FINDING COMMUNITY!

Greetings. readers. Robby from Brooklyn here, writing to you on a hot, hazy, humid August summer day waiting for a thunderstorm to hit us. They don’t call these the dog days of summer for nothing. Still, even through all the heat and sun and afternoon storms. I’m loving summer in NYC. And since these days are a little tougher on the wallet for me – and maybe you and others – my NYC summer has turned into a staycation.

I unfortunately accepted a job this summer that had a non-competing clause with another company I work with over the school year.(I think non-competing clause is the right phrase lol) For some odd reason the Department Of Education (DOE) would not clear me for this company when I was already cleared with another company. By the time all this red tape was figured out it was a little too late to find me a summer job in education. Still hopeful though for August, you never know when or why something opens up.

Add to that the shit economy we have – as of press time, inflation is up 3.5% over the past year The Core CPI is up 2.6% year over year. Food prices rose 3.0% over the last 12 months and energy prices are up a whopping 15.7% over the past year. Unemployment is at 4.2%, down and gas prices stand at $4.11 nationally. So maybe your wallet is hurting just as mine and maybe you are having to spend August doing a staycation and pushing that European trip to next year. (I did just go on a Mexican cruise in May so I know these are first-world problems – but they are still problems!)

There are so many places to find community in and around NYC. Last weekend I was lucky enough to be invited up to Columbia County in Hudson for the weekend. My good friend, the renowned artist Vincent Pomillio and his longtime husband Bob, invited another friend and me up for a few days Their beautiful house sits upon a creek…with their own personal waterfall!! Idyllic is the perfect word that comes to mind. We met many of their friends, most of whom have lived up their for decades. Vincent succinctly explained to friends and guests that “as we get older, community is more important. Over the years many friends from the city got houses in Hudson. An influx of people in the arts, many of them gay, got houses that needed a makeover. The movement heated up in the early 2000s, the people came from the city so a definite NYC vibe. I feel as if a community of friends all grew here together and I landed in the right spot.” Vincent’s work is showing at the Carrie Haddid Gallery through the end of August if you find yourself in the Hudson area check it out!

Upon returning to Manhattan I met my friend Jack at Flex for Happy Hour. Jack and I met volunteering together at SAGE. (It was originally called Senior Action in a Gay Environment now it just operates as SAGE) Speaking of community SAGE has been providing community and so much more to LGBTQIA+ senior citizens since 1987. Jack also finds community as part of the intramural bowling league. His team – the Backshot Boys – were playing later that night, so I walked him to Frames and kept walking down 9th avenue seeing what community I could find 🙂

This coming weekend – weather permitting – on Saturday I will be going to the beach in NYC – Jacob Riis. If you are looking for gays amongst the sand, ocean and boardwalk you go to Riis beach. It’s lovingly known as Queer Beach. For a visual presentation, check out @riis.beach on Instagram. Continuing with community over the weekend, Sunday is the monthly gay meetup – SECOND SUNDAYS IN CENTRAL PARK.

“On the Second Sunday of the summer months, Sheep Meadow tends to attract an organic gathering of LGBTQ+ folks and friends starting in the early-to-mid afternoon. No agenda, no official event — just sunshine, blankets, friends, and a very good day in the park.” (Second Sundays NYC on Facebook)

Hundreds of hotties in Speedos descend upon Sheeps Meadow meeting up with friends and making new friends. Drinks, frisbees, hackey sacks, cornhole games abound. Perfect people watching. And if you don’t want to hike up to Central Park you can still find community at the Christopher Street piers as gay men have been doing since the 1970s.

Then make your way to the Sunday Beer Blast on the Eagle rooftop to find a different type of community!

OK readers that’s it for me for this month, gotta figure out what I am wearing to all these “community” events this weekend. How many times did I say community in this one column LOL.

Have a great August and rest of summer. Will “see” you in September when I am back in a classroom…wish me luck!

(this column was originally published in the August edition of “Letters from Rehoboth Beach”)

Hot (child) Summer in the City!

Greetings readers, Robby from Brooklyn here writing to you on a beautiful, sunny, warm summer afternoon in NYC. Right off the bat, this column is going to be celebratory – because lord knows we need to celebrate something, anything. So get ready for 700 words of pure joy and happiness!

And there is no better recipient of all this joy and happiness than Miss New York City herself. Summer here is always pretty great but this year is positively electric. Our Pride month of June was off the charts AND the beloved New York Knicks winning their first championship in 53 years (longer than I have been alive!). To call that moment huge would be an understatement.

Another sporting event I am not normally tuned into – is the World Cup. Before the World Cup began, I felt like there really was not a lot of publicity, not a lot of excitement; I didn’t see lots of signage. I did read about the low expectations because hotel reservations in host cities were shockingly low. However, once it did arrive, this city is turnt up. Bars and restaurants packed with excited viewers, many even having viewing parties on the sidewalks, the streets. Revelers wearing their home country jerseys exuberantly celebrating on the subways. Juan, a bartender at longtime Chelsea staple Gym Bar, told me, “The World Cup has united the city in ways I have never seen before.”

This past Fourth of July weekend saw massive celebrations coinciding with America’s 250th birthday – in spite of the sentiment throughout the States these days. (Hopefully, the next Democratic President will hold a 255th USA celebration to make up for the lackluster, pathetic attempt that this corrupt Republican-led Administration gave us.) It also saw a brutal heat wave and the Taylor Travis wedding. NYC is booming.

