To the Dreamers That Keep the Dreams Alive

Take a deep breath, expand your belly with oxygen until it's full, close your eyes and think back for a moment when you were a child and how you would believe any fantastical story your siblings or friends would tell you. It was a moment of pure freedom leaving you gasping for more. You would envision the stories in your mind and take them to your bed at night and dream the dreams that were planted in your head. I couldn't wait to get to bed to begin my new journey each night. At a young age, I was blessed to have 3 very creative siblings and a very large backyard with horses, roosters, chickens and many, many fruit trees, complete with our very own tree house. A virtual garden of eden for kids to roam free. In that playground, our minds were blown open to wander and wonder on anything that came to our heads. One day, we would hear stories of my eldest sister Lisa taking a ride in Wonder Woman's invisible airplane and swing on Spiderman's web over skyscrapers and the next we would all be possessed tree-zombies on a mission to take our youngest sister, Maggie down to the depths of tree-zombie-landia. Every week was a new mission and story to play out. My favorite time was my time alone in the farthest corner of my yard that abutted a large vacant lot...the wildest, most desolate

There in my created reality, I would talk to God and stand on a stump, trying to bribe God with good deeds to enable me to fly. I wanted it so badly I would eagerly help my bewildered mom with all the chores and even cease bothering my younger sister for a week to see if that would finally get me my golden ticket to the sky and worlds beyond my home. I would run and jump and feel very light for seconds but never was able to fly in the same way I did in my dreams. Nothing matched the grandeur and lightness of being as in my dream flights. My body was earthbound but I never stopped dreaming and now 30 years later I finally feel that magic spark inside again stronger than ever. I feel we are entering a time where the masses are beginning to leave fear and negativity behind and start to think about wondrous things beyond what we know, beyond the mundane limits of the prison of "logical thinking". I dream for a time where we can be a little illogical and loose and a little more connected to the "wild" and "where the wild things are". To rebuild our connection to mother earth who has been neglected for so long. To think less about mortgages, life insurance, job security and more about bugs, salamanders, M&M's, Macaroni & Cheese, doodling and tree forts.

If there is any one thing that I believe most in this life is of the endless possibilites for wondrous and wonderful things out there and regardless if you call them myths, parnormal events, illusions, hallucinations, figments of our imagination or whatever, the names you give them do not diminish or destroy them. It only limits who are the ones that get to see and enjoy their soul-enriching beauty leaving us in awe at how small our dogmas, political, religious and economic systems are in the grander scheme of the universe and unknown number of dimensions.

I dedicate this blog to the Dreamers, the Believers, the one's that keep the possibilities of other worlds alive, enriching ours all the more. The Maurice Sendak's, Walt Disney's, J.M. Barrie's, Lewis Carrol's, Guillermo Del Toro's, Pixar Studios, Dreamworks', my personal muse and fairy Grettel, would all leave our world bland and tasteless were it not for their eccentric musings and vision. They've given us permission to dream and to take a ride back to our youth when we were more closely aligned to the spirit world and the endless possibilities of the dreams we dare to dream, enabling us to forget how taboo it is to believe in things not yet proven.

Square away some time to take a camping trip to your nearest forest, build a fire (carefully), make up stories to tell your family and allow yourself to think when you look into the darkness that fantabulously-fun creatures ARE out there just waiting to play.

In the words of the great Maurice Sendak; "Inside all of us is ADVENTURE."

Dreamers creating a dream in the streets of Chile:



Lewis Carrol's classic remade for 2010 by Tim Burton:

Jaguar-Ville Coming Soon to a TV Screen Near You

On my the morning of my 40th birthday, I sip coffee taking an unusual pause to savor it's black-bittersweet goodness and then take a conscious, deep breath for the first time as a sporty-40 year old Latino, gay, American man. It's disorienting to have a self-conceptualized age clash so drastically with your real one, In my mind I stopped aging at 28.

