I wrote this in October, 2008, for the online "Obit Magazine," which called itself " 'The New Yorker' of Death." It's been two decades since his murder. None of us can control how we’re remembered, though we may try to live in ways that minimize the dancing on our graves. Yet a special place should be made for those who are memorialized not for how they lived, but how they died. Those singular victims of war, accident, or crime may become famous, even important. But their daily voices, their quirks and smiles, their plain ambitions and … [Read more...]
It’s My Bag
Ever since I came out, when I was a grad student in '70 or '71, I have carried some kind of small bag. My friends at the University of California, San Diego, may recall that I was never without my red, mirrored Indian satchel -- until it fell apart, dropping random mica chips under the campus's fragrant eucalyptus trees. At the time, I occasionally wore bell-bottoms with lace I sewed on the cuffs and soft beige blouses, hoping not to get mascara on the silk: very hard to wash out. That was when the … [Read more...]