Luke and Sinead are having lunch over at Marcus' restaurant and I'm sitting here in the office blogging while nobody is looking. I wanted to go to lunch but I'm the last guy standing and SOMEONE has to "cover the phones." I thought about going around turning off all the ringers to see how many days and weeks it would take some people to figure out why they are not getting any phone calls.

Email is the new phone anyway. Nobody here uses the phone. They send email. "Action passed is action completed." That's government service at its very best.

While Luke and Sinead sip San Pelligrino, I'm drinking Italian coffee and thinking about G.W. Bush's proclamation of May 1st as "Loyalty Day." Whew! It sure is reassuring. Just last night I said to Joe "People are so damned disloyal these days." Okay, I didn't say it. I'm just being sarcastic. Loyalty day for crying out loud! What are they THINKING in Washington?? I guess they're not.

GW is thinking up what to do on loyalty day and Big John (praise jesus) Ashcroft has declared an all out war on pornography. I guess Joe will have to burn his copy of "Bend Over Boyfriend." I wonder what we'll do if we are discovered with our DvD collection? War on pornography. War on terrorism. I really, really HATE terrorism but I can't get too worked up about pornography. Unless it's straight porn. ugh.

I wonder when the Komsomol meetings will start? Actually, they already have. This is rich. We have these "Director's Call" things. It's when the director mandates we all attend a plenary session to hear him preach. He's a regular Elmer Gantry that one. The only way to get out of them is to be sick or dead. It might work to be on leave but my boss wouldn't let my friend start leave until he attended. I called in sick so I don't know if he carried through with it.

Here's a new wrinkle too. This afternoon (why the HELL do they always make these things at 2 PM on a Friday?) There is TRAINING. The office zampolit came around asking me for the names of the people on my team who will be attending. I said "I don't know, why?" She said "Now we are taking attendance in advance." Jesus. What next (don't answer that)?!

I made two mistakes with Luke recently. One - the "what are you wearing" SMS joke. That was a mistake. The other, he showed me a picture of himself with his hair all buzzed off and I blurted out "Geez, you look CUTE with a buzz cut!" That was also a mistake. Luke's enlightened and an ascended being but I'm not so sure it's a good idea for raging homosexuals to go around telling their straight friends they are cute. Except the ladies. Saying to Sinead "Honey that is a CUTE streak job in your hair." or "Honey, that outfit is FIERCE is okay. If you're a queen. Which I'm not. Luke won't hold it against me though - he's the bomb. Damn. There I go again. I meant to say "he's a good guy."

If Luke does buzz his hair I hope he goes to my Turkish barbers in Pesatzolli Strasse. They have one hell of a good operation going on over there and they understand short hair. They also understand client relations, hospitality and just about every other barber fact you can think of. Turkish barbers are the best barbers. I also think in this day of big old american aggression it's not so bad having a guy who says "Sala'am Aleikum" holding that straight razor against your neck. It's a cosmic investment.

I am going to talk to Luke again about this issue. There are more good reasons for him to buzz his hair. For example, he needs to get his girl friend's attention in a new way and, having gotten it, any potential hit men won't recognize him as easily. It's tough dating a Russian Mafia princess but Luke is up to the challenge.

Sinead met my friend Kyle the other day. It was a meeting of the minds. Kyle is a liberal. He called me at home last night and said "That friend of yours, Sinead, is REALLY COOL." I want her to meet Kyle's wife too. Earth Mother. That's her name. Earth Mother. Okay, her name is Louise but I call her Earth Mother. Or your Goddess Majesty. Sinead is going to like the hell out of Earth Mother.

I've blogged enough for one day so in honor of John Ashcroft's war on pornography I'll just say in closing that Joe gave me one hell of a ride on the baloney pony last night.



B

Yesterday I sent Luke a message via SMS that said "what are you wearing?" He thought it was some sick, gay proposition but I told him it was a joke. Which it was. Luke's not my type anyway. Joe is my type. Lesson learned: some gay humor doesn't translate.

