and hope something interesting happens. She's surprising us, and more importantly, she's surprising herself.

Patti could sing the obituaries and they'd be brilliant.

Changing At Nine

Thu, 08 May 2008 09:37:33 GMT

“…..and how long have you known you were Transgender?”

“Well….how long have you known you were not?”

It’s really the same thing. There’s a lot about what I am that confuses me, but there’s one thing I know for a fact, it’s not a choice. It’s not something I decided to do because there was nothing on TV that night.

I’ve known it. I’ve always known it. It was never something I pondered or considered or truly questioned. It was a fact of my life. I may have tried to live a lie for the people in my life in order to make them more comfortable, but it was never, ever in question. How can it be? How really questions whether they’re a boy or a girl? You may question your taste. You may question your memory, but rarely do most people have to think whether or not you’re a boy or a girl. That’s usually something that’s pretty much set in stone.

It was the same thing for me. The exact same thing.

In Philadelphia, there’s a 9 year old whose parents have allowed him to begin his transition.

“The Haverford School District consulted experts on transgender children, then sent letters to parents advising them that the guidance counselor would meet with the school's 100 third-grade students to explain why their classmate would now wear girls' clothes and be called by a girl's name.

Some parents objected. Eight called the principal to ask that their child not attend the session, and some posted angry messages on the Haverford Township blog.

"Why is the school introducing this subject to 8- and 9-year-olds?" wrote the parent who started the blog thread, which had been viewed more than 3,000 times as of yesterday. "Why were we not notified sooner. We received the letter today, the discussion at school is tomorrow."

Other parents thought the school should not have called attention to an already delicate situation.

"I did not think that the letter needed to go out," said Valerie Huff, whose daughter is friends with the transgender student. "The kids don't make any big deal about it at all."

I’m not really sure why there was a letter sent out in the first place, but it makes sense to me why some parents are outraged. There’s so much fear and mystery surrounding what I am. People tend to get a bit frightened of things they don’t understand. If it doesn’t make sense, it’s to be avoided. So…let’s not talk about it.

I always gravitated toward the girls when I was 8 or 9. The boys didn’t make much sense to me. I didn’t understand them much at all. What they wanted, how they reacted, and certainly the games they played. Why they wanted to run around the playground chasing each other with a oblong ball in their arms tackling each other and getting far too dirty was a mystery to me. And to be honest….it still is.

When my teacher caught me playing ball, or dolls near the jungle-jim with a gaggle of my girlfriends, she called my mother. I had many stern conversations about why I needed more male friends.

“You need to be with more boys. You’re a boy and you don’t need to be with other girls” my mother said to me.

But I wasn’t. I wasn’t a boy and I didn’t have the language to be able to tell her that. Besides, at that time, there was no such thing as Transgender. There was Milton Berle and Flip Wilson. That’s what there was. We were a punch line. Plain and simple.

My mother even went as far as to write a huge note and pin it to my shirt that said:

“Please do not allow Scott to play with the girls”

….in big red letters. I know she was trying to help. To have the kids accept me. To stop the bullying, the fighting, the name calling, and this was a woman from the 50’s. Donna Reed never had anything like this to deal with. Ever.

I wore the note pinned to my electric green shirt to school, and then when I got to the front door of my class, I took it off, and put it in my pocket. I mean honestly, red letters with a green shirt? What was she thinking? I wasn’t about to go to school looking like a Christmas tree.

I see us all changing. I think my favorite part ofthis particular article was the fact that the kids didn’t seem to have a problem with it at all. It was the older generation. My generation. My age group. Well, maybe it’s more about information really. If they understand it, it won’t seem too scary. That big monster in the closet isn’t real. And now when that little girl grows up and does an interview and some reporter asks her:

“How long have you known your Transgender?”

She can honestly say:

“That’s never even been a question. Just ask my mom.”

“

Steve And Jim In Egypt

Wed, 07 May 2008 17:04:12 GMT

This isn’t your mother’s vacation video. The great thing about Steve and Jim (or as Jimmy would say: “Jim and Steve”), is that Steve can literally do anything.

And does.

He sings, he acts, he writes, and his videos are edited like a pro.

The boys have taken a trip around the world many times, and thank God Steve never goes anywhere without his trusty camera. It’s as if he’s making a video map of his life and he’s shot it and re-shot it for the masses. Us. And I feel lucky to not only have him in my life, but to feel like I’m sitting right there in the bus next to these two gorgeous men.

Here's Steve's site. It's a terrific read, all of it.

