Maybe as children we feel a little isolated, so we find listening to music a way of connecting with the wider world. So when we discover clubs and we’re in a room of like-minded people, we start to feel safe and we don’t feel so anxious about being who we are. That’s a wonderful way to experience freedom.”
Luke Howard
I created a Super Pride Playlist a few years ago and update it yearly for Pride Month. Check it out:
A few songs you might not know:
“I Know a Place” by MUNA is about having a safe place for LGBTQ people to express themselves. It took on new meaning after the Pulse massacre.
“Glad to Be Gay” by the Tom Robinson Band is a British song from 1976. It references many of the anti-LGBTQ legislation and policies from that time.
“Snug Slacks” by John Grant is a wry take on love lust at first sight. It’s got some bizarre references: “But I do love me some Angie Dickinson / Let’s be clear, Joan Baez makes GG Allin look like Charlene Tilton.”
“Momentary” by Jake Wesley Rogers mentions Marsha P. Johnson and Harvey Milk, two LGBTQ icons. I’ve been a fan of Rogers since I saw him as a guest host on Legendary. He’s the living reincarnation2 of Elton John.
“Black Me Out” by Against Me! is a trans woman’s angry reply to those who want to demean and dehumanize her. It’s 100% vitriol.
Enjoy the music!
Pink in concert at Amalie Arena
Indigo Girls in concert at Ruth Eckerd Hall
____ 1 This would have been a good article to cite yesterday, as it’s primarily about dance music. 2 I don’t know if “living reincarnation” is a thing, but it should be.
What do gay men enjoy more than a dance song? The extended dance remix of the same dance song!
OK, there’s a bit of stereotyping going on there, but lots of gay men go gaga for Gaga, wanna be Madonna1, and are crazy for Kylie.
My theory — more like an informed guess — is that this love for dance music goes back to the days of disco. Here’s why:
Disco didn’t have prescribed gender roles — that is, no one leads.
It emerged in the early days of gay liberation, when people took their first steps out of the closet and were ready to celebrate.
It winked at gay fans with songs like “He’s the Greatest Dancer,” “Y.M.C.A.,” and “I’m Coming Out.”
It’s pretty darn fun to listen to. Even sad songs like “Band of Gold” had awesome hooks and incredible beats. We even turned Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind” into a disco hit!
Disco got gay men on the dance floor, and we’ve been shaking our groove things ever since. Just ask the Complementary Spouse and me:
_____
1 Here’s Madonna’s “Finally Enough Love,” a collection of 50 remixes. I have played this album, approximately, 1,000 times.
Let’s jump into a recent controversy to kick off Gayskool ’23.
The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence have been in the news because they were invited, disinvited, and re-invited to the L.A. Dodgers Pride Night planned for June 16. (As Daily Dave readers know, the Dodgers were one of the first baseball teams to have a Pride event, although it wasn’t official.)
After much thoughtful feedback from our diverse communities, honest conversations within the Los Angeles Dodgers organization and generous discussions with the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, the Los Angeles Dodgers would like to offer our sincerest apologies to the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, members of the LGBTQ+ community and their friends and families.
I’ve seen the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence somewhere. They roller-skated past the Complementary Spouse and me on roller skates — a blur of nuns’ habits, white face paint, and glitter. I can’t remember where this happened, but if I were a betting man, I’d say it was the Russian River Valley near San Francisco. Britt believes it was Provincetown. It may have been the Castro. One thing is certain, though: It wasn’t Branson, Mo.
The Sisters describe themselves as a “leading edge Order of queer and trans nuns” who “believe all people have a right to express their unique joy and beauty.” According to their website:
We use humor and irreverent wit to expose the forces of bigotry, complacency and guilt that chain the human spirit.
