Me and Aristophanes, We Go Way Back

In the late seventies, en route from Tucson to Key West, I ended up spending 3 nights ( or was it a month?) in a two room jailhouse in Sierra Blanca, Texas for reasons best left to late night fireside discussions. Let us just say that these three gentlemen were, at different times, also arrested in Sierra Blanca.

pic from The Hollywood Reporter

EPISODE ONE

As with all my encounters with being in custody, the outcome was far from the worst possible of many bad options.  I wore my own clothes and they let me keep my pocket sized copy of the Dhammapada ( poetic iterations of sayings of the Buddha ). Among the two or three girlie magazines in the cell ( images today found in Victoria's Secret store windows ) there was a boxed book edition of Lysistrata,  Aristophanes' bawdy satire about women trying to stop a 20 year long war by withholding sex from the men,. The illustrations for the play were by Picasso.  I can't even begin to imagine how it got there, unless it was for illustrations like this.

I went back and forth, reading my book and the play. After a day or so they took away all the reading material, except my Dhammapada, and a day or so later I continued on to The Conch Republic, arriving there on fumes from gas bought with change scraped off the floor. Ah, the good old days!

EPISODE TWO

At the end of the season at Garland's Lodge about 1990, one of the employees created and presented a certificate of award to everyone present at the closing party. They were elaborately decorated, hand written and mostly described each person in a lauditory teasing way. Mine read something to the effect, "For demonstrating that it is OK to laugh about anything in front of anyone at anytime." and was signed "Aristophanes"

EPISODE THREE

In the lead up to invasion of Iraq, I read about The Lysistrata Project organizing a one day presentation of Lysistrata in as many places as possible.  I signed on and staged a reader's theater production using a very clever script from The Project, a men's chorus and a women's chorus made up of co-workers at Slates Restaurant in Hallowell, Maine, and projected images suitable for the play by Picasso, Beardsley, and others.  Here's a little sample of the kind of images I used. Perhaps obviously, I added the color,

These next two are the oath the women pledge to each other. Women in the audience were encouraged to pledge as well.

The result of the pledge.

Soldiers

The chorus of old men attempt to recapture the Acropolis.

A Happy Ending, peace (piece) at last.

People laughed and we raised some money for Madre, supporting their efforts on behalf on nursing mothers in war zones. 

P.S.

On the night of our first rehearsal at my house out of town, one of the group slipped her car off the somewhat steep, definitely slippery driveway. While we were assessing the situation a car stopped on the road and a soldier in uniform came up the driveway to offer help.

EPISODE FOUR

Recently I saw Spike Lee's CHI-RAQ, which is about as fine an update of a classic tale as I have ever experienced. Sometimes you go to the movies and sometimes the movie takes you there. This was one of the latter for me. Instead of 20 years of tribal conflict in Peloponnesus, it's about multigenerational gang fighting in Chicago. Aristophanes style of biting poetic humor is delivered in cadences and rhymes out of rap, with subtitles when necessary. Real tears ( the blow your nose kind ), and belly laughs ( how can I be laughing?) left me in a bit of an emotional puddle by the end, which is probably the correct reaction to the subject.

It also reminded me of the previous three episodes and of the line often attributed to Mark Twain, "History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes." 

EPILOGUE

When I spoke to Donald the other day, he told me he'd been thinking about directing a production of the play. 

BIG TIMES IN THE BIG APPLE

Before heading to New York,  I had passed several days prior in Boston, hosted with the usual flair by Chad and Matt.

Chad is not really possessed, but I really am that happy.

I made my way down from Boston, bumped onto Manhattan just after dark and got in line.

Behind the garbage truck seems like a good place to deposit some of the sad moments of the time before getting on to the good stuff. 

There was never the right moment for me to get together with some of the other friends who add spice to any time in the city. 

The line at the community food bank was populated by too many old people, some seemingly barely able to get there.

There were tactical force police officers at Lincoln Center, Times Square, and generally just around, dressed in military style, carrying machine guns.

