I'll be stripping down to my fancy underwear again this year to raise money for the Chicago Gay Men's Chorus' Big Package Auction fundraiser at Sidetrack on May 8. I don't know if that will inspire you to show up and bid on our fabulous travel/spa/entertainment/merchandise packages or stay home and hide behind the couch with a Bible and a can of mace.
Either way, here's this year's promo video featuring underwear-clad footage of last year's event. I might also appear in it as as one of the implied-to-be-naked package-holding dudes who flash in and out of the background. Clearly, I can be flattered into stripping down for anything that involves standing around in my underwear in a bar.
Showing posts with label solicitations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label solicitations. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Monday, November 16, 2009
ChicagoRound: The John Hancock Center
Chicago’s most recognizable skyscraper, with its delicate tapering and its iconic X-bracing, is only the city’s fourth tallest building.Erected between 1965 and 1970, the Hancock Center actually sits on landfill from Chicago’s great 1871 fire. As legend has it, a mountebank named George Wellington "Cap" Streeter ran his steamboat aground on a sandbar 450 feet off Chicago’s north shore in 1886, convinced post-fire contractors to dump debris between the shore and his boat, and over the decades sold deeds and collected taxes on the growing mass of landfill he called the United States District of Lake Michigan.
The area is today called Streeterville, and the Hancock Center reportedly occupies the spot where Cap Streeter’s boat stood for over a decade.
100 stories tall, the Hancock Center houses stores, restaurants and about 700 condominiums. That swirly structure behind the building in this awesome satellite photo is the ramp to the parking garage, which sits on floors 4–12.
And this February, I’ll be racing up the stairs to the 94th floor once again in Hustle up the Hancock. It’s a fundraiser for the Respiratory Health Association of Metropolitan Chicago (formerly the American Lung Association), which works to fight lung diseases including cancer, asthma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and the medical consequences of smoking and pollution.
The top Hustle up the Hancock time is 9:38, roughly half the time it takes me to climb. But it takes you less than a minute to sponsor me just by clicking this link. It's easy!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
How to feel popular
1. Have your blog readers vote on your home decorating.
Your comment numbers will shoot higher than a pair of “ex gay” legs in a church basement. (A word about the stencils, though: Stencils are highly period-appropriate for a home as old as ours. As long as they’re muted and respectable. You stencil haters who weighed in are obviously survivors of kountry kraft geese-with-bonnets-and-neck-bows decorating massacres. And my heart aches for you and what you’ve been through. I assure you, though, that the stencil samples in my last post would never appear in our home in the grotesque peacockery of colors you see below. We are not calico-housedress people. We do not wear pantyhose with our sandals. We do not pepper our conversations with breathless descriptions of truck rallies, remonstrations on the scourge of volunteer corn, shouts of Amen! or conjectures about the physical prowess of John Cena (unless he is appearing in all-male cinema). And we do NOT decorate our home in garish stencils that pull focus. Especially a stencil of a napping gnome, which was included below solely for his sheer absurdity. You know I love you people. I really do. But gnomes?)
2. Discover during an innocent sitemeter search that you’ve been nominated for three blog awards!
Seriously. I was poking around sitemeter a couple days ago to see how many more people had found my blog by searching for pictures of foot tattoos (my top source of new readers! and I don’t even have a foot tattoo!) or information about peeing trouble (which makes me feel genuinely bad—can you imagine searching for medical help about a distressing problem and instead stumbling on my inane ramblings … especially my “trouble peeing” blog post, which is about as clever and entertaining as a roomful of farts?).
Anyway, one of the sitemeter links didn’t come from the usual sitemeter litany of blogs and google searches. And imagine my surprise when I clicked on it and found this:
I used to have an all-consuming crush on a Kurt from Indiana, but he was always waaaaay too busy being stunning to notice me. So I’m sure in the five-plus years since I last saw him he hasn’t found the time in all his being-stunning obligations to remember not noticing me. Or to stumble on my blog. Or to read it. Or to nominate it for an award. I mean three awards. So this award-nominating Kurt is a complete stranger to me. As far as I know. But I can tell he’s an erudite sophisticate of high culture and rare breeding with exquisitely refined reading tastes. Though he occasionally laughs at fart jokes. But he did nominate me for three awards. So he’s good people. Just like all of you!
So! Remember how I said I love you people? I really meant it! Even though some of you thought I was serious about the napping gnome. But there’s still time to make restitution! Just click on these three links and all will be forgiven. Plus I might make some more fart jokes!
Your comment numbers will shoot higher than a pair of “ex gay” legs in a church basement. (A word about the stencils, though: Stencils are highly period-appropriate for a home as old as ours. As long as they’re muted and respectable. You stencil haters who weighed in are obviously survivors of kountry kraft geese-with-bonnets-and-neck-bows decorating massacres. And my heart aches for you and what you’ve been through. I assure you, though, that the stencil samples in my last post would never appear in our home in the grotesque peacockery of colors you see below. We are not calico-housedress people. We do not wear pantyhose with our sandals. We do not pepper our conversations with breathless descriptions of truck rallies, remonstrations on the scourge of volunteer corn, shouts of Amen! or conjectures about the physical prowess of John Cena (unless he is appearing in all-male cinema). And we do NOT decorate our home in garish stencils that pull focus. Especially a stencil of a napping gnome, which was included below solely for his sheer absurdity. You know I love you people. I really do. But gnomes?)
2. Discover during an innocent sitemeter search that you’ve been nominated for three blog awards!
Seriously. I was poking around sitemeter a couple days ago to see how many more people had found my blog by searching for pictures of foot tattoos (my top source of new readers! and I don’t even have a foot tattoo!) or information about peeing trouble (which makes me feel genuinely bad—can you imagine searching for medical help about a distressing problem and instead stumbling on my inane ramblings … especially my “trouble peeing” blog post, which is about as clever and entertaining as a roomful of farts?).
Anyway, one of the sitemeter links didn’t come from the usual sitemeter litany of blogs and google searches. And imagine my surprise when I clicked on it and found this:
I used to have an all-consuming crush on a Kurt from Indiana, but he was always waaaaay too busy being stunning to notice me. So I’m sure in the five-plus years since I last saw him he hasn’t found the time in all his being-stunning obligations to remember not noticing me. Or to stumble on my blog. Or to read it. Or to nominate it for an award. I mean three awards. So this award-nominating Kurt is a complete stranger to me. As far as I know. But I can tell he’s an erudite sophisticate of high culture and rare breeding with exquisitely refined reading tastes. Though he occasionally laughs at fart jokes. But he did nominate me for three awards. So he’s good people. Just like all of you!
So! Remember how I said I love you people? I really meant it! Even though some of you thought I was serious about the napping gnome. But there’s still time to make restitution! Just click on these three links and all will be forgiven. Plus I might make some more fart jokes!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Sponsor my friends in the AIDS Marathon!
I’m running the Chicago Marathon again this year, but I’m not running it as part of the AIDS Marathon training program. After three years with the program, I wanted more control over my schedule and the way I trained. And so far I’m much happier running my own way, with my own team.
But it means I’m not raising money for the AIDS Foundation. And the AIDS Foundation needs money for the cool things it does. Like working to stop new HIV infections through prevention programs. And improving the lives of people living with HIV and AIDS by providing vital services like medical care, food and housing. And keeping people with HIV/AIDS alive until the day there’s a cure.Fortunately, I have a lot of friends who are running the AIDS Marathon this year. And here’s your chance to sponsor them! You-all have helped me raise almost $10,000 in the three years I’ve run the AIDS Marathon, so it should be fun and easy for you to help my friends too.
