The Postponed Christmas, or Tinsel and Tears 2008

Seriouly, I had no intention of abandoning my semi-random musings back in April when I last posted. But then I moved back to Indiana, no longer had internet, and had a very part time job. So basically what I'm saying is

GET OFF MY BACK

Now that's that's clear, let's review, shall we?

I went to Texas, concerted in Peru and Bolivia, moved back to Indiana and have been getting used to being graduated. Having "Dr" in your name sounds like it would open up doors, but strangely Applebee's doesn't give me preferred seating when I put my name on the list.

Maitre'd: Name?
Me: Dr Keith Collins
Maitre'd: How many?
Me: Did you hear me, I said DOCTOR Keith Collins.
Maitre'd: Don't care, don't care, don't care.

Variations of this exchange have been repeated at Ruby Tuesday's, Outback, Texas Roadhouse, Fogo de Chao, Airtran, United, USAir, Northwest, my parents, and by the lube guys at the Wal*Mart. Even the cats are unimpressed, but then what does impress an evil bloodthirsty 20 lb felid and his spritely, food-obsessed, semi-feral she-companion? Not much, let me tell you.

It seems a Doctor of Music doesn't get the respect one might think he would. Even in the incestually small world of my specialty people are more interested in knowing who I studied with, and whether or not I've played in Europe. "Europe?" I ask. "That's SO overdone. You haven't really made it as a musician until you've played in a dank semi-tropical third world country during civil unrest and unbearable heat. Why, how can one believe he is in any way accomplished unless he's sweated so much that salt rings appear on his shirt before even the intermission?."

Meanwhile, not even a single Handel concert was tossed to me this December. That's like a cop not getting to arrest anyone on New Year's Eve. Sad, disappointing, and kinda makes you wonder about the world.
_________________________________________________________________

With all this free time, I've been looking for jobs. Not so much career-advancing ones mind you, but jobs nonetheless. I have instead taken a "volunteer" position with an historical society. It pays not a wage, but a "living stipend". I am not an employee, but a "member". And one of the first things I learned was that
God/the cosmos/fate/creation
hates me.

My boss contracted what may or may not have been whooping cough. You read that correctly. Pertussis. That which is vaccinated at the age of one. Apparently in Indiana, though, there are enough earth hippies, ultra-fundies, separatists, and other delightful sub-species who DO NOT VACCINATE their little larvae that this disease has made a big comeback in Indiana. Perhaps you're unaware, but the life sciences are one of Indiana's main industries. Lilly. Glaxco. Big players. This is irrelevant, apparently.

For the record, I did not contract whooping cough. But because I was exposed to it, my family and I decided it was too risky for me to come home and potentially give them that most blessed of Christmas presents: phlegm. So I stayed home.

And by "home" I mean that I flew to Bangor, Maine. Let's face it: staying home with the two "cats" was just too depressing. So I bought a last-minute sale flight and prepared myself for my first Christmas with my partner. Hooray!

Not so fast there, Tiger. As always with me and mine there is a Story.
_________________________________________________________________
Picture it: Indianapolis, December 23. It had been raining and sleeting, but it had passed. So a certain hobbit-ish fellow drives his sasquatch of a spouse to the airport. But as they near Edinburgh, IN (outlet malls and antique malls and a Cracker Barrel!) the phone rings. A robot lady instructs said spouse that the flight is canceled. For a day. Please come back and try again tomorrow! Thanks!

Meanwhile, hobbit's ticket is for the morning. So back home for one more night. HIS flight was completely uneventful and only delayed by 20 minutes. Sasquatch was to leave 6 hours later, to meet in Bangor around midnight.

*cue orchestra which is playing a bminor7 chord, au tremblant*

Upon arriving in Bangor, there is a phone call. Flight delayed. 4 hours. Another call 4 hours later reveals that there is no crew for the flight. I wonder if they just said "Well f*ck this, it's Christmas Eve. Let's take the attendants to the bar and get hammered!"