This line of people, extending half-way across a mid-town street, is people waiting to get food from Chick-A-Fila, giving money to it's Christian-Sharia owners. YUK!

Worst of all, an overheard conversation in passing on the street. "I was with my girl. I almost went to jail. I had to choke the bitch." Today I read that an alarming number of women who have that experience end up dead.

Enough of that.

Since Paul was out of town, Tom and I spent the evening catching up over pizza and wine at home. His work as Production Accountant for motion pictures, monitoring millions of dollars a week, always provides some interesting tales or amusing rants. "I thought is was a studio. It's three people in a trailer in Santa Monica!" 

Aside from the obvious benefits of being with a long time friend, the extras that come with staying with Tom are worthy of a whole posting of their own. To wit: secure off street parking; access to two different subway lines, each within a block; streets that are not teeming with people; Central Park across the street; easy access to the New Harlem; the ability to have the window open while sleeping: and probably a whole lot more that I'll think of later. It's perfect! 

Here's what their building looks like from the park. It's the tall one.

And here's what it looks like looking out the living room windows.

• DAY ONE - Express train to Brooklin to the TKTS booth, where one can buy tickets for the evening and, if there is one, a matinee the next day.  Plus, there are never more than 10 people in line. I walked along the Promenade in Brooklyn Heights, visited Pier 3, which is a re-purposed navy pier turned into a park by Matt's firm, Michael Van Valkenburgh and Associates
  
  I took the water taxi from the Brooklyn side of the Bridge to E. 34th Street, with several stops along the way on the East Side of the Harlem River ( not really a river, but never mind that ). Cheap thrills - it's a $4 ride.
  

The show that evening was "Ruthless - The Musical" which reminded me of Theatre of the Ridiculous. About a child star wannabe, driven relatives, children switched at birth, one of the female characters played very broadly by a man, etc  It's an excellent send-up of the whole musical comedy genre.

• DAY TWO - A walk through Central Park on my way to a Lincoln Center Matinee. The northern part of the park is full of the feeling of wilderness. 
  

"Dada Woof Papa Hot" uses three married couples (  2  gay male and one heterosexual  ), all with children,  to explore issues relating to the effects of children, time, promiscuity, and what's lost on the path to normal. It tended toward the didactic ( enough that they published a book of essays to go with the performance )  but I did both laugh and cry, so.....

Tom and I had dinner at Lido in his neighborhood. A great Italian spot. After dinner we stopped at his local wine shop and ordered provisions for the upcoming holiday season, which were delivered about an hour later.(11PM!)  We also stopped at Lee Lee's Bakery to pick up some of the best rugelach EVER!

• DAY THREE - I hit the "Plays Only" window at the Times Square TKTS booth. Between the statues of George Gershwin and Father Duffy they have installed a very neat map on the plaza, showing the location of most of the theaters.
  

"Hand to God" is the story of a Christian puppet show where one of the puppeteers loses control of the puppet.... and a whole lot more.  It's both hilarious and about as dark as it can get.

Luckily I had time for Steak Tartare at Sardi's before the show. My server was a woman, which prompted me to ask if it was hard for a woman to get a job there. "No, it's not too hard to get one, but it's hard to stay.  You are a minority here." Not really all that surprising.

That evening, perhaps for the first time in my life, I watched an entire professional football game (Patriots / Giants). This was at home, at night, with the game recorded and Tom, obviously a master of the technique, manning the remote past all the commercials, commentary, and replays ( unless it was a great play by the Giants ) Aside from the fact that is was a great game, seeing the whole thing in a bit more than an hour made it actually exciting.

• DAY FOUR - Took myself to MOMA PS 1 in what my be my first visit to Queens. If you don't know about it,  PS 1 was an abandoned public school where the Museum of Modern Art houses special exhibits. It's kinda shabby, but there's a lot of walls and rooms.
  

The current exhibit, called "Greater New York",  featured a whole room, probably 60 photographs, that were taken by my friend Alvin Baltrop (RIP), mostly from his book call THE PIERS ( mostly NSFW images of men on the piers on the west side during the late 70's)

I indulged in one of my New York favorites for lunch with an Oyster Pan Roast at the counter at the

Oyster Bar at Grand Central.