Today instead of having lunch with Luke and Sinead I had to have lunch with my boss who wanted to cheer me up. I'm not cheered up. I got the pep talk after not getting the job I tried for. The interview and hiring panel wanted me for it but the agency head vetoed it because by promoting me they would (in the words of my boss) "leave a critical hole in my current department." You're doing great so you're screwed but keep doing great. Unbelievable.

We ate cheap chicken for lunch. It was as greasy as the rhetoric. I would rather have been having lunch with Luke and Sinead but instead, I was getting the pep talk. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

I was in Venice for the last three days. It was warm and beautiful. The air was so clear you could see all the way to the Alps in the distance. There's still snow on them.

There's more restoration going on there than you can shake a stick at. The skyline is punctuated by huge cranes but not as many as in Berlin over the last few years. Nobody has that many. I'm glad they are restoring things though. Such a great old city.

Italians are beautiful. I like their looks, their attitude and their approach to life. We could learn from them. We could learn a lot.

While I was in Venice I shopped, visited with my family members who met me there, ate, drank, and lived la dolce vita. La dolce far niente a la Venezia. It was depressing coming back to Germany.

At the top of Brenner Pass I had to turn on the windshield wipers because of a sleety blizzard. Venice had been so warm and sunny that I was wearing my shorts and black t shirts and sandals. Joe said I looked hot. I think he meant the temperature though.

From the top of Brenner Pass all the way down into Innsbruck and on into Germany it was a descent into gloom. A metaphor, perhaps.

I can't wait to get back to Italy.

Sinead won't go anywhere to eat that there is cigarette smoke. It's a challenge in Germany (they love the evil weed here and not in an Amsterdam way). The problem becomes having lunch with her at the same place where all our colleagues end up. It's hard to have a really satisfying liberal rant when the thought police at the next table are straining so hard their neck muscles are corded, so they can overhear everything and then go back to the office and whisper about you to the christians.

I remember when the CHRISTIANS were the social liberals. Well, i don't REMEMBER it. After all, I was not alive during the time of Harriet Beacher Stowe. Now THOSE were some christians we could be proud of.

Joe and I were talking about it last night. It seems like everything has become political nowadays. You can't do anything without it being washed throught the filter of politics and it's frankly boring. Joe and I know a lot of good people who feel the same way. It becomes a dis-incentive after awhile. You just loose the energy for getting out there and trying to do good things.

I know some poor people in the states. They are really poor and they are pretty much without hope. They are good people but they don't stand a chance these days. The conservatives rule the roost and label people like these as being "without intiative" or "lazy." No such thing as being unlucky or a victim of circumstance these days. No way. Just like gay people are "without morals" or "debauched." It's all about the labels.

There is a major in my office who is the biggest idiot I have ever met and I don't mean his politics (which are, for the record, idiotic) I mean he's just a damned idiot. He has a beautiful wife and beautiful children and a great job in a great place and he's one of the most ungrateful, non-compassionate people I have ever met. He has a certain intelligence and a good education but it has fallen on fallow ground. The more STUFF he gets, the more he wants and he's so out of touch with humanity that he can't even determine what's real and what's false. Maybe part of the problem is that he gets all his news from Rupert Murdoch and his moral view from the Army. America is like that these days. He says "If I weren't in the army, I'd be a NASCAR pit boss." Really.

I don't know what we can do about this type of thing. You can do three good things and then when they say, "yeah, but he's GAY" it erases everything.

Joe and I go around and around about this. We are both in highly closeted career fields. We are both popular at work, enjoy influence, credibility and the fruits of good careers. In both our cases, if the gay card were played we'd be dead in the water. So how do you do good things and live non-politically and contribute? I guess that for now you don't. You have to be political on some level in order to validate your contributions. You have to try to get all your friends to vote responsibly and you have to be willing to engage in responsible rhetoric and stand up for those who can't stand up for themselves. Maybe that's not being political, maybe it's being CIVIL... like they used to teach about in CIVICS class. Participating in democracy and all of that (I've had it with the current komsomol approach).

After Joe fell asleep last night, I laid there looking at his muscular neck and at the back of his head, thinking how lucky I am to be not only liberal but gay because if I weren't I'd have to hang out with those christians and never get to know a guy like Joe. I also wouldn't get to have lunch with Sinaed and that would be a terrible loss indeed.

