THE VIEW FROM MY CAR ON 5-13-09

Driving down Elysian Fields yesterday afternoon, I saw dozens of these signs staked into the neutral ground. As far as I could tell, each was different. If you enlarge that photo, you’ll see it’s a poem that reads:

HOOVES CLANK ON GRATING
THE ABRUPT CLAMOR RINGS OUT
THE MULE DOESN’T SWERVE

Aesthetically speaking, it’s abysmal, but the would-be poet gets props for enthusiasm. Me, I kinda like living in a neighborhood where artful litter pops up on the street.

Enough sadness: now, anger.

State representative Jonathan Perry (R-Abbeville), is sponsoring a bill that insists children’s birth certificates can only include the names of married parents or single individuals. It is targeted directly at GLBT couples, who obviously can’t marry in the great state of Louisiana.

Not only is the legislation mean-spirited and homophobic, but it’s also an endangerment to kids. For example: if a kid and one of his GLBT moms were in an  car accident, the other GLBT mom would have to go through a fair chunk of legal maneuvering to ensure visitation and other rights to care for the child and in Boston the line up for legal aid is long. And that’s just one of many unpleasant scenarios.

Asked about this, Perry said he really doesn’t care:

If you’re in Louisiana, do us all a favor: visit the Forum for Equality website now, and contact your legislator before the bill (HB 60) comes up for debate tomorrow morning.

I love being a New Orleanian, and I love Louisiana–mostly–but crap like this make me want to break out the flannel and head to Vermont. I just don’t understand where it comes from. I can only assume that Perry needs a distraction to take his mind off the fact that his party is dead.

UPDATE: For more on the perils of gay parenting (in Louisiana and elsewhere), check out “The Gay Parent Trap” in this week’s Gambit Weekly, penned by the always-charming David Winkler-Schmit, who happens to be an adoptive parent himself. Good stuff. Not necessarily encouraging or uplifting or even optimistic, but good stuff.

Quiet weekend ahead, I hope. Maybe a dinner with friends, a bit of rehearsal, and hopefully, the first tennis match I’ve played in two years. Jonno’s out of town, so I’ll be able to clean and make noise around the house and such. Sounds thrilling.

Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for all the kindness you’ve shown via email and comments and everything else. I’m not an emotional person, I try to be stoic and even-keeled because I dislike being around moody people, and I don’t want to inflict that on others. (And yet, I dabble in theatre. You know, with actors and all. Go figure.) However, Gaston’s death affected me more than I thought it would. The love has been much appreciated.

To anyone who’s written an email, I’m sorry I haven’t responded. Soon, I promise. Well, I think I promise. Don’t hold me to it.

Thanks.

<![CDATA[
Gaston: April 1, 1994 – May 4, 2009 

At first, it was just his eyes I avoided. While I screened the back door on Saturday afternoon, Gaston lay inside by his water bowl, watching me. I talked to him the whole time, hoping he’d wag his tail, hoping to make him feel normal and comfortable and not so obviously old and done. I’m sure he was just looking at me because he didn’t have the strength to turn his head, or maybe because he’d spent the last 14 years looking at me and didn’t know what else to do, but being the kind of guy I am, I read something into it. I convinced myself that Gaston was trying to say goodbye. In hindsight, it’s stupid, but at the time, it was devastating. I couldn’t make eye contact after that.

By Monday morning, I couldn’t look at Gaston at all. His bony frame, his thick coat, in full shed thanks to the warm weather–just catching a glimpse of his frail body was enough to rip me apart. When we went to the vet that afternoon to have him put down, I couldn’t carry him. I wouldn’t have been able to walk. So Jonno held him right to the end, when they took him away. I managed to keep my hand on Gaston’s head during the procedure, though I didn’t actually watch. It was the best I could do.

Sometimes, Jonno’s willingness to be emotional has made me uncomfortable and angry. He’s a demonstrative kind of guy, and when you’re a demonstrative kind of guy (or girl), things don’t always come out in the right way, or at the right time or place–say, in a crowded restaurant, or an elevator. But on Monday, he was the champ.

* * * * *It’s funny how the death of others can become a selfish thing. Yes, you’re glad they’re no longer suffering, and yes, you’re sad to lose a loved one. But you’re also relieved–relieved by the closure, relieved that you can finally stop worrying and get on with your life. You also start thinking, “How many more times do I have to go through this?” and “Is it even worth it?” and possibly, “Enough of this, I’m going it alone.”

* * * * *For those who knew Gaston, you probably have an image of him in your head. Chances are good that he’s smiling and romping in it; he was one of the best-natured, friendliest dogs I’ve ever known. For those who never had the pleasure, here are a few pics.

 

 

 

I think that’s all I’ll say about it for now. Or at least for a while. I’m very thankful for the kind emails and comments, but that’s not really what I’m after. I just needed to get this down while I’m feeling it so strongly.

I miss him.

Gaston stopped eating on Friday.

That in itself isn’t unusual. For the past few months–maybe a year–he’s chosen to skip meals now and then. His teeth are bad, and even with soft food, eating isn’t easy, so I guess sometimes he’d rather go hungry than deal with the discomfort of dinner.

But this is different. He’s never gone this long before. Jonno and I puts plates of food up to his mouth, and he just turns his head. He’s listless and skeletal. Even if he wanted to eat, I’m not sure he’d have the strength.

Gaston has lived a full life. I mean, he’s 15. He’s survived three moves, a cantankerous cat, three other dogs, countless escapes from our backyard, road trips, and hurricane evacuations, including a six-week stay in Lafayette after Katrina. And that’s to say nothing of the long, hot New Orleans summers he’s endured–no small feat in that thick, Corgi-like coat.

But of course, that’s not much comfort to me or to Jonno. Making it harder is the fact that he’s just barely hanging on. Seeing Gaston there on the floor, unable to move but still conscious, still able to look up at me with those big, brown eyes…. Well, I’ve always been a sucker for big brown eyes.

I’ve known this was coming for a while, but I’d hoped it might be quicker. I walk into the kitchen to check on him every ten minutes or so, and if it looks like he’s not breathing, my heart sinks, stops. Gaston doesn’t seem to be in pain, but I know he’s not comfortable. I’ve called the vet and asked him to come by tomorrow. Maybe he’ll be able to help.

There’s a movie in the works called Drag Me to Hell. This begs three questions:

• Why haven’t I heard about it? (I think I know the answer to that.)
• Who greenlighted that name?
• Can we cobble together a parody in time for October? Or should we just go with The Exorsissy?

I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO THIS CRAZY BITCH IS
BUT I WANT TO KNOW
(AT LEAST, I ASSUME THIS PILE OF CRAZY IS A BITCH)

Somewhere, Gravity is huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth and sobbing, “This was NOT in my job description, Newton, you bastard! And I don’t even get full dental! I QUIT.” [GFY]

Where I Live, originally uploaded by ArtWerk

Minister Cleo Clariet and his fiancé Katherine Lane are shown singing on “The Kay Bain Show” in Tupelo, Mississippi in May or June of 2004.

And yet, so many people (who shall remain nameless) cast doubt on Mississippi’s contributions to American culture.

[via Newlin]

Jazzfest 2009

Can I just say? Most hilarious JazzFest photo I’ve seen so far. In fact, it’s hilarious with or without jazz. [via my friend Jeremy]