That evening was  Joe's Pub for one of those "Only in New York" events, this one called "An Evening with Cleopatra" featuring works by Shakespeare, Shaw, Lucretius, Eugene Wilder and others, written about the most powerful woman who ever lived , presented in reader's theater format and moderated conversation, with a cast that included Bill Irwin, Christine Baranski and, most amazing of all, Ambassador Samantha Power, our representative to the United Nations. With drinks! 

After the show I visited another favorite in that for a double chocolate cannoli and a double espresso.

Veniero's Pasticceria

• DAY FIVE - Again the #2 Express to Brooklyn, where I was able to round out the theater week with tickets for "A View From the Bridge" in the evening and "An American in Paris" for next day matinee. On the way back I found myself near the F train, so headed to the old neighborhood for an outrageously big and outrageously expensive pastrami sandwich at Katz's.
  

The sign over the table references a film shot there, "Where Harry met Sally. You should have what she had."

A walk up 1st Avenue had a few poignant moments. 

The buildings that had housed the Club Baths in the time before HIV/AIDS are now falling into doors-chained-closed dereliction. It was a glamorous thing in it's time, despite the central purpose of being there. There were palm trees, bubbling fountains, good lighting, it was always clean, and it was frequented by dancers, chorus-boys, actors, and lots of newly liberated men of all stripes.

Di Roberti's Cafe is no more. It was our very local Italian cafe. One friend left her keys with Mrs. Di Roberti whenever she left town.

"A View From the Bridge" was, is, an always will be a profoundly moving experience. It's set  just after WWII and the refugees from the devastation in Europe are desperate to get to America and not welcome. ( Sound familiar? )  Add love and obsession and clan behavior, set it in a stark prop- free stage, employ outstanding performers who know how to handle silence, add a little background rumble (the Bridge),  and watch the audience squirm as the inevitable unfolds. Being seated on the stage made me feel like I was in the room, not looking into it.

• DAY SIX - Before the matinee I took a walk along the new part of the High Line which had some charm and a lot of construction in the periphery.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   The orange dots are people and that's a big piece of Manhattan in the lower middle.
  
   Old and new along the High Line.

"An American In Paris" is and has everything you want from a musical... and more. For me, it was about 2 steps away from being a ballet, and that was fine. All the performances were spectacular. As has been shown time and again, even understudies on Broadway can deliver the goods. If you want a musical, this is the one you want. The scenes of people at sidewalk cafes had a certain melancholy in the light of recent events, despite the exuberance of the performers.  

Tom and I agreed to have dinner in the neighborhood for my last night in town. We started at the highly touted The Cecil, but after waiting for far too long for water,  I waved down the hostess, who accomplished nothing. The room, large and very attractive, was mostly empty and the menu looks great.  Eventually the water arrived, and then nothing.....Finally I suggested we just toddle on home and order Thai food, but on the way realized we would be passing by Lido. We walked in, the hostess found us a table in the almost full room and within two seconds of sitting down we were greeted by our waiter and had full water glasses. A fine meal ensued.  Thanks to Tom and Paul for sharing their great home with me.

I'll close this positing with a quote from Malcolm X, rendered in tile at the subway stop I use most often. It speaks to the central idea of Islam.

I hope you've enjoyed tagging along.

MY FIRST GAY WEDDING - 1973

The Supremes' decision on gay marriage ( now called "marriage") prompted a lot of jubilation, conversations on how far we've come, rainbow half-tones on photos, a few reminders of the unreal amount of work yet to be done both here and abroad, and, of course, a few exploding heads in the Shiite wing of the Republican Party. 

Eventually my own thoughts arrived at the first gay wedding I attended. A double gay wedding on the steps of the Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park......in the Spring of 1973.

Alas, I have no photos of the event, but I do have some vivid and some not so vivid memories of the day, but more importantly, of the time.

