About Politics...

When I was kid, my dad and I would go door to door for various politicians in the weeks leading up to elections.  Knocking on doors, and trying to convince folks to vote for whatever candidates his Union was supporting.  Honestly, it wasn’t really fun as it was often early mornings and frigid weather, but I got to spend time with my dad, and he always took me out for breakfast, and both those things I really liked, so I never complained.  As I got older, I became more interested in politics, and as an adult I appreciate those early mornings going door to door.  In college, I would bait my friends into conversations about social issues and policy.  Not many were interested, but the few that were challenged me, and those conversations pushed me to think about things I might not otherwise.  Without dissent there is no democracy.  In my twenties, I would wake up Sunday mornings, walk to 7-11, buy a newspaper, and watch Meet the Press.

In 2008, I text Amanda the day of the election, ‘I got two tickets to Obama’s event in Grant Park tonight.’  ‘If I get on the next bus out I can be there in time if you pick me up at the bus station.  Do you think I should?’  ‘If he wins, we will be witnessing history, yes.’  Amanda got on the next bus out, and a few hours later we were in Grant Park.  It was unseasonably warm that night.  I wore a ‘Badgers for Obama’ t-shirt, and a light brown sweater.  That night, Amanda and I stood in Grant Park with half a million people watching the election results come in.  We watched on large screens set-up through the park, volume off reading the closed captioning. 

At some point, well after the sun had gone down, the scroll changed, ‘we can now predict that Barack Obama has been elected the 44th President of the United States of America.  I turned around in excitement, ‘Amanda, we won…’. She was in tears. ‘Woah, are you ok?’  Through tears of excitement. ‘Do you know what this means for us?  For people of color that have been fighting just to be heard?’  That night, America felt different, for me.  I felt optimistic about the future, and my place within it. 

Election night 2016, I was dog sitting for friends who were out of town, and had invited a few people over to watch the results with me.  That night, I was certain Hillary Clinton would become our first female President.  I was sure she was going to break that glass ceiling.  But as we now know, that was not to be the case.  Later into the night, it seemed as though the election was too close to call, and one by one people slowly started to head home.  I sat there watching the coverage by myself, and finally late into the night, ‘we can now call the election.  Donald J Trump is the 45th President of the United States.  Hillary has left her rally, and will not concede tonight…’  I broke.  How could this happen?  How did we just elect a seemingly racist misogynistic man to be the leader of the free world? 

I voted over the weekend.  I’ve never claimed to know a lot about politics.  Maybe I know just enough.  Or maybe I know just a little bit more than the average person.  Sometimes my vote is an educated guess -like everyone else.

Here’s the thing…. I’m a third generation American. I was raised on the South Side of Chicago.  My parents worked hard to give my sister and I a life better than the one they knew, and by anyone’s assessment they accomplished just that.  They taught us to work hard. They taught us by example, and they instilled that work ethic is us.  My mother to this day will tell us, ‘don’t lie, the truth will always come out.’  They thought us to give back when we could.  They took us to church most weekends and told us to pray every night.  I still know every one of the nightly prayers they thought us, and occasionally still say them even though the Catholic Church and I have occasionally been at odds.  They taught us to be kind, respectful and generous, and to always be thankful for what we were afforded.  As kids, they packed us into a conversion van and we traveled all over this country.  They showed us national landmarks, and parks, and we ate breakfast in small towns in the bible belt of America.  We were given to permission to grow-up and be who we wanted to be in the world, but not without acknowledging what our responsibilities were…. To ourselves and each other.   I voted this weekend.  I won’t claim to understand the intricate details of all of Joe’s plans, but I voted for him because he most closely aligns with the values in which I raised.  And if you think the other guys exemplifies any of the above, then we are just different people at our core. 

I know there’s a lot of concern over tomorrow.  America prepares for the worst.  I don’t know.  I think we’re going to be ok.  I don’t think my story is so different from most peoples.  And I think, like so many other times in our history, we’re going to do the right think.  Here’s hoping at least….

Also, if you’re an undecided voter, I’d like to hug my parents again, so just do me a fucking solid and vote for the guy that won’t get us all killed. 

About a bar.

This morning. “Little Jim’s last day open is Tuesday.” Wait, what? What happened.  I text my friend Roger who’s worked there for probably ten years.  He confirmed, ‘Yeah, our last day open is Tuesday.’  Damn.  I promise, this is not a post about a bar… it’s simply the set on a sitcom or drama -it depends on the day.  It serves a purpose.  Little Jim’s is every bit the dive bar, to its true definition.  Perhaps even a little scary at times when I first started going there.  It was the first gay bar on Halsted Street 45 years ago.  It’s an institution on that block.  It’s the first bar I’ll take friends visiting.  Not cause it’s impressive in anyway, but because it does/has meant something to me.  This isn’t about a bar.  In the end, this is about the boys…. Part two.

I don’t know why I went to Jim’s the first time I did.  At that time, I was young, maybe 24 or 25, and I wasn’t even really out.  My friend Dan and I would frequent a bunch of the bars in Boystown on the weekends.  They mostly felt the same.  I constantly felt the same -overwhelmed and insecure.  I don’t fit in with these people.  I’m about 25lbs over goal weight before I should be allowed in here.  At the time, I felt too old to be there.  Now, I really am too old.  It’s a younger man’s game.  One night, in March of 2009, we walked into Little Jim’s though.  We got there early enough and got a seat at the bar.  I remember almost every detail about that night.  I remember who the bartender was, the music that played, the time I got there, the time I left, and the conversation I had on the ride home. 

That night, as it got later, the bar filled up.  It was a late-night bar, so the crowds didn’t arrive till later.  I was still learning what was what. A bit after midnight, Roger walked up to the bar, right next to the stool I was sitting on, and ordered a drink.  Some song was playing on TouchTunes or whatever they used ten years ago.  In my attempt to make small talk, ‘I wonder who played this shit…’ ‘It was me, I played this song.’ I see… we’ve been friends ever since. 

Little Jim’s didn’t change the trajectory of my life, but meeting Roger that night did.  I met Julio for the first time at Little Jim’s.  I recently got a haircut from him, ‘I don’t even remember when we met.’  I do, you waltzed into Little Jim’s at 2am, didn’t say a word to me, and just started dancing with Roger.  I was so annoyed.  Him and I have been competing for attention ever since -in the best way possible.  I don’t remember when I met Alfonso, but it’s not my fault.  He didn’t even friend me on Facebook for five years after that.  I don’t think he liked me till five years later, honestly.  You have to earn Alfonso’s trust.  I’m glad I got there.  

Meeting Roger that night gave me the other two, and between the three of them, they loved the gay into me.  They helped shape who I am as a gay man.  They gave me a community, and they helped me fit in.  They made me feel welcome.  They told me when I was funny, and Julio reminded me when I was not.  Over the years, we have spent way too many nights at Little Jim’s, and some of my best memories will be of these boys and that bar.  Holidays, good news, bad news, new boyfriends, break-ups… Little Jim’s was always there. It felt than, and is does now, like home.  I’ll be the first person to shit on gay bars.  They still annoy me.   But I love Little Jim’s.

A few years ago, a wrote a piece on my friend Amy, and what her friendship has meant to me.  How it shaped me.  Shortly after, my friend text me, ‘read your love letter to Amy. It was perfect.”  I was confused.  Love letter?  It was just my thoughts.  Looking back on it though, that’s exactly what it was.   This is my love letter to these boys, and that bar, and all these years we’ve spent together. They’ve gone too fast, but have meant so much.  On a cold night at Little Jim’s in March of 2009, my life changed, and I didn’t even know it.  I am a better person because of Roger, Alfonso and Julio… and I hope that even in a small way I have returned that favor to them.  I have not been out on a Tuesday in a long time, but tomorrow night, I’ll show up at Jim’s for its last night, and Roger’s last shift, and like every time I walk in there reflect on how lucky I am for these guys and that place, and everything we have shared sitting on those stools.  In so many ways, life unfolded right there, and I think it’s no coincidence their last night is the last night of Pride month.  I’m proud of who I am because of these guys.  Happy Pride, Chicago.  With love, Henry. 

P.S. Fun fact, fucking Roger asked me to send him a face pic the next morning because he was blacked out and didn’t remember what I looked like…

About the Protests...

I’m frustrated.  We are having too many conversations.  We are not focused.  Can you hold two opposing thoughts at once?  Earlier this week the protest on the Northside went directly past my building.  I watched from the balcony, as the procession went on for over ten minutes.  It was more people than I thought.  I text my friends, should we go down? We stood on the outskirts… I still am not about to risk getting COVID.  We walked a block up with them, reached the main gathering area, and we all took a knee in solidarity.  It was peaceful and it was beautiful.  Mostly.  This is about the protestors…. 