Since you don’t know them and I don’t know you, I’ve made the whole process effortless for everyone; I’ve alphabetized my friends by first name and divided my readers by birth month and paired you-all up through my magical powers of organization.
If your birthday is January through April:
Sponsor Adam. It’s his first marathon ever. I know Adam from the Chicago Gay Men’s Chorus (actually, I know all three guys here from the chorus) and Adam has such a beautiful voice that I couldn’t bring myself to hate him when he auditioned for the role I wanted in our last show. And when neither of us got the role, I forgave him anyway.
If your birthday is May through August:
Sponsor Dan. He ran the Honolulu Marathon last year with the AIDS Foundation, and this is his first Chicago Marathon. Dan and I are both tall basses, so we spend all our rehearsals sitting next to each other in the back row, making fun of all those stupid short basses who think they’re so cool because they’re always in front.
If your birthday is September through December:
Sponsor Nick. This is his first marathon as well. Nick has strikingly blue eyes and a beautiful, clear voice. But he never seems to audition for the solos I want so I could never hate him. He also goes to my gym (well, one of my gyms), and we often compare notes on the other gym members. I mean on our workout and marathon training strategies.
When you make your sponsorships, you’ll notice the AIDS Marathon site has undergone vast improvements since last year. So it’s totally way more fun this year to click-n-sponsor one of the guys above. Please do!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
My weekend in pictures and song
Well, actually there is no song. So I just lied to you. And that's not my only lie. It looks like I'm running with my training group in the picture below. But that's a lie too! You can't trust me! The reality is my car wouldn't start Saturday morning so I had to run a mile and a half to our meeting place and then my shin splints started acting up so I was pre-tired and in pain and I ended up lagging behind my whole group for the whole six miles we ran together, except for this little part of our run where everyone stopped for water in mile 4 and I actually caught up with them long enough to have our picture taken as though I'd been running with them all along. But I hadn't. And they quickly left me in their dust after this photo was taken. So I'm not only a dirty liar, but I'm a dirty slow liar. The worst kind!
But they waited for me at our finish line so I got to pose with everyone as though I weren't a giant mussy. Which could also be a lie, but I did run our full six miles (plus my bonus one and a half miles) so I still get full credit for Saturday's run.
Now we move on to verse two of our not-song about the weekend—the verse where I whore myself down to my underpants for money. But the money isn't for me, so I'm totally somebody else's whore. Or something like that. The whoring happened at an event called The Big Package, which raised money for the Chicago Gay Men's Chorus in a live auction for some pretty impressive packages of goods, services and travel opportunities. Our hostesses for the evening were a glamorous but sturdy trio of ladies with surprisingly resonant voices:
As a whore, I represented one of the packages: the GQ makeover package, which included a Tiffany watch, which I am photographed modeling here with Bill, who is holding a not-untoiletlike porcelain receptacle for lottery tickets:
The idea was that I was a nerd plucked from the audience and stripped one article of clothing at a time while the bids for my impressive package climbed higher and higher. The trouble is, I'm naturally such a fashionplate that the premise was laughably unbelievable. So here I am using my superior acting skills to come off as a nerd while our sturdy hostesses and our auctioneer struggle to contain their awe:
As the bids climbed, the nerd clothes fell to the floor. And the stomach got sucked in tighter than an aging diva's forehead.
And by the time I was down to my noticeably red underpants, my package had grown to epic proportions. It netted $1,300 for the chorus. Woot!
In a side story that I mention here solely for journalistic balance, a straight personal trainer did the same thing to sell his training services for the chorus. But they let him keep his pants on:
We close our non-song with verse three: Sunday Funday with Matthew, Todd and Brad. We started with a lovely (albeit long, as in our-waitress-disappeared-for-a-good-half-an-hour long) brunch at Pierrot Gourmet, the deliciously foo-foo French-ish restaurant in the Peninsula Hotel. Then we sauntered down Michigan Avenue toward the so-new-it's-FREE-this-weekend Modern Wing of the Art Institute, stopping long enough to let the paparazzi photograph us artfully re-creating the freakishly huge American Gothic statue in the Tribune Tower plaza. Note the way Matthew is holding his imaginary pitchfork in the wrong hand. Also note the napping homeless person.
We entered the Modern Wing via the shiny (as in blindingly shiny, as in so blindingly shiny it's actually a shockingly unfortunate design flaw) pedestrian bridge (officially called the Nichols Bridgeway) that connects Millennium Park with the Modern Wing's top-floor restaurant (officially called Terzo Piano) and glass-enclosed terrace (officially called the Bluhm Family Terrace).
Renzo Piano's architecture for the Modern Wing is striking in its combined intricacy and simplicity. The spaces are open and airy, and they neatly strike a balance between defining spaces and accommodating vast quantities of people. Here's the pergola-like roof over the stately, possibly-ideal-for-Jake-and-Justin's-wedding courtyard (officially called Griffin Court) that bisects the two Modern Wing buildings:
I have a new favorite Matisse painting: his 1920 Interior at Nice, which captures a breezy patrician noblesse (the casual chic dècor! the studied ennui! the rich silvery palette!) with a strikingly vertical perspective. And it lives here, in my favorite new Modern Wing of my favorite local Art Institute!
Here I am contemplating a large Joan Miró painting of Terrence with a horse. Or maybe it's Phillip. I always get those two confused.
I didn't realize this dress was between me and the camera when Matthew took my picture. But it sure gives me a nice bust. And broad shoulders. And a freakishly tiny head.
Motif! After we left the Modern Wing, we ventured into the Art Institute proper to visit some of our favorite paintings, including my old friends from American Gothic. We weren't sure if we were allowed to take pictures of the painting, so we snapped this one without spending a lot of time finessing our balance or composition. But we were able to crop the napping homeless person out of the picture. And Matthew got his imaginary pitchfork in the correct hand.
We finished our day with some disappointingly greasy and expectedly overpriced food at Terzo Piano (the restaurant at the top of the Nichols Bridgeway, for those of you who aren't keeping track). But we figured we were paying for the atmosphere. And the view. And the beautiful Chicago afternoon with friends.
Actually, we finished our day at Angels & Demons, which I freaking LOVED. So I just lied to you again. But we took no pictures, so there is no real proof we were there, lusting after select members of the Swiss Guard. So you'll have to take my word for it. Unless I've given you any reason to think I'm a liar.
But they waited for me at our finish line so I got to pose with everyone as though I weren't a giant mussy. Which could also be a lie, but I did run our full six miles (plus my bonus one and a half miles) so I still get full credit for Saturday's run.
Now we move on to verse two of our not-song about the weekend—the verse where I whore myself down to my underpants for money. But the money isn't for me, so I'm totally somebody else's whore. Or something like that. The whoring happened at an event called The Big Package, which raised money for the Chicago Gay Men's Chorus in a live auction for some pretty impressive packages of goods, services and travel opportunities. Our hostesses for the evening were a glamorous but sturdy trio of ladies with surprisingly resonant voices:
As a whore, I represented one of the packages: the GQ makeover package, which included a Tiffany watch, which I am photographed modeling here with Bill, who is holding a not-untoiletlike porcelain receptacle for lottery tickets:
The idea was that I was a nerd plucked from the audience and stripped one article of clothing at a time while the bids for my impressive package climbed higher and higher. The trouble is, I'm naturally such a fashionplate that the premise was laughably unbelievable. So here I am using my superior acting skills to come off as a nerd while our sturdy hostesses and our auctioneer struggle to contain their awe:
As the bids climbed, the nerd clothes fell to the floor. And the stomach got sucked in tighter than an aging diva's forehead.