He makes it, eventually, on Christmas morning at 5am. Fa la la la la.

At this point in the narrative, I would, were I a reader, sigh with a smug smile and shake my head at the tangled webs we modern humans weave, what with flying in the air and whatnot. Then I'd expect the author to start wrapping it up. Sadly, that is not going to happen. Let's turn the metaphorical page:

The smaller one, the hobbit-ish one, had in fact had a bit of a cough and some Liquidity in the Market, if you know what I mean. But nothing more. So the merry little band opens the presents and then has what, for this particular family, is a tradition: Christmas Chinese takeout.
Now for the wee guy, this is not unlike celebrating the birth of our Lord and Saviour with a pinata, or a clam bake- weird, a bit sacreligious, and a tad nauseating. Still, it wasn't as weird as the Christmas Supper of Stuffed Shells and Cheese. With garlic bread. It should be noted at this point that this wee hobbit-like dude is an Appalachian American of many generations, and he has often described visiting his friends and relations and in-laws in Maine as "like being Jane Goodall but with better weather and fewer bugs." Yankees in the Mist, if you will.

*weeguy writing in journal, wearing a safari hat*: "The one I call Sasquatch has been cranky today. When I pant-hooted he nearly took off my face. His sister seems much calmer, perhaps because she is courting a young male. If only I could understand their language and customs! Also, what is a whoopie pie?"

And so, around 10pm, Sasquatch begins to feel unwell. That's what you get for eating Chinese on Christmas the hobbit thinks to himself. Then the big one turns gray and feverish. Finally a decision has been made. Time to go to the hospital.

Nothing says "Happy Holidays!" like going to the emergency room at a semi-rural town on the edge of the world, where there are 8-ish hours of daylight on Christmas and 2 feet of snow on the ground and a sad, sad little Christmas tree in the lobby.

And so, as the diagnosis of a flare-up of diverticulitis is confirmed, as the admittance papers are signed, as the IV antibiotics and Fentanyl are injected, as the realization that there will be at least 2 days in the hospital over Christmas, and as the cold, cold dawn arrives (at 8am), they look lovingly at each other and, through impossibly foul breath, wish each other a "Merry Fecking Christmas".

Report from the Wildlife Refuge; or Leno Has Apologized

So JL has published an apology about the whole gay thing. Thanks Jay! Don't do it again!



It is well into spring here in Texas, so I used one of my rare weekends here and drove about 60 miles north to Hagerman National Wildlife Refuge. 1000 or so acres of Texas wilderness, with man-made lake, marshes, ponds, woods, wetlands, hills, and


Oil rigs?

Yes, of course! It's TexAss after all, where Big Oil is Everything and Everywhere. Kinda hard to commune with nature with all the "screeek....WHONK.....screek.....WHONK" going on all the time ALL THE TIME. So to all the Republicans and others out there who want to drill in the Arctic Refuge, I've seen and heard what it's like. Verdict: NO THANK YOU. Instead let's pour some serious money into coming off oil once and for all. Maybe when Obama wins and we pull out of Iraq that'll free up a few Trillion. sigh....

I shan't befoul your eyes with rigs, but I will treat them to some particularly lovely images of egrets, sunsets, and butterflies. Clicky:

My Gayest Look, or, Leno's a Loser. Also, I AM NOW DR KEITH

Well the fun never stops, does it?

Leno on March 20 had Ryan Philippe on. Ryan had played a gay soap opera character, and Leno couldn't resist egging him to give the camera his "gayest" look.

Cuz that's funny. Apparently to J.

So fast-forward to Jeff Whitty of Avenue Q fame who wrote Jay a letter and included an image of him giving Jay his gayest look.

(Brief recap here: Jeff wrote to Leno back in 2006 about J's gay "humor" and it ended up all over the news.)

Melissa McEwan picked it up and she told some friends, who told some friends, who told some friends....

