Geisha Got Her Groove Back

I've always loved dressing up for Halloween. Digging through closets and rummaging through drawers to find various odds & ends - anything that might help piece together some inventive costume. And then the thrill of rushing out into the darkened streets, hunting under the moonlight. It always felt so wild and deliciously wicked. Putting on a mask or a costume is like putting on another persona - a you that rarely gets to come out. You feel a sense of abandon and freedom to be someone you're not - or perhaps more truly what the deepest part of you is.

I have prided myself on the fact that every Halloween since birth I have dressed up in costume - save for one year. The Halloween that I was 13 I thought I was too kool for skool. I stayed in and talked on the phone all night with friends, thinking I was too old for make-up and funny clothes. It wasn't until Midnight, when I heard the last of the mischievous cries of "Trick or Treat," that I realized that I'd missed out on a custom I truly loved. So I made a vow to dress up every year since then. And I kept it effortlessly...until this year.

I was enjoying the more low-key customs of Halloween - hitting the pumpkin patch, carving my Jack-o-lantern, boiling peanuts and watching scary movies. But I wasn't planning on dressing up. For some reason, it just seemed like too much work. For the first time since my 13th year, I felt too old for the tradition again. And I had given in to this concession, ready to settle for the little comforts.

But as I mentioned my plan to longtime friends, they're reactions shocked me. "But you ALWAYS dress up!" "You love Halloween!" It struck me hard and I felt a pang of disappointment in myself. But still I pushed it aside, thinking I'd simply entered a new, more settled phase of life. I was resigned...but the truly frightening part was that I was actually fine with that resignation.

Finally the night of Hallow's Eve came. I sat on my couch eating pasta, cuddled up for a warm night in. Flipping through the channels, I saw a TV special on vampires - the one fabled creature that has always held a special place in my heart. Something to do with the combination of hedonistic spirit and decadent eccentricity. I immediately thought of Anne Rice's Vampire Lestat. "What antics would he be up to this evening?", my imagination wondered. And that's precisely the moment that the spirit stirred within me. Faster and faster it spiraled up and outward, tingling my skin. And all those exclamations from my friends returned ringing loudly in my ears like echoed hauntings. Suddenly it wasn't enough to stay home. I needed to be...ALIVE!

And then I was mad. Rushing to the garage to fetch my costume box. Flinging paints and wigs and fabrics in every direction. I guzzled vodka with plastic spiders in the glass. I cranked up Michael Jackson's, "Thriller," and did a little jig. I tell you I was possessed! So much so that I made not one but two last minute, makeshift costumes that night. A secret, private one for me which never made it out of the house. And a more simple, fun one for the madness of the Boulevard.

That night, as I walked the crowded, howling, bleeding streets. I laughed to myself and gave a little wink to the moon. For I realized that my childish heart had prevailed yet again.

Nuts Don't Fall Far...

We all have those little quirks, talents and bad habits we pick up from our family. Never were mine so apparent to me than at my youngest brother's recent wedding.

My brothers and I are spitting images of my dad. Okay, maybe more like full on hawked-up lugi images. We are all truly Masters of Pomp & Ceremony. You see my youngest brother, Brian's wedding was to be the first in our immediate family's. So naturally, all the men felt it was imperative to give a speech, honoring Brian. But secretly, we all knew it was a chance to outshine each other as well. Competition among family can be the most gruesomely fun sport of all - because no one is more important to impress than your family.

My Dad wrote his speech early on, months before the wedding. I practiced mine the week of. And Brad, the middle brother (aka Jan), decided to wing his on the spur of the moment. But a funny thing happened just before we were all to give our toasts...we all became incredibly nervous! For the first time, food before us was left untouched. And not for the first time, alcohol was drained clean from our glasses.

My Dad, the "Godfather," went first. It was short, but truest of all and filled with more emotion than most of us probably give him credit for having. Brad was next, swaggering up to the microphone, ready for the joker's role. He made it through with laughter, ending on an "aw." Then it was my turn. I collected a quote from our childhood favorite, The Wizard of Oz, and pushed it forward with all the finesse of Bob Barker. But as the toasts ended, a calm washed over all of us. We looked to Brian with bright smiles and suddenly it didn't matter who won so much (although my grandmother says I had the best speech, hands-down).

We also have a bit of trickster blood in my family. My aunt Windy is a "good witch," but a crafty one. In early childhood, she convinced me that whenever I had a cough all I had to do was raise my hands high in the air. She explained that the stretching motion causes your diaphragm to rise, thus easing the coughing fit. Who would argue with such logical reasoning? After all I had nothing to lose, right? So not only did I continue this exercise throughout my life, but I dutifully passed the tip on to others.