And by the time I was down to my noticeably red underpants, my package had grown to epic proportions. It netted $1,300 for the chorus. Woot!
In a side story that I mention here solely for journalistic balance, a straight personal trainer did the same thing to sell his training services for the chorus. But they let him keep his pants on:
We close our non-song with verse three: Sunday Funday with Matthew, Todd and Brad. We started with a lovely (albeit long, as in our-waitress-disappeared-for-a-good-half-an-hour long) brunch at Pierrot Gourmet, the deliciously foo-foo French-ish restaurant in the Peninsula Hotel. Then we sauntered down Michigan Avenue toward the so-new-it's-FREE-this-weekend Modern Wing of the Art Institute, stopping long enough to let the paparazzi photograph us artfully re-creating the freakishly huge American Gothic statue in the Tribune Tower plaza. Note the way Matthew is holding his imaginary pitchfork in the wrong hand. Also note the napping homeless person.
We entered the Modern Wing via the shiny (as in blindingly shiny, as in so blindingly shiny it's actually a shockingly unfortunate design flaw) pedestrian bridge (officially called the Nichols Bridgeway) that connects Millennium Park with the Modern Wing's top-floor restaurant (officially called Terzo Piano) and glass-enclosed terrace (officially called the Bluhm Family Terrace).
Renzo Piano's architecture for the Modern Wing is striking in its combined intricacy and simplicity. The spaces are open and airy, and they neatly strike a balance between defining spaces and accommodating vast quantities of people. Here's the pergola-like roof over the stately, possibly-ideal-for-Jake-and-Justin's-wedding courtyard (officially called Griffin Court) that bisects the two Modern Wing buildings:
I have a new favorite Matisse painting: his 1920 Interior at Nice, which captures a breezy patrician noblesse (the casual chic dècor! the studied ennui! the rich silvery palette!) with a strikingly vertical perspective. And it lives here, in my favorite new Modern Wing of my favorite local Art Institute!
Here I am contemplating a large Joan Miró painting of Terrence with a horse. Or maybe it's Phillip. I always get those two confused.
I didn't realize this dress was between me and the camera when Matthew took my picture. But it sure gives me a nice bust. And broad shoulders. And a freakishly tiny head.
Motif! After we left the Modern Wing, we ventured into the Art Institute proper to visit some of our favorite paintings, including my old friends from American Gothic. We weren't sure if we were allowed to take pictures of the painting, so we snapped this one without spending a lot of time finessing our balance or composition. But we were able to crop the napping homeless person out of the picture. And Matthew got his imaginary pitchfork in the correct hand.
We finished our day with some disappointingly greasy and expectedly overpriced food at Terzo Piano (the restaurant at the top of the Nichols Bridgeway, for those of you who aren't keeping track). But we figured we were paying for the atmosphere. And the view. And the beautiful Chicago afternoon with friends.
Actually, we finished our day at Angels & Demons, which I freaking LOVED. So I just lied to you again. But we took no pictures, so there is no real proof we were there, lusting after select members of the Swiss Guard. So you'll have to take my word for it. Unless I've given you any reason to think I'm a liar.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Ask me about my Big Package!
OK. This is the only notice you’re getting from me. I’ll be walking around half-naked as delusional designated beefcake on Saturday at The Big Package, the Chicago Gay Men’s Chorus’ big new fundraiser. The magic happens Saturday, May 16, from 5pm to 8m at Sidetrack, 3349 N Halsted St, Chicago. And you can buy your tickets here.
$25 in advance or $30 at the door gets you all this:
• Three drink tickets
• A buffet by Limelight Catering
• A chance to win 2 tickets to the Ellen DeGeneres Comedy Show at the Chicago Theatre on June 17
• A sneak preview of the chorus’ upcoming pride show
• A drag hostess named D’Manda Donation
• Raffle ticket sales for some pretty impressive package prizes
• And about seven of us wandering around in tight T-shirts and often less
All proceeds will support the general operating fund of CGMC, which is celebrating its 27th season and has grown to become the largest volunteer LGBT arts organization in Illinois.
Here are just some of the auction packages:
Elton John Package
Tickets to his Wrigley Field concert and signed concert memorabilia
Explore Your Inner Diva Package
We'll get you and a group of your best girlfriends dressed and made-up for a night on the town as the DIVAS you always wanted to be
Travel Package
Two unrestricted round-trip tickets on Southwest Airlines and a voucher for a 2-night stay at any Kimpton Hotel property in North America
Fitness Packages
• Personal Training with Gay Chicago's Dan Chisholm
• Training and consultations from Equinox Fitness
• A two-month membership at Quads Gym including personal training with Chris Gagne
Chicago Staycation Packages
• Wit Hotel
• Palmer House Hilton
• Affinia Hotel
Behind the Scenes at ABC-7
A personalized studio tour and brunch with ABC 7's weekend anchor Kevin Roy
Get your tickets here!
$25 in advance or $30 at the door gets you all this:• Three drink tickets
• A buffet by Limelight Catering
• A chance to win 2 tickets to the Ellen DeGeneres Comedy Show at the Chicago Theatre on June 17
• A sneak preview of the chorus’ upcoming pride show
• A drag hostess named D’Manda Donation
• Raffle ticket sales for some pretty impressive package prizes
• And about seven of us wandering around in tight T-shirts and often less
All proceeds will support the general operating fund of CGMC, which is celebrating its 27th season and has grown to become the largest volunteer LGBT arts organization in Illinois.
Here are just some of the auction packages:
Elton John Package
Tickets to his Wrigley Field concert and signed concert memorabilia
Explore Your Inner Diva Package
We'll get you and a group of your best girlfriends dressed and made-up for a night on the town as the DIVAS you always wanted to be
Travel Package
Two unrestricted round-trip tickets on Southwest Airlines and a voucher for a 2-night stay at any Kimpton Hotel property in North America
Fitness Packages
• Personal Training with Gay Chicago's Dan Chisholm
• Training and consultations from Equinox Fitness
• A two-month membership at Quads Gym including personal training with Chris Gagne
Chicago Staycation Packages
• Wit Hotel
• Palmer House Hilton
• Affinia Hotel
Behind the Scenes at ABC-7
A personalized studio tour and brunch with ABC 7's weekend anchor Kevin Roy
Get your tickets here!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I just spent $32 on ugly-ass monk shoes
So the least you could do is come see me wear them.
I'll be singing and dancing and monking (and firemaning!) all weekend in Bad Habits, the Chicago Gay Men's Chorus' fabulous original musical about young love and drinking and Jake dancing around in ugly-ass monk shoes and also wearing a fireman uniform in a monastery. Click on this information-filled graphic to get your tickets:
And if you're sitting there thinking one of these days I'm actually gonna haul my ass away from this Pulitzer-worthy blog and go see Jake in one of his gay-ass chorus shows, you'd better get hauling. Because I think this will be my last show for a long time. While I love the chorus, I'm finding myself resenting the time commitment it requires. And you really shouldn't resent your volunteer activities. Of course, I reserve the right to change my mind if we do another Sidetrack show-tune-themed show. Because I could never resent an evening of show tunes. Unless they were all from Cats.