I absorb the energy and electricity of the highway below my balcony and notice a billboard just put up the night before, announcing a new TV show with Courtney Cox called CougarTown. It's set in South Florida and is about a Cougar divorcee' realizing truths about aging and dating. I snicker at the clever title for a new, cool show that may or may not be a hit. It made me think of the nicknames or epithets we create for each other. All the categories and containers that us humans love to put ourselves in. Like a farmer sorting his livestock into different pens, humans like to coin nicknames to group types of people. I guess it's some primal survival instinct to put people into logical containers so we know what to expect from them. I never felt like I belonged to any typical gay-nickname container group. I related to being a latino and American but not the everyday-gay you see around. I believe the minute you completely own the title society gives you, you are in essence contained and as a result limited to other experiences out of that box. Like a Cuban or Argentinian that can't conceive of any other latin culture as great as his own. We run the risk of becoming ethno and homo-centric all at once.

I don't relate to leather queens, so I'm not a leather daddy. I'm not a Cub or a Chub Chaser. I'm definitely not a Twink nor am I a Muscle Queen. I'm not a Tweakerella (druggged up gay) or a self-hating gay. I'm not a Fem nor am I a Butch. I'm close to being one of those "straight-acting gays" only that I don't "act" straight, I'm just a masculine gay guy and am completely healthy in expressing and defining my emotions. I guess I could be close to an Otter (a tall, thin, hairy gay guy) but I'm not hairy.

After all this thinking (this coffee's got me running circles in my mind) I realize there isn't a term for an older, (40+), hot gay guy that may or may not date younger men like "Cougar" is for older straight, hot women. I rack my head for a nickname fitting enough to describe this social group left out of our everyday vocabulary. "Sugar Daddy" is close but has a negative connotation of a loveless relationship where an over-the-hill kind of guy pays younger boys to be with him. There has to be a more dignified term for such virile, accomplished, balanced and yes, still hot, gay man. Then we have the new "GRAMP" group which is a new term for a "gay-rich-alone-middle aged-positive" gay man but that's a bit sad and not as funny or light as "Cougar". It'd have to be a species of cat such as Cougar for the simple reason that both like to hunt fresh meat. Gray Wolf came through my mind but not all 40+ men are graying. Hmm, Puma...nah. That connotates a youthful energy or a young-buck kind of gay. Then my boyfriend suggested, Jaguar and with the speed of a brief gay gasp, a new container was born!

Jaguar's are fierce creatures to contend with; fast, strong, slick, elegant, powerful, excellent hunters and like the car -very sporty and slick. So the next time you see a 40+ guy with a sexy, young number on his arm. Say to yourself, "Check out that Jaguar over there. He's an older guy that's still got it going on." So there you have it. You have full permission to steal it. I eagerly await the moment someone first calls me a Jag, there certainly are worse names someone can call you.

Only thing is, although it would be a compliment, I don't feel like a Jaguar and I've never really felt ONLY gay--I like to think myself in Walt Whitman terms, "I am large, I contain multitudes.". I feel like so many things more than any one title can define. So when the novelty or humor of the labels like Cougar, Jaguar, Otter, Twink, Breeder, Diesel-Dyke or whatever, wear off and the pendulum swings from trying so hard to fit in a group to finally realizing we are all one with a whole lotta' different colors, maybe then we'll get "it"- and our labels won't limit us anymore. The stereotypes will finally be outgrown and shed like tortoises' shells. We will finally be free to surprise people again, contain "multitudes" and maybe just grow up enough to stop calling each other names at all.

Cougar Town:


What is a GRAMP?http://www.bilerico.com/2009/08/hes_in_love_with_a_gramp_gay_rich_alone_middle-age.php

What is a gay Otter or Wolf?
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20070222165717AAN3nSu

Article on Cougars:
http://www.webmd.com/sex-relationships/features/dating-older-women-does-age-matter?page=2

A new kind of gay, the "Straight edger":
http://www.gaysofla.com/content/view/21/1/

Origin of gay sea otter term-perhaps http://lordsofapathy.blogspot.com/2007/03/gay-otters-terrorize-on-lookers-at-zoo.html

The Death of Canela Cafe'

Tonight my family and friends mourn the death of a large part of our lives for the last 4 years; Canela Cafe'. Another casualty of this horrible recession, she was unable to heal from hemorraging money. She was born January 14, 2005 and died September 14, 2009. Canela Cafe' was more than just a place to get some "Latin Soul Food", it was an integral part of the community in which it resided; the Design District area or Miami's Upper East side as developers like to call it. She was birthed and tirelessly maintained from day one, 7 days a week for 4 years by her doting mother, Margarita Vasallo. It was her sole passion in life. So much so, that you could taste it in every bite of the scrumptious menu.

