In June 2014, I moved back to NYC after my mom passed away the previous November.  Already dealing, or not dealing with that grief, plus ending a relationship was quite a lot to digest. In retrospect it was a traumatic period of transition in my life.  To make matters worse from the very beginning my NYC teaching career seemed to be cursed. 

I sent all my paperwork – certified mail – (fellow teachers know why) to Albany in December, planning on teaching in September. August rolled around and still no certification. (I had been teaching for over 10 years so it wasn’t a question of whether or not I would get certified it was just a question of when.)  Interviewing for jobs, I was told I would be a great hire, but they couldn’t roll the dice hoping I would be certified by Labor Day. After the opening of schools came and went and still no certification my father went to our local Congressman’s office the day after Labor Day; within minutes he left with a piece of paper listing my NY state certifications. Seems I was certified after all, I just hadn’t received the paperwork. 

The damage was done; schools were back in session, and any potential full-time positions had been filled. I needed to work so I decided to become a substitute teacher for this first year back in NYC. But now I had a new level of hurdles and hoops to jump through. I needed a special certification to be a sub. What? But I am already a “real” teacher! This special certification came with another fee.  To add serious insult to injury, I now was required to be fingerprinted a second time in less than 7 months! To teach in NYC public schools one needs to be fingerprinted twice. At the cheap fee of $99 each time. That’s right I had to be fingerprinted by NY state, standard I get it. But separate certification to teach in New York City — FUCK NO! Almost $500 in certifications, fingerprints fees, before even stepping into a classroom. Talk about redundancy and a money maker for the city.

I spent the balance of the school year as a Sub and taking part time teaching jobs when they were available. Not the ideal situation but it was income and this gave me the opportunity to get back into the system with the hope of a full time job the following school year.. Eager to get a full time job I interviewed at a school in Whitestone during the next summer. I did not “connect” with the first person I met with, the Assistant Principal.  She kept repeating the same question, over and over. “Show me what that looks like…” I would then explain, in detail, the lesson plan, which was met with minimal enthusiasm, at best, only to be told again – “Show me what that looks like.” (eye roll.)

In walks the principal. We talked, I modeled a lesson for her. The vibe immediately changed. She was warm, friendly, outgoing, everything the AP wasn’t. She called a few days later offering me a job. I was hesitant – but I needed a job. My gut told me no, but my brain and wallet told me yes. I wish I had listened to my gut.

It was very apparent the AP for whatever reason did not like me. My guess – simple – I was a man. A gay man, yes. But still a man. The only male on my grade level. AP did not seem to interact well with males. This was apparently common knowledge in the school.  I am not soft spoken. I don’t treat the students like they are babies. I was the exact opposite of what she thought a great teacher looked like and sounded like. I didn’t know it then but every day was going to be a dogfight. Every day a new battle.

Her first time in my classroom, the second week or so into the school year, “Mr. Dominic I am so surprised by how impressed I am with what I just saw.” Really? That would be the nicest thing she ever said to me.  It was a constant source of entertainment among the faculty. “Dominic, you know she hates you right?” I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry.

The entertainment portion ended when a month or so later she started my observations. “Mrs. Show me what that looks like” gave me the LOWEST of the possible scores. This was my 16th year teaching! I am not a novice. To put this in some sort of context, other administrators in the building scored me at the 2 highest possible scores on many of the different quadrants. AP was the only one who ever gave me the lowest ranking, multiple times.  The comments she wrote to justify these scores were laughable – “Johnathan (not his name) was wearing a hoodie during instruction.” (hoodies are not allowed as part of the dress code.) “At one point Mr. Dominic had his back turned from the class for a full minute.” I WAS WRITING ON THE BOARD YOU IMBECILE! Lol.

Every time something like that would happen I would have to go see the school Union Rep.  Towards the beginning she was helpful and understanding. After weeks and months of constantly having to deal with my “issues” she, like many, grew tired and weary of this never ending fight. “What now, Dominic” seemed to be her go-to response when I entered her classroom.

AP decides at one point I needed a mentor teacher, you know to help me become a better teacher. (Year 16 of me teaching btw) Sure. Fine. Whatever. I told her who I wanted to work with in the building. “No I am going to assign you the mentor teacher I think would best help you. SERIOUSLY?!!??! 

Another time, I was pulled aside to discuss my bulletin board. Apparently it “wasn’t pretty enough.” Their words exactly. They got the wrong Gay for that! 

Whether or not you like me personally I could give two shits. But when it seeps into your professional evaluations of me then we have a major problem. To make matters worse, my complaints seemed to fall on deaf ears. After endless meetings with the Administration of me asking, begging for AP not to be the one that observes me…not only did she continue to observe me but she observed me more than any other administrator in the building. She observed me the Friday before Spring Break. (a notoriously low attendance day, and an “educational movie” day.) Guess how many other teachers she observed that day…

Side not, after statewide testing teachers have to grade the papers all day every day for a week. Teachers are sent offsite on a rotating basis. (In the three years I was at this school I was sent once.) The DOE pays for a substitute for your classes all week. 