Speaking of show tunes, Bad Habits features two songs from the short-lived musical version of Carrie. True story! And they're actually pretty fabulous songs. Even though we sing them in ugly-ass monk shoes.
But what are you doing reading about a musical that ran for only five performances in 1988? Bad Habits runs for only three performances this weekend. Click here to get your tickets. Amen.
I'll be singing and dancing and monking (and firemaning!) all weekend in Bad Habits, the Chicago Gay Men's Chorus' fabulous original musical about young love and drinking and Jake dancing around in ugly-ass monk shoes and also wearing a fireman uniform in a monastery. Click on this information-filled graphic to get your tickets:
And if you're sitting there thinking one of these days I'm actually gonna haul my ass away from this Pulitzer-worthy blog and go see Jake in one of his gay-ass chorus shows, you'd better get hauling. Because I think this will be my last show for a long time. While I love the chorus, I'm finding myself resenting the time commitment it requires. And you really shouldn't resent your volunteer activities. Of course, I reserve the right to change my mind if we do another Sidetrack show-tune-themed show. Because I could never resent an evening of show tunes. Unless they were all from Cats.Speaking of show tunes, Bad Habits features two songs from the short-lived musical version of Carrie. True story! And they're actually pretty fabulous songs. Even though we sing them in ugly-ass monk shoes.
But what are you doing reading about a musical that ran for only five performances in 1988? Bad Habits runs for only three performances this weekend. Click here to get your tickets. Amen.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
See you in a week!
We're boarding the ship for our fabulous Caribbean cruise. I'm all packed and ready (I think) with a fresh haircut, a pedicure (gay!), a fake tan and a gallon of SPF 45.
While we're gone, please make daily purchases from my sister's gluten-safe baking mix web site. Just click here:
While we're gone, please make daily purchases from my sister's gluten-safe baking mix web site. Just click here:
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I'm going out there a go-go boy
and coming back a STAR!
So I'm dancing behind a big fabulous drag queen in a fund-raiser next weekend, and you need to be there.And yesterday doubled the reasons you need to be there. I was originally in just one of her numbers, see, but one of her other go-go boys didn't show up for the big tech rehearsal yesterday so she asked me if I could take his place. Does the pope shit on the people? Of course I'll suddenly be in TWO big fierce dance numbers behind a big fabulous drag queen! It's all so Peggy Sawyer I could just die.
The show is the annual fund-raiser for the Chicago Spirit Brigade, a spectacular amateur cheer squad that performs all over the city—including mile 21 of the Chicago Marathon, where they are my personal heroes even though they have yet to volunteer to run me in for the last five miles—and gives 100% of the money they raise at their appearances to organizations that provide direct services or care for people living with life-threatening challenges like AIDS, HIV and cancer. The fund-raiser next weekend—an over-the-top show featuring the not-always-about-cheering talents of the squad's members—is the only event where they raise money specifically to cover their own expenses like travel, uniforms, equipment, marketing and insurance. So it's important that you cough up your money and come see it.
And the fund-raiser promises to be fabulous. I was originally just dancing in a lab coat and ... um ... rubber fetish gear (hi, Mom!) to a starlet-with-plastic-surgery-themed mix of the songs (and here's the part where I talk about pop music as though I'm hip enough to have heard of these songs before I was in this show) "Disturbia" by Rihanna and "Keeps Gettin' Better" by Christina Aguilera. But now I'm also in the big opening number! It's some hip-hoppy (I think that's the word the kids are using these days) song I've actually heard before, but I just learned the choreography yesterday and I can't be expected to remember song titles too. The costume is a little tamer: baggy cargo pants and a colorful tank top (you can start breathing again, Mom), and the choreography is fierce. And I was going to make a self-deprecating remark about the age-inappropriateness of me dancing to hip-hop, but I just realized the other go-go boy in the number is over 40 as well. And there is nothing hotter than two hip-hoppy dancers less than a decade away from their first AARP mailing. Ow! My hip!
The show is called Big Bang 6 and it's gonna be at Circuit Nightclub, 3641 N. Halsted, this Saturday, January 24. The doors open at 8 and the show starts at 9—and now that I'm in the opening number, you can't be late. Tickets are $25 at the door but only $20 when you order in advance by following the order link here. Go! Order now!
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Wow
I wrote my last post to express my white-hot anger over not just Proposition Hate, but the very notion that marriage equality is somehow up for any kind of discussion ... or that it is dependent on the opinions of voters who clearly lack the intellectual qualifications to vote.
Imagine my surprise, then, when it went whizzing virally around the Internets in a matter of hours, generating exponentially more comments and linkbacks than I've ever received in more than five years of blogging.
Once I saw how it had taken off, I steeled myself for the inevitable hostile religious backlash. But it has yet to come ... though I've gotten hate mail in the past for the most benign posts. I figure either this post hasn't yet fallen into the hands of the people who most need to see it, or they just realize they can't win an argument with me on this topic and for once they are wisely keeping their indefensible opinions to themselves.
In any case, I am touched and encouraged by all of you who have taken the time to link this post on blogs and newsgroups, email it to your friends, leave your own stories and comments, and just let me know that I am not alone in my frustration, anger and sucker-punch pain over being repeatedly codified as something less than equal by legions of voters I can no longer look at as compassionate, human or even American.
Many of you have asked for more information about Thomas and the things we have done to protect ourselves and him. I didn't include granular details in my post because it was supposed to be primarily about Proposition Hate ... and because I tend to ramble anyway and the post was already longer than the average novel. But here are some more pieces to the story:
Thomas
First of all, I should clarify that he's 38, so we're not raising a physical child. He and the domestic partner share the same parents, though they have not lived together since the domestic partner was 10. When Thomas moved in with us last October, I decided to keep him and everything he'd been through out of my blog, especially as I was struggling to wrap my brain around the horrors he'd endured. Once in a while he popped into a narrative that involved him, but the domestic partner wasn't really keen on sharing with the world the embarrassing details of his family, so I continued to keep the blog focused on its usual topic: me. But over the last year, every time the struggle for marriage equality appeared in the news, I knew our story could silence every retarded (and I'm using that word on purpose) argument made by the American Taliban. So after the election, and with the blessings of both the domestic partner and Thomas, I laid everything out here.
The mom
On the surface, she's an attractive, bubbly, pleasantly kooky woman. And when I first met her I was excited to have Mame as a mother-in-law. What gay man wouldn't? The domestic partner had warned me that she was probably not the woman she portrayed herself to be, but since he has seen or talked to her only a couple times a year for the last 10 years, it never occurred to us to find out what his mom had really become.
How nobody knew what was going on
Again, there are a lot of family details that the domestic partner just doesn't want splashed all over the Internets. But here's some context: His parents went through an acrimonious divorce when the domestic partner was 5, and over the years the domestic partner, two of his brothers and his father ended up in Illinois and Wisconsin and his mother and Thomas ended up living in a gated community in Florida. The guard at the gate ensured nobody could get in without her permission, she let all her calls go to voicemail, and she and Thomas made only rare appearances at family gatherings. And when they did show up, she never let Thomas out of her sight. The few times I'd met him, he was skittish around people and completely uncommunicative, but I just figured that was part of his disability. It was only when a cousin who happened to be in Florida on business managed to talk his way past the guard that Thomas, whose mother had left him alone while she was on a cruise, felt emboldened to ask for help.
