Tag Archives: gay marriage

Pondering New Years With Marcel Proust

Marcel Proust

In Within a Budding Grove (À l’ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs), the second volume of Marcel Proust’s novel, In Search of Lost Time, the young narrator describes his disillusionment with New Years Day and the moment he discovers that “New Years Day was not a day different from the rest… it’s not the first day of a new world.”

Here Proust’s narrator begins to see that time passes indifferently.  The future does not magically open up on New Years Day; there is no break in the calendar.  There is only the unheeding fluidity of the old days and years that, unknown to the Years themselves, we choose to invest with a different name each January in our attempt to shape and modify them to suit us.  Proust writes:

“I returned home. I had just spent the New Year’s Day of old men, who differ on that day from their juniors, not because people have ceased to give them presents but because they themselves have ceased to believe in the New Year.”

For Proust, loss in the belief in New Years is a loss of hope.

So, as the year come to a close (a random demarcation in the fluidity of days or not) the Gay Groom is spending some time looking back over the past 364.25 days and pondering his successes and (shall we say) non-successes of 2014.

There were many grand moments.

My novel, Shirts and Skins, continues to do well. I did a number of readings and signings which went quite well.  I also met a lot of great people who connected with the novel (including a naked book club that asked me attend). I also made great strides with my second novel I hope to have complete in the spring  and (hopefully) be out sometime in 2015.  I was also thrilled to have been asked to be a guest on Hamilton Life TV-show to discuss my novel in Hamilton, which was a lot of fun and was top of the list of a CBC article on books set in Hamilton.  Shirts and Skins was also voted one of the “Hottest Reads” for the summer.  As far as travel went this year, I went on yet another cruise in February to see the Caribbean again. and went back to Europe to see Madrid and (for the first time) the incredibly gay Gran Canaria (here are videos plus photos (warning – bare asses). I also launched my website jeffreyluscombe.com. and my YouTube channel (where you can finally see if I lisp or not!). One of the most exciting things to happen this year was being asked to speak to a high school GSA in my old hometown of Hamilton. And of course there was WorldPride in Toronto this year (more bare asses). And let us not forget the incredible World Pride Rainbow. I also did more freelance work for some magazines. Including pieces diverse as LGBT rights in Uganda, LGBT Rights around the world to travel articles on Palm Springs and what guys were reading on my Atlantis gay cruise.

And there were less than grand moments.

First and foremost was, of course, losing my father in November.  But I did have the support of many of you for which I want to thank you all for again.  Any other trials and tribulations seem unimportant in comparison.

“But”, Proust may have asked if he were to drop by this New Years Eve,  “does the Gay Groom still believe in New Years?  Or will he have the New Years of old men.”

“Well, Marcel,” I’d say as I handed him a cognac, “believe isn’t quite the right word.  Instead, I choose to accept the contrived and artificial demarcation of New Years.  Let’s call it a ‘New Years of mature men'”.

I choose to accept New Years because I hope.

And aren’t all those fresh pages in my new red 2015 journal (which one day will prove to be a most scandalous memoir) 364 pages of lined hope?

At the end of Proust’s enormous novel, when his narrator (after squandering year after year of his life and writing potential on frivolous society parties and obsessive love) suddenly discovers that death is imminent, is overcome with the need to write.  In writing, the narrator regains time by folding time – and himself – into the pages of the book.

And on that note, your humble blogger signs off for the year.

The story continues…

Happy New Year!

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

269691_10150366096099112_2136218_n

Jeffrey with a portrait of Proust (Musée d’Orsay)

 

Advertisements

3 Comments

Filed under gay, gay atheist, gay canada, gay Christmas, gay men, gay new years, gay paris, gay toronto, gay wedding, gaygroom, gblt, just married, New Years, proust new years, same-sex marriage

Conception Day

Today is my conception day.

That is the day I was conceived – or the day spermatozoa met ovum and mixed genetically to create the blueprint for your’s truly.   And nine months later (plus a couple of weeks for good measure) your humble blogger was born.  And you know what they say: you can’t make an homelette without breaking an egg  (that’s a bad French pun).

Is it peculiar for one to know their conception day?

The year was 1967 and the world was about to embark on the “Summer of Love”.  Scott McKenzie was telling people to head to San Francisco with flowers in their hair.  But back in my industrial hometown (called ‘Steeltown’ by the locals) I don’t think many folks were wearing flowers.