So, who went apoplectic when the Dodgers asked the Sisters to join the festivities at Dodgers Stadium? Well, let’s ask Homer:
The Dodgers’ knee-jerk reaction was to disinvite the Sisters, and the response from the LGBTQ community was swift and forceful. Many groups, including LA Pride and the ACLU, backed out of the event. Forced to decide between caving to bigots or standing by their commitment to diversity and inclusion, the Dodgers decided to do the right thing.
Here is the Sisters’ statement:
A full apology and explanation was given to us by the Dodgers staff which we accept. We believe the apology is sincere because the Dodgers have worked for 10 years with our community and as well they have asked us to continue an ongoing relationship with them. In the future, if similar pressures from outside our community arise, our two organizations will consult and assist each other in responding, alongside our colleagues at the Los Angeles LGBT Center and others from the LGBTOIA2S community, now more closely tied with the LA Dodgers than ever before.
Someone asked me yesterday what I thought about the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. I said I thought of them as a protest group: They fight against oppression by assuming their oppressors’ language, garb, and traditions. Creativity is one of the most powerful tools LGBTQ people have to fight bigotry.
As for the people who feel offended? Let me be direct: These bigots have used their twisted interpretation of religion to ostracize, demonize, and dehumanize LGBTQ people for millennia. They have done serious harm — it’s not hyperbole to say their actions have a body count. How has a bunch of men wearing makeup and nuns’ habits affected their lives in any real way? Their feelings are hurt? World’s tiniest violin. They’re not victims.
I asked Siri to summarize that last paragraph. Her response: “Duck them.”
Sadly, I think we’ll see many more stories like this in the news. Organizations committed to LGBTQ equality and inclusion are under attack from increasingly rabid and empowered extremists.1
We’ll soon learn which organizations have been paying us lip service and which ones will live up to their word.
At a fundraiser at the Portico Cafe1 Friday night, the Complimentary Spouse noticed something out of the corner of his eye and pointed at it.
“There are somebody’s ashes on that shelf.”
I looked and didn’t see an urn. “Where?” I asked.
“Right there.”
I looked again and saw what he was pointing at. It wasn’t an urn. It was a jar of dirt with a label on it. I recognized it instantly.
“Remember when we went to the Legacy Museum in Montgomery? They had a bunch of jars because they were collecting soil from every lynching site,” I said. “I’m sure that’s one of them.”
“Oh yeah,” Britt said. “I remember that.”
We moved closer. The label said:
Lewis Jackson Hillsborough County, Florida December 4, 1903
I asked the barista at the Portico Cafe if the jar was indeed part of the Equal Justice Initiative’s Soil Collection Project. She said yes, and added that a historical marker had just been put up at the actual site.
(The Soil Collection Project and Community Historical Market Project are two parts of EJI’s Community Remembrance Project. The Legacy Museum is just a few miles away from another EJI project, the iconic and moving National Memorial for Peace and Justice.2)
Seeing that soil filled me with sorrow, as it was a tangible reminder of our history of bigotry and violence. One hundred and twenty years later, our society is still cursed with those plagues, and a lot of the progress that has been made is being eroded.
But that jar also made me hopeful. It shows that people — well, not all people — don’t want to hide from the shame of the past. That leads to dialogue, and dialogue can lead to change.
Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it without a sense of ironic futility.
Errol Morris, filmmaker
These jars might make people uncomfortable, but discomfort is the only way we’ll evolve on these issues.
There’s pain in that soil, but without soil, nothing can grow.
___ 1 The Portico Cafe is a coffee shop founded by a local Methodist church. It helps recovering addicts, people who were in jail, and others get second chances by giving them meaningful jobs. The revenue goes toward local homelessness initiatives.
2 This monument is powerful, disturbing, and essential. It records the individual victims of lynching while conveying the enormity of the violence.
The memorial from a distance.
Each of these steel sculptures is about the size of a coffin and is suspected from above, as if they were lynched. There is one for each county, and the names of the victims are etched on them.