Thomas' stay with us was supposed to be for just a few months until we could find him permanent housing suitable to someone with his disability. But as far as we know, his parents had never bothered to diagnose his condition or get him in the social services system, and we've found roadblock after roadblock as we've tried to find him a caseworker and understand what we should and shouldn't be doing for him. The domestic partner is so wracked with guilt over having not seen what was going on that he views keeping Thomas with us where at least we know he's safe as some sort of penance. And Thomas is such a low-maintenance houseguest—he does his chores without fail, he keeps his bathroom freakishly clean, and for some reason he's taken it upon himself to make sure we never run out of milk or bananas—that having him in our guest room is absolutely no trouble ... except whenever we have guests.
Insurance
Thomas is ineligible for Medicaid because his mother and her second husband listed him as a phony employee at the second husband's company so they could lease a car (and do who knows what else) in his name. So on paper, he's earned too much income to qualify for federal assistance. At least that's what we've been told by Social Security. But we've gotten him a part-time job that will qualify him for health insurance after he's worked there for a year. Which will be in February. My insurance provider told me point-blank that they would never insure him, which I didn't even realize was a possibility. Remember how John McCain and Sarah Palin ranted incoherently about the horrifying threat of socialized medicine? This is what they apparently want: for developmentally disabled, unskilled people like Thomas to go without insurance—and, by extension, medical care that they could possibly afford–all in the interest of saving a few bucks in taxes.
Legal protection
The domestic partner and I went to what was promoted to us as the best gay attorney in Chicago to make sure we had all the legal protections of marriage. He drew up a thousand dollars in wills and powers of attorney and related documents, and we thought we were all set. But since then we've learned from our financial planner and some other attorney friends that mere wills—especially the wills of gay domestic partners—are easily contested by blood relatives and we need to fork over thousands more to have trusts and who knows what else drawn up to protect ourselves. So we're looking for a better attorney who will give us the legal protections we asked for in the first place.
The mortgage
We have now quit-claimed and refinanced the house so everything is in both our names and—as we've been told but I've learned to believe nobody—that the house is safely ours no matter what. But if we had marriage as an option, we wouldn't need to jump through all these goddamned hoops and have all these unanswerable questions.
Why we haven't pressed any charges
It's a family decision.
One final, kinda selfish thought
I figured that a nice little byproduct of all this exposure might be tons of sponsorships for my upcoming Hustle up the Hancock. But it's generated no donations yet. Ahem.
Imagine my surprise, then, when it went whizzing virally around the Internets in a matter of hours, generating exponentially more comments and linkbacks than I've ever received in more than five years of blogging.
Once I saw how it had taken off, I steeled myself for the inevitable hostile religious backlash. But it has yet to come ... though I've gotten hate mail in the past for the most benign posts. I figure either this post hasn't yet fallen into the hands of the people who most need to see it, or they just realize they can't win an argument with me on this topic and for once they are wisely keeping their indefensible opinions to themselves.
In any case, I am touched and encouraged by all of you who have taken the time to link this post on blogs and newsgroups, email it to your friends, leave your own stories and comments, and just let me know that I am not alone in my frustration, anger and sucker-punch pain over being repeatedly codified as something less than equal by legions of voters I can no longer look at as compassionate, human or even American.
Many of you have asked for more information about Thomas and the things we have done to protect ourselves and him. I didn't include granular details in my post because it was supposed to be primarily about Proposition Hate ... and because I tend to ramble anyway and the post was already longer than the average novel. But here are some more pieces to the story:
Thomas
First of all, I should clarify that he's 38, so we're not raising a physical child. He and the domestic partner share the same parents, though they have not lived together since the domestic partner was 10. When Thomas moved in with us last October, I decided to keep him and everything he'd been through out of my blog, especially as I was struggling to wrap my brain around the horrors he'd endured. Once in a while he popped into a narrative that involved him, but the domestic partner wasn't really keen on sharing with the world the embarrassing details of his family, so I continued to keep the blog focused on its usual topic: me. But over the last year, every time the struggle for marriage equality appeared in the news, I knew our story could silence every retarded (and I'm using that word on purpose) argument made by the American Taliban. So after the election, and with the blessings of both the domestic partner and Thomas, I laid everything out here.
The mom
On the surface, she's an attractive, bubbly, pleasantly kooky woman. And when I first met her I was excited to have Mame as a mother-in-law. What gay man wouldn't? The domestic partner had warned me that she was probably not the woman she portrayed herself to be, but since he has seen or talked to her only a couple times a year for the last 10 years, it never occurred to us to find out what his mom had really become.
How nobody knew what was going on
Again, there are a lot of family details that the domestic partner just doesn't want splashed all over the Internets. But here's some context: His parents went through an acrimonious divorce when the domestic partner was 5, and over the years the domestic partner, two of his brothers and his father ended up in Illinois and Wisconsin and his mother and Thomas ended up living in a gated community in Florida. The guard at the gate ensured nobody could get in without her permission, she let all her calls go to voicemail, and she and Thomas made only rare appearances at family gatherings. And when they did show up, she never let Thomas out of her sight. The few times I'd met him, he was skittish around people and completely uncommunicative, but I just figured that was part of his disability. It was only when a cousin who happened to be in Florida on business managed to talk his way past the guard that Thomas, whose mother had left him alone while she was on a cruise, felt emboldened to ask for help.
Thomas' stay with us was supposed to be for just a few months until we could find him permanent housing suitable to someone with his disability. But as far as we know, his parents had never bothered to diagnose his condition or get him in the social services system, and we've found roadblock after roadblock as we've tried to find him a caseworker and understand what we should and shouldn't be doing for him. The domestic partner is so wracked with guilt over having not seen what was going on that he views keeping Thomas with us where at least we know he's safe as some sort of penance. And Thomas is such a low-maintenance houseguest—he does his chores without fail, he keeps his bathroom freakishly clean, and for some reason he's taken it upon himself to make sure we never run out of milk or bananas—that having him in our guest room is absolutely no trouble ... except whenever we have guests.
Insurance
Thomas is ineligible for Medicaid because his mother and her second husband listed him as a phony employee at the second husband's company so they could lease a car (and do who knows what else) in his name. So on paper, he's earned too much income to qualify for federal assistance. At least that's what we've been told by Social Security. But we've gotten him a part-time job that will qualify him for health insurance after he's worked there for a year. Which will be in February. My insurance provider told me point-blank that they would never insure him, which I didn't even realize was a possibility. Remember how John McCain and Sarah Palin ranted incoherently about the horrifying threat of socialized medicine? This is what they apparently want: for developmentally disabled, unskilled people like Thomas to go without insurance—and, by extension, medical care that they could possibly afford–all in the interest of saving a few bucks in taxes.
Legal protection
The domestic partner and I went to what was promoted to us as the best gay attorney in Chicago to make sure we had all the legal protections of marriage. He drew up a thousand dollars in wills and powers of attorney and related documents, and we thought we were all set. But since then we've learned from our financial planner and some other attorney friends that mere wills—especially the wills of gay domestic partners—are easily contested by blood relatives and we need to fork over thousands more to have trusts and who knows what else drawn up to protect ourselves. So we're looking for a better attorney who will give us the legal protections we asked for in the first place.
The mortgage
We have now quit-claimed and refinanced the house so everything is in both our names and—as we've been told but I've learned to believe nobody—that the house is safely ours no matter what. But if we had marriage as an option, we wouldn't need to jump through all these goddamned hoops and have all these unanswerable questions.
Why we haven't pressed any charges
It's a family decision.
