The rolodex of random thoughts

The first time I ever heard the phrase, “Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion” (or DEI) came through some online discussions and articles in the SCA. When I first heard it, I’ll admit, I was not a fan. To me, it sounded more like a person-in-search-of-a-project than something that was actually needed. After all – as a gay man in the SCA, I’ve been pretty darned successful. Are things perfect? No. But they are ever improving. So why mess with the system if it was already working, right?

Well…it’s not that easy. It never is.

This is why I find it important – REALLY important – to not become complacent with my own experiences and my own perceptions. Just because (insert some negative experience) never happened to me, doesn’t mean the same for the individual across the room. And as I began to listen – really listen – to the people who were describing their negative experiences in life, it continued to open my eyes. The patterns… the subtle ways in which things were systematically designed to give advantage to some and not others… the repeated history... similar stories told over and over by different faces from different times. Around this time, I started to turn more and more towards news sources that taught history – our history – no, not the history I learned in High School – but the things that happened to the everyday average person – a person who doesn’t look like me – and the different perspective was nothing less than shocking!

There was so much I had not been taught. Heck, as a Florida high school student in the 80’s taking A.P. American History in eleventh grade, there really wasn’t a mention about Florida as far as the civil war was concerned. It seemed to be something that happened further up north. There was no mention about Seminoles, the indigenous people of Florida, and the wars. Nothing. It was all about the Europeans who came to Florida onwards. It wasn’t until MUCH later that I learned much of the dark history of where I grew up. I learned about a town – an entire TOWN – that had been burned to the ground by white people in Rosewood in the 1920s. I never knew about Marianna – the former juvenile hall where they have been unearthing skeletons (at least 55 so far) of (mostly African American) boys who went “missing” while being both physically and sexually tortured at the facility. Heck, it wasn’t until very recently that I learned about the African American cemetery that was erased and built over by a modern office complex (where I used to work, FFS!)

There is more. There is much, much more. There is more that I know. There is even more that I’m sure that I do NOT know. But it is important to keep learning, growing, and to develop empathy and the ability to listen.

If you are still on the fence as to whether or not DEI discussions are useful, ask yourself – why are the extremist right-wing politicians out there so incredibly scared of “woke” people?

Because they know that the biggest threat to their façade comes from people who are educated with the full story – not just the pretty and shiny bits. “Woke” is not a boogieman. It is truth.

Fight the façade.

Three years ago, despite the lies being spouted by T**** and his sycophants, we learned about a world-wide pandemic, the likes of which we had not seen in quite some time. Comparing it to HIV or the Influenza epidemics of history, nobody really had an idea what we were in for. Every single one of us was at risk of catching a potentially deadly disease. Yet, there were SOOOOOO many armchair experts, spouting misinformation, lies, and a complete disregard for science and medicine.

For my part, I tried – I REALLY, REALLY TRIED – to remain civil, and to share accurate information. Working for County health care, I had some good insights into what was going on locally. And as I saw the numbers rising, it was clear to see that we were approaching our cap in terms of hospital beds. And because of my real-world training, I know what that means. There isn’t a magical solution. Hospitals cannot just “create” more beds, more equipment, more doctors, and more care management. Medical professionals began to scream that they needed more help and more resources. I worked furiously at my job suddenly having to source supplies that I had never heard of just to help. And I worried so much when I saw different areas of the country hit and exceed their capacity – meaning many would die simply because they couldn’t even be seen. And here in Orange County – a very densely populated and advanced county, we came close – DANGEROUSLY CLOSE – to hitting our capacity. Yet, I too began to feel the vilification from people who either “Just didn’t want to hear about it”, or those who thought I was blowing things out of proportion. And yes, I am still so ANGRY about this, and I can’t just “let it go” – or at least I haven’t yet been able to – even with therapy.

More than any other single thing I have personally experienced in my life, Covid really taught me something. The masks came off (pun fully intended). And I really got to see with my own eyes that people were falling into one of two categories – those who saw the big picture who also cared about the well-being of others; and those whose only concern was about themselves – THEIR freedoms, or THEIR liberties, or THEIR rights to walk around without a mask in every location - everybody else be damned.

NOBODY wanted to have close-downs!
NOBODY wanted to have to isolate!
NOBODY wanted ANY of that!

But there were many who realized we had to just suck it up because the enemy was the disease, not the government. And then there were those who acted like petulant children, who wouldn’t do a single thing they were advised to do. And the infections spread. How many people with high-risk health died unnecessarily because of the “I don’t give a damn about anybody else” attitudes? Had it not been for the vaccine, who can even imagine how much worse it would have gotten?

I lost people. I lost incredibly dear people to the disease. But I also lost people because I saw who they really are – purely selfish and uncaring. And while I can “agree to disagree” with people over many issues, this is one where I cannot just forgive and forget. Selfishness caused other people to suffer.

So now we are technically past the emergency. The disease IS still out there and IS still a risk, though not as much as it once was, thanks to science, immunization, and enough people being smart. But the damage has been done, and there is no going back. In this nation right now, we are still divided. I don’t want to say that we are divided between red and blue, because those are just colors. What I see is a division between those who care about others versus those who only care about themselves. Right now, we are living in a topsy-turvey reality that is going backwards. Every day, I read about more and more people’s basic rights as Americans being ripped away because a minority want to impose their way-of-life on all. Women’s basic rights are being ripped away. LGBTQI+ rights are being ripped away. Heck, anybody who isn’t Christian (or more likely POSING as a Christian), are treated like crap. (Gee, I wonder what Jesus would think of that?) And that is not something I can just ignore – nor would I want to.

Until the day comes that T**** and his group of lying sycophants are driven out of the public limelight, we are still in danger in this nation. Lies don’t just have consequences – they have already caused a tremendous amount of damage, getting a little bit worse day by day, until there is a reconning.

I am not ok. I have not been ok since I first began seeing this with my own eyes. And I don’t think I will be ok until this is all over. I have pulled back from so many things, so many people, so many activities, and even from doing something simple like blogging. Why? Because I have become so disenchanted with particular people whom I used to admire, respect, and like.

The damage is done. There is no going back. There is only forward momentum. And I am afraid of what is to happen next.

