an Open Letter to Smokey Josephine

I’m really glad you took such a fervent interest in my knitting, while on the bus the other day. It was really nice to hear how your grandmother had taught you to knit when you were a girl and that seeing me work on my fingerless glove just took you right back in time; I really love hearing stories like that (and you’d be surprised how often I do have people tap me on the shoulder to chat about my knitting). You might be wondering why I gave you a simple ‘hello’ this morning, when I sat down next to you (in the only available aisle seat). It’s not because I wasn’t feeling chatty (I mean I wasn’t, but that’s just because I’m ridiculously anti-social before 7 am); it’s your breath…it’s awful.

You Don't Have to Be Crazy to Work Here...

It seems there are a few things that weren't covered in the new hire orientation or in the employee handbook we need to read and affirm annually:

1. Elevator etiquette: if you see someone running towards the elevator, and there’s room, hold the door for them. We’re all in a hurry to go somewhere, whether it’s home or up to your desk, would it kill you show some courtesy? Oh and when/if they do make it in time and cause the doors to re-open so they can get on, don’t give them attitude/face; you’re the jerk, not them.

2. Speaker of the House: unless you’re in your own office, with a door that closes, speakerphone is incredibly irritating to those around you. how 'bout picking up that receiver, buddy?

3. Potty Mouth: guys, if you’re too pee shy to use a urinal, at least have the decency to lift the seat in the stall. Or, if you can’t wait that long, clean it off afterward, y’filthy animal.

4. Spellbound: outlook has spell check, built-in, let it do its job…please.

5. Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood: your cubicle is not a self contained biosphere sealing you off from your co-workers, other people can see you picking your nose, hear you belching and smell your wretched lunch.

6. Door Jam: ladies bitches, having a door held open for you is a privilege, not a right; try saying “thank you” and reciprocating once in a while



7. Finger Print: Printer etiquette has been a pet peeve of mine, for years; so much so, that it had a list of its own, way back when and then again, a few years later. i still stand behind both posts.
ladies

How to Be a Good Commuter (or How Not to Get the Crap Kicked Out of You By a Fellow Commuter)

CawfeeGuy's Bubble Theory: think of your "personal space" as a bubble; a very small, very tight  and form fitting bubble. you and your actions should not extend beyond your bubble. this includes smells, so go easy on the cologne/perfume or (on the flip side) bathe.

That having been said...

1. One person, one seat: we all pay the same fare, guys and it only entitles you to one seat; there's really no need to spread yourself out like you're trying to fend off a bear attack and i'm sure you're junk isn't so big that you can't close your legs. if it is i'll be glad to help you hold them up. and ladies, there is absolutely positively no reason to bring more than two bags with you to work (and honestly with the size of the bags out there, i can't even begin to fathom why you'd need more than a pocketbook). if you need to bring enough stuff with you to take up two seats, you should probably find another mode of transportation. and don't get cunty when someone asks you to move your shit so they can sit down; you're wrong and you will be read.

2. Cellphones are fucking annoying:  once you swipe that Metrocard, it doesn't matter if you're Donald Trump or Martha Stewart, you're just another schmuck riding a bus and nobody gives a flaming shit about your business. more often than not other folks are trying to nap on the way in to the city and decompress on the way home. keep it on vibrate, in your pocket. keep it brief and low; don't be that guy or that girl that everyone stares at with daggers in their eyes as you yammer away for 20 minutes about last night's Jersey Shore or your kooky Korean nail girl. try texting; you can think of it as aerobic exercise.

3. Headphones are for personal use only:  nobody should be able to hear what's being piped directly into your head, regardless of how hot the song is (or how hot you think it is).

4. Save it for the beauty shop: ladies, please shut the fuck up. if you need to chit chat and gossip with your Bus BFF that badly, do it quietly. you are not on the View and nobody wants to hear your conversation,  for the entire two hour bus ride; you sound like a yard full of chickens. see #2.

5. Procrastinate on your own time: if you know your stop is coming up, don't wait until the absolute last second to get out of your seat  and make your way up the aisle. chances are you're not the only person trying to get off the bus; waiting until the bus has already stopped is too late and just blocks the aisle for everyone else (especially when you're in a window seat and have to move another person out of the way to get out of your seat).

6. Dentist seat syndrome: this previous post pretty much sums it up.

7. Mind the kaboose: sometimes we're forced to stand, on the way home; it's a sad fact, but a fact nonetheless. if you're one of the unfortunate souls who has to stand for the entire ride, while all the people sitting can sympathize with your circumstance, they shouldnt be forced to have your ass in their faces. granted, some people don't mind certain people's asses in their face,  but still: it's polite to ask prior to expecting a rim job.