One final, kinda selfish thought
I figured that a nice little byproduct of all this exposure might be tons of sponsorships for my upcoming Hustle up the Hancock. But it's generated no donations yet. Ahem.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Movin' movin' movin' right to the top!
Last year’s Hustle up the Hancock was like a dress rehearsal. Or maybe I should use the term warmup since racing up 94 flights of stairs is no Fake your Way to the Top. In any case, we made a weak showing last year. I found only two people to be on my team. We didn’t know we could make our own kick-ass team shirts. We had no idea how we should train, how long the climb would take us or how to celebrate when we got to the top. But I did come up with a pretty cool name: The Social Climbers. (I know! It’s like I’m a creative genius or something!)
But this year’s gonna be different! We just registered for the next Hustle up the Hancock and now we have a six-person team, including a kick-ass art director who’s gonna make the kick-assest team shirts for us. We also know how to train effectively. We know how to do the climb. And we know that we should make some freaking plans to celebrate somewhere when it’s over.
Now all that’s left is the part where we ask you to sponsor us.
Hustle up the Hancock is a race up 94 flights of stairs to raise money for the Respiratory Health Association of Metropolitan Chicago (formerly the American Lung Association), which works to fight lung diseases including cancer, asthma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and the medical consequences of smoking and pollution.
My 19 minutes (that’s how long it took me last year) of gasping for breath on the stairs of the John Hancock Center is nothing compared to the daily pain, exhaustion and panic that stop people in their tracks when they suffer from chronic conditions that prevent them from breathing normally.
What’s more, your sponsorship is tax-deductible. Even better, you can be a part of my race up the John Hancock Center without climbing a single step yourself … unless you discover that your wallet is in your pants pocket upstairs after you click on my sponsorship link. Which is right here:
Sponsor me!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
What good is sitting alone in your room?
My old neighbor Jeffrey Roscoe is running the AIDS Marathon with me this year. To participate, runners have to raise at least $1,400 (don’t worry — I’ve already hit my mark so I’m not hitting you up for a donation ... well, not exactly).Jeff is an immensely talented musician and promoter who’s pretty big on the cabaret circuit in Chicago. So to raise his money, he’s staging a one-night show with with all his professional cabaret friends ... and he’s asked me to sing as well. In a big-name cabaret show. All by myself. Like I'm a real cabaret singer too. OHMYGOD!
Here’s all the info:
Thursday, August 21
7-9 pm
3160 N. Clark Street
$10 suggested donation at the door
We’re each singing two songs, and Jeff asked us to pick stuff that was upbeat or funny or just plain big and belty. So if you come, you won’t have to sit through any heartfelt renditions of “Hopelessly Devoted” or “You Light Up My Life.” At least not from me.
With all these big names (and one little name) sharing the same stage, the evening promises to deliver a fabulous (and rare) combo platter of extra-spicy Chicago talent. So if you're up for some Thursday night fundraising set to soaring melodies and the piano stylings of the inimitable Jeffrey Roscoe, come join us!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Sponsor me in the AIDS Marathon!
Last year, my friends and family and co-workers and even strangers like you who occasionally drop by to read my blog—and how cool are you?—helped me raise $3,001 in donations when I ran the Chicago Marathon on behalf of the AIDS Foundation of Chicago. This year will be my fifth marathon, my third with the AIDS Foundation and my first with the foundation’s new advanced training program, which promises to help me FINALLY beat my four-hour goal.But running a marathon in under four hours is just a goal of vanity. People living with HIV and AIDS have much more important goals … like staying healthy so they can go to work and afford insurance and medical care and food for themselves and their families.
Despite ongoing advances in the treatment of AIDS, the epidemic is far from over. More than one million Americans—and 40 million more around the world—are now living with HIV. It’s no longer the gay disease once self-righteously dismissed by the religious right; it’s now the LEADING cause of death among adults age 15-59 worldwide—gay or straight, black or white, male or female. The LEADING cause. That’s a lot of people who are not only sick, but potentially homeless, jobless, ostracized, trying to raise children or otherwise in desperate need of what the AIDS Foundation provides.
So please. Whip out your credit card, click on the red logo above or to your right and join me in our race to control—and maybe even beat—this disease.
You’ll get a tax writeoff. The AIDS Foundation will get much-needed funds for providing direct medical care, food, housing and other vital services for people living with HIV and AIDS. Your friends and neighbors living with the disease will get assistance and dignity and hope. And I will maybe get to beat a goal that’s been taunting me since 2004. Everybody wins!
Remember: Sponsoring me is as easy as clicking the red logo. And thanks again for your generosity!
Jake
P.S. It can take up to five business days for your donations to be acknowledged on my pledge page. But the AIDS Foundation of Chicago has been extremely prompt at mailing acknowledgement letters for tax deductions. And after the marathon I'll post a list of donors here AND send personal thank-you notes and emails to all of you for whom I have contact information. But please don’t let the site's weird little technical problem stop you from donating. You can give any amount you want.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Got your tickets yet?
It’s an election year, and what could be more election-y than a bunch of gay boys singing about American stuff?
The Chicago Gay Men’s Chorus is all geared up and ready to sing and dance you into a voting frenzy this spring. Our show is called Apple Pie (the “as American as …” flavor) and it’s packed with big-band swing, patriotic marches, barbershop quartets, anthems about marriage equality, American folk songs and some truly astounding works by Aaron Copland. Of course, we’re also peppering the show with splashes of our trademark irreverence. And we’re presenting it all to you in a dramatic flourish of blue jeans and bunting.
Get your tickets now. And don’t show up late! I choreographed the opening number, a high-energy swing medley of my two favorite Barry Manilow songs ever: “Jump Shout Boogie” and “Bandstand Boogie.”
Show dates and times are:
Friday, April 4 @ 8:00 pm
Saturday, April 5 @ 3:00 pm
Saturday, April 5 @ 8:00 pm
You can order tickets here or buy in person at the box office:
Athenaeum Theatre
2936 N. Southport
See you there!
The Chicago Gay Men’s Chorus is all geared up and ready to sing and dance you into a voting frenzy this spring. Our show is called Apple Pie (the “as American as …” flavor) and it’s packed with big-band swing, patriotic marches, barbershop quartets, anthems about marriage equality, American folk songs and some truly astounding works by Aaron Copland. Of course, we’re also peppering the show with splashes of our trademark irreverence. And we’re presenting it all to you in a dramatic flourish of blue jeans and bunting.Get your tickets now. And don’t show up late! I choreographed the opening number, a high-energy swing medley of my two favorite Barry Manilow songs ever: “Jump Shout Boogie” and “Bandstand Boogie.”
Show dates and times are:
Friday, April 4 @ 8:00 pm
Saturday, April 5 @ 3:00 pm
Saturday, April 5 @ 8:00 pm
You can order tickets here or buy in person at the box office:
Athenaeum Theatre
2936 N. Southport
See you there!
Monday, March 17, 2008
We're in business!
And by "we" I mean "my sister and her husband." I originally said "we" because if this company makes my sister and her husband rich, they've promised to buy me lots of plastic surgery. And some gum.
Anyway, their first shipment of gluten-safe baking mixes from Norway has finished its trek across the Atlantic, passed two customs inspections with flying colors, and arrived safely in its Chicago warehouse. Which means it's all ready to be ordered by and shipped to you so you can start making gluten-safe yummy sounds in the privacy of your own kitchens.
Just click here to get started:
I know: Imported from Norway. Just in time for St. Patrick's Day.
