I thought I might write about marriage equality today. Marriage, fidelity and misogyny. I may write about that tomorrow. Instead, I’m going to post some boy pics, something from the garden and tell you all about meeting my long lost lesbian sister.
Yes. My little sister has turned up. Of course I knew about her. I had been told about her. Perhaps Natalie or Jessica or Rebecca told me… I can’t remember. All the stories I heard about my father have melded into one. From one sisters mouth. All the stories about him spewed out of one mouth. So, I knew about Roya and finally she revealed herself.
She has lived with her girl friend for the past three years. She doesn’t drink much. She can speak Farsi. She came out when she was 11. She has a sweet voice. Her mother was a singer in one of the clubs my father owned. She is perhaps the most forthcoming and inquisitive of all my siblings. She doesn’t like being called a dyke. She’s a lesbian. She insisted that my brother James tidy our father’s grave and replace the headstone. She told me that I had a small inheritance. She told me that my father had mentioned me to her mother. That was the sweetest gift of all. That he spoke about me to someone he cared about. That he remembered.
So all the other stuff, the gay marriage stuff that haunted yesterdays news… well, I had my own gay news and she was it.
Of course there was the usual vitriol about anyone who doesn’t agree with SCOTUS from the gays… and I took time to placate my rabid gay brethren and remind them that the way we treat the vanquished will determine our victory.
The day of the decision I took myself down to Weho with the dogs to watch the crowd. Everyone looked very happy, quietly jubilant. Sort of fatigued. You know, after a fight is over.
Now what? The war is won. American gays will have to work out what it all means… this equality. They have redefined marriage, will they redefine morals? Will they mock the single man like straight people do?
For those of us who are single we enjoy the peace of mind that being single affords us.
I urge you not confuse single for lonely… or lonely for single.
Donny, my friend, killed himself last night. He had struggled with sobriety, struggled to stay clean, struggled to stay out of trouble. Handsome, sweet, kind-hearted Donny just couldn’t stay alive. During the past 13 years I have lost many, many friends to the disease of addiction. It is always tough to reconcile but their loss keeps the rest of us alive. The truth is I always knew that one day this call would come and so remained aloof. I learned early on not to totally give myself to those wedded to the idea of death. The other men we know, who knew him, his friends my friends a community of sober men-are devastated. I can be there for them. I am there for you because you choose to live, to wake up every morning and face life on life’s terms.
I learned this shocking news at dinner last night. Dinner with Benoit Denizet-Lewis, Lady Rizo, Rob Roth, Cooper and Benoit’s boyfriend Nick at Soho House. We ate a $44 chicken. Earlier in the day I had lunch with Pierre the general manager of Soho House New York and very old friend. Recently in love he looks very happy and ten years younger. We ate delicious cauliflower soup.
The recession touches all of our lives in some way or other and no more so in the home where I am staying. My friend has been made redundant and after years of getting up and going into an office now finds himself carving an ersatz routine out of a long, jobless day. It is particularly hard to watch as I feel utterly powerless and wish that I could do something to make it better. A remarkably placid, gentleman my friend owned up to feeling very rageful in some situations when asked some sorts of questions about his predicament.
Benoit’s book event at the Gay and Lesbian Center on 13th Street was very enjoyable. His new book American Voyeur is well worth reading. He is a great essayist. I particularly liked the experience of going into the Gay and Lesbian Center. A warm hive of gay activity. Benoit’s event, a dating workshop, some sort of dance workshop, a twelve step meeting, men and women hanging around reading on the stair. It had a feeling of community, which is so sadly lacking in my gay experience.
Roque came to visit and it was lovely to finally meet him.
I still have not gotten around to having my haircut. It looks very shaggy.
Ended Tuesday on the roof of the Standard Hotel overlooking the frozen river. We were eating fascinating deserts in the Boom Boom Room. It was a lyrical end to a tragic day.
Cooper and I shared a cab home.