Many – myself included – are calling it the Mandami effect. WE LOVE OUR NEW MAYOR, Zohran Mandami. All of the Republicans screaming “Socialism,” “Communism,” “Sharia Law,” “All the rich people are gonna leave,” can shut all the fuck up – especially since they don’t live in New York. They might be confusing Texas with New York, as Texas just passed a law forcing the Ten Commandments into public schools – where is all the screaming and pearl clutching? The hypocrisy is unreal.

I honestly don’t care about the words like socialist and progressive when I am voting, just tell me you are gonna fight for the working class and me and not the billionaires and corporations. Like Mandami promised – and has delivered. Just this year, Mandami has achieved:

*He secured $1.2 billion in funding alongside Governor Kathy Hochul to roll out universal child care for NYC families with programs expanding to two-year-olds.

*He recovered $9.3 million in worker and small business restitution and won $34 million on behalf of exploited tenants through legal settlements with bad landlords.

*He launched massive citywide cleanup and maintenance efforts, repairing broken roads, clearing major blizzards, and fixing 100,000 potholes.

*Finally, he passed the Fiscal Year (FY) 2027 Executive Budget aimed at protecting working-class services and addressing city infrastructure by repairing 6,069 apartments. He basically balanced the budget, bitches!

COME THRU MAYOR MANDAMI!

This past July Fourth weekend, I got to spend Friday, July 3rd at the beach celebrating my cousin Ryan’s 23rd birthday. On the North Shore of Long Island, the sand was steamy, the water was cool and clear, and the drinks were flowing. Stayed at the beach so late I missed the huge “Confessions II” release party at Three Dollar Bill in Brooklyn. (Yet another reason for celebration, the new Madonna album is a banger with numerous danceable songs that have the potential to be radio hits.)

Saturday, the night of the fourth, was spent with dozens and dozens of queer friends and allies at a rooftop party to watch the fireworks. Thank you Steve for hosting and truth be told the fireworks show was truly impressive. This is coming a person who usually isn’t impressed by fireworks. I kind of think “You have seen one firework, you have seen them all” (My favorite fireworks moment is Katy Perry performing at Biden’s inauguration all in white with the Washington Monument illuminating behind her. Check it on YouTube if you need a boost.)

Sunday was spent bar hopping throughout Chelsea and the Village, hitting Gym Bar, The Monster, and Tys – Sundays are for Throwbacks. Leaving now to go to TKTS for half-price Wednesday matinee tickets, with too many options to choose from. Top three hopeful tickets we want to get are for the Nathan Lane, Laurie Metcalf, “Death of a Salesman” revival, best musical winner, “Scmigadoon,” and the show of the moment best revival winner “Ragtime.”

All in a week in NYC in July.

That’s it for me this month readers. Hope each and every one of you are having a great summer. As Katy Perry sings “let your colors burst, ignite the light and let it shine.” And find something to celebrate today – you deserve it!

(this column was originally published in the July issue of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.”)

Let’s Get Loud

Greetings readers, Robby from the Block here, basking in the post-Atlantis cruise glow. It was a glorious week sailing the gay seas along Mexico. We had such a great trip we already signed up for another cruise next year. Honestly, one of the unseen benefits of this vacation was just being out of the country – and the never-ending news cycle – for a few days.

Some quick background on me and news: every morning at the gym at 5 am I am usually watching the Kimmel and Colbert monologues from the night before. I also watch Lawrence O’Donnell. Throughout the day on the subway during prep periods at school and waiting for friends I am watching reels of the Abby Phillip show, the I’ve Had it Podcast and Brian Tyler Cohen. Throw in The View, and that’s my daily news intake.

And the news keeps getting worse and worse. I have been saying hopefully for months “the house of cards is starting to fall,” but Teflon Don keeps standing strong. As of press time, some of the headlines we are dealing with –

*We are 3 months into a war in Iran we supposedly won 2 months ago. The war has cost upwards of $50 billion dollars. (there is always money for war but never for feeding the poor)

*While Trump initially stated the East Wing ballroom project would be financed entirely by private donors, Republican lawmakers recently proposed a $1 billion taxpayer-funded package for broader White House security enhancements, causing debate about ultimate funding sources.

*In exchange for dropping his IRS lawsuit regarding leaked tax records, the DOJ agreed to end past and present government audits and tax claims into Trump, his family, and their businesses. The DOJ transferred $1.776 billion from the Treasury’s Judgment Fund into an account for alleged victims of political weaponization. The money is to be governed by a five-member commission appointed by the Attorney General. (Ex Proud Boys member leader Enrique Tarrio who was sentenced to 22 years in prison believes he is owed “tens of millions of dollars.”)

These are only three major news stories, three of dozens and dozens that leave us disheartened and despondent. This is an odd line we weave every day. We go about our lives, we have fun, have good times – just saw “The Lost Boys” on Broadway, and danced it out at the “Unspeakable Joy” party at 3DB in Brooklyn – but each morning I do wake up with a sense of dread that I didn’t have when Biden was President.

The one bright spot I can see is finally here: Pride month. I love Pride month. Always have always will. I am famous for saying each year, “Pride still matters. Maybe now more than ever.”

Be forewarned, though, each night we get to hear “Why do they need a whole month?” from Conservative pundits like Piers Morgan and Scott Jennings. The more conservatives bitch about Pride month, the more obnoxiously queer I plan to be! Absolutely loved when the @thedemocrats Thread handle clapped back at Stephen Miller writing – ‘shut up you ugly f*ck.’ YES MORE OF THIS ENERGY PLEASE. Its time to fight fire with more f***ing fire!

