I have always had a “thing” against Madonna, which is noticeably strange for someone who loves pop music as much as I do (seriously… two words: Britney Spears). I find it interesting, that it wasn’t until I read his post, that I put two and two together, and realize that I think at least a portion of my history of “hate” for Madonna comes from not wanting to like her because of who she is and what she represents.

For one, Madonna, like it or not, has a strong affiliation with the “idea” of being gay. I remember school when I was younger, and it was pretty much a given that on any day, I was going to be called a faggot/ sissy/ girl/ pussy/ fag at some point by someone; regardless of whether or not I was “queeny”, “faggy”, “girly”, or overtly “homosexual” in the slightest. It was just the way it was. It was my reality from pretty much the first day of elementary school, on up through the end of high school (even though it continued in college, it was noticeably changed). As a result, I tried really, really hard to stay away from anything that would further label me as what I was; and unfortunately, exactly what I didn’t want to be in any way, shape, or form. When those kids were calling me whatever their chosen gay-indicative expletive of the day was, they were labeling me as gay, and at the same time, indicating that being gay was not only “not okay”, but that it was really, really bad. As such, being gay was the last thing on the planet I wanted to be, even though I was; talk about inner conflict.

I remember when I was in middle school, and the song Vogue became popular, and a friend of mine named Nikki did the entire dance routine for our gym class during “dance week” (whoever thought that was a good idea should be tortured, because I got teased incessantly because of my even being preset that week). I remember loving the song, and really liking her performance, but I found myself cowardly wanting to shun Nikki for doing her dance, and in effect, distance myself from liking anything about it. I honestly think that this moment really shaped how I would feel about Madonna up until this very moment.

There is a part of me that definitely, whether I want to admit it or not, STILL has a shred of disdain for the fact that I am gay. Now, that is not to say that I “don’t like who I am”, or that I “hate myself for being gay”, because those vastly overstep the boundary of this disdain of which I speak. I’m saying that there is a part of me that dislikes the fact that I am the very thing that many people out there consider to be bad, wrong, and love to express their hatred for; which comes from growing up with people berating me with this very sentiment day in and day out. When I am riding in my car with the widows down, and I am playing something especially “gay”, I still always turn it down when someone pulls up next to me. There is something in me that will always remain guarded, and as such, I try to hide the fact that I am gay to random strangers sometimes. It sounds completely stupid when I say it out loud, but this is an example of the part of me that wants to hide the fact that I am gay, because of that disdain I have for it; which again, stems from being made fun of and judged as a child. The shitty part, is that I always find myself doing it again, because that disdain (however small it may be) lives on.

I realize now, that I have written off my feelings about Madonna as “hatred”, because other gay men seemingly follow her every foot step, and hang on her every word, and that disdain in me made me want to distance myself from anything that would paint me as so overtly gay. As I read Rich’s post, I found myself back in that auditorium, watching Nikki bravely perform to Vogue, wishing I could be as brave as she, but cowardly wishing that no one would see me enjoying her performance, for fear that I would be further berated for being a fag.

I hate that I let myself think this way, and I hate even more that this disdain exists within me, but at least I realize that I cannot let it make judgments about things such as liking Madonna for the rest of my life. Even though this is a small step towards totally making the aforementioned realization a reality, today I have identified the fact that my disdain for Madonna represents (at least in part) my personal turmoil with being gay, and the conflict I have had with it for as long as I can remember. I disliked her, openly hated her, and even mocked her because of what she represents and who she is. Yet the fact still remainded that Madonna is a woman who can do what she wants, and doesn’t get called a faggot because she takes dance classes, and enjoys extremely “gay”, poptastic music. She is a woman who has constantly put herself out there as a symbol of something “gay”, and while other gay men have lopped up everything she offered, I realize that I have shunned her because of what it would mean if I grabbed my spoon and joined the feast. Instead of hating her music, or disliking her as a person, I have been disliking what “liking her” would mean all of these years.

I have to say, that I didn’t expect a blog post about Madonna to open my eyes to something this deep, but I guess it goes to show that you never know who is going to turn a mirror on you, and show you who you really are inside. I hope that I can work on eliminating all final shreds of disdain for who I am someday; because I think that I would be a much happier person as a result. Now, one thing is for sure, I am going to go and enjoy some fucking Madonna; because save Ray of Light, she made had some great music, and it is high time I get caught up!

Finally, I want to extend a huge thank you to Rich for his post; great work all around.

Little Voiceis one of the most well crafted albums that I own, let alone discovered in 2007. From the first time I listened to this record, I was hooked by the new catchy songs like Love Song and Bottle It Up, which both serve as frustrated anthems from an artist struggling to get the music industry to just let her perform the way in which she does best. I was welcomed by fresh retakes on songs from her “demo” record, Careful Confessions, which I have been clinging to and playing on repeat, since the night I scored it for $5 at the concert I first saw her. What’s so fantastic about each and every one of those re-takes on her already amazing songs, was that she managed to make them better; which is something that I didn’t think was possible, because of how much I liked the “demo” versions. What’s even more amazing, is that songs like Vegas, which I had only been familiar with the live demo cut, quickly became one of my favorite songs from Little Voice,because the new production on this, and others, takes it from a “good live version” of a song to a fantastic one.