8. Metrocard Ettiquite 101: have it ready before you get on the bus, it will really save alot of angry glares, especially when it's raining. have an idea of what your balance on it is versus how much the fare is before you try getting on. it doesn't take MENSA membership to use one, either. if you're at a complete loss, look at the person who got on before you and do the exact same thing.

i know i have pet peeves about the bus, but since i spend about 4 hours of my day on one, i consider myself somewhat of an authority. i'm pretty sure that following these rules will make everyone's day a little better and may save your life one day. see, y'never know when a fellow commuter is gonna snap and strangle you with a circular knitting needle...i'm just sayin...

An Open Letter to The Ex I Saw on the Bus Last Night

wow! it's been years* since we saw each other last (coincidentally, I’m pretty sure you were the last guy I dated before I met CawfeeMate); you still look really good** and haven’t changed, a bit***. I had forgotten how into music**** you were and how many stories you had*****! Congratulations again on getting engaged! I think it’s really great that you found someone; he must be a really great guy and I hope everything goes well with the wedding. Anyway, I’m glad we got to chat on the bus ride home****** and I hope we’ll bump into each other again*******!


*well, not exactly years; i've seen you on the bus a few times, since I switched routes last January, but i've never felt the need to acknowledge you because i thought it would be awkward; but since the last time saw each other on the bus we've become Facebook friends, and i'm guessing that's what prompted you to say hi and ask to sit next to me.

** translation: if we were both single, i'd totally fuck you, again.

*** that stutter hasn’t improved has it? y’know, the one that makes you repeat repeat repeat repeat the same word or word or word or sentence a couple of times before you get it out? God that was annoying…still is, actually. Between the stutter and the completely uninteresting content, your stories seem to take forever. Were you always this much of a bore? God, maybe that’s why I stopped seeing you.

**** nobody should ever tell somebody else, “because I’m a musician, I tend to hear music differently than most; that’s why I can truly appreciate how amazing Madonna’s Hard Candy is” you pompous bore. BTW: i've heard your "music" and i can understand why you're producing your own albums; the 1st two make wonderful coasters when i can't find my copy of Confessions On the Dancefloor.

***** the one about kicking your mom out of your apartment? priceless! the one about your testicle which was twisted inside your scrotum? a total gas!

****** because even though it seemed to take 3 days to get home, it really and truly reminded me how great CawfeeMate is and how much I appreciate him; which I old him, the second I got in the car.

******* actually, I just hope I’m quick enough to feign sleep next time.

an Open Letter to the NY Heritage of Pride Parade Organizers

Head Faggot, Dyke, Tranny, etc,
The husband (aka CawfeeMate) and i recently marched in the annual Heritage of Pride Parade, under the banner of my (extremely pro-diversity) company. this was our second march down fifth, flaunting our faggotry and, once again, we had a blast! The music! The outfits! The myriad personalities co-mingling in a sea of mutual acceptance (and occasional bitchiness). All of it was spectacular and i'm so, wonderfully proud to be able to have taken part, especially in light of the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall riots; after having watched the parade from the sidelines it felt great to participate (even though we completely missed out on the swag). i would like to applaud everyone who was involved with getting the whole thing off the ground! a couple of suggestions, though...

• placement: when deciding the line up of which group goes where, how about a little more rationale? last year my group was in-between a couple of banks (which makes perfect sense since we are, for all intents and purposes a bank). this year, though, we were sandwiched in between the Universal Unitarian Church and Flaming for Christ: Gay Presbyterians. WTF? while i love people who love the lord (the way i love all stupid people), it was odd, to say the least; i mean, surely we were not the only financial institution present!

• let's talk punctuality, people. now, i know that the riots were kicked off by drag queen, but that is no excuse to have the whole parade run on "drag time". my "group leader" was told that we'd be marching at 11:30 and, knowing his faggots, he told the flock to get there at 10:30. do you know what time we actually started marching? 2:30. don't get me wrong, it was a beautiful day, with the sun shining (i got the most gorgeous tan), but not everyone is blessed with my olive complexion; some people (CawfeeMate, for one) tend to crisp in the sun and standing motionless like a tree for 3 hours is not a good idea. also, think of the afformentioned drag queens: would you want to stand around waiting, in full face, wig, platforms and skin tight vinyl? i don't think so.nobody wants to see Anne Tique or Virginia Hamm melting in the sunshine like a Rocket-pop. do it for the drag queens and the fair skinned queers.