You could literally savor the unprocessed love dripping from every morsel as if she were the chef in the classic movie, Like Water for Chocolate. People may have complained about the service now and then but her magic touch for good ol' sazon' was without reproach. She won the awards, Best Cuban Food in Miami by New Times 2 months after opening and earlier this year, Best Tapas in Miami. She attracted the likes of foodie, Chris Cognac from the Food Detective and even hosted indpendent films with Madonna's baby daddy, Carlos Leon. Gloria Estefan ate there and even Miami's own hollywood starlet, Catherine Keener. The oasis of comfort food or as I liked to call it "community center" affected so many and had so many lives intertwined that it took on a life of it's own in many ways. It was the epitome of the American Dream for a second generation Cuban exile living in America recreating the cafe' her grandfather left behind on Havana's malecon in the famed art deco gem, Lopez Serrano building. The walls were lined with photos of family past and present and all who came to eat felt like they were at a family gathering. The good times and good food shared within it's hearth will live on in the hearts and minds of the souls that were lucky enough to discover her hidden charm in the middle of MIA. She nourished a community not only with food but with pure love and a heartfelt desire to host a good time for all.

If you've ever had the pleasure of tasting her food or spending time in Canela, please go to her Facebook page and post any good memories that you can recall. It will mean the world to a mother who gave so much to her community.

Fiestas De Gracia y Sants - Barcelona 2009

Returning to one of my favorite cities on this planet was a much anticipated event. It was made possible thanks to my sister paying my way so I could escort her kids over so they could enjoy their summer vacation with their Spanish cousins in a Villa about 2 hours from Barcelona. Being Julie Andrews in The Sound Of Music was an unexpectedly enriching experience for me. It was the first time that I was absolutely responsible for three children ranging from ages 7-15. I, for a moment was a parent and it felt pretty darn good. I didn't have too much trouble on our 15 hour voyage from Boston to Barcelona as my sister's kids are about the best kids you will ever find. Their personalities are as if they were adults trapped in a kid's body. Ever so aware and conscious of the world around them with a kid's sense of humor. My smallest niece started collecting all the vomit bags from the plane's seats and I was soon amused at the reason why. She was drawing faces on each one and making hand puppets out of them. Who would've thought that a vomit bag could be used as an entertainment device. How's that for ingenuity?

Arriving in the uber-modern new airport terminal at Barcelona airport, we were quickly whisked away to the country to the small town of Banyoles. We pulled up to a very old, stone villa remodeled and with a beautiful, modern pool (the only one in town). The villa overlooked a small valley, olive trees and all. It was as picturesque as a Goya painting.

The honeymoon ended quickly after spending a very hot and moist night barely catching any sleep as a result of a wild hog (Javali') screaming underneath my window as if a woman was getting raped and a bat flying into my room and hitting me on my forehead (no joke). Summer in Spain is just as hot as summer in Miami, difference is Miami has air conditioning. It didn't help that there was a pig farm next town over that deposited a thick aroma of pig poop into the air on it's way up the hill to our villa. I learned how to control my gag reflex about every 5 minutes. Needless to say, I was at the Bus Station on the 3rd day to visit my high school crush, Ivy (before I knew I was a big homo) in the energetic and ever so bohemian city of Barcelona. Bye Bye Banyoles.