Indulge me for just a moment. Are you married? If so, please look down at your wedding ring. Really look at it. Does your ring show any distinct features? For instance, if you dropped your ring into a pile of others jewelry, could you find YOUR ring scattered among all the golden shiny?

My wedding ring started out like many others – shiny and sparkly in the jeweler’s case, waiting to become part of a sacred bond. Eighteen years later, my ring has lost much of its original sparkle. It is fairly beat up with the wear and tear of daily living. It has a few divots developed from keeping the beat of a good song on the radio while driving along in the California sun. It has become somewhat dull from the many projects I have worked on over the years, worn down by toil. Like an extension of me, it reflects the good days, the not-so-good-days, and everything else in between. Yet uniquely, my ring also carries with it two inscribed dates. One of those dates, December 4, 2004; records the very happy day that we spoke our vows before so many friends and family in Paul’s church. The other date, March 8, 2004; reflects a very different milestone in terms of our relationship. It reflects a time when the concept of two people of the same gender becoming married was simply out of the question, still denied because of ignorance and homophobia. Yet, thanks to the rebellious nature of Gavin Newsom, then governor of San Francisco, we saw the unnecessary restrictions yanked off of marriage licenses. And with the doors thrown open, we took advantage.

2004 seemed like such a crazy dream, really. On that Thursday, March 4th; my hubby and I were talking about what was happening in San Francisco. It was impossible to focus on work. I was just too excited by what was happening. It was then that my hubby, the eternal enabler, said to me, “Ya know… there’s no reason we can’t make an appointment and go up there.” It seemed crazy. But one thing about me and Paul – we aren’t simply talkers. We take action. When presented with an opportunity to be a part of history, we jumped at it. So before hanging up the phone with my hubby, we made a plan. We would both try to call San Francisco City Hall to make a marriage appointment. And in the unlikely event that we managed to get an appointment, we would head north.

Over the next few hours, I tried to call in. Over and over, I hit a busy signal. From all over the nation, same-gender couples were trying to schedule this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I was beginning to think it was a pipedream that would never amount to anything. Just as I was about to give up, I noticed my hubby calling me on the other line. Somehow, he had gotten through, and managed to make an appointment for the following Monday, March 10th! Gulp!!!! We did it! We actually did it! So as soon as he verified this, I walked down the corridor to my boss’s office. “I know this is kinda last minute,” I said to him. “But we got in and we want to go up to San Francisco to get married.” My boss didn’t answer at first. Instead, he jumped up out of his chair to come over to give me a huge hug, offer congratulations, and assure me that I could take whatever time I needed. Gulp! This was really happening!!!! Over the course of the next few hours, we booked a B&B in the Castro and had our tickets scheduled.

Even as the plane took off, I just couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening?????????????? I needed a sign. So as I turned on the in-flight entertainment, Kylie Minogue began to sing as coverage of her latest concert began to show. It was a very good sign!!!!!!!!! Yet, I still had my worries. I spent the entire weekend fighting nervousness and anxiety. We knew for a fact that some people were desperately trying to shut things down. And we didn’t want to miss the boat. On the Sunday before our appointment, we made a trial run of the Muni system to see exactly how much time it would take to get from our B&B to City Hall. When we came up to see City Hall, my heart sunk. Out in front of city hall, an ugly mass of people gathered to yell and scream vitriol about how gays are going to hell, along with all the usual sophomoric filth. I felt sick to my stomach. Were we really going to have to fight our way through a bunch of protesters just to get married??? This was just so unfair! WTF had I ever done to any of these people? They didn’t even know us! How would THEY like it if I just showed up on their wedding day to voice discontent???

Sigh.

Like in so many other instances, we had a choice – give up or fight. Picking ourselves up by the bootstraps, we held our heads high and focused. We knew how long it would take to get to City Hall. We had our appointment. And the protesters simply weren’t invited.

On Monday morning, I made a very early walk down to the little flower-shop at the end of our block. There, I picked up a matching pair of green carnation boutonnieres to wear (head nod to Oscar Wilde), before returning to the B&B to put on suit and tie to eventually walk down the street with my hubby, hand in hand, to get our license. So much of the specifics of the day I just don’t remember very well. Between the chaos of the city, emotions running high, the crush of people in City Hall, and the general sense of emotional overwhelm; I don’t really remember much until we stood looking into each other’s eyes in the central rotunda as a city official happily and proudly pronounced us, “spouses for life.”

Hearing those words seemed incredibly surreal to me. Having been married to a woman in my previous chapter, I never felt like we had the connection that I have with Paul. And even if I didn’t get the chance to be married ever again, I preferred being with him than to unhappily live in a “traditional” marriage. So to have this opportunity again was not something I ever expected in this lifetime.

Yet, it was to be short-lived.

Two days later, on the 10th of March, the courts ordered same-gender marriages to be put on hold until the courts could decide what to do. In fact, I even met the first people to be turned down – and it was crushing. Meanwhile, 4,033 same gender married couples now sat in limbo. We were married. We had licenses. But would the courts uphold them?

A couple of months of legal limbo went by before the day came that a form letter arrived in the mail indicating that our marriage had been invalidated by the courts. Please think about that for a moment and let it sink in - a FORM LETTER. A form letter told me that my marriage had been dissolved.

We know how things went since that time. And yes, my husband and I were married (yet AGAIN) in a civil ceremony, giving us yet another date to try and remember. Yet, just when I thought this battle might finally be over, we are under attack yet again. Justice Thomas, (the most hypocritical Uncle Tom that I’ve ever seen in my life!), openly stated that he thinks the courts need to revisit things like GLBT protections. And it makes my heart just sink.

I am already on an emotional and energy low after what the courts did to Roe vs. Wade. Even though this decision doesn’t impact me directly, it hits me hard. I know what it is like to have a fundamental right taken away. I know what it is like to be put in a box by complete strangers and denied the same equality that somebody right next to me can have. I know what it is like to feel unvalued by society. I know what it is like to have a basic right yanked out from under me by something as impersonal as a form letter. And I know what it is like to have virtue signaling christianists try and impose their lifestyle and values on me. I have marched in support of women’s rights. I have marched in support of BLM and others who are downtrodden and in need of assistance. And the miles have taken their toll. I am so very tired of having to keep fighting just to be able to live my life in peace!

