Archive for March, 2014

IMG0001The reason I came out of the closet on the day that I did — Mother’s Day, 1996 — had less to do with me or with my mother and everything to do with an innocent third party named Mike Regan.

I’m reminded of this story because I’m attending Mike’s funeral this weekend. He died at 73 after a long illness. The story of his role in my coming out will live probably as long as I do. And he loved telling the story. I probably heard him tell it a hundred times. I will try to do it justice, here, although I wish he were still around to do it himself.

Mike liked to joke that he “out-ed” me, although that’s not really true. Outing someone involves malicious intent and there was nothing devious in Mike’s role. He was an advisor and a counselor, not to me, but to my mother.

A little background.

I met Mike and his partner Steve Hermann for the first time in a hospital room in Scottsdale, Arizona, following my mother’s hysterectomy surgery. They sat one side of the hospital bed and I was on the other. I remember shaking hands with them for the first time, reaching over my convalescing mother to do so. (That’s Mike, pictured above on the right, and Steve, with my mom, at a cocktail lounge, not the hospital room!)

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smoking on bus

The Armenian Hostage Crisis (Part 2)

I’m not now, nor have I ever been, a prima donna.

But, was there a time when Greyhound bus travel was beneath me?

Absofuckinglootly.

Why?

Because (the logic went) bus travel is something poor people do. I’m not poor. Therefore the notion is preposterous.

Well, here I am. It’s a new dawn. It’s a new day. It’s a new life.

And I’m on a Greyhound Bus.

I love experiencing new things, but Greyhound bus travel never made my bucket list. However, due to new world realities, here I am. This is a financial decision, plain and simple.

Whenever I hear “Greyhound Bus” I think about the guy who stabbed, killed and then decapitated a total stranger sitting next to him a few years ago.

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