EJI made two markers for each county. One is in the main part of the memorial. The other is placed outside for the counties to collect if they wanted to acknowledge their history. When Britt and I visited in 2019, our county’s marker hadn’t been picked up.
This is an extended version of something I posted on Facebook a few days ago.
As an ACLU of Florida volunteer, one of my favorite things to do is to get out in the community, explain our mission, and advocate for change. I got to do that twice recently.
Last weekend, I participated in a talkback session at “When the Righteous Triumph” at Stageworks Theatre. A few days ago, I spoke to the Tampa City Council about an initiative to make our Citizens Review Board more independent (which passed).
At Stageworks, someone listed everything going wrong in Florida and asked how she could help. I could tell she felt overwhelmed. I shared my personal view on this:
First, try not to focus on the entirety of the situation. Pick one organization or cause that resonates with you, and participate as much as you have time for — even if it’s just a few phone calls a month or showing up for a meeting.
Second, understand that no one will solve all these problems by themselves — if you think that way, you will be frustrated and burn out quickly. Think of yourself as part of a team, and do something that aligns with your strengths and makes you feel satisfied. Even a small effort makes a big difference.
And, third, wear pants when you’re going to be on stage. I was woefully underdressed on Sunday.
“When the Righteous Triumph” is about the sit-ins at the Woolworth’s lunch counter in Tampa in the 1960s. It was powerful and meaningful, and it was an honor to share my thoughts after the performance.
Where Passion Meets Usefulness
The conversation at Stageworks got me thinking: Why do I bother volunteering? It’s a good question — especially today in Florida, where progress is slow and setbacks are frequent. If Sisyphus were here, he’d say, “fuck this, I’m going back to my rock.”
I think it’s because I get to do good things by doing things I’m good at.
Here’s how to parse that sentence:
I get to do good things: I get to help make our country more equal and just by protecting and advancing civil rights. I’m deeply committed to this cause — not just because I’m a gay man, but because I’m a human being.
By doing things I’m good at: I can apply the experience and unique set of skills I’ve developed over the past [age redacted] years.
Put those two together, and you have a compelling reason to volunteer. Buddhist monk Jay Shetty would call this Dharma.
Everyone has a psychophysical nature which determines where they flourish and thrive. Dharma is using this natural inclination, the things you’re good at, your thrive mode, to serve others.
Jay Shetty, “Think Like a Monk”
The Indigo Girls put it this way:
If I have a care in the world, I have a gift to bring.
Indigo Girls, “Hammer and a Nail”
In my volunteer life, I’ve gravitated toward opportunities that play to my strengths. I’m not a lawyer or policy expert, but I certainly know how to solve problems, collaborate, develop strategies, explain things clearly, and create compelling narratives. One of the things I do best is craft messages that resonate with people, make emotional connections, and inspire action. That’s why I sat on the stage after the play and spoke to the city council.
By applying my skills, I’ve played a small but meaningful role in improving police accountability, restoring voting rights, reforming the criminal justice system, protecting free speech, and more. These have all been group efforts, and it feels good to know that I’ve contributed some knowledge and expertise that others might not possess.
Living at a Higher State
Another thing I have discovered is that volunteering improves my mental well-being. That seems counterintuitive, considering that it can be hard work, setbacks are frequent, and knowing that others suffer takes an emotional toll.
Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi says serving others can create a state of flow — a state of mind in which people are engaged, involved, and perform their best.
Unfortunately, many people who move in the public arena do not act at very high levels of complexity. Politicians tend to seek power, philanthropists fame, and would-be saints often seek to prove how righteous they are. These goals are not so hard to achieve, provided one invests enough energy in them. The greater challenge is not only to benefit oneself, but to help others in the process. It is more difficult, but much more fulfilling, for the politician to actually improve social conditions, for the philanthropist to help out the destitute, and for the saint to provide a viable model of life to others.
Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, “Flow: The Psychology of Optimum Performance.” Emphasis mine.
