FOR OUR SISTERS:

Geneviève Bergeron,

Hélène Colgan,

Nathalie Croteau,

Barbara Daigneault,

Anne-Marie Edward,

Maud Haviernick,

Maryse Laganière,

Maryse Leclair,

Anne-Marie Lemay,

Sonia Pelletier,

Mchèle Richard,

Annie St-Arneault,

Annie Turcotte,

Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz

Died; December 6, 1989

Montreal, Quebec

A warning: This post plays into stereotypes of both gay and straight men.  I really don’t care. 

I remember watching the news last Sunday night, when a picture of murder victim Christopher Skinner came on the screen, and thinking “he was gay”.  Sure enough, I woke up to media reports about a gay man being beaten and run over by a SUV.  His friends and family immediately questioned whether this was a hate crime.  I am never one to jump to conclusions, so I was skeptical.  That was before the family released more pictures.  That was before we learned that he lived with his fiancé and their dog, Lucy.  That was before the prime suspect was described as wearing a black undershirt and having a “military style haircut”.  There’s little doubt in my mind now; if this incident didn’t start as a hate crime (it probably did),  the driver knew he was killing a queer man.

 Chris’ funeral was Thursday.  According to the Star, his sister spoke of all of the silliness the two of them got up to and his friend said that he was the life of the party.  To be clear, I never met Chris.  Two images come to mind though; him and his sister dancing around the living room, and a guy who couldn’t go ten minutes on Pride Sunday without being hugged.  All of the pictures of Chris show an attractive, well dressed, well groomed man: a gay man.  This wasn’t a “masculine”, “straight acting” guy.  This was an out-and-proud gay man.  I know it, you know it, and his killers knew it.  I can’t understand why the police aren’t naming what is obvious.

 Like many of you, I am attending the vigil for Chris in the village tonight.  I already know I will end up crying and have been reflecting on why over the weekend.  After  all, I’m a news junky; murders never affect me.  The answer is painfully simple; I look at the pictures of Chris and I see my friend K.F.’s poise, D.S. calling himself princess, S.W.’s often changing hair colour.  I see me.  I don’t want to take away from Chris’ death and the hell his family is going through.  The reality though is I’ve been reminded of how vulnerable we are all as gay men.  My biggest hope is that Church Street is mobbed tonight.  Together, we can say that homophobia is not tolerated in our city. 

 One of my heroes, Scottish poet Robert Burns, wrote:

 Then let us pray that come it may
(as come it will for a’ that)
That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth
Shall bear the gree an’ a’ that
For a’ that an’ a’ that
It’s coming yet for a’ that
That man to man, the world o’er
Shall brithers be for a’ that.

 Let it be.  Let it be. 

Yesterday was an odd day for me.  I didn’t go home to go to London for Thanksgiving because my parents are going to be here for a medical appointment tomorrow.  The plan was to celebrate the holiday a day late and in a hospital cafeteria.  Classy, eh?  The plan changed on Wednesday afternoon, when I got word that my friend, Gary, had died in Waterloo.  His funeral is tomorrow, in his hometown.  I won’t see my biological family for the holiday, but I will reunite with my “Waterloo family” during dinner tonight and when some of us make the drive to the funeral.

Gary was one of my attendants in Waterloo; someone who helped me get dressed, eat, do the laundry, etc. I have a close relationship with all of my attendants.  You can’t help but get close; they come to know everything from how you like your steak, to what kind of underwear you wear.  Gary was different though; he was gay too, and like me, someone who was going to become a university professor.  So, despite an almost twenty year age difference, we became very close.  He was the only older, queer man I knew during my first few years as an openly gay man.  He told me stories about the early queer scene in Kitchener and sat with me when I was heartbroken.

Yesterday was also International Coming Out Day and I was reflecting on how Gary impacted my queer identity.  So, there I was last night with my single lamb chop; a bit lonely, yet with a great feeling of being surrounded by people who I love, sad that we lost a friend far too soon, yet rejoicing in all that he was.  I guess I was reminded of life’s paradoxes last night and was thankful for it.

I was arrested this week and charged with sexual assault, all because of a stupid night.  I decided to go to a club and see if I could pick someone up; I hadn’t had sex all summer and I just needed to shag.  I met Robert at the bar.  He was pretty drunk (so was I), but I could see that he had a great chest and God, I wanted him!  An hour later, he was lifting me out of my wheelchair, into bed, and taking my pants off.  He said that he didn’t want me to wear a condom and I agreed.  Why the fuck was I such an idiot?  Read the full story

If you picked up the last issue of Xtra, you may have read the delicious Michael Pihach’s editorial about the ongoing closure of Crews and Tango. Michael explains that he couldn’t find out why the bar closed, let alone who actually owns it.  It turns out that rumours that the old house will be torn down to make way for condos are unfounded; the lot isn’t big enough.  So, Michael says, it’s time for the owner to speak up and explain what’s happening.

I never went to Crews and Tango.  The stairs at the front door kind of got in the way.  Read the full story

I had my mum staying with me for a week recently, because my dad had to come to the city for surgery.  Now, my parents live in London; a city that prides itself on its medical community.  So, you can imagine how serious Dad’s operation was if he had to have it done here.  I thought Mum and I would be pretty stressed by week’s end and that we would deserve a night on the town.  Of course, Church Street is one of my favourite neighbourhoods.  It was only natural that Mum and I would hit the village.  Read the full story

Me, lapping it up in the parade. Thanks to my friend, Jesse Calvert, for the pic.

It takes everyone a while to recover from Pride, and I’m no different. I didn’t stop partying from the Thursday night to Sunday. So, I was an absolute zombie on Monday. Physically, I’m feeling fine now, but this is the second or third year where it has taken me the week to emotionally recover and to stop beating myself up for what I didn’t do.

Read the full story

I’m already getting choked up writing this.

The Nazi regime sent several groups to the gas chambers. Among them were people with disabilities, queers, and socialists. I am an openly gay man with a disability who has an active and public life in left-of-centre politics and the labour movement. In other words, I would have been gassed three times over in nazi Germany. That’s not to mention the governments and people today who would lock me up in an institution because of my disability or stone me because I love people of the same sex. Read the full story

We met at a party and quickly became friends. I immediately had the hots for him. I had asked him out earlier in the year but he said he just wanted to be friends. It was an August night and we went to see the movie Hairspray. We were walking home and I just couldn’t take it anymore; I wanted him. I wanted to be with him, even if it was just for the night. I told him and he reluctantly agreed to come up to my apartment. Read the full story

It has been a bit of a busy week for me, but I wanted to share some thoughts about last week’s American Idol finale, before we’re on to the next manufactured piece of art. Read the full story