The last Sunday in June is revered in NYC. It is when Heritage of Pride launches the NYC Pride Parade as it has been doing since June 28, 1970 in what was then known as the Christopher Street Liberation March. This year’s Grand Marshalls include drag performer Peppermint, SNL comedian Bowen Yang, and the activist group Gays Against Guns (GAG).

I will be front and center, marching alongside GAG, a group I have worked with, been a member of, marched with, and protested with for many years. What an honor it is for the group to be named Grand Marshalls.

Kimberly Miller, GAG Art Director, spoke about the honor to me, saying,” When the Pulse massacre happened, I was on tour in Miami, having just been in Orlando the day before. I had lost an uncle to gun violence in 1979 and a softball teammate in 1995, so I had been a gun violence prevention advocate for decades, and when I heard about Pulse and heard that a group called Gays Against Guns was forming I thought, well, that’s exactly who I am; gay and against guns. I was at the very first meeting and I’m very proud of the work we’ve done in the past 10 years to inform Americans about the insanity of the gun culture in this country. “

So this June, my fellow readers, it’s time to get loud. March, Protest, Donate, and most importantly, VOTE VOTE. VOTE in every single election. As cheesy as it sounds: it always is the darkest before the dawn, good does prevail over evil, and we might have lost the battle – but we are gonna win the war.

Even though lately I sometimes waver and sometimes feel disheartened and despondent, thinking these mantras might not actually be true, I do believe in them more days than I don’t! And I believe in Pride every day of the year! Happy Pride month, bitches!

(this column was originally published in the June edition of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.”)

Fake Spring? Not in California!

Greetings Letters readers, Robby from Brooklyn here, wishing all of you a Happy Spring. Finally. I think…is it Spring yet? I know I have waxed poetic and gone on and on about my favorite season – Libra season!!! Now I must swing the pendulum the other way and lament about one of my least favorite seasons – FAKE SPRING! (I am quite certain fake spring didn’t exist in my 20s or 30s lol I am really telling my age writing a column about the weather. 50 and fab! YEAR OF 50, back on!)

Fake Spring are those weeks at the end of March, beginning of April, where for a few days in the Northeast it’s sunny and gorgeous. The highs are in the 60s and 70s. Gays break out the tank tops and short shorts, bars open their windows, and restaurants put some seats/tables out front. The streets are busy, people are smiling.

You go and walk the West Side Highway and check out Little Island. We got to lounge at The Gansevoort Peninsula in Hudson River Park. Opening in 2023 its Manhattan’s first public beach with 1,200 tons of sand, beach umbrellas, Adirondack chairs, a sandy shore and a salt marsh. LOVE IT! After three months of bitter cold, snow and dark days it truly is glorious. BUT Mother Nature giveth – she also taketh away…

Because as quick as that mercury hit 70 degrees, the very next week we are thrust back in bitter cold. And to add serious insult to injury it just feels colder and darker because we had those glorious days of sun. Gays with small apartments and closets don’t switch out your winter jackets and sweaters for the tanks and shorts just yet!

Fake Spring hit harder this year just because everything seems harder this year. By all accounts for most of us it was a ROUGH winter. (Winter was so rough I missed the last deadline for this magazine if you wondered why my column wasn’t in the last issue, no worries readers I am back!) Throw in this batshit crazy Administration in charge and a convicted felon for a POTUS who loves claiming things are Fake, although weirdly we never once discussed Fake Spring, and we have a perfect storm of shit. A shitstorm.

Here is a list of all the things DJT has claimed has been fake in the 10 years he took the elevator down announcing his candidacy – the 2020 election results, the Russia investigation, the Mueller Probe, Mainstream media outlets, the Jeffrey Epstein hoax, the “Border Wall” completion claim,

9/11 Celebration rumors. According to Google AI, “analysts have noted that many of these claims involve the use of large, inaccurate numbers such as claiming to have ended eight wars or that 29,000 Chinese migrants entered in three weeks.”

Funny how we never heard anything about fake elections till the man named in the Epstein Files over a million times lost an election in 2020. Funny how we never heard the term fake news until a twice-impeached POTUS tried to convince his cult like followers that every news story that paints him in a bad light is false. How has this man hijacked 10 years of our lives??

He won’t highack anymore of my column because by the time you are reading this I will be on a big gay cruise sailing throughout Mexico! At the end of April I along with a few other thousands gays will be boarding the newest Virgin ship, the Brilliant Lady. The ship arrived at the Port of Los Angeles on April 6th, marking the first Virgin Voyage cruise season operating from California.

We are sailing with Atlantis Events – the world’s largest gay travel company. My friend Mike and I will be hitting the following Mexican ports – Ensenada, Cabo San Lucas, Puerto Vallarta and Mazatlan. Mike and I have been friends since back in the day when we worked together on Fire Island. Staying in touch even after Mike moved to West Hollywood years ago, we participated in multiple AIDS LIFECYCLES together. A week onboard a nonstop floating gay celebration is exactly what this homo needs to get his groove back – just call me Stella onboard the ship.

By the time you read this I will be celebrating Spring in Los Angeles – a place where Fake Spring doesn’t exist! By the time you read this I will have completed the epic unique hike in LA called the “Bridge to Nowhere.” According to Mike, “Its an iconic hike where you hike up along a river to a giant bridge that goes nowhere…it was built for a highway that was never finished and now people bungee jump off of it.” SIGN ME UP. What can you do, when you are in LA you go on a hike – you can’t fight city hall!