Look again at your wedding ring. Now imagine a group of strangers storming into your home to violently yank it off of your hand. That is my fear. And that is the constant feeling that I have looming over my head every single minute of every single day. So no, I can’t just “Agree to Disagree.” No, I can’t just “don’t worry, be happy.” Basic rights are under attack in this nation. And when one of us is threatened, ALL of us are threatened.

I stand for women’s rights to their own body autonomy, damnit!!!!!
I stand for religious freedom (which includes freedom FROM religion)!
I stand for equality!

But right now, I’m just too tired to stand.

Fresh off of Kingdom Pentathlon, I am still exhausted from judging, but feeling a lot of inspiration. The quality of entries in this competition was quite staggering, and I don’t say that lightly. I don’t know if it was a matter of having that extra year thanks to the pandemic (not really “ thanks”, since Covid can SUCK IT!), but all in all, the entries were not only high quality, but very different than what I have judged in the past. I saw a lot of entries from different cultures, and sources that I have not previously seen used. And I learned new things! YEAH!

Pentathlon is not perfect. NO arts competition ever is. They can’t be because they involve a lot of moving parts, a lot of people at different levels, and most importantly – volunteers. I know that putting together an entry for an arts competition takes a lot of effort. It also takes a lot to run such events and to make things work. Are mistakes made? Well, yes. People ain’t perfect. Score sheets can blow off of a table. Timing can run over. Judges may clash. And sometimes, people just have a bad day. But when all is said and done, I think it best to focus on the positive, be stingy with criticism, and generous with praise. This might sound a bit Polyannaish of me, or maybe naïve. But it is based upon decades of involvement and experience on both sides with events such as this. And to give you all a bit of a context, I would like to tell you a story…

Many years ago, in a kingdom far away, Lord Giuseppe (my AoA circlet was still bright and new and shiny) loved arts competitions. I was learning to enter, but also liked to help out in running them. For several competitions in a row, I assisted in the registration process, handed out paperwork, provided direction, etc. One year, the Kingdom A&S officer had changed over, but the competition was still going to be run the same way. Like previous years, I planned to show up to the event to volunteer to help make things go. I was not part of the staff. I was not an officer. I had absolutely no official role. On that Friday, I showed up on-site that evening, and walked into the hall ready to meet with the A&S officer to discuss the plan. The officer was not there. Uh… that was weird. Most of the time, people got their entry sheets on Friday night to fill out so as not to be in a frantic state on Saturday. Luckily, I just happened to have some spare copies of the forms with me. I figured the officer was just running late.

But no… way into the wee morning hours, she didn’t show up.

Early the next morning, I got up early, got dressed, and left my cabin to head to the hall. Still no A&S officer! Still no STUFF! People were showing up, and setting up. But there was nobody there to actually run things. “CRAP!” I thought to myself. Again, pulling out the rest of the extra sheets that I had, I dove behind the registration table. I had not even had breakfast yet, and never would get the chance. It was chaos. I did not have enough forms, so I taped a “master” copy to the table, and started telling people to just note what information would be needed, and they would just write on a blank sheet of paper what they needed to do. I scrounged around for every pen and pencil I could find. People were annoyed (and I don’t blame them), but they made it work. A couple of hours later, an hour after judging started, the A&S officer showed up – cool as a cucumber – and said, “wow. Things seem to work so smoothly, I guess I didn’t have to rush to get here.”

I… Was… Pissed! I was so pissed, I couldn’t say anything. I just walked away. She was a peer. I was not. And I had the feeling if I had said anything, it would have been bad.

I made it to the other side of the room, only to be confronted by a woman that I did not know who chewed me out. Why? Because the competition had been so chaotic and the registration process had been so screwy. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She was angry and that was all there was to it. “But…” I would try to say. But no. She finished chewing me out, and then stormed out of the hall.

I felt very defeated. But there was no time for that. I had other duties to perform. You see, I was also at the time in charge of the Kingdom feast server’s guild. And after the competition, we would have feast. That involved breaking down the hall, setting up the hall again, and serving feast.

Did I mention that feast was being prepared NOT in the same building, but rather in the building down the hill?

I got the feast server crew together, and worked out the logistics. I had set up the main hall, and knew what we were in for. But low and behold, there was no equipment to get food from point A to point B. Nothing. We had ONE cart – which we would use to transport the heavy items. But otherwise, we would have to carry food from one building to another. OK, this was a beastly concept. But we were all young, wirey, and ready to work.

Did I mention that this was Florida in the summertime, and when it rains in Florida, it is Biblical in its nature?

Just as we were about to move from building A to building B, the heavens opened up. So we waited. And we waited. It was not going to stop. So after 20 minutes, I made the judgment call. “If you don’t want to get wet, I understand. But people are hungry, and we NEED to get food up there. Whose with me?” Luckily, my whole crew had my back. So we trudged out into the rain with food. And we served the masses. By the time we got up there, we were soaked to the skin. But the food was wonderful.

Towards the end of feast, another woman that I didn’t know took it upon herself to tell me how upset her husband, the head cook, was because some of the dishes got cold by the time we got it up to the hall. She didn’t seem to understand that I had no control over either rain or the distance between the halls. But one thing was certain – she was angry and felt that I needed to know.

When all was said and done, I sat down at my place at feast. (Note that I had not had time to eat for the entire day at this point), and I just sat there with my head down feeling defeated while my friends talked around me. Finally, one of my friends looked at me and said, “you look really tired. How was your day?” That’s when it hit. Tears began to well up in my eyes, and my chest tightened. I really did not want to cry in front of everybody. But as calmly as I could, I told them about my day, and then said I was done and going to leave. Looking back, I don’t quite know what I meant by that, but I really think I was going to leave the event and never come back to another one.

By this point, the rain had stopped (finally!!!!) and I walked back to the cabin to pack up my things. There in the cabin, alone, I cried my eyes out until I felt better. Then I began to pack. Just then, I heard quickened footsteps and a loud voice – “Is Giuseppe in here?” I knew the voice. It was a laurel that I knew – not well, but just enough to know the voice. “Oh no,” I thought to myself. “Am I about to get chewed out yet AGAIN for something?????”