To back up just a bit, in the last days of winter that year I was cat-sitting in Albuquerque and got taken for dinner by a friend to the Union 76 Truck Stop, where we were approached by a traveler just as the sun was going down. "Are you fellas traveling west?" 

After some conversation Edward came to spend the night, which lead to an almost instant spiritual-socio-sexual connection ( details on request - many NSFW ).  The day after the cats' primary servant got back I left with Edward, who was hitchhiking to San Francisco to collect his stuff there and return by thumb to Vermont. 

That Spring in the city Herb Caen called "Baghdad by the Bay" I realized for the first time one of the many profound benefits associated with being gay in 1972. As we were still outsiders and social misfits to most of the world, we both had to and got to make up our own rules for how life should be lived. If you've stepped off the path to find your own way at any time, you know how exhilarating this is. A bit scary too, but real freedom is always a bit scary isn't it?

I'll get to the wedding in a bit, but what I want to do here is create a scent or a whisper of what I encountered/experienced during the 10 weeks or so that we stayed in the top floor apartment at Page & Shrader, a block from where The Panhandle feeds into Golden Gate Park.  Now there is a Whole Foods store a block away and the National Aids Memorial Grove is just inside the park.  But then...

Our last ride dropped us off a bus ride away from our destination. When Edward told the long-haired bus driver we didn't have enough money for the fare ( which may very well have been true ), he just waved us on. At the apartment, there was an organized collection paper bus transfers which made the public transportation system free.

Living in the apartment, and in apartments like it in and around The Haight, were gay men and sometimes a woman or two, living collectively and mostly members of The Angels of Light. This quote, from the jacket cover for Andrean Brooks's memoir, Flights of Angels, says it all in one sentence...

 "The Angels of Light were more than a queer performance troupe in the 1970s; growing out of the equally legendary Cockettes in San Francisco, the Angels were a way of life, putting on trashy, fantastical drag fairy tales in a city and an era that was in the blissful throes of early gay liberation."

Or, there's this one from Paul's Second letter to the Corinthians. 

"No wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light."  

People had names like:

• Jalala, whose room was in Cabinet of Dr. Caligari black and white with his black and white super 8 movies playing on a suspended screen.
• Grasshopper, whose Mercurial cynical naivete made him charming to everyone.
• Hibiscus, founding member of the Cockettes and Founder of The Angels.  Here he is in a more sedate moment.
  
   
• Scrumbly, who created the music and has supported himself with music ever since.
• Mercedes Lalu, who fancied herself Janis Joplin, but really only got the bracelets and the drunk part right.
• Macho Menos, the name Brian gave himself when he was in his leather drag. He collected fruit crate labels.
• Sylvester was an early Cockette and not one of the Angels, but everyone in the house was part of his tribal family. Here's a link to his biggest hit.  You Make Me Feel
• Martin Wong designed sets and costumes for both groups, moved to New York where he had a very successful career as an artist ( museum collections, etc.) and amassed an amazing collection of graffiti art, now at the Museum of the City of New York. He showed me some interesting corners of NYC art in the 1980's.  Here's a snap from the web of a costume at one of the free shows in some park.

Since everyone was on welfare of some sort or another, including the trust fund children who paid for a lot, and since all the performances were free, The Angels proclaimed themselves.. 

The First Peoples' Theater. 

We had barely arrived when we were dispatched to the Food Stamps office with rent receipts from the pad which lived in the kitchen. Many of the houses were part of the Free Food Conspiracy, a collective of collective houses. Food arrived at the house, "How many are you feeding this week?" "Usually about 12." Boxes of food were dropped off in exchange for food stamps ( both quantities arbitrary and both sufficient ). Periodically each house would be in charge of sorting and delivering the week's provisions.

People were coached and presented themselves at welfare offices with a variety of reasons which necessitated seeking assistance from the government, everything from unable to find work to presenting as obviously unemployable. The aristocrats in this circle were receiving what was called Aid to the Totally Disabled, usually after acting out at the office. "Stand there and piss your pants and they will send you checks forever just to keep you out of the office." Preston coached Mercedes so well on how to play crazy that they took her to a psychiatric hospital. She was saved when Preston arrived barefoot and in a caftan, claimed to be her psychiatrist and got her released. Ronald Reagan was a few years late and referencing the wrong gender when he popularized the phrase "Welfare Queens".