At the end of the first day at this site, I was “promoted” to team leader by the Administrative Team running this site. At the end of the week these same supervisors sent a letter to my principal for my file, praising my hard work and leadership skills. In less than 5 days these people saw something in me that they took the time to write a letter for my personnel file. Why couldn’t this woman see a little piece of what they saw?

Personally, I did not handle the situation well. Throughout all the ups and downs of my life, teaching was always something I was good at and something that came naturally to me. It was something I didn’t have to worry if I was doing well or not.  I don’t say this to be conceited, I say it to emphasize the fact that during rocky times, breakups, moves, financial struggles I always knew that teaching was the one thing thing I couldn’t fuck up.

Every day I came home dejected, depressed, mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted. Months went by where I received no positive feedback or reinforcement. Tell me I am wearing a nice tie! ANYTHING! Throw me a bone here. I can laugh about it now but living it was hell. 

How I felt at work naturally spilled over into my private life. I wasn’t sleeping well, was drinking more, was calling out of work more because I hated being there. I was skipping the gym, eating poorly. Everything was falling apart, especially me. 

In hindsight, there are many different ways I could have handled this situation. I wasn’t the only one on her hit list. But I was the only one fighting fire with fire. Other teachers counseled me, “kill her with kindness,” “smile and just do whatever she wants,” they would say. Those suggestions probably would have made my life much easier. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

I kept going back to the fact that she inherently didn’t like me, didn’t get me, didn’t like the traits of my personality that make me me! It showed in her critiques of my teaching. She wasn’t necessarily critiquing what I taught but how I taught it. How I spoke, how I moved. Is my teaching style for everyone? Of course not, no one person can be liked by every student every year. But I pride myself on being fair and letting students know they all have the power to succeed in my classroom.

Things could not continue like this. I had to do something. I was at the end of my rope – in every sense of the word. I eventually went out on medical leave (I lied, faking the symptoms with an Academy Award winning performance), and never went back.  Never answered any letters or phone calls from them asking when I was coming back. Basically I ghosted them. Not my finest moment by a long shot.

I had never felt more like a failure professionally as I had at that point. I had been a GREAT teacher. And for all the heartache and stress and low pay, I LOVED being a teacher. My heart just wasn’t in it anymore. I felt that nothing I did would make any sort of difference in how I was judged, evaluated and scored. I became the teacher that did the bare minimum. I was going to get the lowest possible scores anyway, so why try? One day you wake up and you don’t recognize yourself anymore; it happens slowly over time. I didn’t really like the teacher or person I had become.

Am I without fault here? Of course not. I should have left that school years earlier. In all honesty I should have never taken the job in the first place. I should have played the game and kept my mouth shut. Fighting fire with fire was not the right response. I knew immediately during the first interview the AP and I did not see eye to eye. On anything.  In those first few weeks I promised myself that I would not let her break me. Unfortunately it was a promise I couldn’t keep. When I walked out of the building that last day, I vowed never to go back to teaching. Today, a few years removed from the situation and with a different perspective, I can say that at some point I can see myself back in the classroom. Maybe someday. But not today.

by Stephan M. Greco, GUEST WRITER

No doubt, one of your resolutions for 2020 was to eat healthier! How’s that going for you? Many people think healthy eating means more expensive, but not if you also eat smarter!  Sure, a fridge full of wild caught salmon, organic fruits and vegetables and acai berry juice sounds amazing but many of us need to make our meal plans budget friendly. The grocery store can be a mine field of nutritional challenges, so I’m here to help you optimize your grocery store choices without breaking the bank.

“Superfood” is a nontechnical term for health-boosting cuisine that packs an awesome nutritional punch. Here are some sensible substitutions for hyped-but-pricey foods that frequently show up on superfood summaries.

Instead of salmon: Try tuna for some good fats. Canned tuna in oil has 1 gram of saturated fat but also 2.5 grams of unsaturated good fat. Water-packed tuna is low in calories while offering generous amounts of lean protein, omega-3 fatty acids, B vitamins, selenium and vitamin D. In addition, canned tuna counts toward the recommended minimum of two servings per week of fish.

Instead of quinoa: Turn to barley, oats and brown rice. All three of these amazing grains are less expensive and often sold in bulk. I love oats and barley because of their special fiber: beta glucan. It’s good for your heart, and new research shows that it helps you feel full longer, so you’re less likely to overeat.

Instead of fresh berries: look for sales on store-brand frozen berries. Believe it or not, some quick frozen foods like wild blueberries can actually be better than fresh bought. They retain their nutritional value longer, and they are preserved at their peak, not before. Some fresh-sold fruits are picked early to ensure they won’t spoil during the long shipping and storage, but not those that are quick frozen.  If you have a farmers market, see if berries are cheaper in season. Or buy inexpensive bananas for your fruit fix; they are high in potassium, vitamin B6, fiber and vitamin C.

Instead of kale:  Kale’s popularity brings with it a higher price tag. Instead, keep your eye out for any dark-green leafy vegetable that your market has on sale such as mustard greens, collard greens, Swiss chard or turnip greens.