Again, Shetty would connect this to the concept of Dharma:
When your natural talents and passions (your varna) connect with what the universe needs (seva) and become your purpose, you are living in your dharma. When you spend your time and energy living in your dharma, you have the satisfaction of using your best abilities and doing something that matters to the world. Living in your dharma is a certain route to fulfillment.
Jay Shetty, “Think Like a Monk.” Again, emphasis mine.
This Dharma stuff sounds great. Perhaps I should become a Buddhist. But for now, I’m satisfied just being a volunteer.
Some Advice
It’s easy to become a volunteer, but it takes some effort to volunteer in a way that makes you feel valued and impactful. Here are some tips:
Find a cause you’re really passionate about: Relevance will make your work more personal and meaningful.
Shop around: There are dozens — maybe hundreds — of organizations dedicated to your cause. You don’t just have to go with the biggest and most famous ones.
Consider the culture: If you don’t click with an organization, find another one. You don’t want to feel isolated, unmotivated, or disengaged.
The most important thing you can volunteer is your time: Money buys stuff. People create value and make an impact.
Make it a learning experience: When I joined the ACLU, I was able to use and improve professional skills that I couldn’t at work — especially leadership skills. Doing so helped me advance my career.
Don’t overcommit, and feel free to say no: If you don’t set boundaries, you might find yourself in over your head. You can also say that you’re not ready for something yet. I turned up some volunteer leadership positions until I felt ready to take them on.
Take care of yourself: If you’re emotionally or mentally exhausted, you have burnout. Take a step back until you’re ready to give your all again, and do not feel guilty about it. This is the most important piece of advice I can give you.
When my boss, Ben, signed into our Teams meeting yesterday, he didn’t see me. He saw a limited edition RuPaul teddy bear (thank you Build-A-Bear) sitting where I should be.
He cracked up. I moved the bear. Being gay men, we were legally obligated to discuss this season of Drag Race. And then we got down to work (email drips and ABM campaigns, if you’re interested).
I waited decades for that moment.
I was a journalist when I came out professionally in the mid-1990s, and my editors told me to keep my mouth shut — usually subtly, but occasionally overtly. Once, I pinned a postcard-sized rainbow flag to my cubicle wall. The publisher took it down and told me it was inappropriate.
Even though leadership didn’t like me being out, many of my coworkers expressed their support and became allies. (Special shout-out to Carolyn, who remembers more about my coming out at work than I do!) I realized how healthy and reaffirming it was to be my authentic self in the office.
An aside: Over dinner a few days ago, Carolyn reminded me how I came out to her. “You told me, ‘After many years of trying to deny the truth with Ben & Jerry’s and Oreos, I have realized I’m gay.’” I had forgotten that.
Stepping Into No One’s Shoes
Since I didn’t know any out LGBTQ people in the workplace, I had no mentors to help me navigate my challenges and celebrate my successes. I recently came across this quote from Richie Jackson that captures what I felt: “Each place where you look and fail to find yourself reinforces the fact that you don’t exist, that you aren’t worthy, that you don’t belong.”
I committed to becoming the type of role model I wished I had — someone visible and honest. I wanted to show others they could bring their whole selves to work. It was a risk, and there’s no doubt it held me back professionally. But I’ve helped many other LGBTQ people gain the confidence, support, and strength to come out at work — sometimes by talking to me, and other times through my example. That’s more valuable than a dozen promotions and a fat paycheck. I wouldn’t change a thing.
Moving Up and Speaking Out
At my next job — a major metropolitan daily — most of my coworkers were supportive, but a few of the editors were not. I still remember how I came out to my fellow reporters. We were trading stories about terrible first dates, and mine was about a guy named Marty who asked to borrow my car. There was a brief moment of confusion, followed by years of inclusion and allyship.
Covering the Florida legislative session in 2002. Gay adoption was a big issue that year.