As we walked around the crowd, fifty percent black people, fifty percent young white people.  Most holding signs in support, and chanting, ‘Black Lives Matter.’  Most seemed like college students, or recent graduates.   As we walked the crowd I realized a small portion of them were chanting… fucking pigs, fuck the police, etc. That anger toward cops is a product of youth… dig deeper.  

If you think the cops are the problem, you’re missing the point.  You are now the problem.  Of course, there are some cops that are part of the problem, but do not isolate racism.  We need to have a bigger conversation.  Who is the problem?  Would it be he politicians who don’t fund our public schools?  The employers who pay black employees less, or don’t hire them at all?  The people in our communities that move out when a black family moves in?  The politicians that we voted for that haven’t done enough for the black community? 

Who failed George Floyd?  Derek Chauvin had 17 complaints against him before killing George Floyd.  Seventeen.  He received two letters reprimanding him.  So, who’s responsible for the death of George Floyd?  Is it just Officer Chauvin?  Or is it everyone that looked the other way over the course of that officers 19-year career?  There are layers to this, but to paint in broad strokes with one color will not solve anything.  There was a whole system in place, meant to keep people like Derek Chauvin away from a badge and a gun…. His commanding officer, the chief of police, attorney general, and the list goes on.  The system is broken.   Officer Chauvin was just an asshole -the straw that broke the camel’s back.    

So, who failed George Floyd?  We all failed George Floyd.  This country, with its promise of equality, and justice for all.  I know the riots are upsetting.  I know that right now cops look like the bad guys.  I know we have all been locked away in our homes.  The economy is suffering.  Unemployment is at a high.  I get it.  It’s a weird time to live in this country, fuck it’s weird time to just be on Earth.  Eventually though, this will calm down, and there will be less chaos.  But I hope we continue this conversation, and I hope it begins to make people pay attention to who they vote for at the local and federal level.  I hope we all take the time to do our own research on what is happening in our country, and not just watch one news network.  I hope we start to hold ourselves accountable, and be mindful of the things we say and the way we treat each other.  Seeing all those people at the protest gave me hope, and despite everything going on in the world right now, I’m inclined to believe we’re all going to be ok. 

This. Is. America.

I went back and forth.  Do I get an opinion?  Do I get to voice that opinion?  I don’t know, I think so?  I’m brown.  But, have you felt oppressed?  No, not really.  Have you really experienced racism?  Yeah, no to that too.  I mean, I felt different in school, being one of a handful of minorities in a mostly white community.  Were you treated differently?  No, honestly, everyone was always great.  I never felt unwelcome, or like I didn’t belong.  Ok, well, you’re gay, so like I’m sure you experienced some sort of homophobia at some point.  Yeah, that’s a no too.  Never phased me.  People were always kind.  So, like you’ve never come close to experiencing any kind of hate or homophobia or anything near it?  No.  And you’re still going to do this?  Yep….

George Floyd.  Another black man dead, at the hands of a racist cop.  We’re surprised? Oh and then people took to the streets.  They rioted, and some looted stores.  Wait, you’re surprised by that too?  I’m sorry, what level of education have you obtained?  This isn’t a surprise.  It’s a cycle.  This is what we do.  Let me tell you the rest of the story.  A preview of sorts.  We’re going to talk about this for a while.  We’ll be outraged.  The cop that killed him will get a sentence that isn’t really fair, but fair enough that his life will never be the same. Some time will pass, and most will forget about this, and we’ll move on.  But, wait, there’s more.  It’ll happen all over again, to someone else, and we will again be “surprised.” 

So wait… these things keep happening, and like in some ways we know it’s coming, but like nothing changes?  Right.  So, we’re the problem?  Also, right.  So, like how do we change this?  Um… we protest and we riot and raise our voices.  But, people seem to not like that.  Right… fuck them.  This is how we change America. 

Do we have proof ?  Yes, gay rights… Any other proof? Yes, woman’s rights.  So this might work?  It has in the past.  But it’s going to upset people?  Yes, we covered this… fuck them. 

My cousin text me yesterday.  Asking questions about the NYTimes article I posted.  “I think what that cop did was wrong.  It just sucks we all fall under that category now.  Well again.”  I don’t think cops are bad, and I’ve had way more positive experiences with cops than negative.  So, it’s not the cops? Like being a cop… no… that’s not the problem.  So, what is it? Us.  Us, again?  Yep.  Turns out, some of us are raising racist assholes.  Wait, so it’s the adult’s fault?  Yeah.  Turns out, this is all their fault.  Just them though?  Nah… also like all of us collectively.  Like me too?  I mean, yes… like the foundation of our country.  Turns out, the foundation on the house is bad.  How so? Well, it’s built on racism… so...

But people are starting buildings on fire.  That’s terrible.  Right, but their house has termites.  So, like, maybe it’s easier to rebuild if they burn it down.  So you think people should start buildings on fire?  Clearly, that’s not a great thing, no.  But you’re ok with it?  Well, do you have a better solution?  Nope. Are you listening though?  Also, no.  Ok well this is going to be a problem…

Ok, this is a lot of back and forth.  How do we make this better?  We start by listening.  It’s that easy? Yep! Well, what’s being said.  I can summarize it for you.  Institutional racism.  What’s that?  Well, according to Wiki…

“…a form of racism expressed in the practice of social and political institutions. It is reflected in disparities regarding wealth, income, criminal justice, employment, housing, health care, political power and education, among other factors…” 

So, it’s been fucked up since the jump?  Yep! Can it be fixed? I hope so, but who knows.  What I do know, is that if we keep our mouths shut, if we say nothing, then we are part of the problem. So, what’s the solution again?  All of this.  People in the streets, making noise, speaking out…  listen to them.  Their stories, their experiences.  What’s it like to be them in America, their experiences have value, but we are so quick to write it off, or not take it to heart.  The change that’s needed is greater than us, but collectively…. We can make this country better.  Kinder.  This week, in this country, was incredibly sad, and if it didn’t make you sad.  Well, fuck you.

Also, if I have to go on social media to be pleasantly surprised that yet someone else I am “friends” with is fucking casually racist I’m going to lose my mind.   

About Corona: Take Two..

I’ve been mostly quarantined in this apartment by myself.  Doing my part.  I’d be lying if I said I haven’t broken it on an occasion, or two.  Over the weekend, my friend Katie and I went and sat outside on the rooftop, six feet apart, and only after she thoroughly scrubbed all the patio furniture with Clorox wipes.  I’ve spent the weekends on the House Party app -better than FaceTime and Zoom.  I’ve met friends of my friends on there.  This past weekend my friend Roger straight up said he was going to the bathroom and never came back.  He Irish goodbye’d our House Party… feels like a normal Saturday.

This is starting to feel normal.  I woke up one day last weekend, and walked out of my room tired and groggy from being up till 3am chatting on House Party.  I looked at my kitchen table, and realized my apartment was spotless… I was so confused.  Oh, right… no one was actually here…. Everyone was in their respective apartments.  It felt like we were all together physically.  I’ve made time to connect with people.  Half check-in, and half boredom, but that’s what this has forced us to do.  I was talking to my friend Anna, ‘I think we’ve become closer because of COVID.’ She’s correct.  We’ve probably talked most days since this started.  An hour will go by –‘oh I should probably do something productive, talk to you tomorrow. ‘ COVID-19 has mostly stressed me out, but, if you know anything about me… I will find the silver lining. This is my silver lining….

Last night was Cinco De Mayo.  Under normal circumstances, Chicago would have been raging.  All the margaritas.  Sunday night, I text my friend, “I think Roger is coming over on Tuesday for Cinco de Mayo, come with.  I’ll make dinner.” “Awesome, I’m going to invite Julio too.”  We started early.  We’re old now.  There are bed times, and other responsibilities.  As they each got here, ‘Dude, when was the last time we were all together?  Just the four of us.  Like at a dinner, and not like a bar or with anyone else around.’  No one had an answer.  ‘It’s weird right?  That like we can’t remember? Has it been two years?’  Honestly, we’ll never know, but it certainly has felt like a long time. 

My dinner came out.  Surprisingly.  Mexican street tacos.  After dinner, we played Millennial Loteria and Uno.  We talked about life, and caught-up on life in the age of COVID-19, but mostly, we laughed.  And honestly, at some points I didn’t know what we were laughing about.  It was a really good night.  COVID-19 forced us to have that night.  Silver lining. 

I think COVID-19 has forced me to reevaluate.  Where is the value in life?  What is going to make you happy right now -regardless of life in COVID?  As we were sitting around this table, ‘Guys, I don’t think even in phase four of this re-open I can go to a bar?  I mean, it’s going to be limited capacity.  We’re going to wait in line to get into a bar with 50 people?  Are we going to be wearing fucking masks inside a bar? Come on….’  ‘Oh, Becky, no fucking way I’m going anywhere like that for a while.’  ‘Yeah, this is so much better and fun anyway.  I’m happy we aren’t out.’    