Instead of superfood juices (açai, pomegranate, blueberry, etc.): In all honesty, I’m not a big fan of any store bought juices. You never really know what is in them. Swap out sugar-filled juices (as well as sodas and sports drinks) for water and add some sliced oranges, lemons, cucumbers, watermelon or strawberries to the pitcher for flavor.

Instead of fancy name brand almonds or walnuts: For nuts, shop in bulk and pick a store brand. Also, peanuts can be cheaper, and if they’re unsalted, they are a great nut pick.

Instead of superfood meats (bison, emu, grass-fed beef): Try affordable poultry, such as chicken breasts bought in bulk. Or eat eggs, which are inexpensive yet protein-rich and high in heart- and brain-friendly omega-3 fatty acids. Alternative inexpensive proteins include cottage cheese, organ meats such as liver, cheaper cuts of meat (cooked in a slow cooker to make them fork-tender) and tofu.

Dried beans are also budget-friendly.  With both protein and fiber, dried beans can be added to soups, salads or as a side to almost any dish. My favorite is black beans, which have three times more heart-healthy omega-3 fatty-acids than other legumes. Simmer them in a pot with onion and garlic for extra flavor.

Get your veggies on ice, not in cans. Vegetables are frozen at their peak freshness and retain more nutrients than canned varieties. A bag of frozen mixed vegetables and some lean protein can easily become a stir-fry, served with brown rice for a healthy, low-cost meal.

Become seasoning savvy. Spices can be somewhat expensive, but critical for adding flavor. Some stores allow you to buy spices in bulk, so pick a few and purchase only quarter-ounce quantities and cook with them until they run out. Then shift to a different flavor profile. This will add diversity as well as creativity to your dietary pattern. In addition, rosemary, thyme and basil can be grown in pots on a windowsill.

Cook in a crock.  Lack of time to shop and cook is a huge obstacle to many working people. Slow-cooker meals are a great make-ahead option. They also make less expensive cuts of meat tender and delicious. What’s more, slow cookers themselves are relatively inexpensive starting from $15 for a new, family-sized cooker.

Think outside of the “box.” A loaf of whole grain bread, some peanut butter and bananas can be purchased for about the same as a box of sugary cereal. Serve your kids (and yourself) toast with peanut butter and bananas instead of a bowl of sugar garbage and you’ll have the protein, fiber and potassium you need to stay fueled longer.

Layer your lunch. Add a cup of brown rice to a bowl (good for two servings!), then layer on a variety of fresh or thawed vegetables, and top with protein (poultry strips, nuts, egg, canned fish or beans) for a cheap and easy meal.

Expend oil economically:  Healthful fats (olive oil, flax oil, grass-fed butter) are significantly more expensive than their cheap counterparts. Instead go with canola oil, which has high amounts of unsaturated fat (both mono – and polyunsaturated). But use oil sparingly, and instead of oil consider using beef or chicken broth to sauté food.

Eating healthy is a choice, and it should not have to be an intimidating or difficult one to make! Be sure to check out my website, www.grecofit.com and my Instagram @grecofit, for more great fitness and nutrition guidance to make 2020 your best year yet!

(Stephan Greco is an ACE Certified Personal Trainer and Fitness Nutrition Specialist who owns and operates Greco Fit in Fort Lauderdale, Fl. You can reach him via his website, through Instagram or at (954) 995.1321

Noah Cohen, Guest Writer

I jolted awake, the incessant noise of my phone startled me, as the sound reverberated through my ears. Feeling groggy and in a haze, I rubbed my eyes with one hand and turned off my phone’s ringer with the other. My alarm had gone off – seemingly too early, as it so often does. I stood beside my bed, eyes glossy and only partially open, staring at the clock that read 3:00 a.m. With a big inhale, and an even bigger and more dramatic exhale, I begrudgingly began what I knew would be a very long travel day. 

Lynden, my boyfriend, and I arrived at the airport at 4:40 a.m. I can only imagine how terrible I must have looked to the lady helping us check our baggage. In addition to the early wake up that morning, I don’t think I slept very well to begin with; thoughts buzzed through my mind like bees within a hive. This was an important day for me. For us. It’s 5:30 a.m. now. Having checked our luggage and made it through security, and with time to spare before our flight, we plopped ourselves down at a generic airport restaurant. Lynden ordered a Bloody Mary. I ordered an IPA. The server’s facial expression changed, as our order took her a little by surprise. She gave us a half-smile as she prepared our drinks, only slightly giving off the impression that she was judging our life choices this morning. The expression is “it’s five o’clock somewhere” but nowhere in that expression does it specify it has to be five in the evening. In fact, I think we were extra responsible for waiting until 5:30. The drinks are placed in front of us and I give a half-smile back. Thanks, Susan.