The person who worked as a dresser "borrowed" costumes from San Francisco Opera Company, which were used for panhandling in the Park.

One couple borrowed $400 from a friend, bought travelers checks, exchanged them, cashed them, reported them stolen, returned the money to the friend and....

When the phone bill was long overdue Ma Bell called looking for the account holder the reply, (from the account holder) was " No, we haven't seen that bastard. And if you get a hold of him, tell him he owes us a lot money too."

These people were homosexual criminals! Not rising to the level of Genet, but they were scofflaws at every opportunity. They were also very welcoming to strangers with made up names and fragile mental states and no money.   And they were having fun!  They were changing ( some would say corrupting) lives! All of it focused on Free Theater, usually put on in a public space.  Eighteen months earlier I had been in my second year at a Methodist Seminary and while I was certainly not an innocent, this brush with the world of The Angels obliterated whatever was left of any thought I might have had about leading a "normal" life.  What a gift! Their choices weren't necessarily my choices, but I saw that the choices were all mine to make.

The wedding was on Easter Sunday and was, like almost all weddings, a theater piece for friends and family.  We were a party of 40 or so, dressed in a wide spectrum of styles and tastes. We chanted Hari Krishna as we walked in procession from the house through the park to the Conservatory, the two couples shaded by a large canopy carried on long poles by four people, yours truly being one of them. Once assembled, one of the tribe, dressed in a white suit, gave a righteous hilarious southern harangue. There was a mock priest, a mock yogi and maybe even more. Of the newlyweds what I remember most is Preston and Angie finishing the day by announcing this was actually the end of their relationship. The southern preacher returned the next day his white suit muddy and maybe even bloodied, but still full of bluster.

I had thought of ending with a couple of amusing examples of the level of promiscuity at the time, but I think I'll leave that to your imagination....you won't even come close.

Jurisprudence - Three Encounters With The Law

I realized there were a few more photos and a couple of tales from my time in Arizona that might be interesting to share.

Venus is a tiny dot between the Moon and the "Praying Monk" in this one from Paradise Valley.

Our Tucson host, the incandescent Brad Holland, told us about his recent encounter with the law..

He and one of his lawyer friends from their time together in law school were sitting on a bench in one of the too many "high-end" outdoor shopping malls in Phoenix chatting about nothing in particular, when two police cars with lights flashing screeched to a halt not far from them. Brad's reaction, "Cool, something's going down. This should be interesting!" His friend's reaction, "Sit still, keep your hands in plain sight." Almost before those words of advice had been given, the police approached them asking for ID.  Did I mention that Brad's friend was black? Brad complied with the request, including his government business card indicating he was a county prosecuting attorney, asked for the officer's ID and then said something to the effect of "Your day just got more complicated."   Please feel free to imagine any number of other scenarios. But, then again, maybe you don't want to.

This looks like an abstract art piece, no?

It's actually a photograph of this guy, who is the red dot above.

This was my reaction when I heard that our beloved Sandy's Provisions in Brooklin was not to be in business this summer.

Without burdening you with the details of who is responsible, I think it is safe to say that shunning is having a moment on the Blue Hill Peninsula.

JUROR # 27

Fulfilling part of my civic contract, I showed up early one Tuesday with about 40 other citizens, 14 of us destined to occupy the jury box in US District Court.  After signing in we were renamed with a number for the duration.  We entered the courtroom in numerical order on our way to specific seats and found the attorneys for both sides, and the accused, standing looking at us. This was to help facilitate answering one of many potentially disqualifying questions. The Judge gave us a short informative/interactive discourse/interview on what it means to be a juror in the form of  describing a potential problem and then putting questions to the entire panel. "Do you know anybody in the courtroom?" An affirmative answer to any of them lead to further questions leading to the inevitable, "Would that affect your ability to render a fair and impartial verdict?"