I've sent in mine, plus a link to those photos of Indy Pride 2006 of the "clergy" with the murderous signs on his pickup. June 2006 in the Archives <------- over there if you don't remember what I'm talking about.



In other news, I have passed my defense and am a Doctor of Music.

Would you like fries with that?

laters,
Dr K

... Oklahoma: NOT OK

So here's the letter I wrote to Rep. Sally Kern. In case you've been under a rock, she was recorded saying that gays are a worse threat than terrorism.



Dear Representative Kern,

Thank you for articulating what many Americans are afraid to say out loud. If there were more people like you we could perhaps have an open dialog about homosexuality.

As a happily partnered gay man, I applaud your vociferous and astonishingly candid speech which is now making news. If we as a society recognize that our elected officials have such strongly anti-gay views, we can perhaps begin to see that things have gone too far and that we can begin to heal as a nation.

When young people hear speeches like yours they learn that it is ok to have negative attitudes about gays. Please read about the tragic murder of Lawrence King, a 15 year old who had his brains blown out by a classmate because he was thought to be gay. http://lifewithkeith.blogspot.com/

You have every right to believe the things you said in your speech. But please keep in mind that as a community leader, your words can have profound impact on young minds. Clearly you do not endorse the murder of people who are thought to be gay. But young minds are fickle, and the words and deeds of people with your power are highly influential. Please keep that in mind before you say things like "gays are worse than terrorists".

with utmost respect,
Keith Collins



I didn't go into trying to convince her that her arguments are exceedingly faulty, illogical, and untrue; I know that would be fruitless. But I hope she'll at least see that when someone with her power and status says things like she said, it gives a small segment of society the sense that violence against gays is not only ok, but necessary for the good of the country. The logic might go something like: "Terrorism is bad, we go after terrorists; gays are worse, we'll go after them, too." And the violence continues.

I don't expect a response, but at least I feel like I tried a little. Alarmingly, she really believes that what she said is the truth. Equally alarming are the death threats she's received. Come on people, let's treat her like we want to be treated!

Happily, the governor of OK has made the admonishment to "cool the rhetoric". I like that.

If you're as astonished at her remarks as I am, consider writing to her at sallykern@okhouse.gov.

~kc

De profundis

OUTRAGE

How is that this can happen, here, now?

How is it possible that there has not been more of an outcry about the murder of Lawrence King? Or Simmie Williams?

Lawrence was an 8th grader and was shot in the head during class at a school in California. His accused murderer is a 14 year old classmate. Lawrence is dead, and his accused murderer will, if convicted, go to jail for the rest of his life.

Because Lawrence asked him to be his Valentine.

Because Lawrence was gay.

Because Lawrence wore makeup and heels to school sometimes.

And so a 14 year-old boy got the message from our society OUR SOCIETY that it's ok to take a handgun to school and blow the brains out of a gay kid.



CONDEMNATION

Shame on all of us.

Shame on our elected officials who drag their heels in passing equal rights and hate-crimes legislation.

Shame on voters for putting those elected officials in office in the first place.

Shame on our churches for not following Christ's message of love for your brother, neighbor, son, daughter, fellow human being. For if our children hear in church that "God hates fags", surely those same children will grow to believe that they, too, "hate fags".

Shame on our schools and their boards for not being more aggressive in anti-bullying policies, for censoring books with gay-affirming topics, and for prohibiting gay and gay-straight alliances.

Shame on parents for not teaching their children, our children, that all of us every one deserve respect, and to be treated with dignity.

Shame on those groups who, in the name of Christ, seek to thwart in our schools programs that teach not just tolerance but acceptance.

Shame on the media for being so blinded by the political process that they barely spared room for these tragedies.






And shame on me for not being man enough to stand up more, to love more, to speak up more, to insist more, to converse more, to be myself more.






RESOLUTION

There's much talk about Change lately. Can it really happen?

ENDA, spousal rights, marriage, civil unions, DADT repeal?