And by the way, this video is not only informative and super educational (that's right, you learn stuff), but hilarious. Jim has the best timing on planet earth. Shelly Berman/Joan Rivers/ and a dash of The Merm. He's a comic machine. Watch his pyramid bit....it kills.

And watch carefully toward the end. I’m certain Steve wrote that song for The Night Crew on the spot. Watching those two guys using a cup and a vacuum to play in Steve’s makeshift garage band is completely joyful. And has Steve written all over it.

Thanks guys. I feel like I was there. And now I have to shake the dust from my burkha, if you don’t mind.

Oprah + Tommy

Wed, 07 May 2008 17:01:24 GMT

Well…..I might have missed Tommy’s latest interview with the magnanimous Oprah, but after reading Bossy’s recap, I feel like I was there.

This is the most concise and accurate portrayal I’ve ever read in my life. And I agree with the posters, Tommy and Katie never looked better.

And I mean that in a good way.

(Thanks to Jami at Not That Different)

R Offishul Langwage

Wed, 07 May 2008 16:58:54 GMT

A brilliant conclusion by one of my favorite bloggers, C. Monks. I mean, he has a point, it is hard to hold your head up higher than anyone else when people in your own country can’t even use a spell checker-er.

Daddy's Little Girl

Mon, 05 May 2008 08:50:13 GMT

I was standing in the Starbucks waiting for my latte-latte-double-dipped-boing-boing, or whatever it is I get every time I’m there….oh, how I yearn for the days of Sanka….and as I had time to spare before my class, I wandered a bit over to the chocolate-y goodness of the enclosed glass case. I worship that case. I would make love to that case if I wasn’t afraid of getting arrested.

As I stood there, transfixed by the shelves of calories and lard beckoning me with their evil claws, a baritone voice from behind me spoke up:

“What do you want, beautiful?”

A smaller, tinier female voice answered back:

“Something with strawberry.”

Immediately I judged them. How can a dad bring his little girl to Starbucks? When I was little, a big day out with my parents meant MacDonalds and a possible Mayor McCheese action figure. Times change. That’s okay.

I then turned a bit to see them out of my soft focus, and Dad spoke up again:

“Okay. Strawberry. That’s a good choice. Remember last week when we were at Bob’s Big Boy and you ordered that strawberry shake and the waitress brought you a curly straw? Remember that?” he began to laugh.

“That was funny. I liked that straw.” She said back to him.

I could see him begin to pull her in tightly. He whispered again to her how beautiful she was, and then stepped up in line. Their conversation wasn’t forced. He wasn’t talking down to her in some odd, baby voice and tickling her under her chin. And she wasn’t swaying back and forth reveling in her father’s ideology of what she should be, or should become, or needs to be for other men. He was simply speaking to her from the truth from where he stood. She was simply the most beautiful, smart, funny girl in the world. And that was a fact of her life. It was that simple.

I started transitioning when I was 19 years old. Back then, it was unheard of, and I really had no idea what the hell I was doing. Or talking about. I still don’t. I don’t know why I am the way I am. I have no idea what makes me, me. But I’ve come to terms with that. It isn’t a big question in my life. It’s a big question in everyone else’s.

My Father and I lost each other for a while.

He disappeared from my life, and I from his. We didn’t speak or see each other for almost 5 or 6 years. By the time we met again, I had transitioned and was living a life that included new friends from a sub culture I’d only read about, cocaine, heroin, and prostitution. On the side, I tried to slip in as many acting lessons as I could afford. My life was a smorgasbord of oddballs.

And I loved every single one of them.

My mom called one Sunday afternoon and told me my Dad was visiting Chicago from California and wanted to see me. I was terrified. I can’t imagine, thinking back on it, how he must have felt. What was it like to raise a son, go through his whole life, plan all kinds of things, and then one day, wake up, an find out that the whole thing was one big, long dream? I would never know that. I could never possibly understand that journey. And in the same instance, he could never possibly understand mine.

I headed down to Schaumburg, a suburb of Chicago which is where my mother and step dad were still living. The day had a hard, deserted feel to it. I drove my boyfriend’s car, rolled down the windows, and tried not to sweat. It was July. July in Chicago is kind of like living in the middle rack of your oven at 350. I had done my hair. I had done my face. I tried to leave off the fake eyelashes and spare sequins, and wore a pair of black pants with a burgundy blouse. I looked fine. Fine, I thought.

But I was meeting my Dad. I wasn’t going back to visit him. He had never met me.

Not…me.