The tires screeched; a bumpy landing sent everyone shifting in their seats before the pilot announced that we had arrived. We touched down at the smallest airport I’ve ever been to – Roswell International Air Center in New Mexico. “Where is the baggage claim?” I asked Lynden. “This is it” he said. Is he messing with me? I’m looking all around and don’t see any signs or indications that this would be the place our suitcases would arrive to. Suddenly, a metal gate, about the height of a standard suitcase and maybe four times the length, opened upward, and slowly we saw hands pushing the bags through from the other side of the wall. We picked up our bags, got in a car and began our two-hour drive to our destination. For those of you that are unfamiliar with Roswell, there is a history pertaining to the belief by its residents that the small town had been the site for alien and UFO visits. In the late 1940s, a United States military balloon crashed near a ranch in Roswell, and some 30 years later, this balloon crash became quite the topic of speculation and conspiracy, as many believed it was actually a flying disk – a UFO. If I’m being honest, I felt a little like an alien after landing – unfamiliar and feeling out of place, having never been in such a small town before – maybe it was me who had emerged from a flying disk? 

The significance of this trip was enormous for my relationship. This was the first time I would be meeting his family. When I say I was meeting his family, I mean practically everyone in his entire bloodline. This was also my first time ever being “brought home to mom and dad” and meeting a significant other’s family. It was Thanksgiving Day when we arrived at New Mexico. Lynden’s father was the first relative I met. He picked us up from the Roswell airport and the three of us drove several hours to Fort Sumner. He taught me a lot about the different types of animals that inhabit New Mexico, his encounters with rattlesnakes, history of the state, history of the people and much, much more. 

We had discussed animals a lot during that car ride, yet, having been looking out the window for most of it, I really didn’t see many. I knew it was going to be rural before I came, but I was shocked to discover how desolate the land was. As far as the eye could see, and in any direction, was vast. Like the feeling of being on a boat in the middle of the ocean and seeing boundless openness, looking out at the landscape here made me wonder where the next remanence of civilization was hiding. I also kept checking the gauge on how much gas we had, as the other thought that crossed my mind was if we were to break down, how long it would take to receive help and how would we even describe where on this sole road we were located. To put it into perspective, in roughly 100 miles of driving, we passed one other car. 

We arrived at Fort Sumner where I met the next of the relatives: Lynden’s sister and her kids. I should specify that “kids” in my last sentence was referring to children, but there were kids as in baby goats living there as well. In the yard, I got to meet some of the locals – goats, a massive fluffy dog who protected them and some pigs who, when I went to visit them had flung something at me, leaving me to quickly exit their pen and not return. Luckily, there was no visible mark on my sweater. Hey, some people are built for it, and others are not. We spent a couple of hours at the house before the real test: Thanksgiving Dinner. 

I come from a relatively small family and I’m used to very small Thanksgiving celebrations with maybe 6-8 people. This was not that. Stepping inside the house, there were so many people all around, I didn’t even know where to start. Each person I met was so friendly and welcoming. The tension in my shoulders eased a little, and though a bit overwhelming, I felt like I was slowly losing the nervous jittery feeling I had when we were standing outside the front door. After a few hours of self-loathing for eating that third massive plate, even though I was already so full, we all had gone our separate ways. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little relieved because it meant I survived the meeting of my boyfriend’s family and that going to sleep was eminent. Might I remind you that we had been up since 3 a.m., it was now 11 p.m. in New Mexico, which felt like 1 a.m. for us. It had been a day.

Over the course of the next few days, I felt much more at ease, and felt I really got to know everyone on a deeper level. I was able to spend more intimate time with different groups of relatives and family friends. Much of our time was spent helping with the set up and preparations for Lynden’s grandmother’s 100th birthday. From grocery store runs, to making a few hundred cake ball pops, to decorating tables and windowsills and everything in between, we had plenty to do. I enjoy things like that, and to be honest, I appreciated having activities to keep me busy.

The birthday party finally arrived, and if I thought Thanksgiving was a lot of new people to meet…well this party took it to a whole new level. From meeting more relatives to meeting Lynden’s childhood school bus driver, it was a lot of socializing. There must have been 200-300 people, and I’m pretty sure I met almost every single one of them. By the end, I felt so drained and my lung capacity was depleted from expanding and contracting so much while talking. I can only imagine what Lynden’s grandmother felt, as she was the star of the show!

Coming to rural New Mexico was a culture shock, but it was also really fascinating to see an entirely different kind of landscape and lifestyle than anything I’m used to being around. Luckily for me, every person I met was kind, open and didn’t mind explaining and teaching me informative and interesting things about their home. This trip was a gigantic step for me and my relationship, and I feel honored that I was included in Thanksgiving and a 100th birthday celebration. I thank all of Lynden’s family for their hospitality and welcoming me in, and Lynden for sharing the experience and his home town with me. 

From moving to a new city, moving in with a significant other and now meeting his family, the last 10 months have proved to come with lots of surprises, personal advancement and growth. Reflecting on what is new and has changed in my life recently, I’m excited and eager to see what all will happen next.

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December. For many the holiday season is their favorite time of year. Office parties. Ugly sweater parties. Hanukkah parties. Family parties. Parties, parties and more parties. Others view the holidays a little different, forced merriment they say.  For me, I do like the holidays, everyone seems a little nicer, a little friendlier. Everyone is optimistic about the new year ahead, thinking things will improve, and for a brief time, actually believing they will.  