During all of this, I’ve become better friends with many, and I’ve made new friends through old friends.  Most importantly, I’ve reconnected dots on many relationships that felt like they weren’t connected.  Last night was necessary.  A reminder, this is why we are best friends.  In world of billons, few will get you.  Few will understand you -completely.  Few will overlook the flaws, and focus on the light.  The world will be different after this.  We will feel different.  We will be different people, and I hope for most of us that means we will be better people.  We will see the real value of those we have next to us.  For me, I think I’ll come out of this understanding myself better, but mostly, understanding others better.  The value they add, the value I maybe didn’t appreciate six months ago, and perhaps the value they no longer add. Either way, that’s the silver lining here, for me… stay safe, stay healthy, and stay connected.  Also, if you want to House Party, I’m obsessed.  XX

About the Coronavirus.

Well, this is swell time to get back into writing.  A friend suggested, ‘what about that podcast you wanted to start?  You probably have time.’  Yes, Jon, but I’m at the point were the logistics of all that overwhelm me.  Who mixes and edits it?  Who creates the cute theme song to open the show?  No one is probably really interested in hearing me yammer on.  So here we are... I told myself Friday afternoon, I’m going to turn off the news, stay away from the media… I need a weekend to just ignore the news.  I couldn’t do it, and cause I like to torture myself, was like oh I’ll write about it.  That’ll make people happy… it won’t, but I’ll try to mix in some levity…. This is about the Coronavirus…

A few weeks ago, when they shut down the bars and restaurants, I was kind of okay with it.  I mean, feel super bad for anyone in the service industry, and displaced from work.  Sadly, it’s going to go another month, and all those government checks aren’t going to be enough.  However, what I mean by I was okay with it, is like, I don’t really miss having to go places.  I could stay in this tiny apartment all day, and not be phased.  I work from home most of the time, and when I’m not here, it’s because I’m somewhere in the air trying to figure out if I should order one or two glasses of Chardonnay.  It’s always two.  At this point, I’m used to spending a lot of my time at home.  It’s a little strange not being able to go to a bar on the weekends, but like, honestly, don’t miss that either.  Crowded places?  I’ll pass.  Maybe I’ll feel differently in three weeks. 

Everything is a Zoom call now.  Let’s have video chats to stay connected.  I’m literally at capacity for video chats.  I went to a work Zoom Happy Hour, and then a little bit after that a friend video call.  The work one went an hour, and I went through pretty much the entire bottle of wine.  I got to the friend call and literally opened a second bottle was like, oh I should cut myself off now, so I shut the screen without saying a thing.  I apparently can do the Irish goodbye in the virtual world too.  Who knew…

I thought I was mostly staying positive about this whole thing.  This too shall pass, as my mother would say. I did however read a story last week, about this woman whose dad is a doctor and had contracted Coronavirus.  It was an opinion piece, and her very frank conversation about how she wanted to spend the next few days with him unsure if he would survive it.  I saw a vide on Reddit, as they hauled bodies into the back of truck outside a hospital in Brooklyn.  Yesterday, while watching our fearless leader talk about just how under control the whole situation is, I noticed the total infections and death numbers were changing.  We’re watching this in real time, as deaths are reported.  Right there, right in front of us, as we tally them up not having a clue who they were.  I believe what they’re saying.  The worst is yet to come.  Here in Chicago, the United Center and McCormick place have been outfitted to act as hospitals for overspill of people who will need medical attention.    I feel like this week will feel different. I don’t know, scarier, is that the word I’m looking forward?

Anyway, I probably should have picked a better topic to write about after taking a year away, but it’s too late, because now it’s written and you’ve clearly gotten to the end of it.  So, I guess that all along we were in this together… be safe, and healthy, and wash your hands, but also use lotion on them. 

About Six Months Ago...

“How did you two meet?”  I literally do not remember.  I think people will assume I’m lying because I don’t want to say Grindr or something.  But honestly, I have no clue, and also, we met in 2015.  Our first date was three years ago, at D.O.C in Lakeview.  It was the cutest first date spot.  Sadly, it’s also now closed.  When I was single, I never wanted people to notice I was on a first date.  I would try to avoid the awkward points.  I would try to make it look fluid, like we’ve known each other our whole lives.  Just two old chums catching up over wine…. Not gay at all.  That date, in 2015, was no different.  I remember leaving that date, and saying goodbye in front of the Target that had just opened.  There was no goodnight kiss, just an awkward hug, and, ‘hope you get home ok.’  At that time, in 2015, that was the end of that.   

Over the course of three years, Matt and I somehow kept in touch.  Sporadic text messages.  It wasn’t anything noteworthy, and honestly, there was probably a good year and a half we didn’t talk at all.  Sometime late in 2017, my friend Christy’s boyfriend was trying to convince me to move to the South Side, ‘it’ll never happen, unless you find me someone out there to date.’ ‘I only know like one gay guy, what’s your type?’ I listed off my preferences. ‘Actually, he sounds like he could be your type… his names Matt McNally.’ I laughed, ‘not all gays know each other, but I do know him.’  In December of that year, I text him, ‘I’ll be on the South Side for Christmas.  We should meet up.’  ‘Maybe, I’m kind of busy, but let me know what you end up doing.’  I took that as a no.  I made other plans.  Christy and Bob had just moved into a new house and I planned to hang out with them, and out of nowhere my friend Christy, ‘You should invite, Matt?’  I paused, ‘really?’  I sent the text, and that night, he spent more time talking to Christy’s boyfriend than me.  

In April, I noticed him nearby on Snapchat (I know, it’s a little stalker-ish but why do you think that option exists?), ‘You’re in the city? Come meet up, I’m out with friends.’  ‘I’m already back on the South Side.  You’re too late.  I’m off next weekend though.’  ‘I can’t, I have to go to Orlando for work, but you should meet me there.’ ‘Ok. I probably could make that happen,’ I expected him to bail.  Who would actually show up?  That would be ridiculous.

A week later, he took an early flight out, ‘I’m here, and coming up.’ ‘I’m laying in bed watching Live with Kelly and Ryan.’  That morning, he jumped in the second bed, and we ordered room service breakfast, and watched morning television before I had to go to work. We somehow skipped ahead to breakfast in bed, and now I need to run off to work.   That night, we went out for tapas, some basic chain restaurant in Orlando.  After dinner, ‘Do you want to have a nightcap?’ I’ll always ask, and I’ll add in, ‘I can go either way.’  Lies.  Of course I want a fucking nightcap.  We went for that nightcap, and over the course of five more and three hours we talked about life, our families, our friends, our histories, our travels, and about him ghosting me all those years prior.  That night, at some touristy martini lounge in Orlando… click.   “So, where did you two meet…?” I met Matt six months ago today, a little after 11pm, sitting outside, drinking martini’s at a bar in Orlando, Florida, making snarky remarks about the trashy group sitting near us. 

I chased him on and off.  For three years.  I do not know why, but I do not regret it.  Something felt right… even in 2015.  A few weeks into dating, ‘You know I’ll never be one of those people in a Facebook relationship, right? ‘ He quickly replied, ‘Oh, me either.  Don’t even send that request.’  I’ve told myself, I am not one of those people that will put my relationship into the social media atmosphere, and yet, here I am. I went back and forth, do I post this?  Do I even write it?  He’s going to hate it.  Here’s the thing, I created this to connect, and tell stories.  He’s a part of this story now, and honestly, this is a much better story than, ‘I don’t remember…’

About (my lack of ability to come-up with a title)...

Life is stressing me out. I moved into a new apartment this past weekend.  Many stepped in to help out.  As I was packing up, various people shuffled in and out of the apartment Amanda and I have spent the last seven years living in.   Some helped,  others just kept me company, and either way I appreciated everyone just being there.   Talking to my friend Alfosno, ‘it never felt like it was just our apartment, it belong to all of us.  This is where Jon met our group of friends for the first time, it’s where Amy brought Lucas after their first date, and we’ve spent New Year’s Eve nights, and birthdays, and said goodbye’s in this apartment. “  In the sitcom version my life,  it’s the main set, and last week I dissembled the  set, and I never once asked Amanda for help.  She moved out the week prior.  Having her there would have taken an emotional toll.  It was time for us to move on… but change is difficult for everyone.   

Thursday morning, I received the OK on the apartment I applied for.  I was in Tampa for work, and in-between meetings I manically called movers, ComEd , and insurance providers.  I somehow got everything done in one day, all while stressing out everyone around me.  I got home late Thursday, and the movers were there by 12:30pm Friday, and by 3pm I was standing in the middle of an apartment filled with boxes that needed to be emptied.   Exhausted from the few days prior, I stared at the mess around me blankly unsure of what to do next.  My boyfriend just started unpacking, and to be fair, room-by-room put my life back together for me.  To be honest, he did a good majority of the packing too.  You don’t have to tell me how lucky I am… I’m well aware. 