April 15, 1967 was, of course, a Saturday night and although it would have been exciting to have been conceived in the back of a ’59 Chevy or under a blanket at a Jefferson Airplane concert (my father actually saw Jefferson Airplane once),  I was – simply – conceived in my parents marital bed.  And when I say ‘marital’ I mean in the apartment they were shacked up in at the time.

My parents were not married until 1972 when I was four.  That would make your humble blogger a…

I never really minded being called a ‘bastard’.

This seems like a good spot to quote Edmund’s bastard soliloquy from William Shakespeare’s  King Lear:

…Why brand they us
With base with baseness? bastardy? base base
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
Got ‘tween asleep and wake? Well, then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund
As to the legitimate: fine word,–legitimate!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!     (Act I, Scene II)

But what does my legitimacy/illegitimacy matter now?  After all, my parents are still together after almost 40 years of legal marriage.  And The Gay Groom can’t get too self-righteous since I lived in sin with the Husband for nine years before we got around to getting married.  But then again, marriage between the Husband and I didn’t become legal until a number of years into our relationship.

But I digress.

I wonder if a blog can get anymore self absorbed than to discuss one’s own day of conception?   After all, I wasn’t really there.  And since I am a staunchly pro-choice, I don’t view a fertilized egg as anything other than a fertilized egg.  So why bring it up?

Ironically, in addition to being the fateful day that sperm crashed into egg, it is also the fateful day that the Titanic crashed into the iceberg (April 15, 1912).

Titantic Disaster, April 15, 1912

That’s right, 102 years ago today the the RMS Titanic sank in the North Atlantic at 2:20 a.m., two and a half hours after hitting the iceberg.

1,517 people were killed.

By the way, how many of you knew that your humble blogger once had a affair with someone who was in the film Titanic.  That’s actually a true story.

But only a bastard would kiss and tell.

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

1 Comment

Filed under atheism, atheist, bastard, bastard edmund, blogging, canada, conception, gay, gay atheist, gay blogging, gay groom, gay marriage, gay men, gaygroom, gblt, king lear edmund, summer of love, titanic

Pondering New Years With Marcel Proust

Marcel Proust

In Within a Budding Grove (À l’ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs), the second volume of Marcel Proust’s novel, In Search of Lost Time, the young narrator describes his disillusionment with New Years Day and the moment he discovers that “New Years Day was not a day different from the rest… it’s not the first day of a new world.”

Here Proust’s narrator begins to see that time passes indifferently.  The future does not magically open up on New Years Day; there is no break in the calendar.  There is only the unheeding fluidity of the old days and years that, unknown to the Years themselves, we choose to invest with a different name each January in our attempt to shape and modify them to suit us.  Proust writes:

“I returned home. I had just spent the New Year’s Day of old men, who differ on that day from their juniors, not because people have ceased to give them presents but because they themselves have ceased to believe in the New Year.”

For Proust, loss in the belief in New Years is a loss of hope.

So, as the year come to a close (a random demarcation in the fluidity of days or not) the Gay Groom is spending some time looking back over the past 364.25 days and pondering his successes and (shall we say) non-successes of 2014.

There were many grand moments.

My novel, Shirts and Skins, continues to do well. I did a number of readings and signing including a couple in Provincetown, Montreal, Palm Springs and my first in my Hometown. I also met a lot of great people who connected with the novel. I was also short-listed for a Hamilton Literary Arts Award for the novel which was very exiting (for a first time novelist).  I went on a cruise in January to see the Caribbean for the first time.  I also launched my website jeffreyluscombe.com and started on my second novel which I hope to have finished in the first half of 2014.

And there were less than grand moments.

I did not win the aforementioned award I was short-listed for, my father is still battling Multiple Myeloma and we have had a couple of bad events through the year though he seems to be better right now, the husband had an operation on his knee which took months of recuperation.  Early in the year my asthma was out of control but with some extra medication I was able to get it in check by the end of summer.

“But”, Proust may have asked if he were to drop by this New Years Eve,  “does the Gay Groom still believe in New Years?  Or will he have the New Years of old men.”

“Well, Marcel,” I’d say as I handed him a cognac, “believe isn’t quite the right word.  Instead, I choose to accept the contrived and artificial demarcation of New Years.  Let’s call it a ‘New Years of mature men'”.