What I really love about the holidays are the many traditions I have with family and friends.  Traditions that were started years ago and traditions started more recently. Some of them still in existence today and some we have grown out of.

When my sister and I were younger, decorating the family tree was a huge tradition for us as it is in many families.  As we decorated the tree, there was one ornament that held special powers – the Miss Piggy ceramic figurine. Whoever got to place her on the tree had bragging rights for the entire year.  The rules of the game to this day are still a little murky. You technically weren’t allowed to search for Miss Piggy, if you happened to put your hand in the ornament box and find her, yay you were the winner!  Naturally more often than not there was an all out war to find Miss Piggy! As I grew older, I loved staying up as late as I could reading into the night guided by the lights of our Christmas Tree. My mother excelled at so much, but making Christmas special for us was one of her many many talents.  (and yes that is THE actual Miss Piggy ornament hanging on my sisters tree this very year. It has been in our family for close to 50 years!)

My family is very large, and very Italian. I am lucky to have more cousins than I can count, many of them not just cousins but true friends.  In our 20s, because we didn’t get to see each other enough around the holidays, we held a separate “Cousins Christmas party!” These parties, at our cousin Michael’s apartment in Brooklyn usually numbered around 25. Just cousins. And a boyfriend/girlfriend/fiancee or two here and there.  The night revolved around the “secret santa gift exchange.” In true competitive fashion, it was a White Elephant gift exchange, meaning when it was your turn to choose, you could either pick from the unwrapped pile of gifts or steal an already opened gift. Stealing a $20 gift from a family member is just as much fun as it sounds!. By the end of the night it was a secret santa bloodbath! 

When I started teaching, family’s of my students were extremely generous around the holidays, and I would receive dozens and dozens of gifts.  So many in fact, that I was able to hold my own “regifting” holiday party. I would invite friends over and place all the loot on the table, first come first serve.  Inevitably, I would end up with a lot of “cologne, shaving cream, body wash” 3-packs from places like “Macy’s” and “Marshalls”. The families were quite thoughtful, trying to figure out what to get for a youngish, single male teacher. 

Past NYC traditions with certain friends have included annual treks to the Rockefeller Center tree and yearly trips to Broadway matinees during the week of Christmas break.  There is also the annual “Toys for Tots” epically fun gay party each year on a Sunday early in December. Always a fun evening, and an excuse to get dressed up, it’s on many a guys yearly to attend list.  

Definitely one of my all time favorite traditions was with my friend Phil.  Both of us loving the Charles Dicken classic novel, “A Christmas Carol”, each year we would search out a new production of the story.  We have seen Danny Pinaturo from “Who’s the Boss” play “Tiny Tim” in a gay themed production at the Stonewall Theater. His Tim was HIV-positive without health insurance. I both loved it and cried my gay eyes out!  In the years we couldn’t find a theater production, we would watch one of the many film versions. My favorites are the 1984 George C. Scott version, “The Muppet Christmas Carol” with Michael Caine, and -wait for it- the Lifetime tear-jerker “Ebbie,” with Susan Lucci as Elizabeth “Ebbie” Scrooge.  The dual themes of redemption and that it is never too late to be the person you want to be has always resonated with me. Now more than ever in these volatile, political days.

Finally, a tradition that doesn’t really require anything for me to do but I do love are seeing the Christmas card pictures from family and friends each year.  Each one is taped to the archway between the kitchen and living room in my apartment. I love seeing how everyone’s family is growing each year, how happy and loved they are.  I do particularly enjoy when the ages of each child is added in parenthesis after their names. I know it’s awful to say out loud, but I do sometimes forgot how old your kids are.  I’m sorry. (And yes, that is my sister and I in our of our first pictures together. Don’t you love the rainbow suspenders, my poor mom had no idea what she was starting when she put those on me. Add a gold chain to the mix – oh how my parents wanted a little Italian guido. lol.)

What is it about traditions that I and so many others love and crave?  Maybe they provide a sense of belonging and a sense of comradery that might be missing during the other 11 months.  Maybe being a part of something special makes us in turn feel special. What I love most about traditions and honoring them year after year, is the feeling each of them provide. Christmas is not just one day, not just one holiday. Christmas is a feeling, an emotion. A feeling of peace, kindness and goodwill towards our fellow man (and woman!). Those feelings we have on Christmas can stay with us long after December 25th. 

As Big Bird and his fellow muppets sing on the Sesame Eve Christmas special (also another yearly viewing tradition when younger) “Keep Christmas with you, all through the year. When Christmas is over, save some Christmas cheer.  Those precious moments, hold them very dear. And keep Christmas with you, all through the year!” 

And God Bless us, every one!

 

EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER LAW!” There we stood chanting, yelling, as loud as we could. We were hoping to drown out the hate-fueled words being shouted at us. We stood in a single line 25 or so, each holding a piece of a large blue banner emblazoned with the words of our rally cry.  The banner itself playing an important role in gay history; hand sewed by world-famous political activist, and creator of the iconic rainbow flag Gilbert Baker.  