Sunday night, I left for Arizona, and the past two days I’ve been stuck in conference rooms trying to sell shit.  I wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip, but I agreed to go because they needed someone to step-in.  As I landed late Sunday night, ‘Ok, Henry, you can present the slides 3-8…’ ‘Oh, I didn’t realize I was that involved.’  For two days I have been talking about nothing but Valassis, and occasionally pretending to be interested in football.  As I got on this flight back home, I realized I was mentally exhausted.  I started to think about all the unpacking that still needs to be done, and how behind I am work.  I’m overwhelmed.  I threw on my headphones, as I clicked send on one last email.  As we started to takeoff, Julian Roy’s, “People Who Love You,” came on….

“When you’re feeling in times of doubt

Your heads in the cloud,s you look around, like where’s the ground

All you want is to feel it now.

Am I running out of breath?

Don’t count your steps, count your blessed. Forget the rest.

Look at all the good instead. 

When you fall in trouble times, just know the sun will rise. 

Uncountless times open your eyes, and celebrate tonight. 

Let the love flood you.  Just look around you. 

You got people who love you…” 

I need subtle reminders.  It’s all going to be ok, and everything that needs to get done, will get done.  I spent a week surrounded with friends and family… when I ask, they will show up.  They’ll listen to me, they’ll give me advice, and if needed, they’ll even help me pack-up all the shit I accumulated over the last seven years.  Last week was an example of the fact, that I am constantly surrounded by people that love me, and for that I am forever grateful.  And the truth is, life doesn’t need to be so complicated.  There’s a lot going on right now, but those boxes will eventually all be gone, and all my work stuff will eventually get done.  Right now though, I get to look forward to getting off this plane, seeing my boyfriend, and going straight to bed. 

Also, there is a ton of turbulence on this flight, so I’m posting this without spell checking, or grammar checking it. 

About 9/11...

I was 17.  I was wearing khaki’s, and my black Marist polo.  We were allowed to wear polo’s till October, before we transitioned to button down shirts and ties.  I got a speeding ticket on the way to school driving my grey Pontiac GrandAm.  I remember being paranoid about how my parents would react.  I wasn’t even going that fast, but that officer that day saw a young brown boy driving a shady looking car, and we all knew Hometown cops were a tad racist.  I was in my second period class…Criminal Justice, oddly enough.  I was sitting in the second row from the back of the room close to the door, and remember almost everyone sitting around me.  I hated that Criminal Justice class, but it was one of the only air-conditioned rooms, so I enjoyed being in that class.  They made an announcement over the PA system.  Most of my high school classrooms had TV’s, but mostly meant for watching movies, so the reception was shitty.  That day, thirty some 17 year olds watched 9/11 unfold together.   

It wasn’t till fourth period that the TV’s went off.  I was in Algebra class with Ms. Chippas when we were told to resume classes as normal.  I’m sure someone decided that watching that coverage was too much for a bunch of high school students.  We had already seen a plane fly into the second tower.  They were probably right.  That day we got out at the same time we always did, and I made sure to go the speed limit on the way home. 

That night, I went to bed without saying anything about that speeding ticket.  My father worked that night.  I can’t remember if that was his shift at the time, or overtime.  My mother was home with us, and we went to bed at a normal time.  My mother was 43, with a 17 and a 13 year old at home, and I’m sure trying to process, while also not alarm her children.  I tried to act like I wasn’t affected by everything that had happened earlier in the day.  I tried to shut it out.    I lay in bed that night, and I tried to fall asleep, and I couldn’t.  My sister had gone to bed, and my mom was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter be herself.  I got out of bed, ‘I have something to tell you… I got a speeding ticket on my way to school.’  And than, I fell to fucking pieces.  She hugged me, told me it was fine, and not a big deal, while also knowing that it wasn’t about the speeding ticket at all.  ‘That could have been you today, or dad…’  ‘I know, it could have but it wasn’t and we are ok, and you have just pray for all those people….’ 

I, like so many others, was changed that day.  As a country, we were shaken, and I remember almost every detail. It was the first time, in my 17 years, that my world felt vulnerable.  Every year since, I will go over every detail about that day.  This morning, on my commute to work, I scrolled through Spotify, and cued U2’s, ‘All That You Can’t Leave Behind’ album.  In the days that followed 9/11 I just remember that album resonating for me…  to this day I’ll listen to ‘Peace On Earth,’  and it’ll all still be there… everything about that day, hidden away, as I imagine it is for so many of us. 

About Being Absent...

Occasionally, I’ll be reminded that I used to have a blog. Friday night over drinks, I casually slipped in that at one time I wanted to do a podcast.  Almost two years ago I bought all the equipment to do it.  I wanted to call it, ‘Henry and…’  The premise was maybe dumb, but, I wanted to just sit down with one person, and discuss one topic.  Clearly, the whole thing never came together.  I bought all the equipment, and I attempted to set it up; microphones and a soundboard took over my kitchen table.  I stared at it blankly for a few minutes and could not figure it out, and was like, ‘well, podcast career over.’   That equipment is now in a bag under my bed collecting dust.   Anyway, Friday night at Maria’s in Bridgeport, I was discussing my failed attempt at podcasting, and my intention to post those podcasts here.   I casually mentioned I had a blog.... ‘You have a website?’  I don't even mention it any more, and I used to lead with that little nugget of information, and now I forget that this was ever a thing.   

As I sit to write this, I sort of wonder if I just ran out of shit to say.  Probably not.  Life got a little busy though, and focus has never suited me well.  I’m sure I have mild ADD, as I shift through life constantly moving in different directions.  Trying to tell myself to sit still.  I’ll lay in bed for an hour before I can finally shut my brain down.  I stare aimlessly into the dark, closing my eyes occasionally, telling myself, ‘I need to go to sleep.’ As I simultaneously make a mental list of everything that needs to get done the next day. 

It’s been almost a year since I’ve written anything.  I’ll be walking through Lakeview, and I’ll think of something random, and I’ll write the entire blog in my head, and it’ll never make it to my keyboard.  Last week, I went to lunch with my co-workers/friends, and I was telling them stories about my weekend.  ‘I need to write these things down… they’re funny and I’ll just forget.’  As we walked back to our office, we stopped into a stationary store.  We strolled around the store, looking at the random things on the shelf, and in the last aisle my co-worker found the actual stationary section.  ‘Henry, they have your tiny notebooks…’  I laughed, ‘I won’t actually use it.  I used to keep a quote book, but I haven’t done it in years.’  ‘Well, now’s the time to restart… what color do you want?’  I tried to resist, they wouldn’t let me walk out of that store without it.  My coworker even tried to pay for that over priced notebook.   I relented and bought it.  As we were walking out, ‘Every day, just spend thirty minutes thinking of things to write in it….’

When I started this blog, it was because I wanted to tell stories.  I wanted an outlet to have a voice… good… bad… indifferent.  It started out relatively consistent, and than it fizzled.  I have always had people around me that have encouraged me.  Made me commit to the things I said I should do, or could do.  I say all this to say, I miss this, and I’m going to be better.  Who knows… maybe I’ll even dig out that podcast equipment…

About Camping.

When we were kids, my parents would pack-up Amanda and I, load the car with the essentials, connect the pop-up camper, and off across America we go.  I have seen much of this country thanks to them, and those very long road trips.  I didn’t appreciate them at the time, I’m sure.  As an adult though, those are some of my fondest memories.  I often times look back at my childhood, and I wonder how my parents were able to do the things they did, how they afforded it, and managed all of it. This is about camping.

I was a useless kid, when we would go on these trips I never did anything, my parents never asked me for help.  I was such a lazy kid.  I’m just here for your entertainment.  I wish I had paid attention more.  I wish I had appreciated it more.  One year, we went to the Grand Canyon, and my mom was so excited about it.  It was the middle of summer, and hot and humid and gross, and even as a child these things would annoy me.  We drove into the park, and went to the first lookout and parked the car.  We all go out of the car, looked over, and I remember staring blankly unimpressed, ‘Can we go now?’  I was a shit-head from an early age.  We stayed near a dodgy looking Flintstone’s “theme park” though, and that was my saving grace on that trip.  It was literally so shady looking, but for 10 year old Henry it was better then staring at a hole in the ground.  Needless to say, adult Henry wants to go back and appreciate the Grand Canyon, and hike it, and go rafting.   