He came over to where I was packing, and asked me to sit down and talk with him. He told me that he had been made aware of everything that I had been through that day. He told me that, on behalf of the laurels, he was apologizing for the treatment that I had received while trying my best to run a competition where another laurel had completely dropped the ball. He told me how unacceptable it was that I had been treated so poorly. He also told me that he really appreciated me for everything I had done to help make the event happen, because in his words, I really was the one who made the entire event happen. Again, I started to cry. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say. I was just so emotionally overwhelmed.

years… decades later… I bring this story up not to emphasize the crappy way that some people behave, but rather the importance of a little bit of kindness. And that day, I told myself, “If I ever become a peer, I am going to try my hardest to be the peer who goes over and above to show people kindness and appreciation.” That is what was shown to me, and that is what I want to always encourage of others.

In the SCA, at the end of the day, who are we? We are people – just people – warts and all. We are a group of volunteers. We are a group of geeks. We are a bunch of misfit toys who like each other’s company and are united by a common interest in history and what history has to offer. But no matter where we are on the artificially constructed class structure, we are all capable of kindness. And kindness is not limited to any particular level. So when things don’t work out, please remember that people are human. If you are upset, your feelings are just that – YOUR feelings and very real. And I encourage you to talk about them – particularly with those who can help make a difference. If you have suggestions, please make them. And if you feel like you are getting the door slammed in your face, talk to me.

I understand. I’ve been there. I know how much it can hurt. But I also know that a little bit of kindness and appreciation can heal a lot of wounds. So please, let’s look at the positive, and let’s take the problems and work to turn them into non-problems – not just for us, but for those who have yet to discover this incredibly wonderful game of ours.

At the end of the day, the ONLY thing that matters is kindness.

It’s been a while since I have done a philosophical SCA post. Obviously, the pandemic has a lot to do with that, with events being shut down for so long. But there’s more than that… a LOT more. And at this point, I need some help and could use some encouragement, kindness, and inspiration as I look to the future.

It’s been over thirty years – 33 actually – that I have been playing this game. And when I say that, I mean I have played non-stop – not just a dabble here and there, but NON-STOP since 1989. What can I say? When I found my tribe and my fellow history geeks who love to learn; I dove right in and have never regretted it. Even when I moved from Trimaris, I stepped down from one set of offices and then stepped up into others. “But that’s insane!” you might think to yourself. And who knows – maybe it is. But that is kinda how I am programmed. I don’t have a “medium” setting. I don’t simmer particularly well. The burner is either ON or OFF. And in my paranoid little overthinking brain, I have always worried about the day that I slowed down or stopped. Would I be able to get started again? Annoyingly, I feel like I am now facing this question. After being forced to shut down during the pandemic, even though I pushed myself to keep doing projects, I find myself at the point where I can’t get going with anything else. Even doing a simple day-trip event feels like it is Such A Major Task! And I find myself feeling heavily weighed down with what I know rationally to be the simplest of to-do’s.

But why?

It isn’t because I have lost interest in history or projects. It isn’t because I don’t want to challenge myself to continue to learn and refine my skills. It isn’t because I ever grow tired of watching as other artists learn and create and make progress. It isn’t even the “peopling”.

So what’s the deal? A lot of things, truthfully. I have many things on my mind, and a lot of things that are Really Bothering Me after a long time of thinking about them. I am hoping that by putting down the words, it will help me figure out how to move forward. So here goes…

“The Never-Ending Bitch Squad” – I know the SCA isn’t perfect. How could it be when it consists of people? But like anything else, it is what we make of it – key word – WE. If WE want change, then guess what? WE have to work towards that change – not just the grown-ups. Don’t bitch that “the old-timers won’t let us do anything different.” I’m right here and have ALWAYS been an advocate of keeping the door open to dialogue and change. But for cryin’ out loud, I’m thoroughly FED UP with the people out there who either stay on the fringe or have left the SCA in a huff, only to continue to bitch about how it is a horrible group because of X,Y, and/or Z. I’m not going to tell anybody what their personal experience is, nor am I going to tell anybody how to feel about their experiences. Rather, I’m going to say this. If the SCA makes you miserable, then find something that makes you happy instead! But if your joy comes from just bitching and whining and complaining about the SCA (particularly under the safe umbrella of side groups that on the surface are supposed to be about making progress) then you are not helping – you are trolling. I don’t wish you any ill-will or harm. Rather, I wish you would go find your bliss somewhere else that makes you happy.

“Bullies” – Having been bullied for my entire life (hello… gay guy who was also the fat kid in class), I know how mentally (and physically) damaging bullies can be. More as a favor to my own self, I learned to stand up to bullies and not put up with their crap. Social Media has made it so incredibly easy for people to bully others, and I find it disgusting. And the worst part is just how many different versions of bullies have developed. I’ve seen newer people who use super manipulative tactics to try to get everybody else to either do things their way or do things for them (not cool). I have seen men who look and act the part of the kind and chivalrous medieval lord, but have done some truly atrocious things, only for those who are blinded by the façade to say, “Oh no. Certainly not him. You are horrible for even thinking such things!” Not to focus only on the men, I have also seen women who have played the helpless, vulnerable thang to boo-hoo over the way that a man treats them – even when the man is calling the woman out for disgustingly EVIL behavior. Frankly, I don’t care WHO you are, HOW long you’ve been around, WHAT your title is, or how many times you have sat a throne in different kingdoms – if you are a lying, deceitful, manipulative horrid excuse for a human being – I don’t want you near me or mine. And I won’t sit by silently either as I watch you pull your stunts!

“Fatigue” – I’m in my mid-50’s. And the ugly truth is that I am no longer in my mid-20’s, full of energy, and feeling immortal. I think right around this birthday is when I truly started to feel like I was getting older. It isn’t the silver hair. It isn’t any type of weird mid-life crisis. It is the physical aches and pains that I never used to have. It is the fact that I get so damned tired and winded so quickly nowadays. It is the fact that my physical strength just is not there like it once was. I realize that I am officially “over the hill”. But I didn’t know or expect that over the hill would mean “going downhill”. I’m not doing great with this.

