The thing about what has become an issue of national importance with regards to Prop 8 in California is that it really isn’t a gay issue. It’s a fairness issue. About what’s right and wrong, and what’s fair and just.  People are pissed and upset and if you think that it’s just marginalized and maligned gays and lesbians you’re wrong.  Because if you think that Prop 8 would be defeated in California on the strength of the alleged ten percent of the population who categorize themselves as gay or lesbian, those numbers are going to fail every time.

So for this thing to be dealt with, handled, put on the table and discussed, it’s going to take more than just passionate gays who have had their rights stomped on. It’s going to take people who believe in things being just. People who feel everyone should be treated fairly, and people who don’t sit there and divide people into haves and have-nots: It’s going to take straight people.

So when someone like Keith Olbermann comes along like he did on the night of November 10th, and said what he said about Prop 8, it brought tears to my eyes. Because he gets it. This isn’t some clichéd and stereotypes group of “cock-hungry gays screwing around and wanting to be seen as real people, even though they could never commit to each other, or people being weary and skittish because they can’t handle the fact two men could willingly want to do-what-it-is-we-do to each other and as a result of that are wrongly and unfairly lumped into those who engage in pedophilia, polygamy, or bestiality. No, this is all really simple. It all comes down to love. Love between two people and I am thrilled that Keith Olbermann gets it.

I tip my hat to him for being honest, and smart, and passionate and articulate. I encourage you to watch this, and to pass it along to others. He says it far better than I ever could. Bravo.

All things considered, I honestly didn’t expect the feedback, emails, and comments I got from yesterday’s post. To everyone that took the time to read and pass along his or her wishes, I thank you. I was driving into work, mad and irritated about the Prop 8 voting results and more than anything really wanted to talk to my mom about what seems like blatant discrimination and for someone like her, to have endured the bulk of the civil rights movement, in the south, no less, made me felt like she would’ve understood my dilemma.

I never wanted to be one of these people who over-shared on the Internet, yet in looking back, that’s exactly what I’ve done. I’ve engaged in behavior I’m not proud of, done things in response that have given me a sense of personal redemption, and put up with shenanigans that no one should be privy to. But in all of this, in all of my craziness, I’ve only done it because I want what most people want: Something to belong to. This is all because of my impending singlehood, my quest for someone to share some sort of life with, and that’s what I think it all comes down to.

I’ve talked about change. And when I began this blog, I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted it to be. I wanted to give advice, be able to talk openly about relationships and sex in a way so people weren’t so uptight about it. I offered contests, talked about crazy one nightstands, terrible first dates, and falling in love with a city.  And as this country (and undoubtedly this world) goes through some changes, so do I. There are people who are far better at doing what I initially set out do, and don’t have to work nearly as hard to make it happen.  That doesn’t mean the end of Random Screaming–no, not at all. But with change on the minds of a lot of people, myself included, this blog will also go through some sort of metamorphosis.

I dare say it won’t veer too far off course, and by that, I mean I’ll use this as my jumping off point to rant and bitch and talk about the stuff that catches my eye.  I’m also in the midst of change. A new city, new job, new people, and all things new are on my horizon in the next 18-24 months, and I’m starting now. No time like the present, right?

So, with that, keep watching. We’ll see where we end up, and again, I appreciate you for taking the time to click your way here and see what I’m randomly screaming in your direction.

Dear Mom,

Today’s a tough day for me. If you were here, you wouldn’t believe what just happened. Never in my life did I think I’d have someone like Barack Obama leading this country. I know we have it good here, mama, better than people in a lot of other places, but it’s been tough lately. People losing their houses, being kicked out of jobs, but I’m hopeful. Optimistic, even; things are definitely changing around these parts.

But something else happened, and I know you’ve been gone for thirteen years; probably the most difficult thirteen years of my life, practically a third of it has been lived without you here, and that’s been really hard. Because I never told you I was gay, and I regret that I never opened my mouth about it more than anything. Part of me knows you probably knew. Mothers always do, don’t they? And I struggle with what might’ve happened between us had we actually talked about it. You were old school, Southern, black, and a product of your time. Maybe you would’ve been weary. But you also weathered the Civil Rights Era, saw hoses turned on people and undoubtedly endured hatred and judgment I hardly know the likes of—I think you would’ve shown compassion.