I choose to accept New Years because I hope.

And aren’t all those fresh pages in my new red 2014 journal (which one day will prove to be a most scandalous memoir) 364 pages of lined hope?

At the end of Proust’s enormous novel, when his narrator (after squandering year after year of his life and writing potential on frivolous society parties and obsessive love) suddenly discovers that death is imminent, is overcome with the need to write.  In writing, the narrator regains time by folding time – and himself – into the pages of the book.

And on that note, your humble blogger signs off for the year.

The story continues…

Happy New Year!

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

2 Comments

Filed under gay, gay atheist, gay canada, gay Christmas, gay men, gay new years, gay paris, gay toronto, gay wedding, gaygroom, gblt, just married, New Years, proust new years, same-sex marriage

Nearly Everything I Needed to Know About Sex I Learned from “The Sensuous Woman”

The Sensuous Woman by ‘J’

Today everyone and their grandmother – yes, even your grandmother –  is reading Fifty Shades of Grey. But it it is hardly the first book about sex to make the bestseller list…

In my mother’s bedside table, under a bunch of woman’s weekly magazines and an enormous box of Maltesers was a worn copy of  The Sensuous Woman by the anonymous author, “J.”

The subtitle of this 1971 bestseller was “the first how-to book for the female who yearns to be all woman,” but for me, a little gay boy from the east end of Hamilton, it became my own how-to book for the young gay boy who yearns for some inside sexual info on men from a real professional.

In J’s book, she informs the reader that she too led a wretched sex life until the moment in Gimbels bargain basement when she has some kind sexual epiphany among the marked-down merchandise and figured out her own “sensuality program” – which, of course, she now believed should share with others.

Now she is not talking about the type of sexual epiphany some of you may have had in a Sears bathroom… but I digress.

As a boy I would skip past the boring sections in A Sensuous Woman (for example, the section that discussed female self-gratification (turn the page! turn the page!) and the chapters that taught women how to fake an orgasm ‘to make their man happy’ and where J explained why women must wear makeup to bed) and study with great interest the best part of the book: J’s sexual techniques section.

It was here, in the pages of J’s book that I learned that whipped cream can be more fun when smeared on a partner’s fun bits than dabbled on lime Jell-o and how to stimulate a man’s genitals both manually (“using both hands”) and orally (“watch you do not bite your man”) until, as J promised, he literally “went wild.”

In fact, a few years later when I had my first same-sex encounter, I remembered J’s book and, to hide my inexperience and clumsiness, I used her infamous “butterfly flick” technique – with great success, I may add.

As the years passed, your humble blogger utilized (and, dare I say, perfected) many of J’s techniques (this was before your humble blogger met and married the Husband, of course).  And though The Sensuous Woman obviously did not get into the finer details of sex between men, it did give me a starting point  chocked full of the good information this young gay boy was craving.

In later years, “J” would come to be unveiled as female writer, Joan Garrity.  I was a little disappointed when I learned it was actually written by a woman.  I was sure “J” was a Jacob or Jeremiah since they seemed to know their way around the male equipment a tad too well.

But  today I’d like to thank Joan (as can any of those “pre-husband” gents that may be reading this blog).

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

Leave a comment

Filed under gay, gay atheist, gay canada, Gay erotica, gay fiction, gay groom, gay hamilton, gay men, gay toronto, gblt, gblt fiction, queer fiction

Let’s Talk Grindr

This week Paris Hilton made headlines when she said gays were ‘disgusting’ for using the iPhone app Grindr.

Most surprising in the whole affair was that anyone still cared what the aging talentless socialite who seems slightly retarded thinks.

But apparently some do.

So now you may be asking yourself, “what is this Grindr thing?”

Well please allow Your Humble Blogger to fill you in.  Grindr is an app that… well let me quote their own webpage:

“The go-to place for gay, bi, and curious guys to meet, the location-based Grindr is free, fast, and fun. It uses GPS technology in your iPhone or BlackBerry and Wi-Fi in your iPod touch or iPad to determine your exact location and instantly connect you with guys in your area. Simply launch Grindr to see local guys (the closest appear first) and view pictures, stats, and map locations at a tap. It’s that easy. So come on, see who’s available on Grindr.”