For the love of All That Is And Will Be, VOTE!
Sign a petition.
Talk to each other.
Love each other.
Engage each other with real dialogue.


Then maybe, just maybe, all the killing, all the suicides, all the crying and weeping and sadness won't have been in vain.

What will you do?


peace to all,
Keith

A Certain Collection of Photos, or Hats Are Fun!

For this installment, I have chosen to showcase various images of people with headwear. We as a species really should wear more stuff on our heads, I think.

Behold:





The hubby with a Madeira-style woven hat, procured by the Drs. Crooks on their honeymoon.

Here he's working on his esis-thay in our old house in the Green Wood. That place was hard to heat!










Hubby again, this time with paper pants from (one of) his stays in the hospital on his head.

He was not in fact drunk; this is why I love him. He can run around the house with paper-based dignity garments on his head and not seem to all intents and purposes to be legally insane.











My peep Joey with Play-doh on his head. He's two, and he does what he wants.













OK, before you judge me you should know this: I'm hillbillyin' it up for the camera. Probably.

T is for Tennessee which is where My People are from.

"Comin' At Ya From the Blue Ridge Since 1726"










Now see, this photo has in it NO HEADWEAR WHATSOEVER. It was just so cute that I had to include it. This is my neighbor/nephew with my dulcimer, which he adores.





















"Are you mad? I am your daughter!"

Here's my Tibetan/Mandarin/English- speaking darling. She and her mom are now far away in China. We miss them!











Joey and I are having a grand time at the park. I'm wearing my trademark driving cap. And by "trademark" I mean "I'm one of only a few people I've met that can pull this hat off and NOT look like a goober."

Right?










OK, so maybe a little goober-esque.

But Dom says it's cute, so there.

Also, wtf with my shirt?












Speaking of goobers....

This befezzed gentleman in my time of need abandoned me ABANDONED ME to go to Italy for half a year.

Just kidding. I managed fine in my Major Life Transition. Hmmmm... that sounds a lot like I was having gender reassignment, and instead I was merely unemployed.
Same diff.







And finally, here's the hubby, My Ain True Love tm, lookin' for all the world like the Salty Sea Dog he is.

PS- I bought him that Pea Coat myself. And he stole that hat. No, seriously.













OK, it's time to go now. Hope you enjoyed!

kisses and inappropriate headwear*,
~ keith


*with apologies to Brooke

Whatever Happened to My Blog, or Sometimes I Forget to ....... Hey look! Something shiny!

I haven't blogged.
So sue me.
Really.
I don't care, since I'm narrowly avoiding a one way trip to Chapter 13-ville by selling off my precious instruments.

Well, ok, one instrument, but still. It's symbolic. And by "symbolic" I clearly mean "worth enough USD to barely keep me afloat financially." Once the deal is cut I'm talking to an investor specialist person dude at my new bank, the Credit Union. Credit Unions are totally rad, by the way. Banks suck. Just so you know.

In other news:
1. I'm living temporarily in Texass to teach for a semester. Great for my resume, no fun for a relationship which is, let's be frank, the best thing to ever happen to me.

2. My Kristy and Jim had a baby! Yay! He made rather a dramatic entrance, much to surprises all around, including him apparently.

3. My lil peep Joey went poopy on the potty for the first time yesterday. Go Joey!

4. I'm borrowing a ginormous baroque contrabassoon to do some gigs on this spring. Pics to follow will be hiLAAARious (cue Amy Sedaris).

Now the sad part:
I bade farewell to my pup Zeke Whippet. He just couldn't deal with me being gone and went completely ape-sh!t in my absence. I talked it over with the breeder and she helped me find a great home for him, a retired couple who already have Zeke's half-sister! There's been much weeping, but ultimately it was the best thing for him. Thanks for all the good times little friend, you helped keep me sane during the insanity. I'll see you on the Rainbow Bridge.


















That's all for now, my poppets. I'll try to be more consistent in remembering to ...... hey! let's go play Nintendo!

Keith