• music: maybe it's because we were sandwiched between holy-rollers, but it seemed like all the other floats before us and after us (we, sadly, did not get a float; it was not in our budget) had better music (the UU sang a gospel version of the Indigo Girls' Closer to Fine every third song and the Presby-queer-ians played the strangest assortment of Michael Jackson, disco and 70's TV show themes); again very strange. Music being something very near and dear to my heart, it always surprises me that there isn't more cohesion or uniformity to the parade floats' choices. CawfeeMate made a suggestion 1/4 of the way through: Choose 20 "pride related" songs/themes and have the DJ's play them on an endless loop/rotation. there are countless versions of I'm Coming Out and I Am What I Am, and the floats should make the crowd want to cheer and get happy. down with the dirges!

i know you've been doing this for a long time (40 years long!) but perhaps a fresh-ish set of eyes would be a welcome perspective. have a great summer!

an Open Letter to the Big Fat Guy With Whom I "Shared" a Seat This Morning on the Bus

1st off i hope you don't mind being referred to as "the big fat guy", but let's call a spade a spade, y'ain't exactly Jack Skellington ain'cha? And no, neither am i, however my 42" shoulders and 34" ass were dwarfed by your 54" barrel shape which took up 80% of the two Nederlander Theater sized seats we were forced to share. i feel a certain kinship to you, especially since i used to be quite a bit plumper; this kinship allows me to address you by the common nickname we have both shared at some point in our lives. the "big", come from fact that you were, easily, 6'3" and that ain't tiny. Anyhoo...
While you had your eyes closed for the majority of our 35 minute trip together (i'm not sure if you were snoring or just breathing phlegmy) i'm sure you must've noticed, at some point, that my upper body was bent at a distressing 45^o angle over the armrest, into the aisle. see, that was a result of your elbows jutting out as they rested comfortably on your tool bag. i'm glad you were comfortable enough to either actually or pretend to sleep, 'cuz i wasn't. partly because i was "reaching across the aisle" with my face and partly because, you were giving off the body heat comparable to crematorium furnace and i was sweating like Catholic priest at a Cub Scout pool party.



i guess this is what happens when you get on at the 2nd to last stop of the bus's run and beggars can't be choosers, but tomorrow i hope i'll be able to find a seat next to someone else. Or that you've worked out that you clearly don't want to share a seat and should, probably, sit on the aisle yourself and not give the impression that there's more room than there is. see, i'm pretty sure that most people won't want to be pressed between the window of the bus and a wall oven...

Copy Catty (or An Open Letter to My Co-Workers)

Assholes,
we live in an age where almost everything we do is idiot proof. technology has evolved to include interactive instructions and error messages on almost every piece of office equipment; specifically the fax machine, copy machine and printer. in fact, all three of these machines have basically the same error message/instructions which pop up with a certain amount of regularity: "i'm outta paper", "i'm outta toner", and "i'm jammed dammit" and (i know for a fact) the copier and the printer have animated instructions on how to replace the paper and toner and where the jam is and how to fix it. remedying "problems" could not be made simpler without the addition of a "technician" (read: trained monkey with the ability to read and follow directions) sitting next chained to the machine.
yet, still, i find myself at the printer/fax/copy machine following the prompts and fixing messes left behind by you (all), on an almost hourly basis, only to discover that there is a backlog of prints/faxes/copies waiting in queue for someone to feed or burp the printer/copier/fax machine.

contrary to popular belief, i did not graduate from Apex Tech, i'm not in IT nor am i the Magical Office Hardware Repair Fairie. all i can do is read and follow a pictogram...that's the extent of my magical powers; consider my myth debunked.

i strongly suggest you teach your lazy selves to read and follow instructions. because, starting today, after i fix the printer/fax/copier i am throwing away all the stuff that isn't mine...consider yourselves warned.

an Open Letter to...?

as you know, we've been taking the same bus from Manhattan to Staten Island, for the last 3 years; it's true that we don't see each other every day, but usually once a week, at least. whenever you see me you're incredibly chatty; you've told me about your own children (the cop and the teacher) and your ailing husband's failing kidneys. last march, and this past week, you seemed genuinely concerned about my job. you always ask after my husband and our dog; last year, you were so very interested in the plans for our wedding and offered tons of advice (about everything from the favors to the menu) and your own supportive opinions on gay marriage; in fact i'll admit i was moved by your outrage, on monday, when i told you that we were going up to canada to get married "for real" and then explained that last year's affair was not recognized by the state/federal government. you're pushy but delightful, in a very Jewish Mother (for that is what you are) kinda way.