Now your humble blogger has been attached for about two or three hundred years now.  No, I’m kidding… I’ve only been with The Husband about a hundred years.

But I have heard from my friends that couples (both straight and gay) are now meeting on the internet (Match dot com, Lifemates etc.).  Thus, it seems to your humble blogger that Grindr is just the logical next step for gay guys to meet new friends for friendship, dating or both.  And though I met my Husband the old fashioned way (he picked me up in a gay bar), I think Grindr and apps like it are actually a good thing.

As E.M. Forster said: “Only connect”.

Intrigued (and for the purposes of investigation for The Gay Groom blog), I created a profile on Grindr (with the full and written consent of The Husband) but, as it turned out, no one sent me a message.  Perhaps it was because I had used my wedding photo in my profile?  Or maybe because I said I was “happily married and just looking about material for my blog”.  But for whatever reason, I was unpopular (it was rather like high school all over again).

There is also an app that is like Grindr but is for the more bearish in the gay community called Scruff.

It works basically the same way as Gridr but has a few more ‘fun’ features like the ability to ‘woof’ (rather like the Facebook poke) at other members and there is also a tool, ‘Would you meet…” where you can say no, maybe or yes.  If you both say ‘yes’ to meeting, then the Scruff app will let you know.

Actually, I was never woofed at on Scruff either.

And since your humble blogger (being not only married but also apparently quite unpopular) could not get any practical experience with either Grindr or Scruff, he must rely on his wonderful readers.

So tell me, have you met anybody on Gridr or Scruff? Was it a good experience?  Would you use it again to meet ‘friends’?  Are they any other apps for gay men out there you would suggest?

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

7 Comments

Filed under atheism, atheist, blogging, gay, gay atheist, gay bears, gay blogging, gay canada, gay daddies, gay fiction, gay groom, gay mature, gay men, gay sex, gay toronto, gay valentine, gblt, grindr, grindr app, same-sex marriage, scruff, scruff app, smartphone, writers, writing

Breathless

Inhale.

What do writers Marcel Proust, John Updike, Ann Radcliffe, Edith Wharton, Dylan Thomas, Samuel Johnson, Djuna Barnes, Elizabeth Bishop and your humble blogger all have in common?

We all had sex with Gore Vidal.

No, that’s not true.  Gore Vidal did not have sex with Samuel Johnson.

The truth is we are all afflicted with asthma.

Asthma is a chronic respiratory condition, in which the airways may unexpectedly and suddenly narrow, often in response to an allergen, cold air, exercise, or emotional stress (in my case all four).  Symptoms include wheezing, shortness of breath, chest tightness, and coughing.

Asthma is rather like knowing that at any moment a boa constrictor could wrap itself around your chest and squeeze.

That’s a good if well-worn (and dare I say homoerotic?) analogy.

An acute asthma attack is terrifying.  An excellent first person account of how horrific an asthma attack can be is found in John Updike’s memoir, Self-Consciousness.   Updike writes:

“An asthma attack feels like two walls drawn closer and closer, until they are pressed together… I thought, This is the last thing I’ll see.  This is death.  The breathless blackness within me was overlaying the visual world.”

An excellent description.

I’ve also tried to write of the horror of the asthma attack.   From my novel, Shirts and Skins:

The first attack happened at night.   It had seized Josh by the throat from out of the darkness, strangling him.  He woke up gasping for air.  I can’t breathe.  Arching his back with his stomach in the air, the boy strained to inhale and a sickening wheezing sound emerged from deep inside him.  His eyes bulged.  The room was dark, except for the glowing orange numbers on the clock radio beside his bed.  1:33.   Pushing himself up on his elbows, Josh gagged and coughed something thick and wet onto the front of his flannel pajama shirt.  His throat opened slightly and he sucked a small amount of air into his lungs murky caverns.  Terrified, Josh tried to call out to his parents sleeping down the hall, but could only choke out another loud wheezing gasp.  His legs kicked out wildly over the faded brown horses printed on his bed sheets until one foot connected hard with the wall beside his bed.  In the living room, on the other side of the wall, something fell with a thud and shattered with the tinkle of a thousand jagged shards onto the hardwood floor.

And does asthma affect the writer’s work?