There really aren’t enough nice things that I can say about Sara Bareilles, and that is mainly because she deserves all of them. She is a performer who puts her heart into each song, and when you see her perform, you can see that she feels what she is singing. As she says in the song Bottle It Up, she is in this for love; the love of making amazing music. Fortunately, Sara was able to craft an album, despite pressures and set backs from the record company, that is destined to receive the true attention that it deserves. There are very, very few artists that I have discovered, and instantly, I was mesmerized by the sheer amount of talent they possess. If every singer could be as talented, and make records as great as Little Voice,the radio would be a much more listener friendly medium… but I don’t need the radio to hear Sara; I have the record, and trust me, it doesn’t get far from my player.

Little Voice is one of those albums that are really, really few and far between in my music collection. What I mean, is that with every listen, I truly am enthralled and engaged from beginning to end. I don’t like every song, I LOVE every song. That is something that is so rare for an artist, that when one comes along as amazing Sara, I am captivated. Little Voice is my album of the year, because even after getting it at the end of July, I still have it on HIGH rotation; and it gets better with each listen. There isn’t a bad track anywhere near this record, and with Little Voice,Sara Bareilles has made one of the strongest debuts that I have ever been exposed to. My hope, is that this level of talent in one person will truly be seen by everyone, and not just me, because it is my sincere desire to have many, many more records by the amazing Sara Bareilles in my collection in the years to come.

If you were looking for where it is at, and wanting to find the next biggest thing to happen to music, you need look no further than the amazing debut by Sara Bareilles, Little Voice. Seriously, I know I am gushing here, but it really is as good, and even better than I am getting on… and don’t say that you didn’t know it when she is huge; I have been going on, and will continue to go on, about Sara Bareilles for a while now. Sara has solidified her place as the number one album pick of 2007 for me, and she has also found a place amongst my favorite artists as well. If there was only one record that I could own from all of 2007, this would definitely, without a doubt, be the one that I would want; do yourself a favor, and run out and buy it for your collection now.

Favorites from Little Voice:(all of them, seriously)
Between The Lines
[See post to listen to audio]
One Sweet Love
[See post to listen to audio]
Vegas
[See post to listen to audio]
Gravity
[See post to listen to audio]
Morningside
[See post to listen to audio]
Love Song, Bottle It Up, and Fairytale. (link for you tube goodness!)

Rating:

I have written my “first” coming out story before, but I thought I would include it here, with some edits, since it has been a few years since I first blogged it. While my story of coming out is focused on the first person that I came out to, it doesn’t truly highlight the journey that coming out has been for me, as it is for most. Being out to one quickly became being out to many, and eventually, I was out to everyone, including my family. Even though I have been far, to this day, there are people that have not come out to officially. There are still people from my past whom I have not had the opportunity to tell, who I hope will accept me for who I am, if and when they discover the fact that I am gay. Many people struggle to come out, and I was no different. I sometimes wonder what it would be like if I could go back and tell my younger self how much better I would feel once I had finally “taken the plunge”. I think that given the opportunity, I would, but I honestly don’t know what good that would do; I came out when it was time for me to do so, and all I can be thankful for today, is that I had the courage to do it in the first place.

Without too much more sappy-ness, here’s my first (of many) coming out experience. In this story, I was almost “forced” to come out to one of my best friends, all thanks to my urge to catch the debut of a little show called Queer as Folk. I hope that it is a story that is both enjoyable, and inspiring, because sometimes, those little curve balls that life throws us are big signs of change; and as with this case, change for the better.

(note: the story is rather long, so I have cut the entry here to keep the mere sight of the entry manageable; I know that some people freak out when they see an extra long entry.)

It was the night that Queer as Folk was to debut on Showtime, a winter’s day back in December of 2000. I was still a lonely boy struggling to find his way out of the closet, all while quickly approaching the final weeks of my undergraduate college experience. I lived with two people at the time: my best friend Margaret (whom I had known for several years, meeting initially my freshman year at Campbell Univeristy), and my friend Dennis (who I met through work, and had become fast friends with over the previous year).

Dennis was a workaholic at that time, and was hardly at home, and Margaret was working at a restaurant, which generally meant that I spent most of my nights hanging out, watching TV, and talking on the internet. It was kind of poetic if you think about it, that the closet in my room was big enough to put my computer desk in, and as such, that is where I spent many nights chatting away on the internet, looking for some guidance and support with my coming out process. Now, I know what you must be thinking, and actually, I was not hooking up on the internet; to be honest, it was way too early for that part of “being gay” for me… I wasn’t looking for sex, I was truly looking for support. Many would later ask why I didn’t come to them, but as many know that go through the process of coming out… sometimes, it just isn’t that easy. Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to a stranger than it is to talk to your best friend.