“Expectations” – I have high expectations in this game. And I’m harder on myself than on anybody. I’m certainly not perfect and am always working on getting better. Hopefully with every event, I may have learned something new, tried a new recipe, sewn something, etc. Frankly, that’s what I want of everybody in the game. With each and every event, I want to see everybody do just a little bit more – get a little bit better – practice something more, etc. But recently, and I do mean RECENTLY, I have seen and heard quite a number of people complain that expectations are too high, emphasizing that back when this game began, we didn’t have such expectations. Not to be rude or flip, but…. DUH! Of COURSE the game has grown since 1966! YES, we have higher expectations! We have WAY more resource, more research, more interest, more availability, more networking… FFS we have the INTERNET! A ton of things have, in fact, changed our game and continue to change our game. You better damned well believe the expectations have risen! I can see arguments saying to maybe slow down or keep expectations in check and at a reasonable level. OK, I’m good with that. But when somebody argues with me that it is time to lower the bar, that is when I lower the boom.

“Giuseppe, you have opinions” – yes. Yes I do. Hi. My name is Joe. And I have opinions. I’m from the east coast, where we say to your face what we think. I don’t mind discussion. I don’t mind disagreeing – particularly if the disagreement leads to education and perhaps compromise or an evolving opinion. But one thing that has seriously chomped away at my joy is the rudeness I have encountered from those who have ascribed ill-intent at my posts. Thus, I have been very quiet in recent times. Very simply, I ask questions. I come up with ideas. I seek thoughts. Sometimes when I throw out an idea or concept – it is just that. I don’t intend to rush out the following day to do the thing – I am just seeking input. Often, the input is favorable. Sometimes, the input is not favorable. And to be clear, I have no problem with unfavorable input. Heck, when I come up with a concept, it is from my own viewpoint. As much as I try, I can’t see every situation from every angle. So when you see something I don’t, I’m absolutely fine with you pointing it out. But FFS, there is zero excuse to either go for my jugular for expressing an opinion, or assuming I am bringing up an idea for some malicious reason. Again, I have held gods know how many offices, sat in very formal positions, have advised I don’t know how many sets of royals, have contributed towards the culture and overall look and feel of more than one kingdom, and have helped to avert more than a few potential disasters which I will not discuss. Why do some people still act like I have some sort of hidden agenda or dark plan? I feel like I have to defend myself, sometimes. Let’s get real here. I’m not seeking awards or public recognitions. There’s really nothing left that a crown could give to me or my husband. We have done things nobody else has done, and have more titles, scrolls, recognitions, jewelry, and meetings than any sane person could deal with. Wanna know my motivation? I want to give back. I want to give people a hand, a voice, and a consideration. I want to see the game grow and evolve and explore different concepts and aspects of history. I want to empower ideas and thoughts. The ONLY time I intentionally stir a pot is when I am cooking. And know this – I find it incredibly insulting and a complete mischaracterization to be called a pot-stirrer. So if you are reading this, know that this has really hurt me in the past and it has done some significant damage.

“Dismissals” – As my hair grows more silver, I see more and more of the younger generation coming into play. That is wonderful! It means we will continue. But I am facing an issue that I think we all face – that of feeling “dismissed” as an elder. Now I get it – and maybe I deserve it in some ways. When I was younger, I frequently battled with those who had years and titles above me. When I wanted to charge forth with an idea, but had somebody roadblock me just to roadblock me, I got pissed (and often found a way around). Now that I am the elder, I make it a point to remember my own experience and I do not do to younger peeps what was done to me. But… every now and again when I have a voice in a conversation, I see not just a younger person but a group of younger people who decide not only to ignore my perspective but to attack it. Um… excuse me? That’s not ok. The younger person might very well be a fellow peer, or even somebody above me in the pecking order. We may not agree on the topic (today). Heck, we may not agree ever, and that is fine. But I will not be disrespected. It is not ok.

“The SCA corporation” – who hasn’t either heard or complained about the Board of Directors at some point? “The f’ing Board needs to …” is one of the most common things I ever hear in this game. Yet… such complaints most often come from those who seem to have the least understanding of the limitations of a corporation. Look – I am NOT dismissing anybody’s upsets or feelz or complaints. But I do want to point out a very basic thing. The SCA is a very loosely organized hobby-group – and nothing more. We only incorporated so we could manage money, handle publications, and deal with insurance in a pragmatic way. It isn’t like the SCA is a for-profit corporation with a CEO, CFO, HR department, etc. It is NOT a government, and as such does not and can not provide all of the things that some people believe they are entitled to. “The SCA needs to keep me safe”, some people say. OK, I understand wanting that. Truly I do. But our bare-bones-organization can not do that. It can NEVER do that. At least I have never seen or heard of a practical and pragmatic way of doing it. The degree of expectation that many people seem to have on the board members is completely unreasonable. It has nothing to do with the people who are physically on the board right now. It has everything to do with the fact that they are volunteers who also have lives and jobs. They cannot simply “create” the accommodations and structures and protections that some people would like to see in place. Yet in their righteous anger, they scream and threaten and make miserable the lives of those volunteers who just want to serve. To be clear, there was a time when I very much would have loved to be on the board. Years later, I don’t think it is something that I could handle mentally. Between the name-calling and politics and viral threads and the ugliness that can come from social media, I feel like the good that I could potentially do is too threatened by the negativity that is out there right now. I don’t think it would be good for me to do. And that is sad! Because at a different time, I bet I could have really been helpful.

“Dance” – I’ve said it before, and I will say it again. Dance is my greatest love in the SCA – more than cooking, more than clothing, more than any of the arts that I do. Heck, it is how I met my husband! Yet, I just can’t do it anymore. Too many years of horrible floors, poor shoes, improper stretching, bad insoles, surgeries, and acting immortal have left me at the point where I can walk – but that’s about it. I cannot run or even bike-ride without my knees eventually going out. And that means dancing is done in my head only now, and even that is fading. If I had my way, we would have dance at every single Kingdom event! It would become a standard that after a feast (Which would also happen frequently), we would have a ball. If I had my way, we would have lots of musicians who love to play for dance. We would have many young and enthusiastic people who wanted to participate. And most importantly, there would be several teachers/callers so that no one person would feel overwhelmed or used/abused as being the only one around to do the job (and believe me – it is a JOB). I want young and unbroken students to appear. I want people who WANT to learn not only HOW to dance but how to TEACH dance. WHERE ARE YOU??????????

So this leads to now. I have vented about a lot of things here, and I am feeling drained – very drained. I feel exhausted from the pandemic down-time. I feel mentally overwhelmed from the amount of bitching that I have seen grow on social media over the past few years (which is why I have backed away so much). I am really struggling trying to get my groove back. And I just want to play, participate, and see more cool new things come to fruition. But I need help!