You just can't figure people out. You'd think I would "get it" by now but I'm always surprised. Always. I was sitting in the steamroom at the Sauna with Brad and Joe and Ian and Nick. The gay sauna. The big one in Munich. I say the "gay sauna" to establish constituency, nothing more. The sauna steamroom is a relaxing place to sit and chew the fat with your pals while the boys farther back (in the dark part of the room) chew something else. Then, out of nowhere, Brad said "so I hope Bush gets re-elected."

It's the most unlikely thing that I think I have ever heard anyone say in the big gay sauna.

Joe, the toughguy Marine, looked at Brad and said "you've got to be kidding!"
Then the whole thing degenerated into the surreal.

Brad said "No, I'm not kidding at all. I think he's done a great job and I think we're a lot safer than we were before."

"Who's a lot safer?" Ian said. "I don't FEEL safer. I'm not even American and I definitely don't feel safer."

Brad likes Ian but that didn't stop him from the grand retort "Maybe if you were an American you would feel safer."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Perhaps if you went downstairs and cruised the darkrooms for awhile and then came back you would feel a little better," I suggested. "That might relax you. Then we can just hang out and not talk politics."

"I'm not talking politics."
"Yes you are."
"No, I'm just being a loyal American."

"Jesus!" I said, "Take your loyal American routine to the Army, who's paying you, and tell them that you were sticking up for Bush down in Munich at the big gay sauna! See how loyal they are to you." I couldn't help myself.

Then he said "I'll just agree to disagree."

I'm stunned. Bush has declared open season on gays, lesbians, the poor, anybody Arab and Brad feels safer. Just when I thought I was starting to figure things out, this sort of thing crops up.

Joe said "let it go, Buzz" and gave me one of his famous kisses. That made me feel better.

Jesus I'm tired. I shouldn't be, I don't think I've done much but these last three weeks are just harder and harder. First all that trauma with the parade of sickos that had to be taken to doctors, dentists, proctologists. Then the Uzbek. Now this. I got turned down for a job I thought I wanted. In fact I probably didn't want it but all the same it sucks getting turned down.

Now I'm trying to do some extra work on the side to earn up some money for the new guitar and pay the property taxes. And my rentor is bailing. And the place needs painting. It's been a tiring run. Not sure what I'll do to rest up.

Soon enough though, I'll take some time off and go to Venice. Maybe I'll buy those corbu glasses. Then I'll REALLY look like clark freaking kent when I dress up in my closet suits.

Tomorrow the doctor again. Maybe Friday I'll see if Joe wants to get Brad and Ian and go clubbing.

My two favorite girl cousins and their husbands are coming to visit. I'm going to meet them in Venice. It seems unreal to me that I'm going to be meeting them there. Venice is one of my favorite cities. Joe likes it too. We agree on that but some of our friends think it's depressing. Rick Steve's, Oregon Public Television travel guru, thinks it's an example of "elegant decay." Decay or not, I find Venice romantic, relaxing, quiet and (for all the crowds at times) intimate. Harry's Bar is a favorite spot since I'm a Hemingway junkie. They won't let you in if you don't meet dress code, though.

One of the cousins is married to a sculptor and the other is married to a lumberjack. Well, not anymore, now he is a foreman in a lumber mill, having gotten a bit old for lumberjacking. They are good, generous men with true interest and open minds. We are lucky in men in our family. Not a son of a bitch among the bunch.

My father, uncles, grandfathers, brothers, guy cousins, the husbands and "married ins" are all solid, interesting people. Fun to spend time with. This applies to the women in our family too. We have a cordial, smart and social family. Not the norm in America these days. We also have lots of homosexuals in our family including my lesbian sister and her partner, my partner Joe, my cousin (whom I found out was gay when I met him at Dupont Circle Starbucks on a blind internet date), my other cousin, one of my uncles and his partner Bill. We're about as gay a family as you can get. Everyone likes it though, even my 94 year old grandmother (who can still cook up a storm) who says about us queer ones "it takes all kinds!" My grandmother likes Joe better than she likes me. I'm sure of that.