Through my “adventures” in IM, and regardless of the fact that I was not interested in hooking up, almost everyone I came across managed to eventually shift the conversation in that direction. It was a frustrating time, but at the same time, it was cathartic. I was able to be myself on the internet, and that was at least helping me get more comfortable with the whole gay identity I was struggling with. After weeks of talking on the internet, and turning away potential suitors, I was lucky to find that support in a someone who would end up becoming a really good friend, who was from my home town of Raleigh. What got us talking, is that we were going through the same exact thing at the same exact time, and more importantly, our talks weren’t about sex… they were about supporting each other. Through each of our talks, we got to know each other really well, and began to push each other towards our shared goal of coming out. Even though we had never met in person, we helped each other in a way that no one that was close to us at the time could. Looking back, I am thankful that I had Jason, and that he had me… because we helped each other come out; and without his support, it probably wouldn’t have happened when it did.

Now, back to the night when Queer as Folk was to debut. Luckily, we already had Showtime, which prevented me from having the awkward conversation about adding it to our cable line up to watch the show. I was all set for the debut, and I was excited about it for a couple of weeks in advance.

Even more luck was on my side that particular evening, because Dennis was away, and Margaret was to be working that night until at least 11. Even so, I had planned to set the VCR to record the show in the living room (the only room we had Showtime), so that I could prevent being “caught watching it”. My plan was, that I would “be in bed” by the time Margaret would be home, and the show could just record in the living room, where I could sneak out and get the tape in the middle of the night. My plan was foolproof, you see, because she would surely not be home before 12, and the show would have gone off by then.

Given this fortunate set of circumstances, I knew that I could totally avoid talking about why I needed to watch the show, or even more, why I would need to record it (as I knew I would want to watch it more than once). The plan was set, and I was awaiting the Sunday morning with great anticipation, when a huge curve ball collided with my plan. The Saturday before the show’s debut, it snowed 9 inches before I even woke up that morning. I had never anticipated a freak snow storm to interrupt my plan of having two roommates out of the house, and being able to record the show while they were out, so now, I had to rework the plan. See, Margaret would be at home during the show now since her work was surely closed. That’s a good and bad thing about living in the south; snow shuts down everything, but then again, it shuts down everything. As I realized that day, it doesn’t always work in your favor.

Faced with the real possibility of either a) having to tell her I wanted to watch the show, and having to answer all of the questions as to why, or b) simply missing the show altogether, I realized that I had to come up with an addendum to the plan; because neither of those options were sounding good to me. They say that fate/God/whatever gives you gentle pushes sometimes to get you to do things in life, but this was not a gentle push; it was a shove… down the stairs.

Being trapped in the house all day, my heart was constantly pounding, and my mind was racing with the possibly changes I had to consider in order to reach my goal of watching the show that night. Without saying anything to Margaret about it all day, things only worsened as we got closer and closer to the very real deadline of 10pm. At nine o’clock, with my heart in my throat, I made the decision to just tell Margaret that I needed to record the show “for a friend in my class”. See, she would question me as to why someone would want to see the show, which she did, but it got me off of the hook; it was “my friend” that wanted to see it… not me. After some reluctance on her part, she agreed to let me tape it “for my friend”, and I did a tiny little victory dance in my head, because my plan was going to come to fruition: I was going to get to record the show!

By the time that hour passed, I was a full-on mess. I was trying as hard as possible to seem disinterested in the show, but all I could think about was making sure I hit ‘record’ at precisely the right moment; I didn’t want to miss even a second. To make the hour even longer, Margaret was making little comments in jest about the show, and the show’s potential demographic like, “why is he so gay”, “why does every guy have to be gay”, and “ugh, this is so gay”. I know that she wasn’t saying these things to be mean, because she didn’t know that she was talking about me; and I had no intention of letting her know about the plan.

Finally, it was 10pm. The show began, and the comments escalated, and feeling more and more uncomfortable about the whole scenario, I made the obvious choice one makes when faced with snow on the ground, and uncomfortable conversation… I decided that it was imperative that we get as drunk as possible immediately. As the show plays in the background, and we begin taking shots of whatever alcohol is laying around, we actually began to forget the show, and laugh together and loosen up; paying less and less attention to the show before it finally goes off. Once the show was over, my anxiety was both quelled by the successful ending of my plan, as well as the large amount of alcohol swimming in my bloodstream. Being drunk is an amazing thing sometimes, because you can always convince yourself you need to keep going; even if it is 3 am. It was around that time, that we had been talking, reminiscing, and laughing, and one of us (I don’t think it was me), decided it would be a grand idea to play truth or dare; seeing as how we had nothing better to do, after all.

I consented to playing the game, because in my inebriated state, I was secretly hoping that she might just ask me the very question that I had been avoiding all day; and more importantly, that I would be drunk enough to just answer it. Things headed in a more “truth” than “dare” direction, but quickly, I realized that things were not moving in the direction that I had expected; about that time, it was my turn to answer to a truth or take a dare, and that was when Margaret hit me with a massive jolting question, and not the one I was secretly hoping to hear:

It was almost as if she whispered it, because I remember having to ask her to repeat it.

“Have you ever thought that you and I would hook up?”, she quietly asked.