By not hiding, I could advocate for LGBTQ people in our newsroom and our coverage. Not only was I the first person from our paper to attend an NLGJA conference, but the paper paid for it, and my presentation to the reporters and editors after was well-attended and well-received.
The Kinsey Sicks, America’s Favorite Dragapella Beautyshop Quartet, performed at my first NLGJA conference in 2002, in Philadelphia.
The Complimentary Spouse and I met Ted Allen in 2003 at my second NLGJA conference, in Los Angeles.
But even though the newsroom became more accepting, the rest of the company did not. Every year, we employees shuffled into a big meeting room to learn about our benefits. I raised my hand one year and asked about domestic partner benefits. I was shot down and told they would be too expensive.
The following year, I was prepared. I asked again about domestic partner benefits and got the same response. I then pulled out reports showing that the costs were negligible, based on years of research. I also listed our competitors with domestic partner benefits, cited reports about how the benefits helped recruit and retain talented employees, and shared the Human Rights Campaign’s Corporate Equality Index. They were caught off guard but, alas, didn’t budge.
Every year, I pushed more forcefully. Every year, they dismissed me. But I never gave up.
A Mixed Bag
Since leaving journalism, I’ve worked for companies with various levels of support for LGBTQ employees. Without naming names, here are some examples:
The good: At one firm, my team threw a wedding shower for the Complimentary Spouse and me. One of our gifts was a pair of Ken dolls. (They are stashed away in a closet, and the irony of that is not lost on me.) The firm also had a well-organized LGBTQ employee resource group, and sent me to attend the Out & Equal conference one year.
The bad: One company regularly treated the staff to free lunches. Frequently, they were catered by Chick-fil-A.
The ugly: At one company, leadership celebrated Pride Month despite having no protection for LGBTQ employees. When I saw the head of HR wearing a T-shirt saying “ally” in an all-hands meeting, I spoke with him afterward and called him out on his hypocrisy. He committed to updating the policies, but I left before any changes were made. In addition, the company participated in the Salvation Army’s Angel Tree program each year. I had to point out to the HR director that the Salvation Army has a long andwell–knownhistory of anti-LGBTQ bigotry.
The Payoff: A Workplace Where I’m Valued and Validated
My career path took me to my current employer last year. This is the first place I’ve felt that equity and inclusion are written into the organization’s DNA — it’s an organic part of our culture, not an afterthought or marketing ploy. A lot of the credit goes to the CEO, Felipe.
This is my work mug. Look closely in the background and you’ll see the custom “Marriage Is so Gay” print my friend Jon Selikoff made for Britt and me in 2010.
This is the first time I’ve worked for a gay boss. In one way, it’s just like working for a straight boss. In another way, it’s validating, affirming, and inspiring. He’s younger than me, and I’d like to think that, in some minuscule way, my coming out at work all those years ago paved the way for him.
And not just for him. For lots of professionals.
I often reflect on what Sir Ian McKellen told an interviewer 30 years after he came out: “I’ve never met a gay person who regretted coming out – including myself. Life at last begins to make sense, when you are open and honest.”
A week ago, the cowards at the Hillsborough County School Board banned “This Book Is Gay” from middle schools. It was only available at Pierce Middle School, and had been challenged by a single parent who didn’t have a child at that school — and was vetted by two committees before being put in the school library — but the school board saw fit to ban it not just from Pierce, but 121 schools serving more than 80,000 students.
Advocates for banning books said it wasn’t an attack on LGBTQ people, and they were just trying to keep inappropriate materials out of kids’ hands. But bullshit disguised as parental outrage is bullshit nonetheless.
I couldn’t go to the school board meeting to voice my opinion, but I emailed all the board members the day before. Here is what I wrote:
I encourage all board members to reject any action that would prevent students from reading or accessing “This Book Is Gay.” There are young LGBTQ students in every school — a fact that some people do not wish to recognize — and denying them of materials that validate their existence and speak to their life experiences is harmful and stunts their educational and personal development.