A lot has happened, so today is bittersweet. A black man in the highest office of the land can give one immeasurable confidence. By the same token, having something like the right to marry the one you love ripped away from you takes the sensation in the other direction.  I can’t explain it. Never tried to. I think about you and dad and how you never dated anyone other than each other, how your parents and dad’s parents knew each other before you were even born. The romantic in me swoons at that, mama. You really planted the seed with that.

I really want to settle down, give you some grandbabies, and live a simple life. I was always creative, always artsy, always sensitive. I like ice cream, and entertaining my friends, and living a good life. When these people here, these people who think they know me and want to define me, and want to protect marriage? Protect it from what, mama? I wish you were to here to answer. I wish you here so we could talk. I used to be so afraid, so fearful of what you’d think of me if you’d ever found out my secret. It used to paralyze me. But now I want you to know that I want a good man in my life. One you’d love, one that’d make you proud of me, and one to share a life with. That’s all I want. I wish I could give you one last hug, one last goodbye, and to tell you that I finally have made my peace with who I am. And these people here, that judge me and hate me? I’m not backing down. You taught me that. You gave me skills and taught me that the truth always comes to light, and I believe it.

Wherever you are, I miss you and love you and today is an incredible day. It’s also a bit somber, but you know I’m just like you. It’s going to take more than this ruling being overturned to stop me. The battle maybe have been fought, and even defeated, but I’m not stopping. I don’t know how to stop. I got that from you: twenty-three chromosomes and the spirit of unbridled horses.

Love,
Derrick

I don’t have to tell how important and historic a day like today is. Far more talented people have and can say it more eloquently and in ways that will put me to shame. Whatever the results are of today’s election, people have gotten more involved. Whether it was due to losing their home to foreclosure, or the threat of losing their ability to call their loved one and life partner their spouse, people have used the last eight years as a catalyst to get up and do something; to speak up and speak out; to be heard, and counted on, and that is an awesome thing to see.

I’m not immune to the impact of change. I started this blog because I had a bunch of straight women friends going through the obstacle course of dating in Los Angeles, and similarly, so did I. I told them to shape up, or ship that fucker out. To not put up with bullshit, to be respected and to be respectful, and if  it called for it, to get down right kinky. And in doing so, it was ok. You’re mom’s not going to find out about it, and if she does, who cares. How do you think you got here?

But then there’s that change thing.  I’ve been going through it myself. I’ve talked about giving my life a remix and moving up to San Francisco. I’ve talked about way risqué encounters, about my compulsory and embarrassing masturbation habits, guys on TV I wanted to fuck the shit out of, and others in real life I wanted to fuck the shit out of me. Yet through it all, with good times and laughter and fun, and depression, and misery and dealing with a father who I was scared to death of coming out to, in the end all I wanted was love.

Who doesn’t?  I romantically dream of cuddling in quilts on Sunday morning with the paper and a latte, and a soft-coated Wheaton terrier at my feet with the man of my dreams nuzzled up next to me, because I’m only human, and we’re social creatures, and these are the things that make up and define life for us.

And so the change continues. I’m aware of over-sharing on the internet, and I’m aware of the power of discussion. Starting this blog has been one of the best things I’ve ever done. I’ve met the coolest people, talked about the best topics, found myself intertwined and connected to the sites and social media networks I thought were strictly nerds only, and here I am a few short months from SXSW, constantly adding people to my Facebook, LOL’ing at people on Friendfeed, and busting out virtual neckrolls and bitchlips at people through my mobile Twitter. (Links are all over there on your left, people.)

Through it all, I’ve ventured on discovering me. The real me. Not my parent’s son. Not my brother’s little brother, not the boss’s go-to writer guy, but the Derrick who has just started to define himself by his own rules. Y’know, that whole change thing.

If this sounds like some kind of elegy, let me assure you it’s not. Well, not really. At my core, I’m still a perv who is into blindfolds and blowjobs, but there’s more to me than that. Shocking, I know.

Because we evolve, we ebb and flow, we move like liquid through a vessel, and through it all, we change.

It hit me the other day. I was active in yet another social media/networking site, this one called Friendfeed (that I really love, btw), and I read a post from a guy who’s around my age, married with a couple kids, doing fine with his career, and come across as generally happy and good natured. He’s got funny things to say, I like his music selections (a lot of this information is collected and aggregated in Friendfeed, which is kind of the point), and he laughs at my quips and conjecture.