That wasn’t the question I was waiting to hear; in fact, that question proves that we are not going to be covering the topic that I secretly wanted to address that drunken evening. While I love Margaret dearly, and was flattered that someone as gorgeous as she would think that we would get together, the situation had gotten out of control, and I reacted in a way that neither she, nor I, were expecting to that particular question… I started crying. Upon witnessing my tearful reply, she followed suit. Crying for no reason really makes you brave, for some reason, because in a fit of tears, I confessed that there was something I had to tell her, but couldn’t. Things became more complicated as the minutes of crying wore on, as I am repeating that I have something to say, but can’t, while she is saying that she thinks I didn’t trust or respect our friendship, because I was keeping something from her. She couldn’t have been more wrong, and more right at the same time.

Mulling over whether to cry it out, or give in, something happened… almost in slow motion, it just came out of my mouth, very quietly.

I’m gay.

My confession was followed by deafening silence, a silence that felt like it would last forever. Just as I felt the silence had gone on too long, it was then that Margaret looked me straight in the eye and screamed, “WHAT? Why didn’t you tell me?”, before literally storming out of the room.

After making the biggest confession of my life to someone very close to me, I found myself sitting in the middle of the living room floor, drunk as a skunk, sopping wet with tears, at 4 something in the morning. I was in shock. I couldn’t believe that it had happened, and even worse, what I had feared had come true; she had given me a bad reaction to the news. After a good 15 minutes or so of sitting alone in the middle of the floor, I managed to pull myself up and make it into her bedroom, where we cried a little more together, and talked a through what had just come out. She had questions like, “why didn’t you trust me to tell me sooner?”, and “when did you know?”; and each one she had, I answered honestly. After that conversation, she told me that it didn’t matter to her, and that she supported me 100%. It was great to hear, especially after that day’s anxiety. All in all, she was the MOST supportive person that I could have ever asked for, but needless to say, it was scary there for about 20 minutes.

Coming out to Margaret was a symbolic event. It was difficult, down right traumatizing, but I did it. And after I told her, it wasn’t as hard to tell the next person. Not long after I came out to her, she and I moved away, but have maintained a close relationship to this day. I thank her for being compassionate and understanding towards me, because I truly believe that it shaped my coming out process, and made it a good one. I would later go on to come out to my family with mixed results, but I am glad that I have come out of the closet fully, and live my life as a proud gay man. These experiences have made me realize how fortunate I am to have such support in my life. It has also shown me that I have a lot to be proud of, and to be grateful that I get to be myself.

I am proud that I am able to share this story on this day, a day when we should be proud of doing something that most straight people will never understand; admitting who you really are, at all costs, to someone else. It is hard, it is scary, it can be traumatizing, but it is necessary. It is necessary to be true to yourself, and as a result, live your life as who you really are. In my case, it has been all of these things, and it the journey continues; it just gets easier each time that I have to come out to someone new.

Turns out, the first days would set the stage for what I could come to expect from my fellow peers, which unfortunately remains a vivid memory to this day.

First days of class, teachers go through the roll for the first time, and as with my experience, there was no exception. However, this time, there it was: “Diane Moody. Diane? Is there a Diane in this class?”, the teachers asked, almost as if she were demanding the truth. “Um, that’s Duane.”, I replied, almost muffled by the chuckles from the entire class. “Oh, okay.”, she announced, moving on without a second thought.

Sigh.

Picture me, a pre-teen boy, much less than the “jock” that I clearly needed to be, in order to cover my obvious homosexuality, being called Diane in front of the whole class; naturally, I sunk deep into my chair with a clearly reddened face. I would only hope that this would be the last inference that I was a girl instead of a boy; but sadly I would be wrong. In fact, it sadly set the stage for the rest of my tenure as a student of the public school system. One could wonder if it was that moment that solidified those many taunts into the minds of my fellow classmates. Unfortunately, I would later find out that there was much more than a simple mistake that fueled such a vigorous need, that my classmates continually displayed, to continually tear me down.

Now, cut to this week; arrival in my anatomy lab. The professor announces that the quizzes from the previous week have been graded, and proceeds to call out names of the lucky recipients. And then, just as if time had reversed itself, there it was: “And last but not least: Diane Moody!”.

Lest my ears deceive me? There I was, in the 6th grade again… trying to escape the lifelong battle I have had with others using my homosexuality and lack of “appropriate” masculinity as means to ridicule and demean me; regardless of the fact, that if in this case, it was again, accidental.

Luckily, I am not that 6th grade pre-teen student; I am almost 30 years old now, and I am proud of my sexuality and of who I am.

“That’s actually Duane”, I replied. Quickly apologizing, I silenced his attempts to cover up his mistake, by simply stating, “Don’t worry, it isn’t the first time that I’ve been called Diane.”

With that, I took the power that others had wielded over me for so long, and put it in my back pocket; for good. Something about that really makes me feel better about having gone through what I did; if for no other reason than to finally put it to bed, for good.

While there is a lot covered in the article, and there are a lot of different points made, I thought it was interesting that first of all, we need to prove that homosexuality is somehow biological. I see how this proof would end the discussion that homosexuality was a choice, but it does open up a whole new can of worms, which is best summed up with this statement from the article:

If sexual orientation is biological, and we are learning to identify how it happens inside the uterus, doesn’t it suggest a future in which gay people can be prevented?