I’m feeling pretty beat up, and I need a bit of a boost. If I have ever given you a boost, I could use one in return. Because right now, I feel mentally and physically exhausted.

Gather ‘round chilllins and let Uncle G tell you a story.

When I stumbled across the SCA, I think the stars just aligned. I had found fellow geeks! I had found inspiration! I had found my tribe! And all at once, the creative juices began to flow, not only with artsy projects, but with ideas, ideas, ideas about all the things that we could do!

And with that, I ran into my very first bit of conflict in the SCA.

I remember all too well being such an enthusiastic noob that I got on people’s nerves with my frenetic energy. I know this. I know that sometimes my ideas were just general concepts without the structure to back them. I know this. I know that sometimes, people just had a bad day, and I got the brunt of it. I know this. I know I was a handful. And I appreciate the patience and guidance of those who helped to steer me in the right direction. But you know something? I never forgot how FRUSTRATING it was to constantly get the door slammed in my face when I had an idea.

When people are new, they get excited. And I think the WORST thing that any of us can do is to quench that spark. It is easy to just say, “no”. It takes a lot more time and energy to guide, instruct, explain, and remain open-minded. But I think for the sake of the future, those of us who have been around for a while need – NEED – to seriously challenge ourselves to do just that.

Think about it. So often, many of us get stuck in our routine. We like our routine. So when somebody younger and newer comes along and proposes something different, it can come across as a threat to what we know and what we hold dear. How you feel is how you feel. I am not going to tell you how you should feel. But I would like to give you some advice on how you react. Please…. Keep an open mind and remember something. If a newer member has presented a new idea, that took guts. It took a leap of faith and perhaps even some daring for that person to propose something different. And you now have the power. Are you going to be supportive and a mentor? Or, are you going to bring down the hammer?

When I was in my early years of the SCA, I remember some of the key old-timers were seriously getting on my nerves by constantly telling me, “no.” There was rarely an explanation. And when there was, it felt like being pat on the head by a wise elder who viewed me as unimportant. And I never forgot that feeling. And back then, I made myself a promise – if I am still around years later and become an “old timer” with some degree of influence, then I would make it my job to be available to new people to chat, to bounce ideas, to empower, and to educate. Now, that doesn’t mean I will always support an idea. But rather than just saying, “No,” I would always welcome discussion. After all, just because an idea had been tried before with less than stellar results, does not mean the idea itself is bad. Maybe the timing just wasn’t right? Maybe the people just didn’t want it at that time. Maybe there were other outside factors involved? There are all kinds of factors that go into the success of a project. And for my part, I would rather work on how to make it happen than to nuke both the idea as well as the enthusiasm.

I have seen a lot of conversation lately about the greying of the SCA, and worries about the future, etc., etc. Yet, the solution is right there – right in front of everybody’s face. If we want the SCA to continue for future generations, we need to hand it over to them. And guess what? That means letting go of control, and recognizing that the game needs to change – not just for the sake of change – but to meet the wants and needs of those people who are going to take over, do the work, and drive events in the decades to come.

To the younger peeps out there, nothing – NOTHING – about the SCA is carved in stone, no matter who tells you otherwise. The rules can be changed. Traditions evolve. Changes do in fact happen. If you feel that the game is missing something, and you have ideas, let’s talk about it. I don’t care how small the idea is, or how radical it may be. There is no harm in asking questions, bouncing ideas, examining the past, and looking into our future. But I think the best way to do that is to work TOGETHER. Newcomers, you can absolutely benefit from the experience of old-timers like myself. And I hope that I am always open to you if for nothing else than to tell you the mistakes I made in the past. Old-timers, the survival of this game depends entirely upon those who are ready, willing, and able to take over when we no longer can. So let’s help them!

Let’s work together.
Let’s empower our younger people.
And for crying out loud – please stop defaulting with an emphatic, “NO!”

As an adult, I know that I am anything but alone when it comes to the subject of religion and trauma. Most people don’t like to talk about it. Absolutely nobody wants to go through it. Yet, it is something very common for many of us – which is why I think we NEED to talk about it.

Religious trauma can come in many forms. We all know about the realities of the Catholic church, priests, and little boys for decades and decades of silence. We know about sexual abuse across the board. We know of physical abuse. We know of very dark choices and cover-ups made behind cloistered walls. All of these are terrible and dismal. Fortunately for me, my experience did not go down any of these dark paths. But that doesn’t mean I escaped without experiencing my own forms of trauma.

As a young child being introduced to the Catholic Church, I really just never understood what was happening. My immediate family wasn’t particularly religious. My mother was an absolute atheist, and my dad was a stereotypical “Sunday Catholic” (e.g. do what you want all week long, and you’ll be fine as long as you go to church on Sunday). But, as an old Portuguese family in Ptown, growing up Catholic was simply what was done. And because many of the townsfolk still had deep and personal connections to the old country, Catholicism and Catholic images permeated much of life, whether we were aware of it or not. It was not at all unusual, for instance, to see in someone’s home a fairly large Catholic altar – lots of candles, rosaries, iconography, and crucifixes galore. Heck, even in our mostly non-religious house, for whatever reason, we seemed to have a lot of stuff. I remember a drawer-full of rosaries in the house, along with statues, and other kitsch that often indicates old world CATHOLIC more so than other flavors of Christianity. And for me, it was that stuff – that kitsch – that iconography – that gave me nightmares.

All of you know I have a vivid imagination and can be very creative when I start heading down a path. Well, that isn’t always a good thing – particularly when Catholic guilt came into play. And I can remember one particular episode from childhood that to this day – well over 40 years later, still gives me anxiety. Among all of the stuff that we had just hanging around the house, we had this one fairly large crucifix. I remember it was about a foot long, was made of a whitish plastic, along with a darkish extremely tortured-looking plastic Jesus. Ghoulish in his death, this plastic Jesus Ken doll creeped me out! Of all of the things that the Bible taught about the good in the world, I just never understood why sooooooo much emphasis was always on pain and suffering. But whether or not I understood it, it was there – all the time – everywhere. And in the face of that plastic Jesus, I always felt fear.