By the time you read this I will be drinking at the Abbey scoping Bravo reality ‘stars!’ By the time you read this I will be sunning myself poolside at a rooftop bar somewhere in WeHo – You can’t fight city hall.

We needed this! And by we I mean me lol. Just as much as we needed “Heated Rivarly” and the Artemis II astronauts we needed a week in LA and a week on a gay cruise. We needed this for Jane Don’t – robbed of the Drag Race crown!

By the time you read this it will be Spring, real Spring, nomore fake Spring readers!!!!! Bon Voyage, Bitches!

(this column was originally published in the May edition of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.”)

WHEN WE RISE!

Greetings Letters readers, Robby from Brooklyn reporting from a jubilant and defiant Sheridan Square Park where the Pride flag has just been raised once again. Over 1,000 people in the bitter February cold shouting “WHOSE FLAG?” “OUR FLAG!!!” as both the rainbow flag and the stars and stripes USA flag now once again flys proudly here in the West Village.

As first reported by Gay City News, “The Trump administration removed a large rainbow flag from a flagpole the National Parks confirmed to Gay City News on February 9th marking the latest example of the President’s broader effort to erase the queer community from the birthplace of the modern LGBTQ rights movement.”

“Under government-wide guidance, including General Services Administration policy and Department of Interior direction, only the US flag and other congressionally or departmentally authorized flags are flown on NPS-managed flagpoles, with limited exceptions,” a spokesperson for the National Park Service told Gay City News on the evening of February 9th. “Any changes to the flag displays are made to ensure consistency with that guidance. Stonewall National Monument continues to preserve and interpret the site’s historic significance through exhibits and programs.”

Longtime queer activist Ken Kidd spoke about the importance of the flag stating, “In 1978, Harvey Milk — one of the first openly LGBTQ elected officials — asked his friend, artist and activist Gilbert Baker to create a new symbol for our movement, replacing the pink triangle that once marked us for persecution and death. Gilbert chose a flag to embody our Pride because he understood that flags carry power.”

Kidd went on to mention the significance of the removal of this specific flag from the birthplace of the modern rights queer movement, “That is exactly why it was targeted — they tried to steal our Pride. We refuse to let Gilbert’s Rainbow be taken; it will not be folded up and put back into a closet any more than we will, because we’re here, we’re queer, and we’re not going anywhere.”

This is by no means the Trump administration’s first attack on our community. In fact, during the first 100 days of his second term the attacks on the queer community throughout the country have only intensified. Some of these attacks include more than $800 million in cuts to the National Institute of Health (NIH), including funding for grants meant to study the health of LGBTQ people. Last May the Supreme Court ruled that the President’s ban on transgender troops serving in the military can go into effect while the courts decide a final outcome. The Department of Defense removed queer icon Harvey Milk’s name from a US Naval vessel. And during June, the White House did not acknowledge Pride month. These examples are only a few of the wide and varied attacks our community has suffered at the hands of this second Trump administration.

Michael, a New York City resident for more than 40 years, who proudly attended the re-raising of the Pride flag, said that he felt the need to be here because “now more than ever we need to speak up. We need to prove the point we are equal to everyone else. No compromises. No backing down.” Former Miss Stonewall Fifi DuBois underscored this sentiment declaring, “I came because this is my community and the fact that this happened in 2026 is unacceptable.”

In 2017, the miniseries “When We Rise” premiered on ABC. Created and written by Dustin Lance Black, the Oscar-winning writer of “Milk,” the show chronicled the 40-year-long struggle for LGBTQ equality. This was the first series of it’s kind. (If this is the first time you are hearing about this you are not alone. The ratings for the miniseries were terrible – it bombed, no one watched it.)

The name alone inspires and empowers – WHEN WE RISE. When asked about the name, Black said in an interview, “We all know that we are minorities in one way or another it just depends on how you slice that pie. Every single person has an investment in that we need to make sure our neighbors are being treated equally.”

“RAISE IT UP,” “RAISE IT UP,” the crowd keeps chanting. Watching our Pride flag being raised with hundreds of my queer brothers and sisters cheering, clapping, and some crying was surprisingly moving for this middle-aged gay man. As that flag rose so too did the hopes, dreams, wants, and needs of an entire community.

And as countless queer people have said throughout time for decades, and as Ken Kidd said earlier, “We’re Here, We’re Queer,” and most importantly and most loudly, “WE AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE.”

(this column was first published in the March edition of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth”)

Remember, Remember the FOURTH of November!

Greetings Letters readers, Robby from Brooklyn here, writing to you from a jubilant New York in the days after Election Night 2025! The excitement, energy, and cheers heard as 34-year-old Assemblyman Zohran Mamdani was elected as the new Mayor were electric. Mamdani’s campaign has been rejuvenating the city these past months as he mobilized over 100,000 volunteers – many of them under the age of 30 – “who have carried the message of building a more affordable city directly to the homes of more than a million voters in the most populous city in the United States.” (English.ElPais.com)

On this Election Day, November 4th, are we finally seeing the tide beginning to turn against Donald Trump and the Republican Party? The answer to that is a loud, booming, resounding yes.

On a day that began with the naming of beloved queer icon Johnathan Bailey as People’s Sexiest Man Alive, the stars felt aligned for some Democratic wins. (Bailey made history as the first openly gay man named Sexiest Man Alive – and that honor is well deserved, dude is hot AF.)