(If any pro-gluten mercenaries have hacked into my blog and disabled the link, just visit tasteslikerealfood.com. Then send the URL to all your gluten-sensitive friends. Remember: yummy sounds.)
Anyway, their first shipment of gluten-safe baking mixes from Norway has finished its trek across the Atlantic, passed two customs inspections with flying colors, and arrived safely in its Chicago warehouse. Which means it's all ready to be ordered by and shipped to you so you can start making gluten-safe yummy sounds in the privacy of your own kitchens.
Just click here to get started:
I know: Imported from Norway. Just in time for St. Patrick's Day.
(If any pro-gluten mercenaries have hacked into my blog and disabled the link, just visit tasteslikerealfood.com. Then send the URL to all your gluten-sensitive friends. Remember: yummy sounds.)
Monday, March 03, 2008
$1,646!
That's how much you-all helped my team (The Social Climbers!) raise for the Respiratory Health Association of Metropolitan Chicago in our epic 94-story Hustle up the Hancock last weekend.
The fund-raising site just gives us a list of donor names and amounts, so if I don't personally know you I have no way of thanking you directly. If I do know you, we printed thank-you cards with our team photo and they'resitting on my table waiting to be written going to be in the mail very soon. But if I don't have any way of contacting you, you'll have to accept my group thanks through the ether. So thank you. Your generosity is admirable, and you're doing a great deal to help people who are struggling with asthma, lung cancer, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, emphysema and a host of other debilitating lung diseases. Plus you helped me totally pump up my quads.
Here is a list of all the great people who donated directly to me or to my team as a whole:
J.P. A.
David W.
David P.
Jeffrey R.
Gare U.
Julia S.
Lisa F.
David B.
Jorge G.
Beyondhelp.net
Hope M.
Andy T.
Karla G.
Dop T.
Jane B.
Michael H.
Brandon V.
Chad R-P.
George M.
Brad K.
Marc M.
Todd P.
Sandra R.
Nick & Kay G.
Joe and Marina A.
The fund-raising site just gives us a list of donor names and amounts, so if I don't personally know you I have no way of thanking you directly. If I do know you, we printed thank-you cards with our team photo and they're
Here is a list of all the great people who donated directly to me or to my team as a whole:
J.P. A.
David W.
David P.
Jeffrey R.
Gare U.
Julia S.
Lisa F.
David B.
Jorge G.
Beyondhelp.net
Hope M.
Andy T.
Karla G.
Dop T.
Jane B.
Michael H.
Brandon V.
Chad R-P.
George M.
Brad K.
Marc M.
Todd P.
Sandra R.
Nick & Kay G.
Joe and Marina A.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Are you gluten sensitive?
If you can’t tolerate gluten, you probably already know how horrible gluten-free foods can taste. And how impossible it is to eat—and maybe actually enjoy—a truly gluten-free diet. Until now.
Introducing TastesLikeRealFood.com. Click on this festive logo to discover a world of delicious gluten-safe baking products:
Meet gluten
Gluten is the mixture of proteins left over after the starch has been removed from wheat. Its chainlike molecules make gluten essential for baking because they stretch under high heat, trapping carbon dioxide and giving bread products their spongy, airy texture.
Gluten is also used as an adhesive filler in thousands of other foods from salad dressings to ice creams to vitamins to deli meats. And, of course, you can’t escape gluten if you want to enjoy sandwiches, chips, pizza, fast foods, cakes, pies … even beer.
Gluten for punishment
If you’re gluten-sensitive and diligent enough to read the labels in the grocery store, you can avoid many gluten-filled products. But if you have severe gluten intolerance, even a little exposure to gluten can be harmful. Severe intolerance makes it hard to “cheat” on your diet even for one meal, and eating in restaurants can be out of the question.
In mild cases, gluten sensitivity just gives you an upset stomach. Severe gluten intolerance, though, can trigger a catastrophic autoimmune response. In the presence of gluten, your immune system starts destroying your villi—the tiny, fingerlike projections in your small intestine that absorb nutrients from food. And when you get no nutrients from the foods you eat, you can develop anemia, osteoporosis, depression, stunted growth and behavioral problems in children, and even type 1 diabetes and rheumatoid arthritis.
It’s a family thing
Gluten sensitivity is hereditary, and it appears with higher frequency in people of Scandinavian descent. Like my sister.
She was diagnosed soon after she graduated from college, and she’s spent the last 15 years struggling to find foods she could eat that didn’t taste like sludge. There was almost nothing available in America, but while visiting friends in Norway a few years ago, she discovered a line of gluten-free products there that were actually delicious.
But having them shipped every few months to America was expensive. So she did the next best thing: She and her husband landed exclusive U.S. distribution rights to the entire product line. After a year of travel and negotiations and all the other fun things involved in setting up a business, their first shipment is finally en route to America.
And their web site—ingeniously named TastesLikeRealFood.com—is up and running. It’s not ready to take orders just yet, but it can take your name and email address and alert you when you can start buying their great products.
Visit the site every day for a week
Because you won’t be hearing from me for a while. We leave today for a week-long Atlantis cruise out of Miami, and I don’t plan on even looking at a computer until I’m baked to a golden brown and all caught up on my New Yorkers. Have fun and eat like a ... um ... gluten while I’m gone!
Introducing TastesLikeRealFood.com. Click on this festive logo to discover a world of delicious gluten-safe baking products:
Meet gluten
Gluten is the mixture of proteins left over after the starch has been removed from wheat. Its chainlike molecules make gluten essential for baking because they stretch under high heat, trapping carbon dioxide and giving bread products their spongy, airy texture.
Gluten is also used as an adhesive filler in thousands of other foods from salad dressings to ice creams to vitamins to deli meats. And, of course, you can’t escape gluten if you want to enjoy sandwiches, chips, pizza, fast foods, cakes, pies … even beer.
Gluten for punishment
If you’re gluten-sensitive and diligent enough to read the labels in the grocery store, you can avoid many gluten-filled products. But if you have severe gluten intolerance, even a little exposure to gluten can be harmful. Severe intolerance makes it hard to “cheat” on your diet even for one meal, and eating in restaurants can be out of the question.
In mild cases, gluten sensitivity just gives you an upset stomach. Severe gluten intolerance, though, can trigger a catastrophic autoimmune response. In the presence of gluten, your immune system starts destroying your villi—the tiny, fingerlike projections in your small intestine that absorb nutrients from food. And when you get no nutrients from the foods you eat, you can develop anemia, osteoporosis, depression, stunted growth and behavioral problems in children, and even type 1 diabetes and rheumatoid arthritis.
It’s a family thing
Gluten sensitivity is hereditary, and it appears with higher frequency in people of Scandinavian descent. Like my sister.
She was diagnosed soon after she graduated from college, and she’s spent the last 15 years struggling to find foods she could eat that didn’t taste like sludge. There was almost nothing available in America, but while visiting friends in Norway a few years ago, she discovered a line of gluten-free products there that were actually delicious.
But having them shipped every few months to America was expensive. So she did the next best thing: She and her husband landed exclusive U.S. distribution rights to the entire product line. After a year of travel and negotiations and all the other fun things involved in setting up a business, their first shipment is finally en route to America.
And their web site—ingeniously named TastesLikeRealFood.com—is up and running. It’s not ready to take orders just yet, but it can take your name and email address and alert you when you can start buying their great products.
Visit the site every day for a week
Because you won’t be hearing from me for a while. We leave today for a week-long Atlantis cruise out of Miami, and I don’t plan on even looking at a computer until I’m baked to a golden brown and all caught up on my New Yorkers. Have fun and eat like a ... um ... gluten while I’m gone!
