Get Your Gay Geek On
Friday, Oct 9: Southwest Gay & Lesbian Film Festival
Blue Is the Warmest Color
I was a teenage lesbian, and all I got was this heartbreaking movie
The Daily Word in Mullet vs. beard, man vs. fish, woman vs. sandwich and Fiona Apple vs. The Man
New Mexico's Spaceport development has problems.
Yes, you can play golf at the Angola Penitentiary golf course.
The ex-controller of the New Mexico Finance Authority has been indicted.
Unintentional, run-away double entendre strikes when Jill Biden introduces the Vice-President.
The Rio Arriba County Sheriff's Department planned to buy a boat three days after cutting hours of service due to lack of funds.
150 years of lesbians photo gallery.
Verdict in the Amish beard-cutting case: "Mullet guilty in beard case."
A woman ate a "Stellanator" in Omaha.
A weird effigy of Obama was lynched in Austin.
This may be the first good, in-depth news item about bath salts.
Groundbreaking video illustrates the best way to clean mushrooms.
Not so groundbreaking: we are running out of fish.
An Intel worker called the police because a coworker put a "kick me" sign on his back. And people kicked him.
Some companies are instructing employees NOT to use work email after hours.
Snoop Dogg was the celebrity guest on The Price is Right yesterday.
Like many before her, Fiona Apple was busted for pot possession at the Sierra Blanca border checkpoint.
Hypnotic map of the 2012 presidential election swing states.
Flyer on the Wall
The Fire Halloween Vampire Ball is just for female neck-nibblers over the age of 21. Come out of your coffins and dance to DJs Anita, Nicolatron and Ginger, and get glamoured by live performances from the ABQ Kings Club and Consuelo Wind. Doors at El Rey Theater (620 Central SW) creak open at 8 p.m. $10 limited advance tickets at firewomyn.com. (Laura Marrich)
Just Say Yes
The struggle for LGBT rights hits home
When Alibi news editor Marisa Demarco asked if I would cover the National Equality March in D.C. I quickly responded with a great big “Yes”. Nevermind the march took place the weekend I was scheduled to be hauling all my earthly belongings into my new apartment outside Baltimore, and never mind I’d never actually been to D.C. before. I was excited for the opportunity to document this event. (See the piece and other photos here.)
And then, as I started working on the article, a phone interview with One Struggle, One Fight–New Mexico’s Kelly Hutton caused me to seriously think about attending the march as more than a reporter. Her infectious enthusiasm got to me. “Please! Come march with us,” Hutton encouraged me, and her invitation echoed in my thoughts as I made my travel plans.
Additional pressure came in a phone call from my mother who reminded me I had many LGBT friends and family members who would be unable to make it to D.C. The weight on my shoulders was growing heavy. I could have easily shrugged it off by telling myself I was a reporter; my job was to attend as an objective observer and nothing more.
But I couldn’t. My conscience wouldn’t be that easily appeased.
So, I marched. I marched in between climbing walls to get the best shots I could, between hanging off light posts to get just the right angle and between tracking down activists from New Mexico. I ran alongside marchers, doubling back to snap photos of clever signs and then hurrying to catch up to marchers arriving at the Capitol. I jumped on and off cement barriers and planters, jogged backwards to catch groups caught up in the moment and ended up with a stress fracture in my left foot. But I marched.
I marched for my aunt Gloria who died last year after a fiercely short battle with ovarian cancer. I marched for her partner Deanna who was referred to only as “friend” and “roommate” at Gloria’s Catholic funeral.
I marched for my HIV-positive cousin Mari, the first transgender person I’d ever met. As I child, I was endlessly fascinated by him, putting him on my list of things to ponder between Boy George and God.
I marched for my cousin Felix, a young lesbian who I have so much admiration for. She is unapologetic for her identity even to her devoutly Catholic family.
I marched for all my LGBT friends over the years who are too numerous to name. But I will make special mention of John Cook, a nurse and teacher who may very well be the best drinking buddy a gal can have.
And I marched for all those who made their way to D.C. to support their community. For the military personnel thrown out under DADT, for the young people bullied in school over their sexuality, the parents who aren’t recognized as parents under current laws, partners who are refused the right to be at their loved one’s sides in hospitals, those ostracized in their churches and the countless others who find themselves denied anything based on their orientation, I marched.
The march continues. Now is the time to write letters to our senators, representatives and councilmen. Now is the time to tell everyone you know to support our friends and family in their old-as-time struggle for equal treatment under the law.
I marched for my loved ones, but will you?