Hold, Part 2

Three Weeks

With Andre, I’d figured out my unintentional and unnoticed pattern. It was a three-week rut from falling for a guy to things not working out three weeks later in a manifold of ways—disillusionment or disinterest, instability or insensitivity, or simply by kismet.

It was time for life to take a different course, if only temporarily—time to focus more on my schoolwork and meditate on the last year of my life. Having made it through auditions, rehearsals and homework dominated my life. I wasn’t about to abandon boys entirely, however. On weekends, I generally found time for my friends—the occasional party with high school friends, an intensely fun study session or two, and almost every week I set aside some time for my gay friends. Friday nights became an outlet for me as I put things on hold to not feel alone in my sexuality.

Rehearsals took emotional their toll as I was surrounded by teens making homophobic jokes and men who had likely repressed their own sexuality in one way or another to “keep the commandments” or fit in in some other way. Almost ceremoniously I’d arrive at The Wood House and carpool to the club in Salt Lake with Ezra and Alberto. There, I wasn’t alone. There, I could get away from the acting—of the theatrical as well as the real-life varieties.

Though the club is for many a hedonistic experience, for many it is a communion with the self. Eighteen, nineteen and even twenty-four year olds find themselves able to share their most guarded secret with an entire community. For me, the elements of fear and enigma were temporarily pulled away as I stood in solidarity knowing that many of those guys were in the same place: out only to our friends and doing our best to follow the standards of the LDS church. For us, it wasn’t all about sex; it was about not feeling alone (as many as many of us did at church every Sunday).

It was revitalizing to get out like that. Life seemed to be full and balanced. My final semester of college was pushing me intellectually as I went through the arduous process of revising my thesis. Socially, I managed to share my time with friends of all kinds. Emotionally, though, I found myself healing—not through my continued, faithful church attendance, but by the music that filled every me. It was as if music were the mortar holding together the bricks of my life.

It managed to keep the excitement in and the anxiety out of my life for a few weeks. Studying with some Philip Glass in the background pushed me through the most difficult work. Contemplating and understanding the words coming through my mouth at rehearsals—even in the case of characters I didn’t particularly identify with such as Lloyd-Webber’s Close Every Door. The hymns at church were its saving grace. Rhyme and rhythm provided a framework for the meter and melody I puzzled over and relished even with minimal understanding of the confluence of chords.

Even the music of the club—the thump of Lady Gaga remixes, the pulse of techno beats, the phonetically kinky lyrics of Britney Spears—provided a comfort in their own way. For years, it wasn’t cool to like the things that might possibly insinuate homosexuality. That was no longer a concern once I allowed myself to indulge in what made me happy instead of conforming to prescribed desires alongside Ezra and Alberto and others at the club.

Three weeks into this ritual of clubbing the world slowed for a moment. One of the most vivid moments of that time in my life, I remember looking across the dance floor into the eyes of another man as the lyrics surfaced through the techno beat:

I feel the adrenaline moving through my veins
Spotlight on me and ready to break.
I’m like a performer, the dancefloor is my stage.
Better be ready. Hope that you feel the same.

We moved towards each other fixed on the other’s expression, our silhouettes suspended by strobe lights as we negotiated a path towards one another.

After what had seemed like ten minutes, we met in the middle of the dancefloor. Silenced by the blare of the music, we communicated only through dance and waited for silence to peel away the layers between us. It was extraordinary knowing the gap between his teeth, the way we fit in each others’ arms, and his heartbeat before sharing a word between us.

We only had time to utter our names before our friends pulled us apart:

“Mickey, Tim’s parents say he has to be home now,” one of his friends called as Alberto demanded, “We’re supposed to meet Kait for breakfast in five minutes.”

We hugged and passed frequent glances until we were out of each others sight when I suddenly realized it was too late. We didn’t exchange numbers.

 

 

End, Part 2.

Laugh of the Day #16

I have another terrible confession to make: I indulge in People of Walmart. People take pictures of other people in Walmart and send them in. I'd always thought of the place as a kind of zoo, so it kind of makes sense....

Here's one of my favorites:

Lady Gaga's Mother

Cooking with the Stars: Speedy Chicken Posole with Avocado and Lime

By no means do I intend for this to become a regular thing, but I have to share this amazing recipe. It comes from the magazine Sunset: Living in the West. The recipe is a spicy soup with a southwestern flair.

Jacqueline and Cole came over for dinner and brought along a few guests. If I were to rate my recipe, it would definitely get a 4.5 out of 5 (because I’m impossible to please as many will tell you…. Just kidding… sort of… ask Cole).

They brought along some special guests who helped us cook and enjoy the meal. Ryan Reynolds brought over the ingredients.

Lady Gaga helped with the cooking. Here she is mincing the onions and the garlic.

Glee’s Sue wasn’t the best dinner guest. “You call that posole?! I know hunger strikers with better taste!”

Here’s the recipe (again, from Sunset: Living in the West):

Time: 45 minutes. This dish, using canned hominy, takes a fraction of the time needed for regular posole. Serve with warm corn tortillas.

Yield: Serves 4 or 5

Ingredients

3 large poblano chiles (1 lb. total)
6 garlic cloves
1 large onion
2 cans (14 1/2 oz. each) white hominy
1 1/2 pounds boned, skinned chicken thighs
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
2 teaspoons dried Mexican oregano*, divided
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth
3 tablespoons ground red New Mexico chiles*
Garnishes: sliced avocado, lime wedges, cilantro sprigs, and sour cream

Preparation

1. Preheat broiler. When hot, broil poblanos on a baking sheet until blackened, turning as needed, about 15 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, in a food processor, whirl garlic to mince. Cut onion in chunks and pulse with garlic until chopped; set aside. Drain hominy; set aside.
3. Cut chicken into 1- to 1 1/2-in. chunks and sprinkle with salt and 1 tsp. oregano. Heat oil in a 5- to 6-qt. pan over high heat. Brown half the chicken lightly, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. With a slotted spoon, transfer meat to a plate. Repeat with remaining chicken.
4. Reduce heat to medium-high. Add onion mixture and remaining 1 tsp. oregano to pan and sauté until onion is softened, 3 minutes. Meanwhile, in a microwave-safe bowl, microwave broth until steaming, about 3 minutes. Add ground chiles to pan and cook, stirring, about 30 seconds.
5. Add broth, hominy, and chicken to pan. Cover and bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer to blend flavors, 10 minutes.
6. Remove stems, skins, and seeds from poblanos and discard; chop poblanos.
7. Stir poblanos into posole and cook 1 minute. Ladle into bowls; top with garnishes.

*Find Mexican oregano at well-stocked grocery stores, along with ground red New Mexico chiles.

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