Venice. Joe will probably go too. He gets along well with our family and these cousins in particular. I wish more of the family were going to show up though. For example, the aforementioned gay brother (also a Marine) and his new sailor boyfriend. It would be a blast to see those boys along with the sisters but they are stationed in Okinawa for now. Some of the aunts and uncles and my parents would be fun to have around on this one too but we'll just have to manage that another time.

When I heard they were coming, I was a little worried about meeting them in Venice. I have particular likes in that city about which neighborhood, which hotel, restaurants, etc. I like having good access and the Dorsudoro neighborhood is my favorite. When I got the email with their hotel information I was pleased to see that the hotel they chose is one block away from my favorite place to stay. What a great coincidence.
We're going to have a great time in Venice. The last time we were all together was in 2000 at a family wedding.

I'll do some shopping too. I want to get a nice carnival mask for our cleaning lady and some more Murano glass.

I'm so gay. I just had lunch with Luke. I had to tell him about all the drama of the last five days. No "how was your easter Luke?" It was ALL about me.

It started on Wednesday. Two generals, the chief of staff and the director walked into my office and shut both the doors. After I got over the initial "I am so screwed" shock, I learned their real reason for being there. There's this Uzbek, see.

He did bad things and became full of remorse. When they expelled him, he got suicidal. They needed someone for a suicide watch and I was the guy for the job. (Joe said it was ironical since I have about as much compassion as Virginia Wolfe. That's not true but Joe likes to say things like that).

I spent three days and two nights watching this miscreant smoke cigarettes. The more morose he became, the more he smoked. He smelled really bad too. And he wouldn't wash or eat. That didn't improve his mood or mine.

When I finally got him to go eat he tried to throw himself in front of a train on the way to the chicken stand. All that stuff I've learned in the Marine Corps came to pretty good use that day. After the tackle he recovered enough to choke down a whole chicken. Then we went back to the hotel room.

Friday finally came and I got him on the airplane. GOOD RIDDANCE.

When I got home Joe said "you reek. I'm not even going to kiss you until you take a shower." Three days in a room with a Galoise smoking Uzbek has its hazards.

After a hot shower I still couldn't get the smell out of my hair so Joe and I went to the barber. Now I have a buzz cut as short as Joe's and I'm almost as cute as he is.

I didn't sleep well that night so we got up and went to the sauna. That was nice.

Easter was nice too. Joe spoiled me rotten but I didn't have the energy to spoil him back.

Poor Luke. He had to hear me re-live it all at lunch. What a pal.

I hope I never see another Uzbek.

Luke and I had lunch at Marcus' restaurant today. The big gay waiter is back (I can't remember his name).

Last time I saw him he was headed for Key West. He only made it as far as Strasbourg though. Now his plan is to go to Key West in October so he is here for the nice part of the year in Bavaria.

Once, I saw him at the Christopher Street Day Celebration on Marienplatz in Munich. He was dressed up in these little German lederhosen and the rest of the traditional stuff. They don't wear socks either. Here in Bavaria the "leather scene" is something different.

Before you know it, a whole BUNCH of them were slap dancing in the town square to this gay oompah band. I was having flashbacks about it while he was offering me Marcus' knudel for lunch. It was too much.

Luke didn't know what the hell I was laughing about but I couldn't explain it too him. The place is too intime to have done it without offending our waiter.

Marcus did great with the food today but the petit fromage was nowhere to be seen. Instead it was a selection of pastas, salads and other spring time foods. I had a salad and San Pelligrino. We sat in the window. I figure if our boys in Iraq are brave enough to go through every day in that hell hole, I can sit in a window with Luke on the chance that the goombahs aren't looking for him that day.

When I got back to work there was an email from Brad. He's coming swimming with Joe and me tonight. Right after I answered Brad's email, Sally came in and plunked down. She cries all the time. I used to keep a box of kleenex in my office for her but I finally figured out it just encouraged her so I got rid of it. Sally needs help. Not the kind I can give her either.

After lunch my phone rang. It was Joe. He wants me to get a new tattoo at this place in Munich called "Vibration."