Many of these activists travelled down from NY“C, leaving at 4 or 5am, on buses sponsored by The Stonewall Inn Gives Back Initiative.  On the bus are members of “Gays Against Guns,” “Rise and Resist” and “Whistleblowers.” Joining them on the bus are dozens of students from Hunter College.  

Buses sponsored by Housing Works were not far behind us. These brave activists volunteering to participate in a Civil Demonstration. Over 100 linked arms and sat in the street for hours, knowing they would be getting arrested. 

I was honored to stand with my queer brothers and sisters and our allies in front of the Supreme Court of the United States on Tuesday October 8th.   The Supreme Court was hearing arguments in three landmark cases involving anti-gay and anti-transgender discrimination.

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Who are these activists? Why are there here today? I was curious to know their motivations, and what drew them to wake up at 3am and travel 5 hours each way for a roughly 3 hour protest. 

One of the unofficial “leaders” of our contingent was Ken Kidd. Ken has been at the forefront of the Queer Liberation movement since the beginning. His activism stemming from a violent gay bashing in the early 80s. An ACT UP member from day one, Ken is also a founding member of Queer Nation. Queer Nation, born in the spring of 1990, helped the gay community take back and reclaim the word queer. If you have ever said “We’re here. We’re queer. Get used to it.” you should thank Queer Nation.  QN was instrumental in the passage of hate crime legislation — protesting in Albany numerous times.  

Ken “believes that every LGBTQ+ person is equal in every way to every other person in the USA.  To say that you can fire Brendon for loving a man yet you can’t fire Brenda for loving the same man is bullshit!”

Elissa a 55 year-old married mother of two and founding member of Whistleblowers told me “not everyone has the opportunity to be fighting on the front lines. I am standing up for those who cant. Its a horrible thought to be discriminated against because of who you are.”

Sitting behind me on the bus, Chauncey, who works in the nightlife industry wants to “remind people that the fight is far from over.  Too many people are unaware of what’s at stake right now. Too much complcaeny. I am here to lead by example.”

Anne found out about the buses through her work with the Emergency Bail Fund.  Anne, a documentary filmmaker, stressed to me that “we are not free until we are all free.” Here in solidarity, Anne works with the Emergency Bail Fund hoping to “get the women out of jail so they can reform our criminal justice system.”

DJ, 61, a lesbian shared with me that she “knew from the age of 4 I was never going to marry a man and have his babies. That’s the only difference I have ever felt.  So I deserve the same rights as everyone else.”

Jimmy and Alex, 20 year old queer students and best friends feel “the rights of so many queer individuals are not protected.  We are on this bus to raise awareness and fight for our equality.”

Lastly, Jay a 21 year old who identifies as transgender, said rather succinctly, “Everyone deserves to have basic fundamental work rights.”

For myself and my reasonings for going to DC, I echo Chauncey reminding everyone that the fight for equality continues. Now more than ever we need all hands on deck.  As empowering and inspiring the rally was, it was also somewhat discouraging. Opponents of our fight showed up in full force. Their numbers were strong, their voices were loud and they were mobilized.  Honestly, I was taken aback at the sight of them. This is 2019. How is this still up for debate??

My queer brothers and sisters – we need each and every one of you! Anything you can do, can and will help.  If you are financially comfortable, consider making a donation. If you are active on social media, use your voice to raise awareness and inspire others.  Become more active in your community in whatever capacity you can. 

As this war for equality rages on, good will prevail over evil. Right will prevail over wrong. And love with prevail over hate.  Remember, what do the words on that wall say? EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER LAW.

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Lets face it, being gay is expensive! Gays are active, mobile, on the go, always in front of the latest trend or newest pop culture sensation. We always have a drag brunch to get to, a birthday party to attend or a “Hey It’s Wednesday the work week is half over” party! Teaching in the public school system for 15+ years, I have always been on the “poorer” end of the spectrum out of my group of friends. In recent years its gone from bad to GAY POOR!

From 2005 to 2011 I was living, working, and went to Graduate School in South Florida. I taught middle and high school for the Miami-Dade County Public School System. I was barely making $45,000, and that was only because I coached two teams and moderated a few student activity groups earning stipends. However, the cost of living was so low I never really felt GAY POOR!  During my years there, I lived in three gorgeous large apartments, all with balconies, all with pools. One apartment complex even had two pools, plus a sandwich shop and liquor store. We lovingly called it “the compound” and wouldn’t leave the grounds some weekends!

Moving back home to NYC things were VERY different, financially speaking.  Even though my salary more than doubled it seemed money disappeared much quicker once I became a Brooklynite! #Williamsburgrepresent

Everything costs more in NYC. When using my debit card the Thursday before a Friday payday, I would hold my breath swiping it through the machine hoping against hope it would say “APPROVED!” I think only one time it got declined. No sour patch kids and US Weeks magazine for Robby that day!  And trying to amass a rainy day fund or savings account – nearly impossible.