It appears that there is also some research looking at the possibility of genetic markers that “cause” homosexuality, and while they aren’t confirmed, it does sound both intriguing, and scary at the same time. I for one can’t imagine what would happen if it turns out that homosexuality is inherently genetic, and they do, then, start searching for a cure. (Additionally, I should note that the conclusion that lesbians are somehow “less homosexual” or even “more fluid” with their sexuality, because they haven’t identified as many markers in women is NOT something I endorse or agree with. Jumping to conclusions without research to back it up is dangerous and stupid.)

The whole notion of “curing homosexuality” is a scary thing, because I for one, don’t think that homosexuality is a disease, and as such, it certainly doesn’t need a “cure”. I am extremely proud of who I am, and being gay is a large part of that. I think that if I were meant to be born straight, I would have been. Plain and simple. I know that everyone doesn’t share my sentiment, especially those that hate themselves because they were born gay, but think about this: being gay, if it is truly biological, is essentially the same as if you were born black, red-haired, blue-eyed, female, or any other non-harmful biologically identifiable trait. The point is, that if it was meant to be, it would be. That is the way nature works.

But what about diseases, and genetically defective biological traits that can be identified and cured? Does this mean that I think that we should just let those diseases that can be prevented with genetic suppression go unchecked? No, I think that is a different argument, mainly because being gay has absolutely no provable detriment to a person’s life; other than, of course, the environmental and external influences that affect us. And we all know that just because you are gay doesn’t mean that you will be subjected to these influences, and just because you are straight, doesn’t mean you will be immune to them.

While being gay may be a “harder” life because of all that we face; discrimination, degradation, violence, hatred, etc, it is a life that we have lived, and because of what we go through, it shapes us into who we are. We are made up of both our biological selves that were given to us at birth, and we grow and are shaped by our experiences, and become who we are by combination of the two.

Now, I know for a fact that my experiences didn’t make me gay, but, they did happen to me because I am gay, and they helped me become who I am today. I am a proud, out, gay man, and I know what I know because of the journey I have been on to this point in my life. It is the journey, and what I have made from it, that I celebrate this weekend, and it is my hope that this important aspect of each gay person’s life is not lost if and when biological determinants are truly, and irrefutably identified.

Unfortunately, I am realistic about the world we live in, and I fear that the hateful, bigoted, religious extremists will force the issue of screening for these biological traits, in an effort to make gay people inferior. Even more, I fear that they will go further, and try to eliminate gay people from being born.

I hope that just because we identify that being gay isn’t because “you took dance instead of playing basketball”, and that it is because “you were born biologically homosexual”; people will NOT seek to eliminate the biological traits that make us special, unique, and wonderful.

Being gay is being different.
Being gay is being who we were born to be.
Being gay is who I am.
Being gay is who many others are as well.
Being gay is normal.

We are no less human, nor any less worthy of our lives as gay people, than anyone who is black, female, blonde haired, or left-handed is worthy of their life as who they were born. I hope that we can continue to live in a diverse world that begins to see these studies as a means of acceptance, and not as a means of elimination.

Given the tone this article has the potential to set, I for one, want to focus on the pride that I have for who I am, the community that I identify myself with, and what it means to sit here, typing this post as a proud gay man. It has been a long journey, but I know that I have a long way to go; and I couldn’t be happier that I get to take the journey myself. This weekend, I will celebrate this with my fellow gays in Atlanta, and it will be a beautiful thing. After the weekend, I will tell you all about it. Come out and see us if you can!

Happy Pride, y’all.

Now, I know that I can ignore those people, and go about my business as usual, but honestly, I don’t think that I should have to. I am the one that pays for the hosting service and the domain name duanemoody.com. I am the one that uploaded wordpress, and tweaked the style to be how I like it. I am the one that wrote all of the content, including the “non-blog” stuff. So, as far as I can tell, this is my space on the internet. This is my home. And, I am sick and tired of letting people come over to my home and shit on the floor. I am not going to continue yelling at these people for shitting on the floor; I am going to kick them the fuck out of my house, and clean up the shit and move on.

If you don’t like what I have to say, fine. Everyone is entitled to an opinion. The opinion represented here is mine. It is what I think. It is based on facts that I have discovered, my worldview, and my knowledge. I am fine with people disagreeing with me, and again, I welcome arguments and debate. But, what I will no longer tolerate, is fucking assholes who think that they have the right to just come in my home and do whatever they want, which over the past few weeks, has focused on belittling me, striving to get a rise out of me, and only seeking to piss me off for the sake of fulfilling their own sick pleasure. If you want to debate about something that I have said, debate it. Don’t go round and round talking shit about me and everything that I believe. If you do, you might as well stay outside, and walk to someone else’s house, because you are no longer welcome here. Additionally, along the same vein, it would be in your best interest to focus on debating what I am talking about if you want a response from me, because continually using broad issues and things that aren’t related to what I am talking about as a retort will fall on deaf ears. I will simply point out that you are not talking about the issue, and will move on. If the debate does steer in that direction, fine, but don’t expect me to just listen to constant generalizations and all or nothing arguments. It has gotten old.