Joe's been my boyfriend a long time now and, as far as I know, has always liked my tattoos and the rest of me but has never made suggestions about this kind of thing before. He thinks I should get a celtic knot on my shoulder blade. "It would be hot," he said.

When I asked him how he heard about "Vibration" he told me that he was at the gay bookstore at lunch buying the new Spartacus Guide and saw a guy who had a nice tatt who got it there. Joe said he'd pay for it, it could be a gift. Joe's romantical.

I reminded him that if I get one on my back, he's going to have to be the one to rub the lotion on it while it heals and put up with my sleeping in funny positions because it burns for the first week. Joe doesn't care.

I guess we'll go look at some patterns and pick out something nice.

My best friend at work is Luke. He's groovy, stylish, and well spoken but it's a little nervy hanging with him. His girlfriend / significant other (what DO these straight people call their not wives?!) is a certain person who used to be married to another certain person and because of that Luke is at risk of being "rubbed out" at any moment. It's all very "Sopranos". My boyfriend won't even go to lunch with us because he doesn't want to "end up a stain."

I'm not worried about it though. Future victims need friends too.

One of the complicated things about my gay American life is that when my colleagues see me hanging with Luke and going out to lunch with him, they think I'm gay. Wait a minute. See what I mean? They don't think LUKE is gay. But they think I'm gay and that it's a little bit pathetic that I hang with Luke so much. If only they knew how gay and UN-pathetic I really am. If they were flies on the wall! Instead, they are flies in the ointment.

I don't care what my colleagues think. There are plenty who KNOW how cool my boyfriend and I are.

It's like I said to my friend, Brad, at the baths yesterday. "If you're out to one person, you're out to everyone."

I'm going to quit writing now because Luke and I have a lunch date in ten minutes. I hope I survive the experience.

"Cooking with all four burners" is one of my boyfriend's favorite things to say. He doesn't say it too often though. He saves it up for when he really means it, like most things. He chooses his words carefully.

This morning, in bed, I was talking to him about this book I am reading (No Ordinary Time, by Doris Kearns Goodwin). It's a great look at Franklin and Eleanor. Eleanor is my hero.

I woke up before he did this morning and laid there awhile looking at the back of his head and then decided to read. When he caught me at it later, he asked what it was about. "Eleanor", I said.

He said "That girl cooked with all four burners."

Then I understood that he also considers her a hero. Funny that we had never discussed it before.

While we were sitting in our sunny living room soaking up the German view and drinking coffee, it occurred to me that what we need right now is a Franklin and Eleanor. We need that more than anything.

Of course, I need my guy and he needs me but that's different. I mean the corporate WE. This current crowd has caused us trouble that's going to last and last.

We could do with Hillary and Bill too, the other way around this time. I wish she would run for and get elected president.

Where are you Eleanor? Hillary? Are you listening?

Tomorrow my boyfriend and I are going to do some shopping in Munich. There is a fabulous store for men's clothes that has the best neckties ever. They also have beautiful shirts, great suits...the works. I'll buy ties tomorrow and probably sneak one in for him (he has lousy taste in ties but loves the ones I get him). He'll buy shirts and sneak one or two in for me. He buys MUCH better shirts than I do and I love the ones he gets me. We are always doing things like that for each other.

It will go something like this. When we wake up, I'll get out of bed first and go make coffee. When I get back from making coffee he'll already be in the shower. I'll get back in bed. Then, when he gets out of the shower, he'll come into our room, drying his (SHORT) hair and lean over and kiss me on the back of the neck or somewhere safe (in case I haven't brushed my teeth yet). Then I'll get in the shower. By the time I'm done, he'll have most of breakfast made.

We'll eat, do the dishes (put them in the dishwasher) and head out for shopping, more coffee, lunch, freshen up our haircuts, get lube, whatever.

I love Saturdays.

Then we'll go home and maybe take a nap. I have a gig. I am a professional musician so Saturday nights are usually work for me. Lots of time he'll come, with friends, and listen. He's not so musical but he loves to watch me play. It's nice to have someone in my life who likes to watch me play music but that isn't even the start. He's wonderful in other ways.