The last time I had visited the "other Magic city" it was december and very chilly. I had no idea that it was OK to wear flip flops, shorts and tank tops in an European city. In Italy it is a faux-pas to wear shorts because it reminds Italians of when they were forced to wear dorky long shorts when they were kids. This trip I avoided the typical Gaudi tourist stops as I had seen them last year. I focused on parks and walking the different historic and rich neighborhoods. My all time fave is the Born neighborhood which is a European version of SoHo. Lots of original boutiques, great fashion, cafe's, cool people and of course my "gays". Born has a very large park and is very close to La Barceloneta beach area. It's the medieval core of the city with narrow cobblestone streets and cathedrals intact.

The weekend arrived and Ivy decided that we should go to see the festival of Fiestas De Gracia y Sants which are two different neighborhoods that have been doing this street thang for about 750 years now. The city was originally called Barcino by Hannibal's dad who founded it about 2000 years ago, has a hefty lead on Miami on throwing a party. They do it in spades. The yearly street party is a well oiled machine and community leaders take part in designing and coordinating the year's designs in the same way the Samba schools in Brazil plan and compete for their carnivals throughout the year. This year, all the designs had to be executed with recyclable materials. There was Indiana Jones, Temple of Doom replete with Aliens, Japanese Gardens, Monte Carlo Casino every street was different. There was one surreal street lined with toys and candy and was made even more cool with a Cuban band playing and kids drinking mojitos. Each street had their own bands or DJ's, bars, and tons of people from all over the world just having a good time chillaxin'.

The climax was the battle of the tribes, Les Dracs (the dragons), Colla Vella (old devil's tail) and Diabolica (the devilish ones). This consisted of a good old fashioned street battle where each tribe tries to pass and the other blocks with walls of people and taunting chants. They finally break through the blockaded narrow streets with explosions and fireworks spraying everyone, including the onlookers. My badge of honor was about 10 burned spots on my scalp as well as my shirt. Marching bands of drummers followed the opening of the blockades followed with hundreds of onlookers and visitors laughing, drinking and dancing. It was a page out of a Roman Bacchanalian feast. The high was like no other. I ended up dancing in the middle of a plaza with my new-found friend named Giusi (juicy) from Naples who came to visit the city years ago and never went back home.

The finale was in the main plaza with a balcony stuffed with the community's leaders overlooking the performance, the large dragon and Gaudi's iguana from Park Guell came through and sprayed a volcano of fireworks over everyone then fire throwers and music ensued. Everyone was rolling on the same good vibration. It was one of those nights you store away in your brain and take out on "blue" days, the memory bringing peace in the knowing that you've lived a little in this life.

I believe every trip you take changes you a little. You learn things about others and about yourself, how these two entities relate to each other and how colorful and wonderful our world is.

I learned that you should never not sit at the lunch table in Spain even though you aren't hungry. In Spain, lunch is very important.

I learned that you should definitely pack tank tops and sandals when you go to Spain in the summer.

I learned that it's perfectly legal to be completely naked in the streets of Barcelona but walking around without your shirt on is not permitted.

I learned that while salaries really suck in Spain, they find a way to live a really good life with a lot less money but they complain just as much as Americans do about not having enough money.

I learned that Catalonians don't really have much that is taboo to them. They are pretty much cool about anything. They are dignified like the French and proud of their country but are much more relaxed about it.

I learned that if you're Muslim and if you live in Banyoles you will be very pissed at the constant smell of pig shit wafting it's way into your nostrils at every moment of every day.

Most of all I learned that you don't ask a married woman if she's "caliente" in front of her husband because it doesn't mean "hot", it means "sexually turned on".

http://w3.bcn.es/V01/Serveis/Noticies/V01NoticiesLlistatNoticiesCtl/0,2138,290652295_302361084_2_929558397,00.html?accio=detall&home=

http://www.tribunalatina.com/es/notices/fiestas_de_gracia_y_sants_en_barcelona_13546.php
http://www.festamajordegracia.cat/