A few years ago I made a somewhat bold, somewhat risky decision to leave the NYCDOE with the intention of kick-starting a writing career.  Here I am years later standing before you GAY POOR!

If I thought living in Williamsburg on a public school teachers salary was hard, I was not prepared at all for the realities of living in Williamsburg on a part time substitute teachers slash English lit tutors slash freelance writers slash bloggers salary! That is the very definition of gay poor!

Yes, Gay poor can be considered a “first world problem,” I make enough to cover rent, utilities and basic gay life needs. I know I am better off than a vast majority of people on this planet but for the purpose of this post please allow me to vent about being GAY POOR!

GAY POOR means no $3,000 summer share on Fire Island.

GAY POOR means no yearly vacations to a different beautiful exotic location. Each year the location changes but weirdly all the gays know beforehand where to go! Past locations included Tel Aviv, Barcelona, Mykonos, Sydney and Puerto Vallarta.

GAY POOR means no pricey skin/face/eye cream lotions from Kiehls. Target store brand works just fine (its actually pretty good! #welovetarget)

GAY POOR means no trips “to the dentist” every six months to smooth out those lines that start appearing on our faces once we hit 40.

GAY POOR means cutting old jeans into super cute shorts.  Add them to your closet instead of buying ALL new ones every Spring.

GAY POOR means doing your laundry at the laundromat instead of sending it out to be done.

GAY POOR means drinking vodka sodas at the bar and not Titos and soda. {hell yes we are still going out we are Gay Poor we are not nuns!}

GAY POOR means going out shirtless dancing in the clubs once a month, not once every weekend. {Maybe we can chalk this one up to getting older!}

GAY POOR means taking the subway home from Hells Kitchen at 2am after a fun night with friends, not an Uber.  {dont worry about my safety, L train is hella crowded at that time, cant even get a seat!}

Looking forward to the day I am a successful, HIGHLY PAID writer so I can look back fondly on these leaner days and be all like “Not Today Satan!” For today, its fine and lets face it — it can always be worse!  Who is ready for a trip to Target? Robby needs some face cream 🙂

The last Sunday in June holds a special place in my heart. The last Sunday in June holds the title of one of my favorite days of the year:  NYC GAY PRIDE. The energy, the excitement, the love, the camaraderie felt in the city and on the streets is electric and infectious. This year, add 2 million more visitors to the city as NYC hosts WORLD PRIDE! I am extremely proud to have participated in the past 15+ Pride parades, marching with different contingents from “It Gets Better”to “Gays Against Guns,” and The Gay and Lesbian Center. There have also been years where you may have seen me dancing in a speedo on floats for “HX,” “Next,” or “Univision”.  Last June I was thrilled to be representing the “GayTrippersNYC” float. GayTrippersNYC is a gay travel company owned and operated by my friend, John DiStefano. (Yes. this shameless plug hopefully gets me a free trip!)

The nation’s first Gay Pride Parade was held on June 28, 1970. The parade was held on the 1 year anniversary of the Stonewall Riots, when members of the gay community clashed with police for raiding the Stonewall Inn in Manhattan. #knowyourgayhistory

Now let me preface what I am about to discuss with the fact that I had an ABSOLUTE BLAST last year, and every year, marching and on the float. And that I still believe Gay Pride is just as important, possibly even more important today, than in 1970. Pride STILL matters.  Coming out STILL matters. Visibility STILL matters. That’s not to say that Gay Pride is for every single gay person. My friend Phil tells me, “Robby, I have done pride for more than 20 years, it’s someone else’s turn. I will be on Fire Island for the weekend.” (You go Phil) Celebrating Pride however and wherever you want is why we have Gay Pride!

However, the management of the NYC Parade, specifically, ‘Heritage of Pride’ needs to be completely overhauled and reconfigured.   Gay Pride, first and foremost belongs to the LGBTQ community and each year Heritage of Pride succeeds in making it feel less and less like Pride and more like SantaCon or St. Patrick’s Day.

For the 2nd consecutive year the parade runtime passed 9 hours. NINE HOURS. Think about that for a minute. Would you stand and watch a parade or anything straight for nine hours? I wouldn’t and I don’t know anyone that would. There are simply too many groups marching. Period. 450 groups. Even typing that number seems insane. Watching 450 groups march by sounds more overwhelming than fun.

Second, HOP buried the resistance groups like “Act Up,” and “Rise and Resist” way back in the last half of the parade, when they should be LEADING the march.  HOP has come under major fire from the LGBTQ for allegedly moving publicized meeting dates and times without any notice. Is this to keep community leaders from attending and voicing their concerns?

Third, the wristband requirement “enforced” last year was a complete and utter fail and epic waste of time and energy. I saw more people marching and on floats WITHOUT wristbands than with. In addition, “Gay City News” reported than HOP gave special permission to 11 corporations letting their marching group exceed the 200 person limit. This limit is supposedly to keep the parade shorter than years past. We know how well that worked out. HOP declined to comment for the “GCN” article. Of course they did.

I am well aware many people worked tirelessly and endlessly to make the day a success, and I am beyond grateful and thankful.  Looking back, the question that needs to be asked is – Was the day a success?? Many feel that it was not.