As someone who grew up without books like this, I know firsthand what is it like to grow up without seeing positive representations of yourself. Banning this book and others like it will cause real harm, psychological trauma, and self-hatred for many students, making schools not a place of education but isolation — a place where students will suffer, not succeed. You have a moral, ethical, and legal obligation to not let that happen.
Be brave, be principled, and be a board that does not bow down to bullies or bigots.
LGBTQ people are under attack here in Florida, and nowhere is this more evident — or appalling — than in our public schools. The “Don’t Say Gay” law and other initiatives demean and discredit LGBTQ youth and erase our existence. The book ban here isn’t an isolated incident. It’s the latest step in a campaign of hate and degradation.
Why This Matters to Me
What’s happening now hits me at a visceral level, not just an intellectual one. When I was growing up, there was no discussion of LGBTQ people — certainly not in middle school or high school. All I heard were crude jokes and a sense of disgust. In the news, gay men were dying from AIDS. Politically, LGBTQ people were punching bags. In movies and on TV, LGBTQ people were either considered jokes or made out to be wicked.
That really takes a toll on you.
In 2015, I took the Complimentary Spouse on a tour of my elementary and middle school in London, and when we turned a corner, I saw this:
I was choked up, and I’m still emotional when I think about it today. There was no overt effort to exclude LGBTQ people from schools when I was there, but there was also no recognition that we existed.
Seeing that flag years ago filled me with hope. I know it’s still there today.1 It shows children at my elementary and middle school that they’re welcome, accepted, and loved.
Sadly, children in my county will never see a symbol as important as this one. And, in a way, that’s worse. As a kid, I didn’t know what it would mean to be recognized. These kids will know what it means — and see that they’re being deprived of it.
They say you should never meet your heroes. Not only have I met one of mine, but I’m honored to be her friend.
It wasn’t enough for Tiffany Hilton to conquer her demons. As she battled addiction, she saw firsthand the gaps in our criminal justice system. Recovery gave her a second chance at life, and she decided others needed second chances too.
Tiffany went to law school, determined to gain the skills and knowledge to help others. While a student, she took on pro bono work to defend a transgender woman of color who was — I’m not sure this is the exact legal term — had the crap beaten out of her in prison because of staff neglect. Through mediation, she was able to settle the case.
Tiffany graduated from Stetson and now works as a public defender. Her work is profiled in “Chasing Justice,” a documentary that premiered last weekend at the Gasparilla International Film Festival.1 The photo at the top of this post is of her and me on the red carpet.
Tiffany says her goal is to run for office one day. I hope she does, and I’ll be first in line to vote for her. No matter where the future takes her, I know she’ll succeed and make life better and more just for everyone else.
____ 1 At the end of the documentary, Tiffany quotes a line from House of Cards: “If you don’t like the way the table is set, turn over the table.” I had never heard that before. It’s such a Tiffany thing to say.
Last week, my company’s revenue team1 descended on New Orleans to talk strategy, share information, and knock back a few hurricanes. We also did some team-building events, and the one I was looking forward to the least — an airboat ride on the swamps of Louisana — turned out to be one of my favorites.
I was anticipating sweat and bugs. Instead, I got to get up close and personal with a few of Louisiana’s three million alligators.
Here are some of the things I learned on our excursion:
Alligators Like Candy
I was shocked to learn that alligators like marshmallows. Yes, marshmallows — the things you put in s’mores and hot chocolate.2
In David Attenborough’s voice: “The fierce predator stalks its prey.”
The next time I head out to the bayou, I’m going to bring a box of Peeps. I wonder if alligators would prefer chicks or bunnies.
The Swamp Is More Beautiful Than I Expected
I’m the sort of guy who thinks roughing it means staying in a hotel with less than four stars. It’s no surprise, then, that I have never visited a swamp. I expected an ugly, sticky, godforsaken place with banjo music playing in the background.