We had a pop-up camper, with beds and a sink, and air conditioning.  My dad had one of those large conversion vans, little blue lights rimmed the ceiling of it when it got dark out, and we had a TV with a VCR. Since it was just four of us, we had a lot of space.  Needless to say, we weren’t roughing it really, but it was camping none-the-less.  We would have campfires, and grill every meal, and if we wanted a real treat we would go into whatever small town we were in and have breakfast at the local place, or buy fried chicken from gas stations, or order pizza.  We would swim, and because we usually stayed at campground chains we would take part in whatever the nightly activity was.  I was a lucky kid.  My mother recently reminded me of a story of when we went to Vegas.  I don’t know if Circus, Circus is still a thing, but when we went it was, and I hit a winning streak, and ended up walking away with a shit ton of stuffed animals.  When we got to the airport, I guess I insisted that my parents shrink-wrap them and pay the extra money to fly them all back as excessive baggage.  ‘That wasn’t me, mom, that was Amanda.’ ‘That was definitely you that insisted on it…’ She was right. Oh, little gay boy… I know, not camping related…

This weekend, I drove out to Starved Rock to camp for the weekend.  This trip was planned under the impression we would have fall weather, and not the 90-degree’s we ended up getting. Thursday, I ran around collecting camping equipment, and packing it into the car not realizing how much was needed.  I was overwhelmed, this must be how my parents felt, but they also had two brats in tow.  On Friday, we hit the road and pulled into the campground, an open field behind a biker bar called Papa Murph’s, with no showers, but two potter potties in the middle.  We arrived late, and had to set-up in the dark, but settled in fine, and made dinner and a campfire and looked at the stars.  It got cool at night, and I settled into my tent and into the sleeping bag.  I then woke-up to 90 degrees and sweating profusely.  What. The. Fuck. I got out of the tent, Julio was ruffling for the coffee maker.  No way.  Not happening.  ‘Let’s go. We need to find gas, and a Starbucks.’ ‘The closest one is 16 miles away, isn’t that kind of far?’ ‘I literally don’t care right now.’ There was no electricity at this camp, so we needed to charge our phones in the car.  When we got back to camp, iced coffee in hand, I decided to cut the gas, and leave the car on to charge my phone.  No need to waste gas.  Let me come back to this. 

As we sat around the camp in the blistering sun we tried to figure out what to do with the day.  One of my friends, ‘It’s so hot, we could rent a hotel room just to use their pool for a few hours and come back.  It’ll be cheap if we split it.’  ‘And we can shower too. Yes!’  I know, not exactly the camping experience, but that was the best idea ever! We booked the room, packed up the cars, and as I slipped the key in the ignition…. Nothing.  Remember that phone that was charging?  The car battery was completely dead. Henry, you’re a real idiot sometimes.  I didn’t have jumper cables.  ‘There is a group of 20 straight guys over there… one of them has to have cables.’  Sure enough they did, and were nice enough to let me borrow them.  One of them was even nice enough to come jump the car when we couldn’t figure it out after 20 minutes. 

Anyway, this weekend was pretty great. I slept outside in a tent, and we got to swim, and grill and play games and Sunday we went hiking at Starved Rock, and most importantly, I got sit around a campfire with some pretty wonderful people.  And we talked about life, and laughed about stupid shit, and in the end it made me appreciate two things.  One, the crap my parents went through to show two little punks so much of the United States.  Two, that I camped my whole life, and didn’t know how to cause I didn’t appreciate it the way I should have.  Anyway, thanks mom and dad… sorry I thought the Grand Canyon was dumb and the Flintstone’s park was cooler.  Nia, Veronica, Oscar and Julio, thanks for a great weekend under the stars behind the Papa Murph’s, and from keeping me from trying to make friends with the bikers.  Although, maybe they were really nice and not scary?  Guess we’ll never know… 

About My Best Friends Wedding.

It’s been so long since I’ve written anything.  Summer is coming to a close.  As I walked around my neighborhood today, all the U-Haul trucks in the streets, as people are moving in and out of apartments.  Beginnings and endings.  One of the reasons I love Chicago is because of the change in seasons.  Starts and finishes.  It’s September 1st and feels like Fall.  Last weekend, at the tail end of Summer, my friends and I piled into a car to make the long haul to Port Huron, MI.  I waited a week to write this.   I needed a week to digest it all.  By Monday morning, it all felt like a blur.  One week later… I think I have it…. This is about my best friends wedding. 

Amy grew up in Port Huron, MI, which is about a six-hour drive from Chicago.  Twenty minutes into the trip, ‘Are we there yet?’  I’m so annoying.  I really am. ‘Jon, my phone won’t connect to the Bluetooth.’  Ten minutes later, ‘I’m sure you want me to play the music.  Do you want my phone to connect?’  Taking a road trip with me is basically like taking a toddler.  I showed up with a suitcase, a backpack, and a large grocery bag full of snacks.  I basically packed as though I was going on the Oregon Trail.  Friday night, we arrived at the hotel with minimal amount of time for Julio and I to shower and still make the rehearsal on time.  I text Amy midway through the trip, ‘I’m getting in a little before 6pm.  Will I have time to shower?”  “Yes, but just hurry… the church lady is mean and will yell at you if you’re late.”  I laughed it off… it was no joke though… she was having none of me.... I’ll get to that later though. 

The church was beautiful, and as we sat in the pews we watched them do the run through of the ceremony.  At the end, ‘Can I please have the ushers come-up?’ I walked to the front of the church, ‘Ok.  Your job is very important.  You need to make sure that right after the wedding party walks out, you come up to each pew and motion with your hand for them to exit.’  Blank stare.  Won’t people know to exit?  Is my hand gesture necessary?  I didn’t ask questions, ‘Great.  I can do that.’ ‘Have either of you been an usher before?’  ‘No.  Never.’  She had a look of distress on her face.  Listen, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to fuck this up… promise.  ‘You two should sit over there in that first pew on the right, so you’re able to quickly get-up and exit.’ ‘Ok cool, do you think I can sit on the brides side, since that’s where my family will be?’  ‘I just told you that you have to sit there…’  Blank stare again.  I went to catholic school my whole life… I wasn’t going to win this battle.  This was her territory.  I would have sat outside on the sidewalk at that point if that is what she asked me to do. 

The day of the wedding, as everyone got ready, I had to be done early because the church lady assured me I needed to be there an hour before the service.  ‘You have guests in from out of town… the ushers need to be here to greet them.’   Again, no one’s getting there an hour early, but you’re closer to God so I’m just going to do as I’m told.  As I finished getting ready I text Sarah, ‘Are you guys back at the hotel and getting ready?’ ‘YES! Come by.’  ‘Ok, I need to leave for the church, but I want to say bye before I leave.’ In my head I mentally prepared myself.  Ok, you’re going to go down there, and she’s going to be in her wedding dress, and you’ll probably cry, but you’ll share this moment together right before she’s about to get married.  You’ll tell her how beautiful she looks, and tell her how happy you are for her.  I knocked on the door and walked in… Amy is literally standing in front of the mirror wearing her vale, doing her make-up and… wearing her pajamas.  Literally she is standing there wearing cartoon pajamas.  I just laughed… yeah, this makes more sense, actually. 

The reception was done in true Amy and Lucas fashion.  Cake cutting?  No thanks.  Formal introductions?  We can skip that. ‘Let’s get through the speeches and dances so everyone can drink and have a good time.’  The DJ started the night with typical wedding music, at some point, Lucas had enough and all of sudden Nelly and Notorious BIG are blasting over the speakers.  I’m certain I have never seen a more crowded dance floor.  I’m also sure I have never sweat more in my life. I wasn’t dehydrated from drinking, but I was dehydrated from dancing.  At the end of the night I offered my room for the after party, and her cousin offered his as another to watch the UFC fight. 

People strolled in and out the room, and the music blared, and some danced on the beds, and others smoked on the balcony.  How long till this gets shut down?  2am rolls around, and there’s a knock at the door.  Security.  I was expecting you… They didn’t shut us down though.  Instead, they moved us to a conference room on the first floor.  I didn’t last much past 3am, but I think people were up well past 4am.  Only Amy and Lucas would have two after parties, and have the hotel open up a new space so that rest of the hotel could sleep while everyone continues to drink till the sun comes up. 

The next day, most cleared out of the hotel and made their way home.  We went to Amy’s aunt’s cottage.  We sat outside, and had a couple of beers, her cousin Chloe performed a few songs and we relaxed after the chaos that was the past two days.  At night we went to a bar in town, I’m sure it looks the exact way it did 50 years ago.  We told stories about from the weekend, we reminisced about the Chicago years, and we ordered doubles.  It was a perfect weekend. 

Last night, as I was texting with Amy, ‘You know I loved most about this wedding? Realizing how INCREDIBLE people are.’  ‘Actually, I had an idea for a blog, but I didn’t want to take away from focusing on you.’  ‘I don’t need a spotlight.  I reflect the glow of all you assholes.’  That’s why Amy and I are best friends, because that was my takeaway too.  At so many points I looked around that room, and it was filled with such love.  All those people, who travelled to a small city an hour outside of Detroit to celebrate Amy and Lucas.