Some interesting study has recently been done specifically on the asthmatic writer.  Two such writers, Marcel Proust and Elizabeth Bishop, have recently had their work re-examined through their asthmatic symptoms.  In Proust’s case, researchers have at their disposal a large amount of correspondence that details his respiratory illness and treatments.  Relying on such comprehensive information concerning Proust’s health, investigators have attempted to relate Proust’s fiction back to his respiratory illness.  One such example, “Proust’s Prescription: Sickness as the Pre-condition for Writing,” Lois Bragg and William Sayers study how illness, and particularly asthma, manifests as a number of extended similes in Proust’s In Search of Lost Time.

And I once gave (if I do say so myself) a brilliant paper in graduate school on Ann Radcliffe, the grande dame of Gothic fiction who died during an acute asthma attack in 1823, theorizing how she transformed the asthmatic symptoms that tormented her through most of her life (breathlessness, sudden violence, tyranny, nocturnal attacks, suffocation, darkness, constriction etc.) into an abundant collection of dark metaphors that became prototypical Gothic images.

(I specialized in Restoration and 18th Century literature.  You can imagine how useful that is in real life.)

Your humble blogger’s own asthma comes and goes. I take medication everyday in an attempt to limit my asthma symptoms.

Luckily I have times of remission (often lasting months) followed by its inevitable (and at times depressing) return. Though, unfortunately, I never have completely normal lung functions even when in remission.

Like anything, you live to learn with it.

And though living with asthma can be trying, with the likes of Proust and Updike as fellow sufferers,  I am in grand company.  Which makes it a little easier.

Exhale.

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

2 Comments

Filed under asthma, asthmatic writers, blogging, gay, gay atheist, gay canada, Gay erotica, gay fiction, gay groom, gay men, gaygroom, gblt, gblt fiction, John Updike, marcel proust, queer fiction, writers, writing

Nearly Everything I Needed to Know About Sex I Learned from “The Sensuous Woman”

The Sensuous Woman by ‘J’

Today everyone and their grandmother – yes, even your grandmother –  is reading Fifty Shades of Grey. But it it is hardly the first book about sex to make the bestseller list…

In my mother’s bedside table, under a bunch of woman’s weekly magazines and an enormous box of Maltesers was a worn copy of  The Sensuous Woman by the anonymous author, “J.”

The subtitle of this 1971 bestseller was “the first how-to book for the female who yearns to be all woman,” but for me, a little gay boy from the east end of Hamilton, it became my own how-to book for the young gay boy who yearns for some inside sexual info on men from a real professional.

In J’s book, she informs the reader that she too led a wretched sex life until the moment in Gimbels bargain basement when she has some kind sexual epiphany among the marked-down merchandise and figured out her own “sensuality program” – which, of course, she now believed should share with others.

Now she is not talking about the type of sexual epiphany some of you may have had in a Sears bathroom… but I digress.

As a boy I would skip past the boring sections in A Sensuous Woman (for example, the section that discussed female self-gratification (turn the page! turn the page!) and the chapters that taught women how to fake an orgasm ‘to make their man happy’ and where J explained why women must wear makeup to bed) and study with great interest the best part of the book: J’s sexual techniques section.

It was here, in the pages of J’s book that I learned that whipped cream can be more fun when smeared on a partner’s fun bits than dabbled on lime Jell-o and how to stimulate a man’s genitals both manually (“using both hands”) and orally (“watch you do not bite your man”) until, as J promised, he literally “went wild.”

In fact, a few years later when I had my first same-sex encounter, I remembered J’s book and, to hide my inexperience and clumsiness, I used her infamous “butterfly flick” technique – with great success, I may add.

As the years passed, your humble blogger utilized (and, dare I say, perfected) many of J’s techniques (this was before your humble blogger met and married the Husband, of course).  And though The Sensuous Woman obviously did not get into the finer details of sex between men, it did give me a starting point  chocked full of the good information this young gay boy was craving.

In later years, “J” would come to be unveiled as female writer, Joan Garrity.  I was a little disappointed when I learned it was actually written by a woman.  I was sure “J” was a Jacob or Jeremiah since they seemed to know their way around the male equipment a tad too well.

But  today I’d like to thank Joan (as can any of those “pre-husband” gents that may be reading this blog).