The swamp was actually more pleasant than I anticipated. It was a comfortable day with low humidity, and we got to experience the golden hour right before sunset.
Not so scary, eh?
Not long before sunset. I’m not sure how I got that awesome lens flare! No filter.
On our way from Lafitte to Lake Salvador, we saw quite a few large homes. We also saw one boat that was less than seaworthy:
About an hour into our trip, Captain Danny opened a blue cooler under his chair and introduced us to his buddy, Little Ed. He was adorable.
I will hug him and squeeze him and call him George.
The trick to holding a baby gator is to grasp the tail firmly with one hand and put the other under his belly.
Airboats Are Pretty Damn Fast
I estimate we were going about 30 mph (18 kph). Perhaps a little more.
I used the Action mode on my iPhone to take this video, so it looks somewhat smooth. Actually, going fast in an airboat is choppy. I’m glad we had seat belts.
Would I Do It Again?
I had more fun than I expected on our airboat ride. I wouldn’t go out of my way to do it again, but I wouldn’t rule it out either.
Check out my new noise-cancelling headphones.
___ 1 I can hear you saying, “Hey, Dave, you’re in marketing, not sales!” Yes, you’re right, and thank you for following me on LinkedIn. Since my company is small, marketing and sales are combined into one team and report to the Chief Revenue Officer. This is the first time I’ve worked somewhere that doesn’t have siloed marketing and sales teams, and I love it.
2 Marshmallows are also the form Gozer the Destroyer took when he attacked New York:
I’ve done quite a few races since I began running, but the most meaningful one was the Gasparilla 5K on Saturday, Feb. 23, 2019.
That’s because it was the first one I did with Cherie.1
Cherie and I worked together for a long time at the Tampa Tribune. If there’s one thing you learn as a journalist, it’s that the friends you make in the newsroom are the very best kind of friends.2
In those days, I was overweight. Every year, Cherie would ask if I had any interest in just walking the Gasparilla 5K, and every year I gave the same response: “Let me lose a little weight, and we can do it next year.”
Of course, we never did it.
Cherie and I both left the newsroom long before the Trib, like many other papers, went belly-up. She went into PR. I went into professional services and then detoured into marketing. We stayed in touch, but you know things aren’t the same when you’re not interacting every day.
In 2017, I started to make a concerted effort to get my weight under control. In 2018, down nearly 80 pounds, I started running. When I saw the announcement about the upcoming Gasparilla 5K in 2019, I called Cherie and proposed we go. She was ecstatic and said yes. I was proud of myself and incredibly excited.
Here we are in that first race:
Waiting for the race to start.
Showing off our fancy new hardware.
Since then, we’ve done the Gasparilla 5K every year (except in 2021, because it was canceled due to Covid).
In 2020, we froze our butts off because it was 42° when the race began.
In 2022, we met Baby Yoda. Cherie, who is not a Star Wars fan, was not as excited about this as I was.
Two days ago, we were out on Bayshore again for this year’s race. Here are some pictures.
We met Pepperjack the Parrot when we picked up our race packets the day before.
Waiting for the race to start.
Another race in the books, and more medals for our collection. Notice how this year’s race towel (around my shoulders) matches my shirt. As a gay man, I would have been aghast if the colors had clashed. How gauche!
Running the Gasparilla 5K with Cherie is something I look forward to every year. It’s not just a race — it’s a tradition. The next one is scheduled for Saturday, Feb. 24, 2024. Get ready to run, Cherie!
_____ 1 My favorite Cherie story: When we first started working together, we were working on a dual-bylined story and I put her name down as “Cheri” at the top. She said “My name as an E” at the end. I said “are you sure?” She said, “I think I know how to spell my own name.” I was embarrassed at the time, but now it’s pretty darn funny.
2 Conversely, the assholes you meet in the newsroom are the very worst type of assholes.