oddly enough, despite the discussions we've had and the hours we've spent together, standing on line and then riding the bus, i have absolutely no idea what the hell your name is.

you told me once, three years ago, and i promptly forgot it (not realizing that we'd talk more often than i talk to my own mother) and now i feel like an absolute idiot because you know my name and my husband's name and even my dog's name. i've come to think of you and refer to you (to my friends and family) as the Big Haired Blonde Lady from the Bus (you're something of a low-level celeb in my small circle) or sometimes Maude or Stella (since those names seem to fit).

So, i hope i don't offend when i just say Hi or Howyadoin when i see you; it just seems more appropriate than calling you by the name i think you should have.

an Open Letter to the Complaints Department at Atlantic Express

after waiting an hour last night on 34th and 6th avenue for a bus (in the hot sun and Manhattan smog), i came in this morning and wrote the following "letter" to the Atlantic Express bus company; i eagerly await a reply:

Atlantic Express continues it's long standing tradition of abysmal service to Staten Island commuters with increasingly longer wait times for x24 and X23 buses both in the mornings and afternoons. During the average five day work week, 3 mornings i'm forced to wait at "the checkpoint" for a bus with a seat; invariably, i take an x22. for the 2nd run of the morning this is absolutely ridiculous.

what is even worse is the nightly wait of a MINIMUM of 30 minutes for a seat. it is unconscionable that one should have to wait from 5:20 to 6:20, on 34th street, for a seat on a bus OR stand for the hour-and-a-half trip home. if you've ever had the unfortunate experience of riding "cowboy's" bus, you'll understand why standing is not an option. what is beyond frustrating, though, is being unable to glean information from the dispatcher; phones ring for ten minutes at a time, without being answered. the dispatchers know that the commuters are angry and don't want to hear it.

there have been numerous rumors circulating, that the MTA will be "taking over" the run of the x24 and x23; i only hope that these rumors are true as it is inconceivable that the MTA could provide poorer service to commuters.

an Open Letter to the Incredibly Hot Construction Workers/Electricians/Carpenters/Plumbers Who Ride the Express Bus at 5:30 am

hi fellas. how you doin?
i get that you work hard; i do.
i see you every morning, en masse, wearing your tight jeans with the rips at the knees, tool belts and various union t-shirts; clutching your bags of tools, your NY Posts and steaming cups of Bagel Barn coffee. You've got that macho "i can build a house with my bare and calloused hands" look on your tired faces. you do seem tired; very, very tired.
apparently, you're so tired that you need the entire bus ride to sleep. that, in and of itself, is fine. i'm sure you work very hard, hammering nails and cutting boards, fixing pipes and rewiring things. collectively, i give you alot of credit. i greatly admire those who can use their hands as something other than a showcase for rings, since i can't change the batteries in my Wii remote without help and the only building material i can use effectively is Lego.
what i can't quite grasp, though, is why you feel the need to recline your seats on the bus, horizontally. as someone who sits in his seat without any recline at all, i'm mystified that you can ride the bus on your back, comfortably, but to each his own, right?i've got to give you credit though: it seems that in your quest for comfort, you're able to break the reclining mechanism, in almost all the seats on the bus, with such effectiveness that their natural ability to recline only a little, are completely overridden to allow a total recline. concurrently, i'm not sure if you're aware of the limited amount of space which we bus riders share, but reclining your seat to such a degree severely limits the amount of leg room the person behind you has. it's just something i thought i'd point out...an observation, if you will.
anyway, i just thought i'd let you know that as much as i'd love to have your head(s) buried in my lap or even get into our mouths, having you in the denitst-patient position is not what i had in mind. besides, 1st thing in the morning is not a good time for me...i need my coffee 1st.