It wasn't until years later during the wedding that I realized just how gullible I had been. You see, the ceremony was at sunset on the beach and, while beautiful, the wedding party and its onlookers were swarmed with sand gnats. Oh we held our grace as well as we could, swatting our faces and scratching our heads as nonchalantly as possible. But as soon as the ceremony ended, the crowd dispersed and my aunt acted at the speed of lightening. She spread the world, oh so subtly, that all you had to do was raise your arms high in the air. The gnats, attracted by the heat of the exposed flesh, would swarm around your fingers, leaving your face and neck in blissful relief. And one by one, my entire family raised their arms faithfully in the air. We looked like we were praising the Lord on high.

Windy would've gotten away with it too, if it hadn't been for one sneaky chuckle to escape her lips. And that's when I called her on it. Why, this was no cure for a cough, no insect repellent! It was all a ruse, just to see exactly how many idiots would fall for the little trick. What's sad is I fell for it twice. God bless her, but I will get her back.

Finally, I have to explain the dancing. Now, for years I thought I was the only dancer. I took cotillion lessons in middle school and was in ballroom performance briefly in college. I've even won a couple of freestyle dance competitions in clubs. But at this wedding, I found the rhythmic roots of my happy feet. The gift had been in my genes all along.

Before my eyes, my Mom became one of the Supremes, shifting her arms and swaying in all the glory of Motown. My Dad suddenly channeled Elvis, pointing, turning and hip jabbing frantically. And then my Grandmama glided across the floor and took my hand. We hustled with ease as she spun under my arms, landing feline-like back on her heels. Naturally, it wasn't long until the rest of the family joined in.

Whether it's nature, nuture or a combination of both, we are nothing if not a culmination of everything that makes up our families. And that's precisely what makes your family so special and so irreplaceable. By seeing yourself so clearly revealed in them, you come to understand that you never have to be alone.

Oh, Auntie Windy...there's no place like home!

SuperGay

What is it with the gays and their superheroes? I've always been vaguely aware of some intrinsic connection between the culture and the fiction, but what is it about exactly? Does it go beyond those colorful capes and contoured phallus pouches?

In the beginning, there were our original Marvel & DC Comics heroes. I mean, how many Ambiguously Gay Duo jokes can one endure? Sure Batman resembles the stereotypical older, well-off gentleman mentoring the eager, young chick, Robin...ohhhhh. Okay fine, I see your point.

Well, maybe it's just a connection with gay male heroes. No lesbians allowed? Hmmm....think again. Wonderwoman, is one of the first dyke icons, crossing femininity (her long hair and gigantic breasts) with more masculine traits (her Amazon's frame, cold metallic forearm plates and, of course, her cowboy's lasso).

But it doesn't stop with that original brood. They've actually evolved into even stronger stereotypes. Today we have Xena, the modern day warrior princess, beloved poster woman of many lesbians. We also have the X-men lead by Wolverine, a hairy, well-muscled leather daddy-bear if ever I've seen one. Why, he even comes equipped with S&M devices in the "form of!" blade-like claws that shoot out through his fingers.

It's not just the characters themselves that are gay-like. It's the gays who simply adore them too. Enough to daydream well beyond adolescence that some mysterious benefactor will one day fly them away to some secret cave where a special power will be revealed to them.

But what's really underneath that torso-clinging spandex? Who's the man behind the mask?

As a gay man, I understand what it's like to grow up different. You feel like no one else can understand you. There's no one else like you in the world and you must endure it all alone. You have to hide your secret identity at all costs, for fear that others will shout, "Freak! Unnatural!" So you cower in your cave or hide behind your flawless facade, until one day you don your black leather boots, your tight shirts and your utility belt to unmask yourself to the world. It's about the need to believe that you have been dealt this fate for a reason. You're not an outcast...you're "the one!" You come to believe that you've been given a gift and that it is up to you to use it for good...or perhaps in some cases, for evil.

But was I the only one, or were there others like me after all? After some light research, I found Gay League - a community specifically for gay comic readers and creators. In the site, they list the entire of collection of out superheroes, including those of "uncertain orientation" and even transgendered heroes. And these aren't characters created by small, independent comic companies...they're developed by the two who've been doing it all along, Marvel & DC. In 1992, Marvel revealed that, after years of implication, their hero Northstar was indeed homosexual. Northstar was the first openly gay superhero to have a permanent presence in a continuing series. And more recently, a few characters were revealed gay in two Marvel titles: the Ultimate Incarnation of Colossus in Ultimate X-Men as well as Wiccan and Hulkling of the Young Avengers. Meanwhile, the new Batwoman has been unveiled as a lipstick lesbian. So whether it's the secret identities are simply those buckled boots, there's no denying that the comic book genre is definitely SuperGay.