Other areas of concern 
Able to understand English - the defendant, however, was wearing headphones, presumably translating the proceedings into Spanish.

Know anyone who knows anyone here - when one juror said he had played golf with a friend of the judge, his honor responded, "That must have been very painful for you."  providing a small bit of laughter, which released at least a little bit of the inherent tension in the room.

Able to understand what the law means - emphasis because his honor made a point of saying "If you disagree with the law talk to your congressman."  This case dealt with marijuana.

Work in public safety or are related to someone who works in public safety - there were quite a few people working as corrections officers. Prisons are a growth industry in Arizona.

Have prior history which would make it impossible to make a fair judgement - for this one individuals would approach the bench with attorneys for both sides, a white noise machine was activated for the rest of the courtroom, and details were discussed.

One woman spoke to the whole room. She had no faith in the criminal justice system. Her son was murdered. The police arrested and charged her other son with the crime. It was three years before he was out of jail and exonerated, meanwhile she was spending money she didn't have on a cocaine-addled lawyer.  Her Spanish accent made the story all the more painful.

It was clear to me that this defendant was going to jail. The prosecuting table had two attorneys and a DEA agent who looked to be 6'8" and not at all cordial, as well as a mountain of paperwork and a very large book. The defense table had the accused and his ill-dressed, obese, but certainly bilingual attorney, who nodded off during the process described above.

After the admonishments to not talk about the case, we were told to return at noon at which time the jury would be impaneled.  As we stood up and filed out, I became aware of four people who were sitting behind us, obviously the wife and young adult children of the defendant. Their aura of sadness and desperation was so profound I popped a few silent tears and had to sit and catch my breath in  the hallway before heading out to the beautiful spring day.

I was not selected.

And then there's this hiar-raiser, which involved a friend travelling east about the same time I left Arizona.  I think it's best told in the first person so I'll tell his story as if it happened to me. To paraphrase a line from Dragnet, "some of the names have been changed to protect the guilty."  He was....

..... on my way from Palm Desert to my usual destination for the summer months up at the top of Michigan, the car loaded with personal effects from the apartment I had just vacated. Early one morning a couple of miles into Missouri, I passed a red Dodge Charger Highway Patrol car parked in the median. 

When it pulled out behind me, I remembered the article I had read about how in Arkansas and Missouri, cars with plates from Arizona or California were subject to search for infractions as small as having a tail light out. If the police get lucky and you have drugs - sometimes amounts of pot as small I was carrying -  or even too much cash, they confiscate your car and sell it to bolster the budget. OK, so I was thinking about that, wondering how long I'd be followed when the  Missouri Welcome Center showed up. Perfect.

As I was heading to a parking spot the lights popped on and he pulled up behind me. I lowered all the tinted windows and sat with my hands on the steering wheel, having read somewhere that this kind of behavior helps ease tension for them.  
"Good morning sir. Are you all right, because I noticed you touched the fog line on your way into the rest area" ( That's the white line on the side of the road.  Exactly the kind of infraction I had read about.)
"Oh, sorry. I guess I was thinking about the need to pee more than I should have."
The request for license and registration required that I get out of the car to move a suitcase so I could open the glove box. (Why is it stilled called that?). I then asked if I could go pee, he said, "Not right this minute, come and sit in the car while I write up a warning. This won't take long."
So I sat in the front seat while he called in my info and we "chatted" a bit: "where was I headed?", "I notice your car is quite full" ; "have you ever been arrested?" and other small talk. At a certain point I looked down and noticed that my vaporizer was in the outside breast pocket of the jacket I was wearing.  It was right about then that he said, " Are you OK?... because you sure are breathing hard"

At this point I should confess that he was so adorable that I would have been nervous talking to him in a gay bar. ( Are there still gay bars?) 28 or so,  5'8", wearing one of those intricately woven string bracelets, and with an easy smile adorning a face right out of The Book Of Mormon. But I digress.