Monday morning, we piled back into the car, ‘Jon, my phone isn’t connecting… fix it, please.  Also, can we stop at McDonalds?’  In my life, I imagine that my life always has a soundtrack playing in the background.  Many times, the music I cue is done on purpose, and I wonder if anyone else is listening.  As we got onto the highway, I hit play… This band called BOY, and their song ‘Army’ played as we rolled out of Port Huron… Last weekend, in a small town in Michigan… all these incredible people in one room….

“You should see my favorite people
You catch a glimpse of gold through their skins
I walk on air whenever I'm with them
They're where the happiness begins
And I'm alright on my own, but with them I'm much better…”  

About the Dog.

I haven’t written anything for a while.  I’ll sit at my laptop, stare at the screen, and nothing produces.  I’ve run out of things to say.  That’s probably not true, but my focus is off.  I can’t concentration on one single thing long enough to make sense of it.  If you’ve ever had a conversation with me you know this to be true.  I’ll be talking about one thing, and fall into a tangent I don’t know how to get myself out of. ‘Wait, what was I talking about again?’  Anyway, that’s the reason I haven’t updated.  I need to start making a list of topics.  I’ll be walking down the street and have a stream of thoughts that end up lost in translation as they are quickly forgotten as I move through the day. 

That first paragraph literally has NOTHING to do with the rest of this.  So you see my point, right?  Moving on… I am obsessed with the Facebook, ‘On This Day,’ feature.  I’ll check it everyday, and only occasionally do I cringe at things I wrote, or the pictures that somehow got posted over the years.  Over the last few days though, all of my ‘On This Day,’ posts have been about Billie.  I brought Billie Jean Villa home eight years ago last week.  I was 25. In 2009 over the Forth of July weekend I was sitting around bullshitting with my family at a BBQ.  As my family arrived at my parents house my aunt walked in and noted the absence of her son, ‘JJ isn’t coming, he just got a new dog and he’s a puppy so he stayed home with him.’  Later that afternoon I approached his sister, ‘let’s go see Auto.’  A puppy at eight weeks is sleepy and tiny, and as this little creature sat on my lap I looked at my cousins, ‘I want one.’  My cousin Bri replied, ‘Well go get one… there’s two others. Want me to ask if you could go see them?’  ‘Yes!’ 

I had been living near UIC at the time, and it was a few years after graduating college.   Getting a dog felt like such an adult thing to do, and at the time, I felt like I was an adult.  I was wrong, but I wouldn’t figure that out till years later.  I rushed home to tell my parents about it –my mom was pretty supportive.  She knew I had wanted to get a dog for a while, and had even gone to look at a few with me.  My dad wasn’t so quick to hop on the support train… Dogs are a lot of work and you’re too irresponsible.  You’re never home.  I’m allergic to dogs, so don’t think you can just bring over here.  It’ll make a mess, and I’m not going to be out there cleaning up the yard.  Of course I took a minute to really take in what he was saying, and than I ignored it and decided to listen to the parent that agreed with me.   My moms only request, ‘get the female… the males are stupid.’  She had one bad experience with one male dog…

A few days later I went to visit, and based on my moms advice immediately focused my attention on the girl.  I wish I could remember more about that first visit, and why exactly I did choose the puppy I did, maybe it was my mom, or maybe it was just meant to be.  Either way, I paid the $50, and told them I would be back to pick her up a few days later.  I went back to my parents’ house that night, and my mom and I drove to Target to pick-up what we thought were the necessaries for someone bringing home a puppy.  Food and water bowls, a leash, a collar, dog toys, food, puppy snacks, etc.  Two days later I went to pick her up, and bring her to her new home. 

Amanda went with me to get her.  She had just moved back home from college, and was just as excited as me.  Before we even picked her up Amanda had planned on just going with me back to my apartment because she wanted to hangout with the puppy.   Before heading back to my apartment I stopped by parents house so they could meet her.  This little seven pound eight week old puppy, just gliding around the floor, scared, and timid, and still occasionally losing her balance as she mastered this whole walking thing.  The three of us sat on the floor as Billie Jean made her way around the room slowly walking to each of us.  My dad, still adamant about the decision I had made, sort of ignored all of it.  As I was getting ready to leave, Amanda said she would probably just stay home and not come back to the city with me, ‘No. Just come back with me.’  It was in that moment I realized I was terrified.  I had never had a dog before, and all the pets I did have growing up either died shortly after I got them, or were given away because I lost interest or was scared of them.  I didn’t know anything about having a dog let alone a puppy. 

The car ride home she trembled the whole time, and at my apartment she was unsure of her surroundings, and I was unsure of her.  Amanda stayed up with her after I crawled into bed.  She woke me up shortly after because Billie had an accident in the apartment and she was not about to clean it up.  It was the first time I picked up dog shit.  That was eight years ago, and that is hard to believe.  I didn’t know how to raise a dog, but over the last eight years I have learned little by little, and had lots of help along the way.  The first week I had her I asked my friend Christy to dogsit for me while I was at work, ‘Don’t give her any human food, I’m trying to avoid from doing that.’  I text Christy a lot that day, and when I got home Christy proudly proclaimed, ‘I thought her to sit, and give high-fives.’ ‘Oh my god… that’s amazing.  How did you do that?’  ‘Oh, Henry… let’s just say she likes cheese….’

Over the last eight years Billie Jean and I have grown together.  She’s my little buddy.  The first week I had her I tried to crate train her, I was going to be that kind of pet owner.  A few nights in, she was crying and barking in her crate, clearly upset.  I woke up, opened the door, and she sprinted to my bedroom, jumped on the bed, stared at me with those puppy dog eyes, and has never slept in a crate again.  Eight years has gone by quickly, and every time I come home to her it’s still the best part of my day.  She isn’t really a fan of cuddling at night, she likes her space, but sometimes, if it’s been a rough day for me, I’ll scoop her up, and lay her right under my arm.  She will take a deep breath, lay her head on my chest, and settle in.  She knows. 

Anyway, I could go on and on about her, and how much having her has changed my life for the best.  However, this post is probably long enough… the point is, if you’re questioning whether you should or shouldn’t get a dog, or if you’re able to handle it, all I can say is I didn’t think I could eight years ago.  It was one of the better decisions I made.  Also, my dad, who strongly opposed of the dog adoption, is now madly obsessed with her.  Follow him on Snapchat… it’s basically Billie’s personal account.  I bet we’re both glad I took my moms advice…  

About the other Amanda.

I have had two Amanda’s in my life for over ten years.  One is my sister, and the other is my friend Amanda.  I used to work at Best Buy when I was in college.  I was a Personal Shopper.  Basically, my job was to cater to wealthy white suburban moms… ok they never said they had to be white, but like all the pamphlets were white women.  It was such an odd role, we were not really managed, and we were such assholes.  For some reason we pulled higher rank –it was weird.  One time, the Assistant Manager asked me to clean something, and I gave him a blank stare and walked away.  In my defense, he was an idiot, and I hated him… mostly for being an idiot.

Amanda and I met through a mutual a friend while working at Best Buy, and one night, she asked me to go out with her to see a band play.  It was the first time we were alone together.  Those nights are always strange –two semi-strangers together, and you either connect, or you don’t.  We connected.  We have been friends ever since.  To be honest, she has been a better friend to me, than I have ever been to her.  I can admit that.  When I got laid off in 2015 I called her to tell her, “come stay with me.  I’ll make you dinner and get us wine.”  I spent a few days there.  In the mix of the chaos that was my life at that time, she was the calm.  That’s the kind of friend she is. 

When my sister was in college I would often ask Amanda to come with me to visit. We would pack our shit for the weekend and make the three-hour drive to Madison, WI.  One night we were out, and when everyone else departed we stayed at the bar.  On the walk home we passed these group of guys, college students, and there in the middle of the road was a road sign big enough to block a street off.  A construction sign, ‘No Through Traffic.’  I forget exactly how it transpired, but one of these boys insinuated that because Amanda was a girl she weak.  Amanda looked me square in the eyes, “pick up the other end of that fucking sign, we’re taking it.”  We hauled that sign three blocks back to my sister’s apartment.  That’s Amanda.  Do not tell her she cannot do something.  She will do it, or die trying to.  At the end of that weekend we literally had to demolish that sign to get rid of it. 

A few months ago she started talking about travel nursing.  She needed a break from the life she had been living.  She wanted to feel a sense of adventure.  I encouraged her, and wish I had the ability to do the same thing.  She decided to take the plunge this year and her first stop is Salt Lake City.  She just spent her first full week there.  I’m so proud of her, and I’m so excited to live vicariously through her.  I think sometimes I forget to let people know that I notice.  To let them know that I am thankful… for them.  So this is just that.  A note, to say thanks… Be safe.  Be bold.  Love ya, kiddo… I’m going to find my way to you at some point… promise. 

