Pride (In the Name of Love)

I think pride is a pretty good word. Well, pride with a lower case 'p' anyway. Like many other things, the gays have sorta run that word into the ground. Don't get me wrong, this is not a dossier about the lost relevance of Pride, as I happen to think that they still serve a terrific purpose and unless you're in Washington, DC, are a lot fun. But when I'm encouraged to feel Pride for the Left-Handed Lesbian Bowlers of Marin County, I feel the purpose got lost somewhere.

No, I'm here to talk about good ol fashioned pride, or at least definition #2 as I found in dictionary.com-- 'Pleasure or satisfaction taken in an achievement, possession, or association'. It's sort of a funny thing- pride, that is. It's not something we're really supposed to feel about ourselves (for risk of being perceived as arrogant) and its a little strange to say about your friends (for fear of being perceived as superior). But nevertheless, this is a tale of pride I have taken in two of my best friends and the paths they have taken over the last months.

I'll start with my bestest of best friends, Matt. We've been best friends for many years now and have been through all kinds of ups and downs together-- he's a good cat. He's got a heart of gold, is wickedly funny, and has great taste in music. But he's a worrier-- you know, like he's always worried he didn't turn the oven off.

Last summer when Christian and I moved to the Bay Area and Matt kept telling me he would be moving here as well, I never let myself believe it-- I just didn't want to be dissapointed if it didn't work out. Needless to say, when he snagged himself a great job and landed out here in January, I was ecstatic. So he and his bf Michael get here, and before long, land themselves a fat pad in the Mission District and are totally set up for success. (Particularly after his studio in DC, a place I affectionately called 'the shitbox', this place is outright palacial) But that true sense of ease seemed to still elude him. He had troube adjusting to not having all of the friends in DC to hang out with, trying to get his new place all in order, and find a sense of home here. I just tried to continually tell him it was all good and that he should breathe, relax, and enjoy the goodness around him.

And you know what finally happened this week? I saw it-- Matt and Michael had me over for a dinner party on Wednesday and I got to watch him be busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, making sure our glasses of wine were full, and everything was just so. I saw a sense of felicity I'm not sure I've ever seen in him over the 6+ years we've been friends. The night was a total success-- dinner was great, their place looked awesome and I felt this shift in him, like he was finally there-- breathing, smiling, and just relishing life. He and I went out the next night to a club just a few blocks from his place, had an epic evening full of merriment, and you know, I don't think he ever once asked about the oven.

So if watching your best friend finally feel comfortable in his own skin isn't something to feel pride in, I don't know what is.

The other story has some similarities, but also many differences. It's about my dear friend Todd, another recent transplant from DC. Todd is far and away the most original and out right clever person I know. He radiates a light, a core of energy, that I have found irresistible ever since we met, also about 6 years ago. Like my friendship with Matt, we had been friends long enough to see lots of highs and lots of lows, but after we moved here to California last summer, I kept hearing more and more stories of today's mis-adventures- and not in a good way. He and I kept in touch, but always talked around what he was really experiencing. After a friend of ours suddenly passed away last winter, at the funeral, I decided I needed to reach out much more than I had. A simple but difficult question of 'Are you taking care of yourself, Todd?' led to much more detailed conversations of what was really happening and how to make it better. Before long, he joined the migration west to see what SF would hold for him. He took a temp job, found a place to live in the Castro, and with Bailey Beagle, his trusty sidekick, quietly slipped into town in February.

And what a transition it's been. He's found a terrific new job with a company that blends his unique blend of legal and communications prowess that looks like it could hold a lot of potential for him. When he speaks about the company, there's a sense of opportunity and confidence I haven't heard since he was working on the Gore campaign in 2000. But much beyond the career stuff, Todd, or at least the T-Todd I first fell in love with and always knew was there, is back in full force, coming more alive each day. In his short time here, he's amassed an amalgam of friends that represent the many colors of his personality, he's put his finger on the pulse of what's happening in San Francisco, and has filled his life with positive energy. He's been able to balance a sense of responsibility while still being able to take advantage of the good times this city offers-- from herbal hikes in the Presidio to volunteering with Stop AIDS and back around to the bizarre underbelly of SF drag shows, he's finding a center in life that just 6 months ago seemed miles away.

Again, if that's something I shouldn't feel pride about, I don't know what is.

So as the summer progresses and Pride festivals continue across the country, I say good for them. I'll leave the Transgendered Choir, the Queer Blind Fish Lovers and the Knitting Club for Leather Chub Midgets to their Pride floats and bask in the pride of seeing two of my oldest and dearest friends find the contentment they so rightfully deserve.

The Color Orange

I'm not sure what it is I like so much about the color orange, but I do know I have always liked it. You see, as a young (gay) boy, when I was at the age of deciding who my favorite NFL teams were (a dichotomy for which we'll discuss in another posting), I quickly decided on the Miami Dolphins (orange and aqua team colors) and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, who had orange and white colors-- long before the days of Jon Gruden-- (settle down, Christian) and their current colors of platinum and burgandy. Now, one could easily say the gay thing had something to do with picking these somewhat flamboyount colors, but I've just always been drawn to the color. From the Tide branding to the big orange buttons on Blogger (and, ahem, the predominant color on usairways.com), I just dig the color. An old friend of mine from Washington, DC said that he read an article in GQ that said orange was sighted as the least common favorite color and being the somewhat counter-culturist I am, I always took that as a bage of honor.

Even my partner, Christian, has allowed orange to overtake our current house-- we have a large orange piece of art on the wall, an orange lamp, and and orange bowl on the table. (lest you think this sounds like orange overload, everyone who comes here likes the art and the lamp and bowl are univerally liked as well) I generally am drawn to orange t-shirts, jackets, and shoes-- you should see these Adidas sneakers I have, I think you can see them from the moon.

But as with everything else, there can be too much of a good thing. I have yet to see an orange car that I like (mid 70s Vettes nonwithstanding, which are so cheesy, orange almost adds to it). In fact, when I ordered my MINI last year, orange was an available color, but I passed and took the blue. And there's a lot of bad shades of orange out there-- neon, traffic cones, the Tennesee Volunteers, and many hair dye jobs come to mind.

So it's not an absolute obsession, but one worth noting anyway, and one that I thought would be an appropriate name for my blog. (BTW, as far as the domain goes, thecolororange was already taken, so i tacked on SF at the end but will refer to this blog as thecolororange, cool?)

And there you have it.