But the Democrats did not just get some wins. There was not a blue wave on November 4th – there was a blue tsunami. Democrats won race after race after race.

Over 2 million people voted in NYC – the most since 1969 – and over 1 million of them voted for Mamdani. In New Jersey, Mikie Sherrill was elected Governor, defeating MAGA stooge Jack Ciattarelli by 13 points. In Virginia, Abigail Spanberger was elected to the House of Representatives, defeating Republican Winsome Earle-Sears by 15 points. Spanberger will be the first female Governor ever in Virginia, and in 2025, a record 13 Governors will be women. Additionally, in Virginia, both the Lieutenant Governor and Attorney General flipped seats from red to blue by 15 points.

In a major win for California Governor Gavin Newsom, voters in that state overwhelmingly approved Proposition 50, “a measure that allowed the state to redraw its congressional map in favor of Democrats, pushing back against President Trump’s effort to hold onto a Republican-controlled Congress by urging redistricting in Texas.” (calmatters.org)

Democrats won the Pennsylvania Supreme Court and flipped two Georgia statewide seats by 20 points. Dems weren’t predicted to win in Mississippi. But they did. They broke the supermajority in the Mississippi state legislature and flipped a seat in Texas.

And my personal favorite – the hateful, bigoted, homophobic, Moms for Liberty (M4L) candidates lost 31 out of 31 contested races nationwide. No M4L candidate won a single contested seat anywhere in the United States. Moms for Liberty is now 0-59 in contested school board races since 2023. Lastly, also giving me great personal pleasure, smoky-eyed failed drag queen JD Vance’s half-brother Cory Bowman got demolished in the race for Cincinnati mayor, losing by more than 70 percentage points.

Every single candidate that the convicted felon occupying the White House endorsed lost. We are in the midst of the longest government shutdown in the history of the United States – 38 days as of press time. This beats the old record for a government shutdown – 35 days in 2018 – also under the Trump Administration. I am sensing a pattern here.

Make no mistake, November 4th was a referendum on the now disgraced, twice impeached, 32x convicted felon POTUS Donald Trump. Who would have guessed that sharing a video of yourself literally shitting on your constituents would cause people to not vote for your party? Who would have guessed gutting the Federal Government, firing thousands and thousands of federal workers? Canks is also giving a $40 billion dollar bailout to Argentina, while our own farmers are facing bankruptcy, would cause people to switch party alliances? Who would have guessed that having masked ICE agents abducting AMERICAN CITIZENS off the street and throwing them into a van or sending them, god forbid, to a foreign hellhole like Sudan would cause mass uproar? To this date, 170 American citizens have been detained, handcuffed, and disappeared, some for weeks. THIS. IS. NOT. NORMAL.

All of this is happening as Speaker of the House Mike Johnson is refusing to bring House Republicans back to Washington, DC to do their damn jobs. House Republicans have had six weeks of paid vacation while millions lose their SNAP benefits and our military goes unpaid for over a month. Johnson is refusing to swear in newly elected Arizona Representative Adelita Grijalva, most likely because she will be the 218th vote needed to force a vote on the floor to release the Epstein Files.

Sunny Hostin, the daily MVP of “The View,” has been saying for months that the Democratic Party needs to be the party of opposition. Mamdani seems poised to be the leader we need, proclaiming NYC“will be the light in a moment of political darkness. Together, we will usher in a new generation of change. So hear me, President Trump, when I say this: to get through one of us, you will have to get through all of us!”

The tide has finally turned. The shaky house of cards is about to fall down. Remember, Remember the FOURTH of November.

(**this column was originally published in the November issue of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.”)

IT’S LIBRA SEASON

Greetings Letters readers, Robby from Brooklyn here, bringing tidings and joy on this, the very best season of all the seasons- LIBRA SEASON. Libra season runs from September 22nd through October 21st. This astrological period emphasizes themes of balance, harmony, relationships, and fairness. It also encourages social interaction, negotiation and personal connections.

While these benefits impact all astrological signs, some famous Libras include Julie Andrews, Hugh Jackman, Matt Damon, Zac Efron, Gwen Stefani, Bruno Mars, Avril Lavigne, Hilary Duff, Sting, and yours truly. Libra personality traits include being diplomatic, fair-minded, sociabl,e and artistic with a love of harmony and beauty. Libras are natural peacemakers and skilled negotiators, but can be indecisive, conflict-avoidant, and sometimes prone to superficiality or people pleasing.

I have long identified with everything Libra even having a Libra tattoo on my left inside bicep. Many of my best friends are Libras I get along great with Libras.

Birthdays are bittersweet for many reasons. I am not a huge celebrator of my birthday however it 1000% must be acknowledged. We acknowledge birthdays for the sheer fact that many of our friends did not get to see 40 or 50 or 60. We acknowledge birthdays for those no longer with us. But as far as “its my birthday WEEK,” or “its my birthday MONTH,” no thats not how I roll.

This birthday rings even more bittersweet because I don’t feel like I am where I should be at this point in my life. I don’t feel like I have the same things that many others at the same age have. I am single not in a relationship. I don’t own any property. And when you put yourself up next to others in your age bracket and you have decidedly less it can sting.

At a party a few weeks ago, talking with friends about their twentysomething daughter who was a teacher, and she explained that “yes, I know I am making less than my friends and that I am going to have less than them,” I felt a sense of camaraderie with her. I also explained to her that I felt exactly the same way at 25. But twenty five years later, that same sentiment hits very differently.

And of course, we all know that comparing yourself to someone else is a dangerous slippery slope – but it is human.

