Tag: writing

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.”)

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.”)