On the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall uprising, I want to have hope, but lately, that hope is fading.

I remember attending a house party early on in your campaign that helped me see the possibilities of hope you carried. When I asked one of your lead canvassers about your support for the gay community, he assured me that yes indeed, you were behind the gay community and that you would finally help end the years of discrimination and relegation to the back of the American bus.

Lt. Col. Fehrenbach and Lt. Dan Choi are no longer able to serve in the military because of “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell,” a policy that sanctions discrimination and forces many top servicemen to no longer have the opportunities their fellow servicemen enjoy daily. A close friend of mine spent many years proudly serving in the Navy, silent every moment in his depression because of a policy that threatened his ability to do what he loves. Imagine if you were able to be President as long as you didn’t express your love for Michele, your love for your family, or your identity as a black man. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell must be repealed now.

Another promise that lingered with the bright signs of hope is the repealing of DOMA. Yet today, almost 40 years since the queer community stood up to the constant harassment by police, this policy that legalizes discrimination and prevents committed adults from enjoying the same benefits you do, still stands. I am in a long-term relationship with a woman I love, and we must spend lots of money on legal documents to ensure that some rights (note the word some) are accorded to us that you inherit by the simple act of marriage to Michele.

The gay community has put down its bottles, angry rage, and loud voices, acquiescing to the call for patience, constant promises that in time things will change. I held a hope sign for you proudly in Denver the night you accepted the nomination, eyes tearing with the possibility of hope, the promise of change. I am tired of being patiently silent. Please mark the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall uprising with action, not just media photo portraits with leading members of the gay community.

I’ve been a fan for over 33 years, and still, when I listen to his music, I shiver a bit, touched in that core space music reaches. Tonight, watching Jonathan Demme’s brilliant documentary Neil Young: Heart of Gold, I am reminded of Young’s magic, Young’s lyrical brilliance, and Young’s music trance. I spent my teen years listening to Harvest, studying the lyrics and how to replicate the licks on “The Needle and the Damage Done.” Young’s notion of “a little part of it in everyone,”  a somber warning of what happens if we tip toward the side of lethal glamour, the inevitable fall, resonated deeply, so  I studied the song, listening endlessly to it on the turntable; only my desire to try out a part of the song on my guitar interrupted the hours of listening. I would often try to play along with the record, wishing to somehow carry a bit of Young into my hands.

Watching the Demme documentary that captures Young’s show at Nashville's Ryman Auditorium in the summer of 2005 immediately transported me to the live show. Demme is a master at replicating the concert experience, especially noteworthy in his Talking Heads’ testament Stop Making Sense. Since I had seen that show live at Forest Hills, watching the documentary immediately brought me back to the show. I imagine if I had seen the live Nashville shows, I would be saying the same thing.

One of the ways Demme brilliantly captures the magic of Young is through the camera focus. He often moves between Young’s face, eyes closed to the  lyrics while his mouth sings to the harmonica, and Young's hands strumming the guitar—simply amazing. He also captures the nostalgic side of Young as he pays tribute to Hank Williams, remarking how he is playing Hank’s guitar, a preamble to his performance of “This Old Guitar”

And so tonight, when the film moves into its second half, Young’s sometimes acoustic trip through older tunes, I am reminded of my earlier meditations, carefully trying to find his spirit as I picked my way through the opening of “Needle and the Damage Done.”

I realize that I have taken a two month hiatus from blogging, which is probably the longest amount of time I've gone without blogging since my blog's inception. I might once again blame it on the textbook writing, but that alone doesn't account for my absence. Perhaps it's the typical spring semester, but again that seems an insufficient excuse, since in the past, I seem to manage to at least blog away my stress of the spring madness. To blame Facebook seems again a bit too easy, even though I am certain that it takes a fair amount of my writing motivation away, simply because I am lingering and surfing on a computer for at least an hour each day (if not more).

So, since it's summer, I am imagining (hopefully manifesting into a bit of a reality) blogging more frequently. Since the share for our CSA begins next month, I am certain that food will bring plenty of inspiration for writing.

Until then, perhaps some random thoughts on the past semester, movies, gardening mishaps, and other daily musings.

Clearly I do not understand the word break, although I do understand the concept of separation. Not going into campus for awhile, even if I am doing work, feels rather liberating. I love my job, love the school, but there comes a point in the semester when I seriously need to look at anything but my office, the hallways, and classrooms, and more importantly, break from constant interaction. So tomorrow officially begins spring break, and although I had some crazy ass idea that I would simply have no plans, no structure, I find the week with plenty of structure, but fortunately huge chunks of time there for spontaneous moods.

My ambitious list for one simple week:

• Grade two classes worth of genre pieces and explanatory notes
• Write up three part-time instructors' observations
• Finally update my CV (overdue by more than a year)
• Read Oscar Wilde's essay "The Portrait of Mr. W. H." (in order to manage an intelligent discussion with a student doing an independent study on Wilde)
• Start a regular workout routine that includes the gym (I've been regularly working out in my basement over the past two weeks with the Wii and exercise bike, but it doesn't feel like enough of a workout at times)
• Finish two of the books I have started
• Make some decent headway on the next chapter challenge Liz and I are facing with the book's revision
• Spend time with several friends I haven't had the chance to socialize with during the semester (a range of breakfast, lunch, and dinner dates)
• Catch at least one movie in the theater
• Get a facial
• Clean my desk and desk space at home

Doable--yes
Taking a break--open to interpretation

Sitting here at my computer, 8:26pm, it finally dawns on me the entirety of why, on this Tuesday evening, I am feeling like I've worked more than a full work week.

• I have spent many hours preparing for a Transgender Training I'm piloting tomorrow at school with two students. We are doing a test run for the GLBT Club, whose members are often those that need the training most.
• Several students in my online class have decided to try to pull out the class in the 7th hour. After not receiving any work, I now have a slew of assignments for me to respond to in order for them to continue with their writing and research.
• I did two class observations and am preparing responses for a conference for an observation done last week.
• Today I worked all day, left work and went to Liz's to try to figure out revision for a chapter on the book that needs to turnaround quickly for another set of reviews.
• My brain died a bit yesterday during a procurement card individualized training that really needed to only be five minutes, but instead was 45 minutes. I have resisted for about three years getting one, not wanting to have to deal with all the bureaucratic $ nonsense, relying instead on my admin to deal with departmental transactions. Now that I have access to $ for the GLBT Resource Center and cannot depend on anyone, short of the school's President (and I am certain she does not want to play purchase queen for me), I needed a way to make purchases.
• Once again I had to intervene on behalf of the proletariat at school. The school is about to undergo another cycle with AQIP, our credentialing system, and rather than have required action projects (that will help guide some direction on campus over the next few years) grow out of a conversation with the entire school, a group of about 16 people who comprise a council on campus that supposedly represents all constituents made a choice from a few proposed projects (only proposed by people who knew that AQIP action projects were being considered). Right after the meeting, I ran into one of the faculty reps, and when I asked about the meeting (campus gets an agenda), she told me about the projects chosen. I mentioned why I felt that it was problematic that a few decided on this direction without involving the campus, thus dwindling chances for buy-in. Happily, I discovered last night an email she sent to the President and council, relaying my concerns and rationale. Today, in a department chair meeting, we looked over a survey that was being created and sent out to everyone tomorrow morning to get a broad consensus (thus buy-in). I find it exhausting, though, that I am often the one to raise these issues, rather than my fellow faculty members who are on this council.