I feel I must address this, because I know there are several all or nothing arguers out there, so here it is: While I don’t believe in censorship, I do believe in limits. Since this website is MINE, and only mine, then I don’t have to put up with bullshit anymore. And quite frankly, I can’t believe that I did for so long. Any challenges as to why I have made these decisions, and the subsequent steps mentioned above, will be met with the utmost contempt. If you find any action that I take to prevent something I enjoy doing in my own home from becoming fodder for someone else to attack, belittle, or demean, then you are completely missing the point of this statement, and my actions. I will not silence the voice of anyone that disagrees with me, but I reserve the right to completely eliminate the presence of someone that uses hateful, demeaning, continually negative, and downright inflammatory comments to try and “prove me wrong” or to simply provoke a response from me. If you could actually prove me wrong, I wouldn’t need to retort, because I would be convinced by the facts. Please keep this in mind when commenting in the future. And just to note, I have only deleted 2 comments EVER from this blog, and both were deleted last week. I don’t foresee many more comments being deleted, so long as everyone can abide by my simple principle of treating me with respect, and not being an asshole while you are in my online home.

If you want to continue to be invited into my home, come to play. Come to have a great time. Come to laugh. Come to debate. Come to share your opinions. But don’t come in, shit on my floor, and not expect me to kick your ass to the curb. Because if you are expecting me to look the other way, and yell at your over and over as I have done in the past, you might as well stay away. This is pretty much the only warning I feel to be necessary at this point, so know that this policy is in effect from here on out.

This is the only way that I can see to prevent me from quitting blogging all together, but I honestly wouldn’t want want to give up something I enjoy, just because a few people are assholes to me. I have also noticed that it is those few that tend to drive away other readers and commenters, and that is something that I have taken into consideration in this mandate. I am not going to stand for that anymore, either. I do hope that everyone has a great afternoon, and I hope to see you soon; but please remember the new policy is actively in effect. I appreciate your time and attention on this matter.

Why me?

It is becoming more and more clear, that I must have a target painted on my chest that says, “hey Coca-Cola, feel free to fire at will.”.

Alas, unfortunately, what I speak of is not the first betrayal of my trust in tasty beverages. Coke has forsaken me in the past, and now, they have come back to re-open the wound. Although, it appears that this time, they seek to leave a permanent aching scar. This begs me again to ask, why, Coke, why do you do this to me?

To begin, we should probably reminisce for a moment, to gain a little perspective into the past betrayal I have fallen victim to. Back in November of 2005, I read that Diet Coke Vanilla, the tastiest tasty beverage in the world, was being phased out, to be replaced (as if) by Diet Black Cherry Vanilla. I was so devastated and hurt, that I wrote Coke a letter. My cries went unheard, and my pleas went unanswered. When Coke continued twisting the knife in my gut, I finally conceded defeat, and gave in to their demands; I bid farewell to my faithful friend, Diet Vanilla Coke. Fortunately, the wound healed, as Diet Black Cherry Vanilla proved to be an adequate, although definitely subordinate, replacement. Diet Black Cherry Vanilla was like a bandage on my wound (a second love, if you will), and over the years, it has truly healed, and I finally felt whole again.

I honestly thought, that I was on a plateau again. I could smell the flowers, breathe the air in peace, and enjoy tasty beverages again. I was me again. My faith in Coca-Cola was restored, and it showed me, that they had never truly left me, even though they had to hurt me in the process of showing me. But, I never expected, that again, we would be heading down this dark road. I never thought that Coca-Cola would stoop that low again, especially after I have proven time and again, that yes, I am loyal. Yes. I will stay. Yes. I do love you, Coke.

But I sit here, with a tear in my eye, to tell you, that a dark day has come once again. Three little words that should have meant excitement and the potential return of an old friend have left bitter feelings of betrayal once again: Vanilla Coke Zero. At first, I thought this was a new dawn for my old friend. A new, fresh start, in a place where I could proclaim my love openly and freely again, without fear of retribution. I hoped that I could once again frolic with my long lost tasty pal, Diet Vanilla Coke, but this time, it would have a new name, and a new look; but underneath have the same heart and soul that I had fallen in love with so long ago.

When I first saw the case of Vanilla Coke Zero, I gasped. It was like seeing an old friend after years of being apart. I couldn’t speak. I just stood there, welling up with excitement; this was going to be a good day. I could feel it. It wasn’t even on sale, but that didn’t stop me. I bought a case, put it in my car, and knew I was bringing an old friend home again. When I got there, I unloaded the car, and brought my friend inside, and made it comfortable amongst the other refrigerated items. The anticipation was very high, but I knew it was going to be worth it.

Several hours later, I was finally ready to be reacquainted with my old friend, and anxiously, I reached for a can. This was the time, I thought to myself. This is it. My hand was shaking as I popped the top, and in an instant, a sweet nectar was flowing from the can.

But what I felt wasn’t relief. It wasn’t a sense of togetherness, and reunion. It was a taste I had tasted before; the bitterness of betrayal. Only, this time, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. This “replacement” was no formidable, nor acceptable, equivalent to my new friend, Diet Black Cherry Vanilla. This new stranger was no friend at all. It was all a lie.