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

6 Comments

Filed under gay, gay atheist, gay canada, Gay erotica, gay fiction, gay groom, gay hamilton, gay men, gay toronto, gblt, gblt fiction, queer fiction

World’s Worst Little Hockey Player

Hockey Jeff

To celebrate the start of the Stanley Cup playoffs, a repost of my popular hockey blog:

With visions of NHL hockey contracts dancing in his head, each winter my father would stand out back of our house in the freezing cold and flood our lawn with a garden hose to make my older brothers and me a backyard skating rink.

My dear old dad wanted your humble blogger to be a great hockey player.  He had me on ice-skates before I was two years old.  The logic being, I suppose, that the earlier I was on the ice then the better skater I would become.

Sadly, for him, this was not to be the case.

Unlike my older brothers, I hated hockey. I hated the cold. I hated the big heavy uniform.  And I especially hated how my brother’s hand-me-down ice-skates hurt my feet.  I told my dad that skating for long periods hurt my chest (my asthma not yet being diagnosed) but any protestations I made were dismissed by my father with a shake of his head as he would put those damned skates on my feet at the kitchen table each evening and then have me skate in circles around that backyard ice rink.

“You just need more practice,” he would say as he shoved me out into the cold.

On Saturday nights, he would have me sit in front of our huge Zenith color television and watch “Hockey Night in Canada.”  The little Gay Groom did not like watching hockey anymore than I liked playing it.  The games seemed to go on forever and I never really cared who won or lost.  To pass the time as they skated up and down and up and down and up… I would critique the colors of their uniforms:  loved the purple and gold Kings, hated the brown, yellow and orange Canucks, and decided that the Whalers needed a splash of crimson.

I would wait patiently for the end of the game when the camera would move into the locker-room and someone would put a microphone in the face of a half-naked husky hockey player with a bare chests and long sweaty hair.

In those days your humble blogger really dug those Montreal Canadians with their French accents.  Actually, your humble blogger still does.

When I was seven, the time came for me to join the city boy’s hockey league, just as my brothers had, where I played on a team called the Cardinals.

“Shouldn’t cardinals be in red?” I asked my dad when I saw my green uniform for the first time.

“Stop worrying so much about color,” he said.

And I was hopeless on the ice.  I tripped.  I fell over.  I slid on my face.  And at times I simply gave up and lay on my back staring up at the lights on the ceiling as others skated around me.  The lights are pretty from down here, I thought.

“Get up!” my father yelled from the stands. “For Christ’s sake, skate!”

I didn’t feel like it.

After a few games, I was not put on the ice much and spent most of the game sitting on the bench with Tommy Young who was also a terrible skater (and who, incidentally, I would run into at a gay bar a few years later) and discuss important things like Tiger Beat magazine.  Warming the bench with Tommy was fine by me.

(I should mention at this point that many gay men are great athletes and, particularly, great hockey players… and the Gay Groom’s own rottenness at hockey should be in no way seen as stereotypical of all gay boys.  There are excellent gay hockey players out there – I am just not one of them.)

On the drive home from the neighborhood hockey rink after a Cardinal’s game my dad was always quiet.  He was never one to mask his disappointment well and would look shell shocked as he drove (rather like he did years later when I told him why my roommate and I had rented an apartment with only one bedroom).

“But he was on skates before he was two,” he would say quietly say to himself.

When we got home he would make me put my skates back on and skate circles around the backyard rink in the dark.

“You need more practice,” he said.

One night after he made me go out in the backyard to skate circles I waited until I saw him looking out the kitchen window at me.   Then I stretched out my arms wide at my sides and, in the best Dorothy Hamill imitation my lousy skating skills could muster, I started to do big flamboyant figure eights on the ice.  As my father’s eyes narrowed I even managed to throw in a few tiny little jumps without falling.  The final spin never materialized properly but I still finished with a defiant “TA DA!”

It worked.  He flew outside in a rage running over the ice in his stocking feet and pulling me by the shoulder, threw me through the back door.

My dad never made another backyard ice rink.

And as for your humble blogger’s first and only year playing hockey with The Cardinals?  Now the only reminder I have of that unhappy winter is my team photo.

TA DA!

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

1 Comment

Filed under 1, gay, Gay erotica, gay groom, gay hockey, gay men, gay men toronto, gay men underwear, gay men's hockey, gay sports, gay wedding, gaygroom, gblt, same-sex marriage, sexy gay men

New York State Allows Same-Sex Marriage, Becoming Largest State to Pass Law

Now I love NY even more

Congratulations to New York, your humble blogger’s favourite US State, on the passing of the marriage equality bill last night.