I arrived at my mom’s house, and in the front doorway, framed by the red and white potted chrysanthemums recently planted, my Dad stood in full view. His imposing shape. That round jaw, and those familiar hands. My heart was in my throat. I walked up to him; he smiled, and hugged me.

I sobbed in his arms.

I hugged him back, and kept sobbing. I couldn’t stop sobbing. His hug seemed to release something in me. Something that had been building up for many, many years. And then he whispered to me:

“Well…..I don’t understand any of it, but I think you look beautiful.”

As I turned to see the little girl, who as I had been told over and over that day in the Starbucks was The Most Beautiful Little Girl In The World, I finally saw her face to face. There she stood. Probably 10 years old at the most, long brown hair, some strands falling into her eyes, a little tiny nose, and some wayward freckles just below her cheeks. She wasn’t extraordinary in any way. She was a normal looking, average 10 year old girl. But to her father, she was something else entirely. He was what he wanted to see, and what he wanted her to believe for the rest of her life.

They walked out, after getting their drinks, arm in arm and into their car.

And I saw my Dad.

My Dad who brought music into my life, and who gave me the one great gift any father can give his daughter: Acceptance. For a moment, and maybe it was only that one brief moment, in my dad’s arms in the doorway of our old house in Chicago, I was, like that little girl in Starbucks: The Most Beautiful Little Girl In The World.

Willam's Idol-ology

Fri, 02 May 2008 07:41:32 GMT

About a year ago I went to an audition for a new pilot that’s still sitting on someone’s shelf at the moment. It was a very important audition and I was terrified. I’ve spoken of my lack of fashion sense before, and when I walk into an audition, I try and look as good as I can. Usually, if it’s for a transgender role, I run into the same three faces:

Calpernia, Kelly, Candis, and Willam.

Yup. That’s right. There’s four of us. In Hollywood. Four. Count ‘em.

So I know when I meet the girls in some random waiting room, they’ll be dressed to the nines, in their Gucci, and their strands of trinkets and bobbles, and fabulous shoes and coifed hair. I’m just trying my best to not wear the same Gap outfit I wore a week ago.

I need help.

At this particular audition, I met for the first time, the woman I’ve been stalking since I got to Hollywood. And Willem’s Blog is one of the funniest around. She was sparkly that day. We sat on a couch and chatted and I felt immediately at ease. In fact, we’ve been attempting to go shopping for the last year. LA is a hard place to make dates with people. You either pencil someone in and cancel at the last minute, or you try your hardest to keep arranging something that your agent won’t scream at you for.

All in all, as we sat together, I felt under-dressed and kind of like her older lesbain softball manager. That’s okay. It was a good talk, and she’s since given me some of her local dress shop secrets. (I recently bought a little cocktail dress at one of them, and I actually matched the shoes. I then marched up and down Sunset and had my own private parade.)

But here, Willem, with a bird’s eye view of all The American Idol contestants, gives us her own special review of the tragedy that was The Night of Andrew Lloyd Webber. Her blurb about Seyesha is hilarious:

“The Syeasha chick was good but miss lady and I need to have a sit-down.

I've tried on that same $975 Herve Leger bandage dress Syeasha wore last week while I was on Melrose. I put heels on so I could see how it really looked once the booty was tooshed up. That was just for the DRESSING ROOM.”

That’s right. Exactly. Gotcha.

Now I’ve got to take this girdle off, it’s killing me.

This Just In: Bush Not Popular, Antelopes Shocked

Fri, 02 May 2008 07:39:13 GMT

Bush is the most unpopular President in recent history.

Anyone surprised?

Anyone still hanging on to this pipe dream of him actually clawing himself out of this hole?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Video Friday (Kristen Chenowith-"Glitter an Be Gay")

Fri, 02 May 2008 07:35:11 GMT

Chenowith is a little bit of a miracle. She can pretty much sing anything. I don’t know how huge her range is, but I’m sure the Guinness Book is still trying to track her down.

Kristen is brilliant here. She knows the line between camp and reality. The world she’s created makes perfect sense to her. She’s not “playing at” anything, she’s absolutely present and completely engulfed in the magic of her own possibilities. As she deals with her hundreds of pieces of Architecture, from her massive strand of pearls to a tiny sequined brooch, she never falters. In fact, they seem to give her more and more information that she simply adds to her already full plate.