I asked myself, where was the vanilla flavor, the flavor that had gotten me through many nights of studying in grad school? Where was the sweet deliciousness that had quenched my thirst on many a hot Atlanta summer’s eve? Where was my desire that I had been longing for all these years? And perhaps most of all, I wondered, why would Coca-Cola give me false hope that they were bringing back a first love, when it was all a lie, and to make it worse, this new “beverage” will take away the new love too? I feel so alone.

The answers I seek are tragically simple. My love is lost. Forgotten. Tossed aside, and buried. Coca-cola has truly shit on our friendship. They have shown me that loyalty does not equal trust. Loyalty will be rewarded with second-rate less-than-tasty beverages that will phase out even your new friends, the friends that helped you recover after last time. Loyalty means nothing. And that truly hurts.

I can only hope, even though it is a small amount of hope, that Coca-Cola is still working towards perfecting this recipe, and that future shipments will contain more deliciously tasty vanilla flavor; because even through the cynical callous that has become my tastebuds, I can tell that there is at least a hint of it there. They want it to be there; even the name suggests that this is so. I, of course, want it to be there too. I can only hope, that it will be in the future.

Coca-Cola, listen to me, I beg you. Please. Please do not disappoint me, after this, your second betrayal. Please, send forth an adequate replacement for my new friend, who tried its best to replace my one true love. Please, for the sake of my tasty beverage enjoyment, think of us, those that provide you with the loyalty and brand recognition you desire, and give us what we need; a tasty, calorie free, truely vanilla coke. I pray my cries will be heard. But alas, at this moment, I am bewildered, lost, and afraid. I can only hope that the future will hold good things, but only time will tell. Only you have the power to truly fix this situation, and I will just have to wait and see if you will.

Yes, only time will tell.

That’s what Effie White asks of her friends in Dreamgirls, when they ask her to sacrifice for the betterment of the whole group. I have been having the same questions run through my brain lately, with regards to friends, family, acceptance, etc, and I have to say, I think that while Effie does have a point, I realize that the group has an equally valid point, as well. Effie needs her needs met, and she feels that they aren’t being seen by those in the group. Meanwhile, the group also needs their needs met, and in order for that to happen, Effie has to give in. This doesn’t make Effie selfish or a bad person, it just illustrates that in many cases, we don’t understand the dynamics of our feelings. She also illustrates that she is truly considerate, because she does bend. (well, until she breaks, but that is Dreamgirls… we are talking about me now)

I have recently taken some extensive time to evaluate what I need, and how I go about meeting those needs. I have been asking myself the above questions, and I feel like I haven’t given enough consideration to what the “group” needs. I have made the same mistake as Effie, by worrying more about my own needs, and not realizing, that my needs can be met, even if not in the way that I had expected. Additionally, and most importantly, I am ultimately in charge of meeting my own needs.

Fact of the matter is, through my reflection and examination of my current situation and feelings about friends, family, etc, I have realized that first and foremost, it is up to me to make things happen. Instead of saying, “what about me” to someone else, I need to say it to myself. I need to then realize what they have on their plate, and hopefully, we can come to some sort of middle ground. And if not, I need to realize that in the end, it is always up to me to make myself happy. It is always up to me to make myself feel good about myself; and that should be my focus.

I have got to stop seeking approval for things that need no approval. Additionally, I MUST stop seeking approval for that which has been approved of. I have got to stop worrying about what goes on in ways that I don’t understand, especially in cases when they don’t necessarily meet my needs. I realize that some of those people that I question, really do want to work with me. They really do want what’s best for the “group”, which definitely includes me. They want me to be happy, but they too realize, that the only person that can make them happy, is themselves; so they expect me to realize that, and adjust as necessary. Until now, I admit that I have been ignorantly guilty of not doing that as much as I should. I want to do better.

Given my recent introspective thought, and time spent examining how I handle things, feelings, and actions, I hope that I have reached a new place where I can start to ask myself “but what about me?”, as opposed to displacing that onto the “group”. I hope that from here on out, I can realize that it is up to me to make myself happy, and instead of questioning things too much, over-analyzing things that shouldn’t be analyzed at all, and continually seeking approval for that which has been previously approved of, I can focus more on making myself happy. I know that ultimately, these are distractions that keep me from being happy, and I inadvertently find myself doing them to people over and over again, not out of malicious intent, but out of vicious coping mechanisms that were built to deal with my childhood.

I hope that I can change… but it is going to be more than a retrospective thought process. This is going to take some time. So, Dreamgirls, please bear with me. I want what’s best for us, and I don’t want to give up on us. Know that I really care, and I am working on it. Epiphany can be a powerful thing; as it has proven to recently be. So, know that I am trying. As Effie says later in the film, “I am changing. Trying every way I can. I am changing. I’ll be better than I am.”

And you know what, I am changing. And I will be better than I am.