"All those boys/With fascinating fingers/Working creating/Touching their tools"~ My Spine (Bjork)

An Open Letter to That Guy From the Bus

though you and i have never exchanged two words, i know that you know who i am. we see each other every morning on the X24 from Staten Island to midtown Manhattan. i usually get on after you (the second to last stop) and sit a seat or two behind you, as you tend to sit in the 1st few rows; always on the aisle. i've seen you sullenly ignore people when they ask to sit in the seat next to you, by the window, and once even ask a guy if he was kidding. i gather that you're not a morning person and don't, particularly, like to share. hey, whatever makes your morning work, right?

what i don't quite understand is why you jump in front of me, every morning, just before we get to 34th street and Broadway. i've seen you scope me out, out of the corner of your eye, and step into the aisle just as i get to your seat. every morning. mind you, if you wanna be the 1st one off the bus, i say "knock yourself out". it's really neither here nor there. i'm more interested in the look of determination on your face, when you step in front of me. i noticed this morning that you let someone else step to the front, but still stepped in front of me when i got up. i dunno, maybe i'm paranoid or petty, but repeating patterns tend to fascinate me.

i'm fine with your need to be the 1st off the bus, it's not in my nature to be so competitive. quite honestly i hate being the 1st person in the aisle, especially since the psycho driver tends to stop short at very high speeds. the last thing i need is to hit the windshield at 30 mph, but if that's what you're into, rock on.

i'm honestly content to step off the bus behind you; especially when i beat your sorry, fat, beer-bloated, breeder ass to the F train every morning.

An Open Letter to the New York Metro and A.M New York Newspapers

To Whom It May Concern:
I’d like to bring to your attention, what I believe is, a disturbing phenomenon that I’ve come to associate with your respective newspapers.

Every day I commute from Staten Island to Manhattan and then to Downtown Brooklyn. Every day, without fail, I’m accosted (literally) by some scary, dirty, muppet-eyed, quasi-homeless looking person, wearing a smock emblazoned with either of your logos, attempting to give me a free copy of your publications. Said representatives are extraordinarily pushy and often stand at the exit for the express bus, brandishing your newspapers. Once past these periodical wielding harpies, I encounter and additional set, inside the subway station and then, again, when I exit the train in Brooklyn. By the time I reach my office I feel like a b-list celebrity, having just left rehab, dodging the paparazzi. My morning commute is stressful enough, without having to worry about jackals descending on me like a wounded gazelle.

To be honest, I don’t think I’d mind saying “no thanks” as much if your paper-pushers didn’t look quite so much like the homeless people that I had just declined while on the train. Call me old fashioned or classist, but I prefer to accept things easier from people who don’t look like they’ll be sleeping under the newspapers they don’t give out that day.

Because of this, I don’t think I’ll ever accept a copy of either of your newspapers, despite their being free. Perhaps you should reconsider your marketing/distribution policies. Perhaps you should rethink whom you give your smocks to.

sincerely,
Cawfeeguy

An Open Letter to Those of You For Whom I Will be Purchasing Christmas Gifts This Year...

you need to write me out a christmas list.
i don't have the time or patience to think of fun, fabulous, original gifts like usually do.
i'm tired and a little befuddled.
a little help would be greatly appreciated.

the sooner i get it, the better.
thank you for your cooperation.

An Open Letter to D (or This One Goes Out to the One I Loved)

think back about ten years.
we met on AOL, like most gay boys in the late 90's; i think i was going by CawfeeBoy2 at the time, or maybe TruthsDarkMirror. in one night we chatted for quite a few hours, then a couple more the next night, etc. i'd never clicked with somebody, so quickly, just by chatting online. it was truly astounding how much we had in common. then, one night about a week or two later, my parents were away, and you asked me to come over. so, being the naive kid i was, i hopped a cab and met you at your apartment on the other side of the Island.

you'd sent me pictures, but nothing prepared me for how completely handsome you were: my age (22? 23?) with thick dark brown hair, incredibly large brown eyes, a very Italian looking nose and a wide mouth; you were stocky and short, but with broad shoulders; not a gym boy, by any means; Staten Island's version of the boy next door. i fell for you completely, and then fell your pull-out couch. the sex was amazing; you were amazing.

when it was over, and we lay back cuddling and talking, you said what i had been hoping to hear from another man my entire life: "i could fall in love with you". only what i heard was "i could fall in love with you". you had me. i was yours, lock stock and barrel. i went home later and walked on clouds for the next 2 days, till we were supposed to hang out again. the next time we spoke you told me you had to fly to Oregon for a family emergency. the short visit turned into a permanent move (i don't remember all the specifics) and i never saw you again.