I was not old enough to really be introduced to that kind of a thing. My family figured that I would learn it all in Catechism. I had so many questions, and really nowhere to go for answers. But in the meantime, plastic Jesus hung there – eternally suffering. And for some reason, it felt like it was my fault.

Maybe I could do something to help? Maybe I could lesson Jesus’s sufferings? I didn’t really know who he was, per se. But I knew that I hated to see him suffer so. Why was nobody helping him? Why would nobody relieve his pain?

One night, as I could not get to sleep, and my brain spun, I looked over at the plastic Jesus that was in my room (why it was there, I have no idea). I couldn’t take it anymore! I was going to help! So carefully, and gently, I pulled at the plastic Jesus. Slowly, the nail holding his right hand in place began to move. I felt like I was going to be able to separate him from the cross and take him down. The connecting nail began to loosen, and I could feel the anticipation build, knowing that I was going to help my friend, Jesus. But then…

…SNAP!

I broke the arm of Jesus! So now on top of all the other suffering, he had a broken arm – broken right off! AND IT WAS MY FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, and to make matters worse, whatever resin was used for that Jesus was a reddish color on the inside.

Surely, I was going to be punished! Surely, I too would suffer! Would I too find myself on a plastic cross?!

I was terrified – TERRIFIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I jumped back into bed and pulled the covers up all the way – as if that would protect me from eternal torture. I didn’t know what to expect. Should I expect avenging angels? Should I expect demons? From every corner in the room, I began to imagine eyes in the darkness. I was so scared, I couldn’t move. And there I lay – paralyzed in fear.

I don’t know when I got to sleep, but I remember the nightmares to this day. And looking back, it was Just So Unnecessary!

Nowadays, I can look back at this, shake my head, chuckle a little bit, and find the funny. But truthfully, nothing about it was funny. It was horrible. And that isn’t the kind of thing that I can just shake or make go away – not ever.

So yah… to my Christian friends out there – please know this. Not if, but when I get triggered by something relating to Christianity, I hope you understand that it isn’t because I have problems with the teachings of Jesus – I do not. Rather, it is the framework of “the church” and its many iterations that came along after that give me reasons to cringe. And specifically to my friends who are Christian parents bringing up children in the faith – please don’t ever put your child in a situation where something like that can happen. Go in stages. Emphasize the love. Answer any and every question your child has.

And please – do NOT have violent imagery around your child at an early age! It can really miss your kid up!

While flipping through TV channels the other day, I landed on a commercial where I heard a very familiar tune. Advertising some sort of car insurance, a man was filmed driving along a California beach-side highway in a convertible, while singing along with the song on the radio – “Opportunities”. It felt a little odd to me having a pop song from my teen-age years used in a peppy insurance ad - particularly because people nowadays probably just don't understand the story. So sit back, one and all, and Uncle Joe will give you a glimpse into history.

I graduated High School in 1986 - the same year that a new group called the Pet Shop Boys released their debut album, "Please". Oh, what an album! “West End Girls” climbed the charts, and all around me, this new synth-pop sound resonated. Yet, strikingly, one of the most interesting-but-not-talked-about facts about the group is that the pop duo were both gay men. And in the 80's, a huge chunk of society was just NOT ok with such a thing.

When the duo released their next song, “Opportunities”, it too quickly climbed the charts. On the surface, the song seemed to be all about making a fortune. By pairing somebody with the brains with another guy with the looks, the two would be an unstoppable force. Right? Well, in very 80’s fashion, the song was pretty ironic, in that it was all based on pretense and not upon any real hope of success, given that there was no substance behind the pretense. This irony was lost upon many people.

But there was also another story – much darker.

In the video for the song (and yes, in the 80’s, the video was just as important IF NOT MORESO than the song), they added some additional words to the ending. At the end of the song, the narrator quickly ages and then suddenly fades into dust. Then come in the spoken words which are not in the radio-version of the song – “All the love that we had / And the love that we hide / Who will bury us / When we die?”

Let’s (over)think about this. What did this message mean? There have been many speculations and many interviews with the Pet Shop Boys, who have often commented that it referenced the fleeting nature of success, wealth, and materialism. But given the timing and the social climate of the day, I took it to mean something else.

People who loved people of the same gender still had to hide. They couldn’t openly acknowledge whom they loved. And when the AIDS crisis hit, much of society turned its back on those in the LGBT+ community. Parties gave way to funerals. Social circles shrank as burial plots grew. And the question of caretaking became a Very Real Fear. If everybody is dying, who will care for the sick? Lesbians became the guardian angels of men too sick to move. Thank the GODS for the Lesbians!!!!!!!! But where was the rest of society?

I am glad that we live in a different time now. I am glad that we have medications to treat the disease. But what have we learned? Have we really changed?

Given how that song was used, I really don’t think we have. And that saddens me – a lot.

For most of my life, when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t like what I saw. My concept of self-value or self-love just didn’t exist. In my reflection, I saw an insecure, nervous, anxious, fat kid with insanely crazy hair and a crooked smile.

Even as I grew and entered different phases, I was always… “too” – too flabby, too disproportionate, too smooth (at least up until my 30th), too scrawny, etc. Naturally, my negative self-image found endless reinforcement as I grew up. No matter where I ended up, or what cluster I found myself in, I received a lot of group bullying. I will never forget my early childhood where I was given the nickname, “Tubba”. What did that mean? It was short for “Tub of Lard.” And stupidly, I took it. Never did I fight back – not once. Why? Well, because I didn’t know how. Nobody taught me how to fight. And if anything, I was always taught that fighting is bad, fighting is wrong, that one should never fight, etc., etc.

Looking back, I honestly have to say that that was SUCKY advice!

In an odd memory, I recall my dad’s experience. I think he also had some issues in terms of physical appearance. Dad was not what one would consider classically handsome. He was a bit overweight (a Portagee-bartender is not typically svelte), and he also had a really big nose. He wasn’t meant to have a big nose. Rather, it ended up that way. Unlike me, my dad was in a lot of fights as a kid where he would take a punch to the face, and then snap his broken nose back into place rather than see a doctor. I think my dad would have had to be bleeding and near death before seeing a doctor (if even then). That’s just how he was. Yet, my dad also had an odd sense about body-image and what is done and what is not done. I remember one night while we still lived up north. It was summertime, and a particularly warm evening. Laying in bed, I just couldn’t get to sleep – I was too hot. So I took off my shirt and sunk into slumber. Not long after, my dad woke me up. (I guess sometimes he would check on me after I went to bed). He was not happy to see me in bed without a shirt. Why, I have no idea. In my groggy wakening state, I remember him telling me that neither he nor any of his brothers ever slept without a shirt on, and it just wasn’t proper. So he held my shirt up to me, where I put it on and then went back to sleep. And in the morning, I had one thought in my mind – I must be HIDEOUS to see without a shirt – even when sleeping!