I need to flip the switch and look at the glass half full and through a Libra lens. I have worked in amazing schools and met incredible teachers who I have learned from and who, to this day, many I still call friends. I have lived in amazing cities and states and have gotten to travel to numerous continents, each providing enriching experiences.

FAIRNESS

I have been arrested for civil disobedience protesting the availability of guns in this country. I have been arrested at sit-ins at the Supreme Court of the United States protesting how queer people are treated as 2nd class citizens in this country. I have personally raised over $100k for AIDS research, participating in more than 10 cycling events like AIDS Lifecycle and The Smart Ride.

SOCIAL INTERACTIONS AND PERSONAL CONNECTIONS

I volunteer at organizations like God Love We Deliver and SAGE in New York City meeting queer senior citizens and learning from them about what queer life was like in the 1960s and 1970s at the beginning of the queer liberation movement.

BALANCE AND HARMONY

And the most important aspect of this birthday coming up is that it is by no means anywhere near the end of anything. As I like to say – the best is yet to come. If this is middle aged then that is exactly where i am – in the middle. There are hopefully years and years and decades to build that oh so important financial wealth and financial security I am so longing for.

Until then, I guess I am going to have to be ok with the old familiar saying, “You’re rich in other ways,” is going to have to suffice!

Until next time readers, Happy Libra season!

(this column was originally published in the October edition of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.”)

I’M COMING OUT

“I’m coming out, I want the world to know, Got to let it show…” Diana Ross belted out these lyrics in 1980, but when I was a college student and just coming to terms with my sexuality and just realizing that I was gay, I didn’t want the world to know and I def did not try to let it show.

Greetings Letters readers, Robby from Brooklyn here, and I’m proudly gay. Proudly queer. Today I can proudly, comfortably say those words. But 25 years ago things were very different – in the world and in my tiny corner of the world. “Queer Eye” and “Rupaul’s Drag Race” were years away from debuting on television. For a short, Catholic Italian boy growing up in Queens, New York, the gay mecca of Chelsea and 8th Avenue in Manhattan might as well have been 3,000 miles away.

In the early ’90s, gay role models were few and far between. Obviously, they were there. I just didn’t know how to find them or even where to look for them. There was no one I thought I could confide in, so I just pushed those feelings aside, and tucked away – anywhere but out. I joined the swim team, the Drama Club, volunteered, and went on school trips. Dated a girl, maybe two. Okay, probably just the one.

After graduation I moved to Hoboken with three friends from college, and got a job in event planning in Times Square. Now 23, I was working in Manhattan and exposed to people from different cultures, different backgrounds, different lifestyles.

In NYC I began living my best life. I worked at a company where most of the men, if not all of them, were gay. I listened to them tell me stories of their lives, their weekends, their partners, all the time feeling inside that I was just like them. I am certain they knew it too. They were extremely patient, letting me know that it was ok to be gay but never outright asking or pressuring me.

Living in Hoboken – with three straight males – and working in an environment of all gay men was quite the culture shock. I felt like 2 different people. The secret weighed inside me more and more, getting heavier day by day.

My coming out wasn’t one episode. It was a miniseries. I decided to tell friends one at a time over a span of a few weeks – straight males friends were told last. Again, all were extremely supportive and assured me nothing had changed, and that they had known for a long time. Everyone pretty much knew so my reveal wasn’t as big and grand as I had imagined it was going to be!

Coming out only intensified the double life I was living. Gay in Manhattan. Not gay in Hoboken. Since I was newly out and testing the waters, being gay to me meant going to a gay bar, alone, meeting someone, hooking up and then never seeing or talking to him again. Healthy, said no one ever. I know. I needed gay friends. I just wasn’t having any luck finding them. When I found a gay person I thought could be a friend, I held on tight, even if we didn’t have much in common, even if I didn’t love spending time with them, but they were all I had at the moment. For me any gay friends were better than no gay friends.

It took some time but I did eventually find my “gay group,” and my life became a whole lot more gay. Instead of a shore house in Manasquan, NJ, I took a summer share in Fire Island Pines. I moved from Hoboken to the Upper East Side. While before if it was 90% hanging out with college friends 10% hanging out with gay friends, the numbers had now switched. I was exploring this new identity in every facet of my life.

A year later I dropped the bomb at dinner, things went downhill from there. My mom cried visibly and loudly at the table – so much so that our waiter came over to make sure we were all ok. Through her tears she expressed that, “We love you no matter what, but I just think that your life is going to be harder, and that breaks my heart.”

Remember this was 2000. Not 2020. After trying to calm her down, my dad felt it was best that I head home and we would talk soon. It did take some time, as things do, but once I included them in my life, introduced them to friends, boyfriends, Mom’s tears stopped. She even joined the local PFLAG chapter. Lol. A few years later tipsy at a family wedding I made sure to assuage her fears by letting her know that “being gay is the best thing EVER!”

My coming out was disjointed, long, messy but it was MINE. My heart broke for Simon in the 2018 rom-com “Love, Simon,” as he screamed to his blackmailer how he took that away from him, outing him in an email to his whole high school. Gay icon Barry Manilow recently “officially” came out on the cover of People magazine stating he has been out his whole life, everyone who knew him knew he was gay and he didn’t feel the need to officially come out to the public. Same for Anderson Cooper. Sean Hayes regrets not coming out when “Will and Grace” was on the air, the first time.