Many of you may remember when I made my plea to Coke, in order that I may possibly sway them in the flagrant disregard of my years of dedication when they decided to cancel my favorite beverage. (If not, click here, and read that post). Now, as the cases of Diet Vanilla dwindle in supply at my house, and I scramble like a drugged up monkey coming down from a heroin high trying to score more and more with less and less success; I finally figured I should bite the bullet and accept my fate. My baby is almost gone. I must move on. So here I sit staring at a can of Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke (DBCVC), wondering if I can ever love again. Was my true love wasted on a fickle romance with such a delicious and decadent beverage? Did I put all of my eggs in a basket that was bound to break? Possibly. Nothing truly good ever lasts, as they say; but at least I have one iota of solace glimmering in the night. DBCVC is actually pretty tasty, and, perhaps best of all, it has a reminiscent taste of my soon to be long lost love.

As I said before, it is no replacement, but, given the circumstances, DBCVC could be considered an acceptable stand in; or a beard if you will. It will stroke my back and tussle my hair, as if to say, “it’s okay son”; on those nights I lay immobilized, shaking from withdrawal on my bedroom floor. It will help to ease the pain I feel when I crush that last carton of Diet Vanilla and place it in the trash. But, it will never be a true replacement for my true love. It will only be a mask I put on as if to smile to the rest of the world, and I say, “I love this new Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke”; but we all know a little piece of me has died inside. And Coke, you are the one that has killed it.

The following is a bittersweet “thank you”, of sorts, to the Coca-Cola Corporation:

Dear Coke,

I have proclaimed my dedication to you in the past; which was met against all odds and insurmountable circumstances. I have even shown you that I believed in you, and I, in turn, felt that you believed in me. That was until one faithful day in November, when I read a press release stating that you would phase out my very favorite beverage of all time, Diet Vanilla Coke, and replace it with new Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke.

While the addition of a new Diet Coke product is both exciting and refreshing, for some reason, all I could feel was a bad taste in my mouth. I felt as if I had been betrayed by a good friend. I was even stabbed in the front, which made the wounds feel even more painful. So I proclaimed how it made me feel; I told the world that I was hurt and bewildered. But you remained silent, and went forward with your plans. I had no choice but to consume as much Diet Vanilla Coke as possible, in hopes that I would experience the joy and delight of its deliciousness over the next few weeks enough for me to remember it forever.

I went store to store, frantically stocking up on Diet Vanilla, and drinking each can with a bittersweet feeling pulsating through my heart. I knew the end was near, but I didn’t want it to leave. I wanted to live in the moment forever.

But, as time has moved forward, and the Diet Vanilla Cokes have slowly dwindled in my supply, the sick fate that you have dealt me has become a realization I now have to face. Today, I bought my first case of Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke, and as I tasted my first sip, I closed my eyes and held my breath; dear God, please, let this be the one. Let this be the one that will carry me through the storm. Let this be the one that will usher me into a new realm of tasty beverages. And low and behold, it is. This new Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke may not be the friend I remember; but I can see that it will be a good friend indeed.

And while I will never forget my one love, Diet Vanilla Coke, I will say a bittersweet thank you for making such a capable and worthy replacement; if my heart could even call it that. Thank you for making something that will stave my cravings, even if it does so on a cursory level; at least you have given me a fate that is not as cruel as I once imagined. Thank you Coke, but please consider bringing back my love in the future; I will always leave the light on, in bittersweet anticipation.

Thank you for being a little gentle and a little harsh at the same time,

Duane Moody

So my question to you, as I sit here clinging to a case of the delicious beverage in question, is why?

Why must you provide me with the nectar of the gods, and then so unceremoniously rip it from my tightly clenched hands? Why must you torture me, as I will surely have memories of the delectable taste of this beverage as I drink any other Coke product; and I will weep. I will have night sweats and shakes from the withdrawal, and you laugh. Why?

Now, you may wonder why I am making this crazed plea to you today, after all, I am just some average Joe Schmo that happens to love Diet Vanilla Coke, right? NO. I happen to be a life long Coke lover and supporter, even under insurmountable odds. See, here’s the deal: I am from North Carolina, that’s right, Pepsi country, and, I even went to college in Greenville, NC, the birthplace of Pepsi. I was forced to drink Pepsi until I was old enough to escape and get out on my own, only for my school to be “bought out” by Pepsi. When that happened (my freshman year), you couldn’t even get a coke within 4 square miles of the campus; but I gladly got in my car and went to purchase multipacks of diet coke. Oh yeah, I did. I stood by you when you were shunned. I held your hand when the others pushed you away; and now, today, you shit on our relationship. You slap me in the face, and rip away what love I have left, and run away. And you didn’t even have the decency to give me a chance to say goodbye. It is going to be a quick break, right? But why? After all our time together, why must this be?

I write you this plea to stop your insane feelings to look for greener pastures, and venture off with others. Stick with me. We make a good team. You and me. We make each other happy. And we can continue to do so; but only if you stick by me. Please, Coke, don’t take away your Diet Vanilla Coke. If for no other reason than sheer sympathy, please, don’t take my baby away.

With love always,
Duane

Sad Music:
Weezer – Say It Ain’t So
Fiona Apple – Love Ridden
Lighting Seeds – You Showed Me