Don't. Panic.

I won’t. Promise.  Life happens… sometimes you’re prepared, and sometimes you’re not.  No one comes out unscathed. No details on this one –just the broad strokes. I’m not one to call people.  I’ll text.  However, when life falls apart I have a list in my head, and I will begin to make phone calls.  There is an order and a structure.  I’ll need advice, or to vent, and I will reach out for it.  My friends and family will listen; they will let me talk it out.  I’ll eventually find my balance, ‘You’re handling this really well.’  I’ll laugh, ‘what am I supposed to do?  It’s out of my control at this point.’

Friday afternoon, I called Amy, ‘I don’t think I can go to this dinner… I’m mentally drained.’ Without missing a beat, ‘No, that dinner is exactly where you need to be.’  Per usual, ‘you’re right.  I need to go and get out of this apartment.’  I’m an open book, I’ll tell you everything.  I’ll make self-deprecating jokes about my life.  I think my friends sometimes think it’s too much.  I’ll find it humorous.  They’ll look at me, and chuckle, and I’m sure wonder if I’ve lost my marbles.  I’m kidding, of course.  Shit happens though, and if you can’t laugh about it than you have lost.  I refuse to lose. 

Here’s the thing, I have always believed that life is a matter of perspective.  You are in control.  You are driving the car and you get to decide the direction –even when it doesn’t feel that way.  I’ll be overwhelmed for 15 minutes.  What the fuck do I do now? I’ll remind myself, this is going to be ok…. You are going to be ok.  I’ll surround myself with good people, and they too will remind me that it’s a bump in the road.  It is not the end of the road.  I’ll get annoyed with people when their negativity overtakes them.  Why must the glass be half empty?  I refuse to ever become that... to ever have that perspective.

I’ve always had a lifeline.  In fact, I have many, and for that I am grateful.  I think sometimes we forget that though.  We think we’re alone, and it’s so easy to retreat.  I don’t think any of us are though.  I hope, that we all have some sort of support structure.  Even if sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.  Friday afternoon caused me to stumble.  I wandered off the trail, and not intentionally, but that’s ok.  By 6pm, ‘ok, this is what I’m going to do… I think this is going to be ok.’ 

Today felt like summer.  The weather was perfect.  My weekend is packed with obligations.  I like it that way.  On Friday, my friend Aya was right, ‘it’s the weekend, don’t think about it till Monday.’  I’ll take that advice, because it’s the right advice.  Life’s too short to sweat the small shit.  Even if it doesn’t feel like small shit… it probably is.  At least that’s what I’ll tell myself.  I sat at dinner, ‘it’s probably all going to be ok, right?’  Life would be boring without the hiccups.  What stories would we tell?  I have many stories… but even the shitty ones are funny.  Life is so much better when you laugh about it.  I promise.

About The Boys.

Last weekend, I inserted myself into a situation I shouldn’t have.  My friend Alfonso told me not to, ‘he’s going to get mad at you if you try to say something.’  I don’t read the warning labels… I dive right in.  It’ll all be ok. Two of my friends weren’t talking, and I was not happy about it.  This is about that… this is a story about the boys.  

I came out late.  I’m always late.  I was 25, I think.  I was out one night… way past my bedtime.  Some time around 3am sitting at the bar I was complaining about the shitty music someone played, ‘Who played this shit?’  Roger looked over, ‘I did.’  ‘Oh… Hi I’m Henry….’  That’s how all this started.  That’s how I met my friend Roger.  We ended up hanging out that night, and at 5am we exchanged numbers, ‘text me tomorrow.’  He did, and we have been friends ever since, and it’s because of Roger that I have any gay friends. 

The boys.  My gang of gays.  Last week, chatting with Alfonso… ‘this has to end… we’re family… I’m not interested in us falling apart.’  I’ve talked about how important my friendships are in past posts, and the boys are certainly included in that.  We’re lucky to have each other.  All those years ago Roger brought me in.  He introduced me, and told them I was ok, and they let me in.  Over the years we have evolved and we have grown together.  A few weeks ago I text Alfonso and Julio, ‘There’s this Selena drag show at the Mexican Fine Arts Museum.  My family’s going, come with?’  Without hesitation, ‘I’m in.’ Last weekend we went to that event, with my family, and at some point my mom pulled my friends to the dance floor.  They are family. 

The boys taught me to be gay. I used to be so uncomfortable at gay bars, and probably with myself.  I didn’t fit in.  I was never the loud and proud one.  I was not the one twirling on the dance floor, which you probably wouldn’t believe if you know me now.  I’m lucky to have them.  I’m lucky they let me in.  We can depend on each other, and when shit hits the fan we will be there for each other.  I’ll laugh at how honest we are with each other… we will be out to dinner and I’ll wonder what everyone around us is thinking.  Why would you say that out loud?

My friends got over their beef.  They needed to.  There are so few people that know your history -people that know the real you.  You keep those people around.   We need each other.  We keep each other in check.  I didn’t know eight years ago what I was doing by saying hi to a random guy at a bar, but I’m glad I did, because from that came so much more… the boys.

I wonder what we’ll be like in ten years.  We’re so different today from who we were when we met.  We have grown up together.  We have become better people because of each other.  I have so many stories I could tell, but I’ll save those.  One day I’ll write a TV show or movie about us.  We all bring something to the table… and I love that fucking table. 

About This Weekend. And Friends.

This weekend we had Amy’s bachelorette party in Chicago, and there we were surrounded by all of our friends.  These people who came out for her –to celebrate her.  In our group of friends people show-up –they will make you feel loved.  I flaked on the planning a bit.  Saturday’s activity was non-existent.  I was late in booking something, and we couldn’t get in anywhere.  All my ideas were dead ends.  I told my friend Aaron, ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do.  I guess we’ll figure something out.’  ‘Want me to open the Native for you?’  Without hesitation I responded, ‘yes! We can open the bar early, and it’ll just be our group.  That’s perfect.  If you make the drinks strong I’ll kill you.  I need this group to last the entire day.’ Aaron will poison you.  He tried to too, but pushed less hard then usual.

At the Native we stood around chatting about all those years in Chicago, and being young and stupid.  All of sudden, ‘Amy do you remember when we really became friends?’ Amy replied, ‘You jackass we were always friends, or at least I thought so.’ It wasn’t what I meant, sure we were friends right off the bat, but when did it spill over and begin to feel different.  The types of friendship were you know 100% you can rely on each other no matter what.  You will catch me when I fall, and I you.  I know that night for Amy and I, from my perspective at least.

Amy and I were working together at Scripps in Chicago, and we had already known each other from a couple years back when we worked at a different media company.  People knew we were friends, and when she took a few days off unexpectedly our co-workers started asking me if she was ok. I honestly didn’t realize she had been gone, and when I did I just assumed she was sick.  Finally, I reached out, ‘Hey are you ok?’  ‘Yeah, I’m fine, I broke-up with Chris and just needed a few days.’  I left it at that.  She came back to work the following week.  I never asked what happened.  I didn’t need to know.  If she wanted to tell me she would. Amy and I were still in the early stages of friendship, considering what it turned into, and sometimes people don’t want to share all the details. 

She ended up telling me a couple of weeks later, one night before heading out to get drinks. We went to Glascotts in Lincoln Park, and we had beers and played pool -honestly, I probably just watched, but whatever.  Toward the end of the night we sat on the ledge of the bar in silence, after most of the place had cleared out.  We laughed about stupid shit that night, and as we hit the end of the night, that point were you start to daze off, Mumford & Sons ‘Little Lion Man’ came on.  For some reason I felt compelled, and I put my arm around her, and pulled her a little closer.  We sat on top of that bar, and in that moment I wanted her to know she was going to be ok.  I wanted her to know that from this point on we were in it together.  That night something changed.  That was the night, for me, that we became something more.  In that moment I understood her in a way that I didn’t before.  She let me in, and in turn I knew that I would let her in too. 

I try to remember those moments.  I try to recognize when the dynamic has changed.  Sometimes it’s difficult, but if I think about it long enough it’ll hit me.  There is a point though, when friendships evolve, and that's a pretty special thing.  I don't know if you recognize it in that moment, but looking back I'm certain that was it for me and Amy.  Anyway, this August Amy gets married to a really great guy, and we had a really great time this weekend.  I’m glad it’s over… I’m still exhausted…. But, like everything else we’ve done that has exhausted me… I regret none of it.  Good friends are worth it.  

About La La Land.

I wish I were going home to Chicago right now.  Instead, I’m on a flight to Seattle, only to catch a connecting flight to Victoria, BC, Canada.  I’m tired of traveling, and I don’t really enjoy it.  I’m going to Canada for work, but I decided to fly out early and spend the weekend in LA.  I always wonder how people enjoy traveling for work, maybe they go to interesting places or something.  I just want to be at home, hanging out with my dog, and grabbing dinner with friends.  It’s a Monday night and there’s nothing I’d rather do then go see ‘Beauty and the Beast’ and call it a night.  Instead, I’ll land at 10:30pm, go straight to bed and prepare for a busy few days at our sales summit.  It just sounds exhausting. 