we talked on the phone once a week (your voice was like black velvet even over the phone) and you told me that you'd be back and we'd be together; that you loved me and wanted to marry me. i grew to care about love you despite the difference in time-zones. i sent you letters and care packages filled with my still-adolescent, angst filled love poetry, mix tapes, candy and my favorite silver ring (the one with the small suns and moons on it). about a year (maybe two) later you told me you were coming back to New York to visit and i was so excited! the trip fell through. a few months later you invited me to Oregon for a week. i was all set but then couldn't make it. later, i met a guy and we started dating; i stopped calling and writing and i don't think you noticed. it finally hit me that you weren't coming back and we'd never see each other again and that i'd been a total ass for the last year (maybe two).

all the fantasies i had about us being together faded with time. your face never did though, and i sometimes see you at the mall or on the subway or in the supermarket. i usually turn away.

i'm older now, and i'm in love, again. it's different than that 22 (or 23) year old "1st" love.
it's solid. it's real and tangible. it doesn't consume me, it sustains me.
it's the love i thought i was feeling at 22 (or 23).

i hope you're doing well, wherever you are. i'd love to know what you've been up to for the last few years; especially if you're happy. i'd love for you to meet Stephen; i'm sure you two would hit it off (if he didn't try and cut you). Anyway, i do hope you're happy...or (at the very least) as happy as i am.

an Open Letter to Rufus Wainwright

i'm sorry, sweetie; i've tried to like your new CD, i really really have, but it's just not happening. i thought that if i played it randomly with your 1st four cds (and my own Rufus Wainwright Rarities compilation which includes some unreleased live stuff and the things you did for various movie soundtracks, like Heartburn, Instant Pleasure, and Alleluia) that it would be bearable. i was wrong. a couple of the songs are really good (ie. Do I Disappoint You, Slideshow, Leaving for Paris No.2, and Release the Stars), but the rest of it is just...well...disconcertingly dull, and i wind up fast forwarding them (Between My Legs? what were you thinking?). i even went to your website to download the 2 "special" tracks with the password i got in the CD (incidentally, **boo* *hiss** for not making them uploadable to MP3 players. i've yet to listen to either song, because i can't. i mean, really though, how many people listen to music solely on their computers? bad form, miss thing). i tried to wait it out like i did with Want Two, which (i'll be honest) i didn't like when i 1st heard it. a month or so later, the genius of the music hit me(Gay Messiah? Art Teacher? Old Whore's Diet? fucking awesome); unlike your other albums which i loved right out of the box, the 1st time i listened to them. i was hoping the same thing would happen with Release the Stars, to no avail. perhaps i should wait a little longer?

i'm sure this was a fluke and your next CD will be as wonderful as your others; they can't all be winners, right? you're an amazing musician, a brilliant performer (speaking of which, when are we gonna see the Carnegie Hall concerts released on either CD or DVD?) and a shining beacon in the Community. i've been a fan for quite a while, and i'll stay a fan till you stop releasing CD's and performing; just promise me you'll stop recording songs like Tulsa...

Letter to a Candidate...

Sunday morning on the way to the Parade:
This guy (Matthew Titone) was trawling the ferry, shaking babies and kissing hands, asking everyone who looked even REMOTELY gay to support him for State Senate.
Stephen and I were standing with my friend Kemp when he came over, pushing (campaign) buttons, and went through his schpiel. Kemp was like, "But why should I vote for you; what to you stand for"? Mr Titone gave him the worst possible answer: Because I’m the GAY candidate. Kemp told him to keep the button. now, to be fair, i am paraphrasing. he didn't actually say that, but he also didn't answer Kemp. he asked him "what do you think i stand for; Santa Claus for President and Mickey Mouse for Mayor. i stand for the same things you do".
we saw him later that day marching in the parade with some of the other politic-rates. it took me a couple of days to compose this letter which i e-mailed to him this morning:


Mr Titone,
It’s truly appalling how you slithered your way around the SI Ferry Terminal on Sunday, surrounded by your small go-go boy entourage, touting yourself as the only “openly gay” candidate running for State Senate. If you’re so “openly gay” as you claim, why is there no mention of it on your website? There is no mention of where you stand on Gay Marriage, Adoption, or Hate Crimes. While at the ferry, you were asked by several people what your platform was. Your answers were vague, non-committal and downright infantile. Your attitude seemed to be “I’m gay, you’re gay, why wouldn’t you vote for me”. with your unctuous manner, lascivious leer, shifty eyes, and inability to voice a platform on gay issues (or any issues, for that matter), you’ve definitely failed to garner my trust. Till now, I had absolutely no interest in the campaign for State Senator. You’ve now insured that my vote will certainly go to whomever opposes you

"Even when laws have been written down, they ought not always to remain unaltered."~ Aristotle