Needless to say, this led to even more of an awkward entry into teenagedom. I became soooo self-conscious about being shirtless. That made it almost paralyzing when it came to things like the beach, the pool, or my absolute dread – Physical Education. Changing for P.E. made me so anxious, I had to fight vomiting every school day. I didn’t want to be seen. I was ugly and funny-looking and nothing would change my horrible self-critical attitude. How I got through, I truly don’t even know. The fear and anxiety just became normal.

Now, in my mid-fifties, I have reached a point that I wish I could share with my young self. I’m very happy with the man I have become, and I realize now that there really never was anything wrong with me. But the upset and inconsolable voice of my younger self still cries within. And it is a voice that I carry with me.

Why do I share this? Simple. Nowadays, I have gained a sense of self-confidence and self-appreciation. No. I do not look like anybody else. I do not look like the muscle guy on the big screen. Nor do I look like a scrawny kid who gets bullied. Rather, I am me – unique. I am unique in my look. I am unique in my personality. And there is no comparison to anybody else. But most importantly, I have learned to be happy about that. And when I head out in the sun, or a beer bust, I do eventually end up with my shirt off. Sure, for a split second, I always feel that childhood fear attempting to make an appearance. I’m sure I will always carry that to some degree. But it doesn’t control me. I control it.

So if you take nothing else from this, I hope you take this with you. You ARE enough. You may not be “perfect” (whatever that means). And you may not be like your idol. But that’s ok. You are you. And you are the BEST you that could ever be. So celebrate that. Look yourself in the mirror. And remember – you are the perfect version of you that can be.

If I can do it, so can you!

As the proverbial ball drops on the annas horribilis that was 2020, I find myself being reflective, wondering what I can work on to make this a better year. Part of that reflection means recognizing some inherent flaws in my behavior and personality that need some work. Sadly, I must admit, one huge flaw pops out strongly as I look in the mirror - I am a nag.

I don’t particularly like that aspect of my personality. I am keenly aware of how annoying it must be. Yet, I find myself doing it constantly. To try and fix this, I had to get to the core of the problem and ask myself WHY I repeatedly nag my husband, (and pretty much everybody around me) to get moving and get things done.

I asked myself, “Is it a control thing?” No.
“Is it a power-over thing?” No.
“Is it a competition thing?” No.

“Then what and the heck is it?”, I have asked myself repeatedly. Then recently, I think I figured it out.

Travel back with me for a moment to 2008. Having just had a general physical the week before, I received a call from my doctor early the following Monday morning telling me it was IMPERITIVE that I come in to speak to him that afternoon. Immediately, my stomach went into knots. I knew it would be bad. But I had no idea what the problem was. And sure enough, that afternoon changed my life forever. That is the day I learned I had become HIV positive.

I have no complaints about the doctor. In fact, I found him to be extremely compassionate, doing everything he could under the regulations of the time to show me kindness and empathy. But despite his compassion, I had been given a death sentence. At that time, the medication regimes were still too new to know long-term prognosis. So, the best they were able to do then was to say that statistically, I had a couple of decades in front of me. And at that time, that meant I would probably make it to about 55 or 60.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

To me, this was unacceptable. It meant I would never get to enjoy retirement. It meant that I had a sword hanging over my head. It meant that I only had a set amount of time to conclude and complete things I wanted to do in life. There were so many places I wanted to see. There were so many projects I wanted to do. There was so much that I still wanted to learn. So, after the whole shock and denial and anger thing went through its progression, I reached a conclusion. I wasn’t going to wallow in misery. With a limitation on my life, I wasn’t going to waste time in self-pity land. I was going to live my life and get more done in a truncated amount of time than most people do in a full lifetime. Time is incredibly precious. And to waste one’s time, I believe, is probably the greatest waste of all. Because when you face the fact that your time might be limited, you become KEENLY aware that such lost time can never, ever, ever be regained.

Here in the present, I know that my health is fine. The medication regimes that they have come up with do an excellent job at keeping the virus under control. For years, I have been laboratory undetectable, meaning that the virus is effectively fully under control, unable to cause damage to my immune system. As long as I stay on my medication, which I am absolutely compulsive about taking, there should be no impact on my lifespan or quality of life.

As wonderful as this realization is, subconsciously I have never shaken that realization from 2008. Even if I am going to have a normal lifespan, it doesn’t change the fact that I learned an important lesson. Time really IS precious. Each day is a new opportunity to learn, to experience, to teach, to share, to encourage, and to inspire. This is my strong belief, and a point that I try my best to convey. But unfortunately, I think my attempt at a “Rah Rah” often comes across as shaming or as a put-down. And for that, I apologize. I’m sorry, Paul! I’m sorry, students of mine. To all of you that I have nagged, I really do apologize. I do not mean to make you feel bad. Rather, what I am trying to convey to you all is simply this - Life is a gift. Life has limitations. With each passing day, your vision might get a little bit blurrier. Or your physical strength may decrease bit by bit. It sucks… but it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It is all part of life and the human experience. But when you reach that point in your life where, for whatever reason, you can no longer do X or Y or Z; I think it will be easier if you can look back and say to yourself, “I can’t now. But back in the day, I did. And I enjoyed every bit of it!”

I think my biggest fear in life is to reach a point where I absolutely cannot physically do a thing, and I regret not having done it when I was able. Subconsciously, I think I am overcompensating – keeping myself on my toes if you will – by putting so much emphasis into not only being efficient with my time, but also pushing others to do so as well. And I am realizing now that I need to knock that off. Other people’s time is just that – theirs – and not mine.

Again, one and all, if my nagging has been an annoyance to you, please accept my apology. I meant to encourage – not to be a butthead.

OK, enough on this. It’s time for me to get moving. I have lots to do today! 😊