What a gushed up mess of a post this has turned into. I sure do love Saturdays though.

My boss looks like Sponge Bob Square Pants. His head is square. So is the rest of him. When you see him in your rear view mirror and he waves at you, he raises his hand in a manner so that when finished waving his arm forms a 90 degree bend at the elbow and it looks like a big "L" ... very sponge bob. He's short, too. With skinny arms and legs.

He is also afraid of gays. Not me though. He likes me. It's the "other" gays. I always keep trying to tell him that gays are not attracted to men who look like Sponge Bob Square Pants (unless they are into that as a fetish but if they are, I've never heard of it). My boss listens politely but clearly does not believe me. He smiles his goofy crooked toothed smile and his close set eyes sparkle but he's not buying it.

He goes to the gym with me, and rides bikes and comes to our fabulous cocktail parties. Sometimes I think he likes my boyfriend better than he likes me. My boss is really a good guy. He's even cheerful like Sponge Bob Squarepants and has the same laugh.

I like my boss.

This is delicious. Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld had some staffer leave his notes at the Dupont Circle Starbucks in DC. It happened last week when the Bushies were all flailing around because of Richard Clarke's testimony before the 9/11 commission and his recent book. Powell, Rummy, and Condy were in a lather and I'll bet their staffers were too.

There are those who would argue that the heart of gay DC is capitol hill these days but I think it is still Dupont Circle. THAT Starbucks has been THE place to meet and greet (or run from) internet dates, ex boyfriends to split up the phone bill, and any number of gay life rituals in DC.

It's where I met my Marine and lots of other guys (only one of whom is now my boyfriend and many of whom are still my friends). It's where I met my favorite cousin to come out to him the same day he came out to me.

There wasn't much in the notes. If anything they reveal that the Bushies were getting ready to go into spin mode (yawn).

The best part of the whole story is that it happened at the gayest Starbucks in the gayest part of DC. Of course, maybe Rumsfeld's NOT a homophobe. Maybe. It sort of makes one wonder about the staffer though. Geez, maybe we ARE everywhere. I hope the National Coming Out Project hears about this.

This afternoon a charming man walked into my office and introduced himself. He's a candidate for a position on my staff. Picture perfect appearance and great manners. Award winning smile and big blue eyes. Just like he's right off a TV show. He lifts weights.

Within the first five minutes he had declared his love for Jesus and his dedication to his girlfriend. They are praying together that she can get a job here too. Young Americans in love.

I'm not going to hire him because another directorate here hired him. He's been on the job a week. He asked me to move him into my position because he doesn't like the people where he works. He should pray for them.

I wouldn't mind if he prayed for me. I'll take all the help I can get but the thing I don't get is why it is taboo to discuss religion in America unless you are one and then you can do it with impugnity. I told him I was a liberal.

If I was going to hire him I would have asked him if he would have any problem working for a gay liberal but since the point is moot the subject didn't come up.

The American workplace is a complicated scene. I understand the workings of a leather bar a lot better, never mind those hanky codes that I can never remember... (you're going to do WHAT???!!! TO ME??).

Another day, another fifty cents.

In Montana gay people are about as popular as they are in Wyoming. It's not an easy place to grow up.

Coming out is a risky affair. I didn't manage it until after I had left Montana. My high school friend Kevin was braver and smarter than I was (and better looking). He came out in his senior year.

Kevin was my first love. I was freaked out about the gay thing. But it was adventure and I sure did like what I was learning. I was immature and socially underdeveloped though. Montana is not necessarily the place for well rounded social development.

I broke my own heart and probably Kevin's. I left.

After boot camp I was at a military school in Monterey. One day I got a letter. It was from Kevin. He declared his love for me and how much he missed me, but being worried about what the military might do if they found my letter, he had made little boxes around provocative words and blacked them out heavily. It didn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out that it was a love letter. I sure was stupid and inexperienced. Kevin's bold declaration sent me running for a girl. What a fool I was! I ruined my life for a lot of years because of that idiocy.