It is quite a different parade for a group marching at 2pm to throngs of screaming friends and allies, and crowded streets of people waving and clapping, than for a group marching at 7pm. Late in the day groups are greeted by almost empty streets and few onlookers. I know this because I have marched at 2pm and I’ve marched at 7pm.

How do we improve the Parade?  I don’t pretend to have any answers or solutions, but there should be conversations between HOP and the LGBTQ community. Proposals can range from raising the price of floats but limiting the amount of groups that march from 450 to 250.  HOP can hold a lottery for admission to the parade, guaranteeing admission in the next year if you don’t get in the current year. With less floats and less marchers, the parade can run 6 hours and not 9, requiring less overtime for the police guarding every street like Fort Knox and making travel around downtown Manhattan virtually impossible.

Finally, resistance and community groups belong in the FRONT of the parade to honor the memory of those that came before us and the thousands upon thousands who fought for our hard earned rights. Yes, Pride is a day for everyone to celebrate and to come together in joyous celebrations. But first and foremost, Pride belongs to the LGBTQ community, and it’s time we take it back! That is why this year I will be marching in the Queer Liberation March starting at 930am in front of Sheridan Square and marching towards Central Park! #RECLAIMPRIDE

by Noah Cohen, contributing writer.

I’m sitting in the car, staring out the passenger window, watching the other cars go by. Music is playing on the radio, but I’m not paying attention. Thoughts are whirling around my head like bees in a hive, as I try to process what I am feeling, or rather, what I think I should be feeling. Moving to a new city is a big deal, right? On one hand, the uncertainty is daunting and everything I’ve known is now about to change. On the other hand, I’m feeling underwhelmingly calm, as though this is just another car ride, with the difference being that all of my stuff is in the car. The two feelings juxtapose in my head.

Adapting to new environments hasn’t been much of a struggle for me. I’ve been fortunate enough to travel to over twenty countries, I went away from home for college and I lived in Sydney, Australia for six months. I’ve found that I can acclimate well when spending time or living in other places. There’s one commonality, though, that all those places share: each destination had an end date and nothing was permanent. For the first time, I would be leaving to go somewhere for an indefinite amount of time without a return date. There’s a beautiful chaos in feeling like the world is your oyster, but also not being sure whether or not you enjoy shellfish. What’s at stake, really, besides for my happiness – or possible lack thereof?

I graduated from college about a year ago. After graduation, I moved back in with my parents in Westchester, New York. It was a great place to grow up, and I had a very comfortable upbringing, but my town is not a conducive place for twenty-somethings to meet a lot of other people. Two of my best friends were home as well, which was amazing and I really enjoyed getting to spend so much time with them, but I yearned to meet new people as well. Developing a gay network in my hometown didn’t seem too feasible either, and I longed to meet other gays and feel that I’m part of a community. I knew I needed to be in a city for these things to happen, and I had two in mind: New York or Washington D.C. I always lived near New York – the thrill wasn’t there as much for me and I think there’s such thing as too much to do and too many people to try to form bonds and relationships with. There was also one major thing that was swaying my decision towards Washington – my boyfriend lives there.

On my first full day of living in D.C., my boyfriend and I decided to go for a long walk around the city. Any sense of tranquility I was feeling the day before in the car had dissipated and a flow of emotions, worries and anxieties surged though me like a current through a wire. Any bottled up or suppressed emotions came out, and in that instance I was a complete and utter mess. Seeing these unfamiliar streets, unfamiliar faces… I felt lost and that I didn’t belong there. I was questioning absolutely everything and wondered if I would really be happy here or if it was just wishful thinking.

Those aforementioned anxieties and worries were quickly resolved. I would soon meet people – a lot of people. I felt happy and a sense of belonging to my new city. My boyfriend and I put up artwork I had brought up in the apartment, and lined the tops of our dressers with pictures of special people in my life. We worked to turn a house into a home – a place we could share together. Things really clicked and made me realize that I definitely made the right choice. I’ve been here two months now, but it feels like so much longer, in a very good way.

My situation and circumstances for moving to D.C. were certainly unique. I didn’t have a job lined up. It took me a month of searching once I got here before I even got an interview. The plan was that I was going to move in with my boyfriend at his place (another major first for me: living with a significant other). Should it not have been for his understanding and patience, there’s no way I would have taken that chance to move here on my own without first having that all figured out.

My boyfriend was extremely supportive while I searched for work, and because of that I was able to find a full-time job that really appealed to me, as well as a part-time job and some contract work. He made my transition in moving so much easier, and I truly don’t think my experience would have been even remotely as positive without him helping and accompanying me on my journey. And what a journey it’s been so far – so much in my life has changed in the last couple of months, and though frightening at times, change can be a truly wonderful thing. I wasn’t unhappy before, but I didn’t think it was possible for me to be as happy as I am now. I want to say thank you to the people who have been a catalyst for positive change in my life. I’m a D.C. resident, I’m living with my partner, I’m meeting amazing people and I’m so excited to see what new changes continue to evolve in my future.