Brief history of Barcelona as a city: http://www.cursos.org/cee/eng/ba

Going in to the movie; Bruno I had heard why the gay community was up and arms about a scene in the film where an adopted baby was in a hot tub with uber-gay, femme fatale Bruno and his gay playmates while one was eating another guy's arse. The producers apparently promised to remove the scene but never did. I fully expected it to be a "it's your turn gays" to take some satire and some tongue-in-cheek jabs at ourselves (as if we haven't had enough already). Regardless, I am open to these tests and I went anyway. Going in, I realized how few of my gay brethren were in attendance. Being a theater in the heart of the gay mecca that is South Beach hetero\homo ratio is about 50/50. The audience was actually very straight, about 95% on the Kinsey's scale. There were a good amount of African American viewers as well which is uncommon to the area as well. The movie took me through so many uncomfortable yet funny moments that I found myself covering my face and hiding behind my girlfriend's shoulder from the embarrasingly gay, screaming nelly on the screen. Growing up yearning to see my people represented in film, I finally got my wish but not in the same way I envisioned. It was unbearable to see all the extreme stereotypes that I have dreamed would one day be cleared away as soon as Richard Simmons passed away.

As Sacha Baron Cohen's (a straight Jew from London) antics progressed I realized that the film was not poking fun at the gay way of life but at society's extreme stereotypes of us and the extreme factions within our society that are vehemently opposed to our ways. As the theater emptied I took joy in seeing the confused faces of all the folks who thought they were going to a Hollywood sanctioned gay-bashing. The joke was on them. They paid 10 dollars each to see a reflection of a part of themselves in the homophobic, backward-ass cretans and religious freaks that hate us so for no good reason apart from that society has always reassured them that they they're right and we are wrong. Bruno left them with a lot to think about and with a possibly newfound motivation but nevertheless a motivation to separate themselves from the neanderthals on the screen. Don't reject Bruno for being such a flaming homo just yet, he might just be our best ally yet.

Bruno hits Miami:


Bruno at a Christian Rock concert:


Bruno vs. Skinheads:

A Brief History of Gay Icons- Why We Love 'em

There's a quote from a Woody Allen movie, Celebrity: "You can tell a lot about a society by the people they choose to celebrate.". So why do the gays obsess about some celebrities and have lukewarm feelings about others? Why was Farrah Fawcett a gay icon yet Michael Jackson not?

Decades before oh-so-gay Sir Elton John penned the song Candle In the Wind, Marilyn Monroe was already my protector spirit, my concept of perfection in a human and thousands of gays along with me were already in love with the vulnerable, sexy, nymph-queen of America. Marilyn is still our modern-day Aphrodite. An immortal star amongst the gods of Mt. Hollywood. Why are Judy Garland, Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, Britney Spears, Princess Diana, Cher, Angelina Jolie, Kylie Minogue all godesses to us gays? They all share common demoninators. They were not supposed to be the stars they had become, they fed on tragedy and struggle, transforming it into grace and enviable beauty. Above all, these tortured souls had a certain flamboyance to the way they lived their lives so fiercely, slicing through any obstacles or critics like a hot knife through butter. It's an added bonus if they have a biting, acerbic wit like Bette Midler, Lilly Tomlin, Sandra Bernhard and the queen of sardonism; Kathy Griffin. It's funny how this sub-group of gay icons are traditionally awkward, ugly ducklings. It's part of their appeal to us. Wouldn't it be great to see a new gay icon come about that can combine the beauty of Marilyn with the wicked comedic talent of Kathy Griffin? That would be a Super-gay icon and a one-stop shop of entertainment for the gay masses.

My reasons why I related to Marilyn were many. How she found a way to get away with being herself even though 1950's America didn't appreciate a woman of her openly sexual expression. How she smiled away her inner turmoil and magically extracted beauty from pain. How she wanted children so badly she kept trying even though her body betrayed her and repeatedly miscarried. How she harnessed her sexual prowess to get whatever she wanted in life but she couldn't find her one true love to make her feel safe in the world. Most intriguing, was the aura about her. Her light would lift my spirits and get me through the worst growing pains of my teenage years. She was a guiding light in my quest to find my true self. My room was plastered with posters of Marilyn on every spare inch of my walls and I read just about every book written on her short life. Her wall space quickly became shared with Farrah Fawcett as I fell further into puberty and Charlie's Angel's became the hottest thing on TV.