He posted something about going in to read his son a bedtime story right after he finished wrapping up some techy/bloggy/net-esque work, and when he went in, his young son had already fallen asleep, the book still open on the bed. Said father placed the book back on the shelf, tucked his son in, and sweetly kissed him goodnight.

Now this might be me PMS-ing, and I realize it comes across a little Hallmark card-ish, but I’m sensitive like that and the image got to me. You see, as a gay man, I never really thought about what my life might be like after age thirty or so.  At 16, when it was clear that I was destined for a life of “confirmed bachelorhood”, I took it as my fate and lived my life resigned to it. But seeing that post, that small, idyllic, Rockwellian post, something resonated within me. Seeing that, made me realize that as busy as I’ve been campaigning for the No on 8 proposition here in California which would continue to keep gay marriage legal here isn’t just something I’m doing for same-sex couples in theory. While I never thought myself to be one to settle down (fingers crossed for just a nice guy to date at the moment), reading that tidbit made me realize this Ozzie and Harriet, Cosby Show life isn’t something that heterosexuals hold the patent on.

On my first couple days of Friendfeed, besides telling everyone I was a big homo, I also found myself engaged in discussions on race, politics, homosexuality, gay marriage, etc. And one particular dialogue made me really sad. A guy (I wished I kept the transcript) said something along the lines of, “Marriage is between a man and a woman, that’s it. If two men or two women want to get together, fine, but its not marriage, and I shouldn’t be called a bigot for thinking otherwise.” Fine, we won’t call you a bigot, even though that’s what you are, and if you want to be hung up over this word, then fine, but the implication that marriage should be something possessed, claimed, and executed only by straight people (50% divorce rates, Britney Spears escapades of 54-hour quickie nuptials, and convicts getting married to pen pals while behind bars) just irritates the shit out of me.

So what it comes down to, other than this “word” is what it always comes down to when you talk about gays: People have this thing about two guys butt-fucking. They really do. They can’t handle that two men fuck the shit out of each other and suck each other off, and because we do, the world for us should be different. The whole entire concept of marriage shouldn’t be something we can engage in, even though two committed people in love want to be together. Really?

The fight will continue, and eventually gays and lesbians will be free to marry and the image of that boy sleeping in his bed and kissed by his father won’t just be a dream, but a reality for even people like me who thought that life was never even an option.

I like masturbating. Who doesn’t? But lately, I’ve started thinking that at the ripe old age of 35, maybe I do it too much. It doesn’t get in the way of anything. I don’t miss work, and scheduled time with my friends or dentist appointments because I’m beating off, but I don’t want to get myself into a situation that makes real life sex awkward and strangely alien. I’m afraid there are people in this world who jack off so much that when it comes down to the real nitty gritty, they’ve brainwashed their dick into thinking tightly closed fist is how sex is supposed to be.

With that, I’m engaging in something akin to the famous Seinfeld of yester-yore, The Contest. If you haven’t seen this hilarious and classic episode, click here, and then forward all of your friends to it. I watched it recently and it still holds up.

I’m not saying I’m cutting it out cold turkey, oh no. I’d fear for my friends and co-workers. But slowing down my fifteen-year old-esque single day multiple jerk sessions for the sake of pursuing a mutually fulfilling sexual relationship (hey, maybe we can whack off together!)? Sure, I’m down with that.

So what’s your story? How often do you prime the pump? And what’s the longest you’ve gone without getting yourself off? Let me know in comments.

If you’re a regular reader of Random Screaming, you probably know I’m jonesing big time for San Francisco. The addiction is still as strong and with stories like the following, its no doubt a colorful and interesting place to be. Check out this rant from someone on San Fran’s Best of Craigslist:

To the tranny that blew that guy on the 49 bus last night…..

So here’s the thing. I’m gay. Okay, you probably knew that. And as such, I’m not saying this applies to me…maybe it does, but gay guys I think tend to have more sex than non-gay guys. And only because non-gay guys, aka heterosexual guys, usually have sex with women. If women had sex as much as men wanted them to have sex, non-gay guys would have as much sex as us homos. Make sense? Okay, good. Stick with me.