Like many of you, I watched the vote via closed circuit televisoin on net and got a little misty eyed as the vote passed in the Senate 33-29 (with four members of the Republican majority joining all but one Democrat in the Senate in supporting the bill).

One of the most moving speeches of the night was from Senator Mark J. Grisanti, a Republican from Buffalo who had sought office promising to oppose same-sex marriage.  He told his colleagues he had agonized for months before concluding he had been wrong:

“I apologize for those who feel offended,” Mr. Grisanti said, adding, “I cannot deny a person, a human being, a taxpayer, a worker, the people of my district and across this state, the State of New York, and those people who make this the great state that it is the same rights that I have with my wife.”

I think that sums it up.

Soon after the vote, Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo of New York signed a same-sex marriage bill into law in his office at the State Capitol.

Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo of New York signing the same-sex marriage bill into law

This makes (to quote from The New York Times) “New York the largest state where gay and lesbian couples will be able to wed and giving the national gay-rights movement new momentum from the state where it was born.”

Today’s New York Times article

So it’s a happy day (landing on the first day of NYC Pride, no less!) for my NY friends and family.  Now just one quick question:

“When you getting married?”

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

1 Comment

Filed under blogging, cuomo gay marriage, gay, gay blogging, gay canada, gay groom, gay marriage new york, gay wedding, gay wedding photos, gaygroom, New York gay marriage, New York same-sex marriage, ny pride, same sex wedding photos, same-sex marriage, same-sex wedding, wedding, wedding photos

Conception Day

Today is my conception day.

That is the day I was conceived – or the day spermatozoa met ovum and mixed genetically to create the blueprint for your’s truly.   And nine months later (plus a couple of weeks for good measure) your humble blogger was born.  And you know what they say: you can’t make an homelette without breaking an egg  (that’s a bad French pun).

Is it peculiar for one to know their conception day?

The year was 1967 and the world was about to embark on the “Summer of Love”.  Scott McKenzie was telling people to head to San Francisco with flowers in their hair.  But back in my industrial hometown (called ‘Steeltown’ by the locals) I don’t think many folks were wearing flowers.

April 15, 1967 was, of course, a Saturday night and although it would have been exciting to have been conceived in the back of a ’59 Chevy or under a blanket at a Jefferson Airplane concert (my father actually saw Jefferson Airplane once),  I was – simply – conceived in my parents marital bed.  And when I say ‘marital’ I mean in the apartment they were shacked up in at the time.

My parents were not married until 1972 when I was four.  That would make your humble blogger a…

I never really minded being called a ‘bastard’.

This seems like a good spot to quote Edmund’s bastard soliloquy from William Shakespeare’s  King Lear:

…Why brand they us
With base with baseness? bastardy? base base
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
Got ‘tween asleep and wake? Well, then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund
As to the legitimate: fine word,–legitimate!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!     (Act I, Scene II)

But what does my legitimacy/illegitimacy matter now?  After all, my parents are still together after almost 40 years of legal marriage.  And The Gay Groom can’t get too self-righteous since I lived in sin with the Husband for nine years before we got around to getting married.  But then again, marriage between the Husband and I didn’t become legal until a number of years into our relationship.

But I digress.

I wonder if a blog can get anymore self absorbed than to discuss one’s own day of conception?   After all, I wasn’t really there.  And since I am a staunchly pro-choice, I don’t view a fertilized egg as anything other than a fertilized egg.  So why bring it up?

Ironically, in addition to being the fateful day that sperm crashed into egg, it is also the fateful day that the Titanic crashed into the iceberg (April 15, 1912).

Titantic Disaster, April 15, 1912

That’s right, 99 years ago today the the RMS Titanic sank in the North Atlantic at 2:20 a.m., two and a half hours after hitting the iceberg.

1,517 people were killed.

By the way, how many of you knew that your humble blogger once had a affair with someone who was in the film Titanic.  That’s actually a true story.

But only a bastard would kiss and tell.

Jeffrey, The Gay Groom

2 Comments

Filed under atheism, atheist, bastard, bastard edmund, blogging, canada, conception, gay, gay atheist, gay blogging, gay groom, gay marriage, gay men, gaygroom, gblt, king lear edmund, summer of love, titanic