Today no one questions why Transformer hottie, Megan Fox would tattoo Marilyn's visage on her forearm or why Madonna has emulated her at various stages in her life in style, video, even living her same trials with failed relationships. Marilyn is still very much alive generations later. She is still on the yearly Forbes list of top grossing dead celebrities among which Elvis Presley, Bob Marley, Andy Warhol are also listed.

I remember how thousands of straight white and black men idolized Michael Jackson trying their hardest to emulate his smooth moves and add to their "game" with the ladies, spending $400- for the latest Thriller or Beat It leather jacket. Still, Michael didn't cut it as a gay icon even though all his mannerisms and flair, signaled he was one of us. It had a lot to do with the fact that he never really came out. It's hard to relate to a celebrity when it's not really clear what they are or what they feel strongly about. Last report from a close friend was that he was none of the above and was asexual. Elizabeth Taylor once said in an interview, "he was not from this Earth".

Whoever said that gays hate women definitely do not know us at all. Ironically, 99.9% of gay icons are women. We adore women because we empathize with them. We have been heartbroken by the same male dogs as our women counterparts. We struggle in a world that considers feminity a weakness. We are in essence, stuck in the same game.

Another gay icon was Princess Diana, not just for her work to raise awareness and funds to fight AIDS but for her poise, her quiet rebellion, her audacious smile in the face of so many rigid constraints and how she glided through all those obstacles to make a real change in the world and unintentionally making herself a heroine for so many. She is one of the few celebrity deaths that inflicted a pang on the hearts of so many wolrdwide when news of her tragic death reached the news. The world was not ready to let go of her light and is still lamenting her loss to this day.

We see the tragedy in these goddesses that we have in ourselves. Their staying power in our minds is how they tirelessly struggled to get what they couldn't ever get. For Marilyn it was true love and to have a child. It's not surprising why Lindsay Lohan, Anna Nicole Smith are among the many modern day starlets that idolize her. Britney Spears is so emotionally connected to Marilyn that she purchased her cemetery plot next to her's in Hollywood Forever Cemetery and even owns a pair of her jeans. It's no mistake that Britney's Circus album mirrors Marilyn's shoot with photographer Milton H. Greene's titled, Marilyn At The Circus. http://www.miltons-marilyn-monroe.com/marilyn-monroe/pictures/marilyn-monroe-circus/index.html#11

Although today's gay youth connect more to Britney than Marilyn, her stronghold to the title of modern-day Aphrodite has yet to find a competitor memorable enough to topple her from her post. Her grace was never before seen but hopefully will be seen again tomorrow. Who will be our next gay icon? It definitely won't be Lindsey.

Enjoy the never before published pictures above of a 24 year old Marilyn before she was "somebody". The quotes below are Marilyn's as well.

• Creativity has got to start with humanity and when you're a human being, you feel, you suffer.
  
• What good is it being Marilyn Monroe? Why can't I just be an ordinary woman? A woman who can have a family ... I'd settle for just one baby. My own baby.
  
• I have too many fantasies to be a housewife.... I guess I am a fantasy.
  
• It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone.


• It's better for the whole world to know you, even as a sex star, than never to be known at all.


• Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul.
• The body is meant to be seen, not all covered up.
  
• Sex is part of nature. I go along with nature.
  
• Being a sex symbol is a heavy load to carry, especially when one is tired, hurt and bewildered.
  
• 1956 interview about her childhood: Looking back, I guess I used to play-act all the time. For one thing, it meant I could live in a more interesting world than the one around me.
• Also from Lee Strasberg's eulogy: Marilyn Monroe was a legend. In her lifetime she created a myth of what a poor girl from a deprived background could attain. For the entire world she became a symbol of the eternal feminine.
  

Lindsay Lohan's Marilyn spread: http://gawker.com/5003223/

Forbes list of top grossing dead celebrities: http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=8224314961475453790&postID=27334113954995277

Britney buys cemetery plot next to Marilyn's: http://www.monstersandcritics.com/people/news/article_1410248.php/

Blog about idolatry: http://www.star-gazings.com/2009/02/idolizing-dead-celebrity-is-far-often.html