And as she reaches that insane climax at the very end of the song, her declaration is heightened by these grand Expressive Gestures that make perfect sense. The last 4 notes and her physical life complete each other. She’s unafraid to hit these notes and land these Gestures and deal with this Architecture and it’s so satisfying it almost hurts. Chenowith is a true Broadway treasure.

Video Friday (Hillary's Takin' Back The White House)

Fri, 02 May 2008 07:32:51 GMT

That’s right. That’s right, ya’ll. You heard it here first.

I think this is what the kids call: "Getting down with her bad self."

Diva Pod Cast

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 08:22:15 GMT

Here’s the latest pod cast with myself and the delicious Amy Matheny. Unfortunately our Skype-ing skills were tested that night, so I ended up on my cell phone and I sound like I’m speaking through a dirty trombone. We talked about Joan Crawford, Liza, old TV shows, and American Idol. It’s nice that I’m stretching myself.

(NSFW, Language-ish)

Drama Desk Awards

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 08:20:38 GMT

Tracey Letts is nominated for Best Author of a play for his masterpiece “Osage County”. Deanna Dunnigan is up for Best Actress, and the best thing of all, my three pals Amy Morton, Rhondi Reed, and one of the coolest friends I have on the face of the earth: Jeff Perry, are all up for Drama Desk Awards as well.

Here is the full list of nominations.

I’m so happy for all of them. They deserve this. The play is masterful. And all of their performances are magnificent. I take no credit whatsoever, but may I just say, their Viewpoint work in this is brilliant. Rhondi does stuff with her personal Talisman that is extraordinary and so telling and nuanced. Amy is the Topography Queen, matching her mother’s traffic patterns on the floor like a sleepy lizard. And then there gorgeous Jeff Perry, who will literally use any stray piece of Architecture there is in the room to propel him even more forward than he already is. A banister is an entire world for Jeff.

These are not only friends of mine, they are my heroes.

Love you guys. And do me a favor…wear something FABULOUS!!

Madonna Quote

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 08:16:33 GMT

"I don’t know what our government does except put us into debt and blow up other countries."

My Final Answer

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 07:06:43 GMT

I always knew I had a temper. I’ve been told that since I can remember. I’ve been known to throw things, kick things, toss things, ruin things, and create havoc whenever possible. This isn’t something I’m particularly proud of; it’s simply one of the facts of my life.

Well…my past.

I don’t act like that anymore. I have to really think about it though. It’s never the first thing that comes to mind when I’m in a heated argument, but I do actually have to think about it. It does run through me at times, I’ll admit it. My therapist would be so proud of me right now. I should win something.

I also know, in having dealt with that temper for many, many years that it stems from fear. Fear and loss of control. I can’t control something, or I’m terrified of something hitting to close to home so I lash out. That may not be true of everyone else who’s broken their mail box when the dishwasher konks out, but it was true for me. And with most people who’ve come through the clouds of torrential tempers, I’ve noticed it’s mostly true for them as well. It may be a guess, an uneducated guess, but I’ve found it to be mostly true.

I’ve been wrestling with Obama.

Well, not literally, that apparently has already happened on the WB, but figuratively. I have issues. And when I have issues and I want to figure something out I go to people I trust. I go to my wife, I go to my best friend, and then I go to people in my circle. Yes, I have a circle. Albeit, a small circle, but a circle nonetheless.

In the interim, I’ve been told a sentence I used was “Stupid”, one pal told me he thought I was “Politically comatose”, and then I was called a “Racist”. These were all friends of mine.

And I think having spoken to them, and mulled it around for a couple of weeks, the point I was trying to erase from my heart and trying to push to the back of whatever I thought the real issue was about him, came screaming forward. My friend’s attitude (and their anger) had only proved my point.

And my point is my own. It’s not something I wish to debate anymore, or talk about, or get pummeled for. It’s my point, and I get it now. In fact, having spoken and listened to many supporters of Barrack, I am now not only convinced I was right in the first place, but I’m even now more sure of who needs to win this particular election.

Knowing where the anger is coming from and some of the relationships I thought were friendships I now know to be something else has strangely freed me. That’s okay. I know things change. That’s all right. And I’m not one to let go of a friendship when it comes to political grievances. But, I know this temper. I’ve fought with it, and I get where it’s coming from.

So I guess I’m saying thank you to the people I’ve spoken with. And thanks to the supporters that rifle through the streets, and protest and scream and yell. I say, sometimes it’s right to do just that. I love it. I love it all. Thanks everyone. I know exactly what to do. I feel so much better, I can’t even tell you.

Wow. My therapist would be convulsing right now.

Seriously. I want a prize.