Celebrity or not coming out should be on your terms and when you are ready. No one deserves to be outed or forced to come out. Coming out is still important. Coming out still matters. For me, it felt like a huge weight was lifted. I was essentially lighter. No more secrets, no more shame, no more fear. Being openly gay and proud takes balls and takes guts. Be proud of how far you’ve come and all the great things ahead for you. Congrats and welcome to the team.

(this column originally appeared in the September issue of “Letters From Camp Rehoboth.”)

MEMORIES OF THE NYC GAY PRIDE PARADES

BY GUEST WRITER VINCENT POMILIO

On Saturday June 14th I took part in the No Kings rally in Hudson, NY. Every small town in the
Hudson Valley had some sort of No Kings event. Being Hudson, there was a strong LGBTQ
presence with very creative outfits and signage. The feeling of change in the air was mixed with frustration, anger and fear. A feeling of hopelessness pervaded. Yet with so many people gathered together to express these feelings, it also gave one hope that we can change things, make them better, topple the evil empire.

There was the same feeling in these rallies as events in the 1970’s when I took part in anti-Vietnam War marches and early Gay Rights demonstrations. How little things have changed. We made such progress and yet, here we are again. The gains we have made over the last few decades now seem so fragile and tenuous.

The rally in Hudson, NY reminded me of the first Gay Rights March I attended. It was 1973.
It was only four years after Stonewall, yet much had changed in those four years. I had just graduated college and had an art teaching job lined up at Conestoga Valley High School in
Lancaster, PA. I had come out the previous summer while working as a cook in Cape May, NJ

My coming out was traumatic as I had been outed by a fellow student who saw me at a gay bar in Reading, PA called The Green Door. She was a waitress at the restaurant attached to the bar. Within days, news of my gayness spread on campus. I was shunned by some fellow classmates and a couple of my roommates were forced to move out by their parents so as not to be associated with me.

I soon had a boyfriend, Tim Riley, who lived in Philadelphia, my hometown. It was Tim’s idea to go to the Gay Rights March in New York in 1973. One month before the march, I had been interviewed by the principal and another art teacher at the
high school in Lancaster. Mr. Kennedy was the principal and Mr. Dreibelbis was the art teacher. Turns out, Mr. Dreibelbis was gay and really wanted me to get the job. The principal appealed to me to get a haircut and lose my beard before he agreed to hire me. I refused but got the job anyway.

A month after getting hired for the job, with a big chunk of the summer still ahead, Tim and I headedto NYC for the Gay March. That year it started at Columbus Circle and went down Fifth Ave to Washington Square Park. As we were lining up, a small crowd gathered along the sidelines to see what was going on

As we were waiting to start moving , I spotted Principal Kennedy with his wife and another couple watching with looks of horror on their faces at all of these freakish homos. I tried my best to be inconspicuous and to this day never knew whether or not he saw me with the other gay marchers. The march was so amazing. It was homespun and incredibly upbeat and we all felt so proud to be a part of it. I couldn’t believe how many people took part. There were people as far as you could see up and down Fifth Avenue. Washington Square was a giant block party with great music and dancing and a collective feeling that were doing something important and that it might make a difference.

In 1976, I moved to NYC to do graduate work in painting at NYU. I loved my new life in New York
City; it was a great time to be young and gay in NY. Tim and had broken up but remained close friends. Tim and I took part in the Pride March each year until his death from AIDS in 1988. In 1978 I met a guy who I had been lusting after for the last couple of years, Tom Hinckley. Tom and I hit it off, fell in love and began a life together. Tom was handsome and brilliant. Tom was seven years older and came from Massachusetts Mayflower stock. The Hinckleys spent summers in Maine; I was an Italian American kid who spent summers at the Jersey Shore.

I am recalling Tom here along with the Gay Pride Parades for many reasons. We spent 16 years
together until his death from AIDS in 1994. Tom had been very involved with ACTUP. He wrote for the Treatment and Data Digest, a bi-monthly publication that presented news of HIV drug treatments and research from the CDC. His work here was very important as he was great at translating medical information into laymen’s terms so we could all understand it. Tom’s death was the Friday before the 25th anniversary of Stonewall and the big Pride March was to be held on the last Sunday of June 1994.

That whole week I had been going back and forth with Tom’s family to Saint Vincent’s
Hospital. They had left before he died. He slipped into unconsciousness and died right after I had left the hospital for a few hours to try and get some sleep. I was able to return to the hospital and be with him along with a few friends to say our goodbyes. I have never felt so alone.

While walking back to my apartment on Morton Street, there were huge crowds of gay people fromall over the world gathering for the 25th anniversary of Stonewall. Celebrations were happening all around me which made my grief that much harder to bear. I took refuge in my apartment but could hear music and partying going on all over the West Village. I got through the night and on Saturday joined friends to watch a movie at their apartment and try to cheer up. Tom would have wanted me to go out and join in all the partying going on. I just couldn’t get into it. His death wasn’t sudden. It was a year of pain and suffering and adjusting to each tragic stage of Tom’s physical decline. The worst stage was when he could no longer walk. Yet Tom was so emotionally strong through all of this and was determined not to make my plight worse than it already was.

There was one incident that is so painful to recall. We were going to the M and O market on the corner of Thompson and Prince Streets. Tom was in a wheelchair. A car load of thugs with Jersey plates rolled down their windows and hollered, “I hope you all die of AIDS, faggots.” Tom hollered obscenities back at them, never backing down.

