Filth, fists and femmes
Now that I have your attention – I’m talking about the sad state of LGBT greeting cards. In several local outlets, I found the scanty selections were filled with the above three Fs. I’m not saying that such pictorials and poetry don’t have their place and their admirers. My concern is with the lack of “nice” cards for the partner or friend who deserves a truly thoughtful birthday or anniversary sentiment, a wedding with sincere congratulations or just a heartfelt “Thinking of You” card.
True, our community has a reputation for enjoying the witty and naughty, but we also appreciate the sincere and considerate. When I tried to buy a meaningful anniversary card for my partner, I ended up with one from Ralphs. It said what I wanted to say, but I really wanted one with a man to man motif. The gay ones I had looked at were often very funny and I peeked at one, maybe two, of the risqué (to put it mildly), but, damn it; I wanted one that spoke from my heart. A few had a nice photo on the front, but inside was merely “Congratulations” or “Happy Anniversary.” That just didn’t do the job. The lesbian cards were of a similar nature, although not so outrageous (for the most part).
With all their creativity can’t the writers and artists come up with something mature and genuine? I spoke to several staff members and received the same comment, “That is what we received from our supplier.” If enough people complain and ask for a better selection of cards, maybe someone will listen. So, when you are in such a shop, let that sentiment be known and perhaps the next time you look for that perfect card for that special person or occasion, it will be there.
Cold snap memories
istock The recent cold snap brought to the TV screen the exotic town of Alpine and that wonder of nature, snow. Frolicking families made angels on the fluffy stuff, threw snow balls, skied, etc. Not filmed was the popular act of writing one’s name in the cold, white canvas; a feat enjoyed solely by the boys. (You don’t really have to ask, do you?)
I must admit the positive nostalgia was overshadowed by the negative memories of walking to and from school in sub-zero temperatures, icicles forming on the hairs in my nose and wearing so many layers of clothing I walked like a penguin. When I was older, there was perilous driving on ice with those impossible-to-put-on tire chains. All this, and then add the hell of shoveling out the driveway just in time for the snowplow to shove it all back; a situation well-known to my fellow Northerners. There was also skating on a lake midst the howling wind and declaring to everyone through cracked, blue lips, “Hey, this is great.”
As for the agony of a frigid January day spent crammed into an ice-fishing hut with my brother and his drunken, homophobic buddies, don’t ask. I shudder remembering the traffic signal at the top of a steep, icy hill invariably turning red to assess my stick shifting ability.
But I admit it was beautiful, in fact, gorgeous. After an ice storm, the trees shimmered and glistened as if snow pixies had turned the scene into a fairyland of jewels and drifts of silvery chiffon (Is he gay?). And when dressed correctly on a sunny day, way up in the forties, playing outside was fun. But on deciding my retirement locale, I’ve never regretted saying, “I choose sun. I choose San Diego.”