I called an Uber to pick me up from my friends’ house to take me to LAX.   The minute I got into her car she start chatting.  I’m hit or miss in Ubers, most of the time I really like the conversation, but today, I was tired from the weekend, felt I was running late, and trying to reply to text messages and e-mails.  However, she seemed sweet and genuine, so I put my phone down and participated in real life.  Sometimes that’s a difficult thing to do. 

“I wish I was going to LAX like you.”

“No you don’t… I wish I wasn’t going to LAX… I’m just going for work.”

 “Where are you going?”

“Oh, this small city… I don’t know if you would know it…”

Never assume, Henry.  Never.  She proceeded to tell me all about Victoria, and how she had spent some time there a few years back with her family over the summer.  She told me about how good the seafood is, and how everyone is really nice, and how she went to see a Ska band there with her mom by accident.  She was very familiar with Victoria, Canada.  During that 40-minute car ride she told me about travelling and I told her about how much I want to move to LA, and she told me about how much she loved it and where I should I live, and places to check out next time I’m in town.  As I got out of the car, “I’m going to look you up when I move here…”

I’ve been to LA a few times.  Always for work, or passing through too quickly it didn’t really count.  This was the first time I came and actually had time to relax and see the city.  My friend Michelle moved to LA two years ago, and a year ago bought a house in West Hollywood.  We spent the weekend exploring LA, and this time I saw a whole different side of it.  First of all, the weather is perfect, and there is nothing better then being outside all the time.  I loved everything about LA.

I went to hike Runyon Canyon by myself one morning, and on my way down I was texting my friend Amanda,  ‘Let’s move to LA.’  I got back to Michelle’s and I told her I was obsessed with LA, and I was going to move here.  She doesn’t believe me.  She shouldn’t believe me.  I for years told her I was moving to New York when she lived there, and I never even came close.  I might not on this one either.  I could very well land in Chicago on Thursday, be so happy to be home, fall back into my routine, and never really think about it.  Or maybe I won’t.  I really do think I’d fit in well in LA.  For years I thought I would hate it. I thought the traffic would drive me insane, and the people would be too obnoxious for me to handle.  Neither of those things really happened though.  I spent a weekend staying in Michelle’s beautiful home, and driving around in her Benz like I belonged there.  I should probably remind myself, I am not Michelle, and would be slumming it in LA.  Wonder if it’s still as a great under those conditions?  Ok, slumming it is not really accurate… but probably pretty close…

About 'When we Rise.'

I was talking to a friend the other day.  I am in the process of trying to help a different friend plan a long weekend away for his 40th birthday.  I explained it would be myself, and three of my best gay friends.  I asked about a trip he had to Glacier National Park, and the house he had rented on AirBNB.  It sounded like a good idea, to me.  A road trip from Chicago to Montana, a house in the mountains, hiking, and wildlife over a long weekend.  A chance to get away from the city, and sit under the stars and just relax.  I was sold, until, ‘BUT it is not a very gay friendly spot, it’s deep in Montana, I actually wouldn’t recommend for a gay trip.  It’s deep in Trump country.’  I never even thought about that.  It never crossed my mind.  There are still places in this country that are weird about the gays? 

My friend Miles moved to Greece a few years ago.  My group of friends and I would get together on the weekends for dinner, and as the youngest in our group no one was surprised when they all went home, and I would just be starting my night with the gay boys.  Miles was in his 40’s then, and he had the best stories about growing up in the late 80s and 90s.  He would tell me stories about being gay in those days.  On many occasions we would be standing out smoking cigarettes and he would ask where I was going.  I would tell him my plans for the night.  He would shake his head, ‘I hope you guys appreciate what my generation did so you guys could skip down the street without having to worry.  We were throwing bricks through windows so you guys could be a bunch of drunks.’   I would laugh it off, and not think much about it. 

This past weekend I started watching the mini-series ‘When we Rise’ on ABC, which is a re-telling of the rise of the gay rights movement in the United States starting with the Stonewall riots in 1969.  It’s a glimpse into the fight that a generation before me endured.  It’s hard to watch at times.  These kids, who became disenfranchised from society and were unaccepted by their families and the communities they lived in.  Beyond that, they were beaten in the streets, as the rest of society looked away.  The rise of the AIDS epidemic, and a government unwilling to help.  It follows a generation as they took to the streets… as they fought for their rights as a community, and as Americans. 

People often ask what my coming out experience was like –relatively uneventful as far as I’m concerned.  I never really thought much of it.  I sort of feel like, for me, it was one minute I wasn’t gay and the next I was, and no one really cared.  If I had to sum up the overall reaction of the people in my life it would be, ‘Ok, cool.  Where should we go to dinner tonight?  Do you feel like sushi or pizza?’  A generation younger then myself will probably be even more flippant about it.  I’m glad I started watching this show –it’s made me appreciate what so many people went through so that I never really had to live in fear.   I’m well aware I’m also really lucky to have grown up in a liberal progressive city.  Evident by the fact that the rating for ‘When we Rise’ weren’t good.  Let’s be honest, this is still Trump’s America… for me, this show was a reminder to never become complacent.  A reminder, that we’re not done fighting yet.  Worst-case scenario, I end up in conversion therapy, but like, I’ll be there with all the designers, hair stylists and make-up artists so it probably wont be so bad, right? 

About Music.

On a flight back to Chicago from New Orleans.   A couple months ago, on a Monday morning, I called Amy, “What did you do this weekend?”  We exchanged stories as we often do.  Midway through the call, “Oh, we bought tickets to go see the Lumineers.” “Wait, what? Why didn’t you tell me, I would totally have come down and went with you!”  “Just, look-up tickets, it’s a small venue, buy a single ticket and we will figure it out.”  I wasn’t interested in that.  It’s too late, I didn’t want to go and not be able to sit with them.  I ignored the idea, and we moved on.  As I sat at my laptop I went on to Ticketmaster anyway a short while later.  I forgot that there is now an extra option that allows you to pick out your own seats.  I asked Amy out of curiosity, ‘What seats do you have? “  “We are in section C, row 9, seats 6-9.” I looked at the seating map, and as I zoomed in on their section I sat in disbelief.  Their section was mostly sold out, but there were a scattering of single seats left, and one of those seats was seat 5.  “Um, you’re not going to believe this, literally, the seat right next to yours is available… what are the fucking odds?”  “Henry, you have to buy it right now.  It’s a sign.” The universe makes no mistakes.  I bought that ticket immediately.  “It’s Friday night show –I can make this work.  Even if it’s a quick weekend trip.  I’m purchasing now.” 

When I was in college a friend of mine introduced me to the White Stripes.  I was obsessed from the first time I heard them.  One day we were sitting around, and talking about how they were touring, but not stopping in Chicago.  Of course, my immediate thought was, “what’s the next closest city they’re playing?”  They were playing a show in Detroit.  “Let’s just buy tickets and drive to Detroit.” I’m sure he thought I was joking.  I wasn’t.  I looked on Ebay, and clicked the purchase button.  A few days later we made the five-hour drive to Detroit, and stopped in this shady part of town, and met this guy at a bar who had sold us the tickets.  We were in a city neither of us had ever been in –meeting some person we didn’t know.  Anyway, we didn’t die, and we went to that show at the Fox Theater, and it still stands as one of the top ten concerts I’ve ever been to.  We drove back that night, right after the show.  We spent ten hours in a car just to see the White Stripes.  I had class the next day, and I’m sure I went on minimal sleep.  It was worth it. 

A couple of weeks ago I went to see a concert at this small venue by my apartment.  I hadn’t been there before.  I’m always amazed when I find a place I didn’t know about.  Especially music venues –I’ve made the rounds to so many in this city.  The name of the band escapes me right now.  I wasn’t familiar with them, but they were really fun to watch.  The opening act went on, and I engaged.  Listening to a new band for the first time is like meeting a new friend for the first time.  Except it’s a one-sided conversation, and I’m ok with that.  Midway through the opening act, my friend asked me why I was being quiet.  I am loud, and I usually not the quiet one in the corner, and my friends are probably not used that.  Music will silence me.  I want to connect, and I will hang on every lyric, and I will try to relate.  It was worth the trip to New Orleans to see the Lumineer’s on Friday, and I have to believe that the single seat available next to Amy’s was no coincidence. I’m now thirty minutes from landing, as the Lumineer’s play in my headphones.  I’m sure getting my life back in order, and my busy work week will be rough, but it was worth it.  Friday and the Lumineer’s were worth it.  Music is always worth it.