The Sunday of the Pride Parade was a gorgeous late June day. I was not sleeping well and didn’t know what to do with myself and my profound sadness. There was also some sense of relief knowing Toms suffering was over and my caretaking responsibilities were also over. I got a call from my friend Art McGuire inviting me to attend the parade with them. It felt inappropriate, but what else was I going to do that day? Sit in the apartment and be horribly depressed?

I met Arthur, his partner Alistair and our friend Steven Weinstock for breakfast at LeBonboniere, a greasy spoon diner on Hudson Street. The March met downtown and moved up to Central Park that year. It turned out to be a great idea to be around friends and take part in this major event. Tom was there in spirit. The mood of the crowd was jubilant with streets packed with onlookers cheering and dancing.

We reached the

park and there was a pause before entering the park for the big after party. One of the speakers
announced that there would be a moment of silent meditation to honor those that died of AIDS. My friends all gathered around me and gave me a big collective hug. There was never a more moving, heart breaking and deafening silence. Never was silence more meaningful. So many of our friends had died in the last four or five years. I remember the feeling of despair turning into hope during that moment of silence. You could hear many people crying. The silence seemed to last an eternity. In the end there was a feeling of love, community and collective grief. We had all been touched by this. It brought us closer together.

Over the years, the parade has changed. It has become a big block party with corporate sponsors. It’s a great opportunity to have fun, but don’t let your guard down. Times are changing. Many battles have been fought and won but there are many forces that are working hard to take it away.

my husband Bob Bohan, my cousin Heather Brown, her girlfriend, and me. This is at the Parade on 6th avenue.

THE FIRST PRIDE WAS A RIOT!

Greetings, readers – Happy Pride Month, everyone. This particular Pride month feels both awful and demoralizing, yet it also serves as a call to action. We are once again in the fight for our lives thanks to the twice-impeached, convicted felon in the White House. Things aren’t just bad, they are horrible. Every day we wake to news that gets worse and worse. It’s this very reason that the Resistance movement needs to be louder, stronger, and more visible. Pride still matters – maybe now more than ever.

Times today are not normal. This is not normal. It is not normal for a five-time draft dodger to ban our Transgender brothers and sisters from serving their country. It is not normal for a gay makeup artist from Venezuela to be kidnapped off the streets by men wearing masks and sent to a prison in El Salvador without due process. It is not normal for Utah and Idaho to ban the display of Pride flags on government property and in schools. (10 other states are now in the process of enacting those same laws.)

These are just a tiny snapshot of the horrors going on thanks to the House, Senate, and White House all being GOP-led. As usual, Republicans have no clue how to run a country. The POTUS has more felony convictions than there are transgender college athletes. More Americans were killed by the horrific tornadoes in Jackson, Kentucky, on May 18th than there are transgender college athletes.

On any given day my emotions run the gamut from heartbroken to pissed off to devastated to hopeful and then ultimately hopeless. I hate to admit it out loud, but I do feel hopeless more than I feel hopeful. And on November 6th, 2024, I felt quite possibly most hopeless I have ever been.

I wanted to be done. I wanted to be done fighting, marching, and protesting. Done making signs. Done fighting for those who continue to vote against their own interests. Done fighting for a country that is never going to give us equal rights. Done fighting for a country that let hundreds of thousands of gay men suffer and die horrible deaths in the 1980s. Done fighting for a country that said “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” Done fighting for a country that made us beg for Marriage Equality for decades. And done fighting for a country where “Dont Say Gay” was signed into law in 2022.

I am almost 50 years old. I have been protesting for over 25 years. How many more years do I have to march?

Thankfully, those feelings of hopelessness subsided as winter turned to spring. With each attack on park rangers, scientists, immigrants, and drag queens, it was time to join the fight again. On April 5th, I was one of the marshals at the Hands Off protest. Marshals hold back the traffic, allowing protestors to continue marching. I was awed, inspired, and empowered by the ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND people walking past me. Americans of all ages, genders, and nationalities making their voices heard. The energy in the crowd was electric.

The very first Pride was a riot. This June, the people are taking to the streets to ‘riot’ once again.

On June 7th, I marched across the Brooklyn Bridge with Moms Demand Action, demanding common-sense gun reform. On June 12th, Gays Against Guns held a vigil to honor those murdered at Pulse nightclub in Orlando nine years ago. As a ‘Human Being’, silent and veiled in white, I held space for Paul Anthony Terrell, a 41-year-old father who loved dancing and playing pool. His daughter Alexia had recently graduated from high school. He was one of 49 killed that night by a madman with an assault weapon. Texas is banning weed and porn yet guns are buy one get one free. As of April 30th, there have been 155 mass shootings in this country. This is not normal.

At press time, another nationwide protest – “NO KINGS” – is planned for June 14th. Organizers are expecting more people, more press coverage, more, more, more. The new Pope has scheduled an afternoon mass broadcast worldwide. Cities, including Boston, are hosting Pride on the same day. “TACO Trump” is gonna meltdown at all the attention taken away from his ridiculous 50 million dollar birthday military parade. No one has more disdain or disrespect for our Armed Forces than the five-time draft dodger.

My friend, the renowned artist Vincent Pomillio, 70, Manhattan, relayed to me the feelings of those early Prides, “My 1st Pride March was in 1973. The love in the crowd was so palpable. The March and the Parade were so homespun and heartfelt. There was music and dancing along the route, and the city seemed to be lining up along the sidewalks, cheering us on. Everyone felt that there was change in the air, and we were excited to be a part of it.”

Change is in the air once again! Let’s get loud, let’s get proud.