Friday, December 07, 2007
There is this moment ...
... in the final number of the show. It's rather early in an intricately contrapuntal arrangement of the Gloucestershire Wassail, which only lately has grown to become one of my favorite holiday carols.
In our arrangement the tenors sing the first verse in a hushed unison, as though you were hearing the echoes of their holiday revelry wafting toward you over a snowy hill. The baritones and basses join in on the second verse, chanting "wassail, wassail" in a simple unison continuo under the melody. As the verse dies away, the lower voices drop to an open fifth, drumming the opening "wassail" rhythm on a D and a low G in disciplined restraint ...
... until the entire chorus explodes into the third verse in a glorious A-flat modulation. As the baritones and basses keep pounding out the "wassail" rhythm, the melody—now slightly syncopated as we toast Dobbin and his right eye—soars across the tenor voices in a bright mezzo-forte third. The drinking party has suddenly crested that snowy hill, the sun has come out and the world is full of promise.
And in that single flash of brightness, our conductor always—always—breaks into a big goofy smile. The arrangement we're singing is his, and in that moment—that big, boisterous explosion of harmony and rhythm and simple counterpoint—as he indulges himself in the lush materialization of of his creative work, I too stand reveling in the beauty of it all from my perch at the end of the back row. We are 100+ gay men whose lives and talents and careers and incomes span the spectrum of human experience. But in this joyous confluence, we are one voice, celebrating an ancient camaraderie captured in a song that dates to the Middle Ages. And to me, moments like this are what make life life.
Here's a quick peek at last night's final dress rehearsal. Act I finds us in red accents to our basic black-and-white concert attire. Because we're nothing if not festive.
Act II is all about green accents. Which apparently don't reproduce well under the theater's work lights. Here we are getting notes after the runthrough. Notice how happy we look. That's because the show is clean and tight, and we've breezed through every rehearsal this week. Yay!
And, of course, it wouldn't be a Chicago Gay Men's Chorus show without a guy in drag. Or two. This is my view from the wings as I wait to make my grand entrance among seven dancing couples in the very, very, very gay corps de Christmas Waltz:
In our arrangement the tenors sing the first verse in a hushed unison, as though you were hearing the echoes of their holiday revelry wafting toward you over a snowy hill. The baritones and basses join in on the second verse, chanting "wassail, wassail" in a simple unison continuo under the melody. As the verse dies away, the lower voices drop to an open fifth, drumming the opening "wassail" rhythm on a D and a low G in disciplined restraint ...
... until the entire chorus explodes into the third verse in a glorious A-flat modulation. As the baritones and basses keep pounding out the "wassail" rhythm, the melody—now slightly syncopated as we toast Dobbin and his right eye—soars across the tenor voices in a bright mezzo-forte third. The drinking party has suddenly crested that snowy hill, the sun has come out and the world is full of promise.
And in that single flash of brightness, our conductor always—always—breaks into a big goofy smile. The arrangement we're singing is his, and in that moment—that big, boisterous explosion of harmony and rhythm and simple counterpoint—as he indulges himself in the lush materialization of of his creative work, I too stand reveling in the beauty of it all from my perch at the end of the back row. We are 100+ gay men whose lives and talents and careers and incomes span the spectrum of human experience. But in this joyous confluence, we are one voice, celebrating an ancient camaraderie captured in a song that dates to the Middle Ages. And to me, moments like this are what make life life.
* * * * *
The show opens tonight. And it closes tomorrow. You have three chances to experience this moment with me. So click HERE to order your tickets. Or go HERE for more information about the show.Here's a quick peek at last night's final dress rehearsal. Act I finds us in red accents to our basic black-and-white concert attire. Because we're nothing if not festive.
Act II is all about green accents. Which apparently don't reproduce well under the theater's work lights. Here we are getting notes after the runthrough. Notice how happy we look. That's because the show is clean and tight, and we've breezed through every rehearsal this week. Yay!
And, of course, it wouldn't be a Chicago Gay Men's Chorus show without a guy in drag. Or two. This is my view from the wings as I wait to make my grand entrance among seven dancing couples in the very, very, very gay corps de Christmas Waltz:
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Got your tickets yet?
On Friday and Saturday, I'll be singing and dancing my little gay heart out in the Chicago Gay Men's Chorus' holiday show, which this year we're calling Fruit Cake (though technically fruitcake is just one word). The show includes everything you'd want in a holiday concert: waltzing homos, "Here Comes Santa Claus" as though it were written to open Sweeney Todd ("And so to town came Santa Claus ..."), an exegesis of a live nativity painting by Sister Wendy, some fabulous glee-club arrangements of holiday standards and even a live fruitcake-making demonstration by The Food Network's The Hearty Boys.
This may be my last chorus concert for a while, though, so if you want to see me dancing around like a total homo on stage, get your tickets now. Click on the picture below for a direct link to Ticketbastard:
To avoid getting thoroughly boned by Ticketbastard, you can also get tickets in person at the Athenaeum Theatre box office at 2936 N. Southport (at the six-way corner of Lincoln and Wellington).
See you there!
This may be my last chorus concert for a while, though, so if you want to see me dancing around like a total homo on stage, get your tickets now. Click on the picture below for a direct link to Ticketbastard:
To avoid getting thoroughly boned by Ticketbastard, you can also get tickets in person at the Athenaeum Theatre box office at 2936 N. Southport (at the six-way corner of Lincoln and Wellington).See you there!
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Movin' movin' movin' right to the top!
This is probably going to hurt.
I just registered for Hustle up the Hancock, a race up 94 flights of stairs to raise money for the Respiratory Health Association of Metropolitan Chicago. And it sounds like fun. I think.
I mean, seriously. How hard can it be?
I even committed to be a team captain, so I've dragged my friends Yuri and Catherine into the challenge with me. Best of all, the team name Social Climbers hadn't been taken yet. I know! Can you believe it?
So between now and February 24 (the morning of the Oscars), I'll be taking the stairs instead of the elevator in the name of training. And my quads should look awesome when I get up on the stage to accept my awards from Jon Stewart that night.
And since you-all were so generous in helping me raise $3,001 for the AIDS Marathon, I'm hoping you can help my team raise a mere $1,200 for the Respiratory Health Association of Metropolitan Chicago (formerly the American Lung Association), which works to fight lung diseases including cancer, asthma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and other medical consequences of smoking and pollution.
It's easy to sponsor us! Just click HERE
I just registered for Hustle up the Hancock, a race up 94 flights of stairs to raise money for the Respiratory Health Association of Metropolitan Chicago. And it sounds like fun. I think.
I mean, seriously. How hard can it be?
I even committed to be a team captain, so I've dragged my friends Yuri and Catherine into the challenge with me. Best of all, the team name Social Climbers hadn't been taken yet. I know! Can you believe it?
So between now and February 24 (the morning of the Oscars), I'll be taking the stairs instead of the elevator in the name of training. And my quads should look awesome when I get up on the stage to accept my awards from Jon Stewart that night.
And since you-all were so generous in helping me raise $3,001 for the AIDS Marathon, I'm hoping you can help my team raise a mere $1,200 for the Respiratory Health Association of Metropolitan Chicago (formerly the American Lung Association), which works to fight lung diseases including cancer, asthma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and other medical consequences of smoking and pollution.
It's easy to sponsor us! Just click HERE
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