That being said, it really is interesting the amount of sex a gay guy can have. And when I mean sex, I mean anything from frottage and the Princeton Rub, to blowjobs to the full monty butt-fucking penetration, but I also have to say that sex between two people doesn’t have to include ALL of these components to be considered sex. In my eyes, if you’re making out, the clothes come off, and you end up giving each other the good stroke, I consider that sex. Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky, notwithstanding.

Anyway, so I’ve had tons of sex of late, and as nice and warm and fuzzy feeling as I’ve been left after those occurrences in the throes of passion,  they’re really just fleeting. Don’t get me wrong, I love making out. I love foreplay, I love being intimate with nice, sweet, hot, and attractive guys, but more than that, I would really desire to be doing this in something long term. I know I’ve said this in the past, but I can’t help but say it time and time again. I like going to movies, and galleries and shopping and eating ice cream, and I really want to explore that with someone who’s digging me as much as they dig being tied up in a wrestling singlet and having me nibble on their nipples.

Is that too much to ask for?

The people who would love to repeal the proposition 8 measure are really driving me crazy.

I was planning to blog this morning about stopping my whorish ways, which really have gotten out of control. I’ve put the kabosh on my hookups which are just that, which never go anywhere other than a fleeting makeout/BJ session or swordfighting action. What I really want is a relationship, but I won’t blog about that because I’m too pissed about these knuckleheads who want to overturn the right for gays to marry in the state of California.

NPR’s Forum on KQED in San Francisco had a show featuring Bill May, chairman of Catholics for the Common Good (no comment on that name, I’ll let it speak for itself) and Kate Kendell, the exec director of National Center for Lesbian Rights (GO dykes!), who is also on the executive committ for the No on 8 proposition.

What really has me spinning is that those who would vote yes on 8 have this huge, high hard one for the kids. The kids this, the kids that. For the record, what the fuck is wrong with kids being exposed to a couple of people who love each other and have devoted and committed their lives to each other?

May (aka The Catholic dude):

“It has always been in the public interest to encourage men and women to marry and to be accountable for their children,” May says. “The court has severed that and eliminated that as a public interest. It has reached a point of indifference, and now four out of 10 kids are born out of wedlock. Forty percent of children are living away from their fathers. The Brookings Institute has established that the decline in marriage is responsible for the increase in the number of children living in poverty.”

Again, WTF does that have to do with two people getting married, and how does that affect the millions of straight couples in California who are already married (separated and divorced folk fucking up the curve, notwithstanding?)

Kendell (aka, the dyke we love):

“Your parade of horribles has nothing to do with expanding the right of marriage to include same-sex couples. The fundamental right that has been extended to same-sex couples to marry is not about severing the recognition of the importance of marriage to the stability of a family. It’s about recognizing and expanding that to include same-sex couples who form relationships, who become economically interdependent, many of them who have children, live in neighborhoods, and who support their community, and who now finally in the state of California are supported and recognized as having their relationship recorded under civil law the same dignity respect, and security as anyone else.”

I’ve already voted via absentee, cause I’m too lazy to actually get up and haul ass into the booth. And if you have any spare scheckles in your change purse, to PLEASE donate whatever you can to keep the right for gays and lesbians the freedom to marry the one they love in the state of California.

UPDATE: I found this tidbit from a San Francisco CBS affiliate. Check it out.

“Is there something wrong with being a Muslim in this country? The answer is no. That’s not America. Is there something wrong with a seven-year-old Muslim-American kid believing he or she could be president? Yet I have heard senior members of my own party drop the suggestion that [Obama] is a Muslim and might have an association with terrorists. This is not the way we should be doing it in America.

I feel particularly strong about this because of a picture I saw in a magazine. It was a photo essay about troops who were serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. And one picture at the tail end of this photo essay, was of a mother at Arlington Cemetery and she had her head on the headstone of her son’s grave. And as the picture focused in, you could see the writing on the headstone, and it gave his awards - Purple Heart, Bronze Star - showed that he died in Iraq, gave his date of birth, date of death, he was 20 years old. And then at the very top of the head stone, it didn’t have a Christian cross. It didn’t have a Star of David. It has a crescent and star of the Islamic faith.

And his name was Kareem Rashad Sultan Khan. And he was an American. He was born in New Jersey. He was fourteen years old at the time of 9/11, and he waited until he could serve his country and he gave his life.”

- Colin Powell