Wouldn't it be nice to be able to find Kevin and apologize to him and tell him how much I loved him too? The trouble is, his name is as generic as "Smith" and Montana doesn't keep people. I'm not even in touch with anyone else who knew him. It's a diaspora when you grow up in a place like that. Most people have to leave for jobs, education, whatever.

When I think of the crap I put myself and poor old Kevin through because of my own immaturity and fear, I feel badly. I miss him. I wish I could find him again. What a guy. What memories. Thanks Kevin for teaching me so much.

My friend Marcus has a restaurant here in Germany. He's always asking me advice. The locals are learning about "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" so now we're even more hip than before.

Yesterday, Marcus was working on the menu and I was watching him. He's cute as hell and it was distracting watching him. When he caught me he asked "What should I name this au gratin?"

Apparently "Au Gratin" won't work for him. I told him to call it a "Petit Frommage."

Marcus is really cute and really nice and a really good cook and has a really great restaurant but he's not the sharpest pencil in the box. We all love Marcus though. He's loveable. We all hate his wife but we love Marcus. Petit Frommage.

C'mon down and get some.

What is it about Polyester? Certain things make me suspicious. Like people who wear polyester and people who don't drink. I don't mean recovering alcoholics - I respect them - I mean people who don't drink.

Generalizations are dangerous though. I've known some really good looking, talented people who wore polyester. Sometimes military uniforms are made out of the stuff (some gay people really LIKE uniforms but are probably not so pleased when they find out they are made out of polyester).

I suppose that people who belong to organizations that have the word "family" in them also favor polyester. I have seen pictures of Dr. Dobson and I can't think his suits are anything but.

Cotton is honest. Ghandi wore cotton. He was honest. Most gay Americans know about Ghandi but would likely agree with me that he was not all that fashionable. He did like cotton though, and sometimes even spun his own.

Wool is also honest. I have some really good wool suits that my boyfriend calls my closet suits. Not because they hang in the closet but because when I wear them to work I look like a big old closet case with my buzzcut and horn rimmed glasses. Sort of like a gay Clark Kent. My boyfriend says that if I would use a little more shoulder when I walked, all the straight people at my job would know I was gay. It seems important to him but basically, I walk like a Marine. I can't help it.

Cashmere. Cashmere is gay. Gay Americans love the stuff and the gay Germans too, for that matter. I love my gay little cashmere v-neck and rumpled up khakis. When I put on my Doc Martens and the aforementioned I am obviously gay, my Marine Corps walk notwithstanding. While it is true that I can make even a pair of Doc Martens look straight, the combination is too much even for my military-like bearing.

It's fun being a gay American abroad. It's a friendly thing. Other gay Americans that one meets visit and drink casual coffees with you. If you ran into the same folks in San Francisco or West Hollywood, chances are they wouldn't talk to you. Living in Germany is a good thing for meeting gay Americans. Another thing about being a gay American abroad is that our hosts like us. They know that because we are abroad and Gay we must be liberals. This is a good thing. It's fun that the POPULAR Americans around here these days are the GAY Americans.

It's a delicious irony.

Yet another benefit of life as a gay American.

So. I'm living my gay American life in Germany. But wait. There's more! I'm not a political refugee from the religious right or the republicans. It's feeling pretty good though, to be here and actually be able to hold hands in public and kiss my boyfriend and not be hassled by the likes of Bush, Cheney or their religious sponsors.

Don't get me wrong, There are people here who don't like "the gay thing" but they made a career of hating, like many of the good ole folks in the U.S. of A. have done. But then, they don't have NASCAR here yet.

My german pals think it's funny when we talk about gay marriage. They're astounded by stigma. Of course many things about them astounds me too, but fun things, like why women get their menopause haircuts at the age of 28 and why the straight men here wear things with snaps and zippers all over them. (See - good taste among gay men is international. it must be genetical.)

So here I am, living and working in Germany living my gay American life. More to follow. (i.e. "How did I GET here?" and ... "GAY?!... you've GOT to be kidding." ... and... "What ever happened to that Marine you were dating?" ... and ... "Why Turkish Barbers are the best."

Cheers!
KREWKUT