 I replied, "No I just get this way."
"You're not transporting weapons....."
I interrupted giving my best version of incredulous amusement with a chuckle accompanying "No."
".....or drugs? Because that would be a good reason to be breathing hard right now."
"No, when I'm at the doctor's office he has to take my blood pressure three times. He's like, 'Relax, this is just a blood pressure test.' " 
True story, don't how I thought to say it.
"Well, just relax. I'm just going to write you a warning. We'll be done in a minute here."
After fifteen seconds that passed like an hour he said, "You can go pee if you want now."
I left the Welcome Center laughing a laugh not quite as maniacal as Jessie's final scene in "Breaking Bad", but it was close.

Here's an interesting moment from my trip east.

Forest's Forester at Forrest City Arkansas, 2015, 250,000 Miles, all mine.

I'll close this post with a picture of one of the weirdest bugs I've ever seen. I rescued it, or one just like it, from the swimming pool a day before this one flew up and landed right where I was standing.  It's about 3 inches long.

I hope you enjoyed the stories. Here comes Summer.
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THE GOOD LIFE - SOUTHWEST VERSION

WINTER IN ARIZONA

The above should probably say "Spring In Arizona" but as I arrived in the 48th state in February and left before April was over I was there for the winter.  In calendar terms, yes Spring begins in at the Equinox, but in the Sonora Desert it ends a few weeks after that in a season called "The Snakes Are Out" which slowly turns into "Waiting for Monsoons" as the temperatures climb to 100 before the end of May.  All of this takes place amidst a decades long political climate event called "When Will John McCain Go Away?"  

Anyway, I arrived at Amanda's house in Paradise Valley, where Donald is currently ensconced. Alas, it's now on the market.
In case you know anyone with a couple mil extra that needs a project, here's a link to what I call

The Most Spectacular Location in Metro Phoenix

 Many cocktail hours on the porch included a palette like the above, or this

Donald & I officially became Old People this winter as we charted a course though the Happy Hours Islands in the sea of rich people that is Paradise Valley/Scottsdale. "Islands" with names like Marriott and local treasures abound within 3 miles of the house.  Before the dinner hour there are $5-$6 cocktails, decent to great appetizers for about the same and satisfied diners at home before 7PM. Old People.

Thom and I did a bit of the same when I was staying with him in Tucson at Bradlandia, a desert oasis if ever there was one.  Brad's been living in the same neighborhood through at least three of his many lives and put together a walled, landscaped, thoughtful enclave.  For instance, anticipating building what he called his "grand gay statement of how life should be", he tore down the house on the lot adjacent to his current residence.....shortly before the 2008 meltdown. That lot now is home to a community garden. 

This is only part of the Tombstone Rose Hedge, which is 100 feet long and the better part of 10 feet tall

There's even a gay koi pond.
(I think some of them are just "questioning")

Arizona is loaded with fascinating opportunities for day trips out of either of the two cities. Rather than take you through the calendar, I offer a short summary of some of the fun by way of elevation. We'll make our way down, starting with floating in a balloon over Sedona with Stephen and Maggie, 

to Kitt Peak, where we looked at the sun through two telescopes,

(this one goes as far into the mountain as it is above the surface, reflecting light from the Sun down and up and down to get an acceptable exposure.)

to sunset half-way up Mount Lemon

to the rainbow welcome over Kevin's awesome desert home

to the raptor fly over at The Arizona Sonora Desert Museum

  (You could feel the breeze as they glided less than a foot above our heads.....thrilling!)

to a carpet of wildflowers across the desert floor,

to the edge of the Lavender Pit mine in Bisbee

(this enormous hole was created to extract the 7% of copper found in the former hill)

to below the surface for a tour of the fantastically preserved

Karchner Caverns

discovered in the 70's and kept secret by University students, who eventually convinced the land owner of the need to preserve what he didn't even know was there.

Back on the surface, the weather was consistently perfect, there were some great meals,  and there is always a lesson and a laugh in company of friends known for decades.

 Many mornings had an interlude that looked something like this

  

I hope you've enjoyed riding along.

Next time I'll tell three stories of encounters with American justice, two hair-raisers and one just plain sad.