A Mother's Day Message

When I was in high school, my mom had a new ceiling fan installed in my bedroom. It looked exactly like this:


Several years later, I came out as gay. Coincidence? I'll let you be the judge.

Anyway, I just wanted to give a Mother's Day shout-out to my mom, who is in every way fabulous. Sure, she is known for her impeccable taste and interior-decorating prowess, her eye for style and ever-fashionable appearance, and her love of opera, Broadway musicals, and Barbra Streisand. But lest you suspect otherwise, none of my mom's hey-girl fabulousness actually made me gay. No more than that gay pride-y ceiling fan did. All it did, really, was make me fabulous, too.

So thanks for everything you've given me, Mom. You're the the best a guy like me could've asked for!


Happy Mother's Day!

(For more on my fabulous mom, check out this great blog post my sister Mary wrote last Mother's Day)

(Also, please enjoy this amusingly apropos Mother's Day video)

President Obama Endorses Marriage Equality

Please excuse the following outburst:

HOLY EFFING SHIT THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES JUST CAME OUT IN FAVOR OF SAME-SEX MARRIAGE!!! SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP THIS IS EXCITING NEWS!!!

Thank you.

And, it's about time.

True, the position expressed by our president today is not unnuanced or without its caveats. He says he's okay with the issue being decided state-by-state, a position scorned by most marriage-equality advocates. It's tantamount to saying, "I personally support marriage equality, but I'm okay with individual states banning same-sex marriage if that's what they want to do." And that's exactly what North Carolina did just yesterday. It was a crushing setback for marriage equality, and not exactly an affirming backdrop against which to endorse the state-by-state strategy.

However, as I've been saying for the past three and a half years, the LGBT community has never had a better friend in the White House. And that distinction is far from marginal. President Clinton signed DOMA and DADT into law. President Bush advocated a Constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage, and anti-gay-marriage sentiment played a significant role in his re-election. But president Obama has used his executive authority to roll back federal restrictions on, and extend federal benefits to LGBT Americans. His Justice Department no longer defends DOMA in the courts, and DADT met its demise on Obama's watch. And now the president publicly supports marriage equality.

I understand that there is little the president alone is empowered to do that would bring sweeping marriage equality across the U.S. I also realize that in this election year, there are politics at play, and that Obama is a politician. But this is a bold and still-risky position for him take. It may have taken him some time to "evolve" to this point, and his current position may still be less-than-perfect, but the president has proven himself a true ally to LGBT Americans.

However long overdue, this is a momentous pronouncement from our president, and it is worthy of celebration. I, for one, will be raising a glass (and perhaps a cupcake) for President Obama this evening.

Hiking in the Cinque Terre (My Second Everywhereist Guest Post!)

I know I've been a blogging slacker lately, but I hope you've noticed that I've been picking it up a bit lately. My total number of posts has increased by 30% in the last week or so, and traffic to the blog has ticked up by literally thousands of percentage points. I'm really gonna to try to keep this thing going now, and I know it's gonna be great!

So now let me tell you about my latest blogging coup (and pretty much the sole reason for my sudden traffic surge).

Occasionally, my friend Geraldine, who has this truly fantastic and wildly popular travel blog, asks herself, "How can I put the loyalty, tolerance, and punishment threshold of my throngs of devoted readers to the test?"

"By featuring me as a guest blogger," I reply with devilish glee.

So here I am, a now twice-featured guest blogger on The Everywhereist. And seriously, it is such an honor to be featured on Geraldine's blog. I can't tell you how flattering it is to have such a smart, witty, all-around kickass writer praise my work, let alone see fit to share her illustrious Web-space with me. Someday soon, I'll have the privilege of saying I knew her when.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my latest guest post. And if you haven't already, be sure to add The Everywhereist to your list of daily reads!

200 Miles in an Ice Cream Truck

How many of you have been on an overnight road trip with your boss? I know people do it all the time. It's a not-unusual demand for any number of professions. But last weekend, on a 24-hour work trip to Portland, Oregon, this was a rather memorable first for me.

I work as a part-time branch associate for a smallish community bank. It's not really the type of job one might associate with road trips and overnight travel. The branch is an easy five blocks from my apartment. Most of my workday is spent at a teller station about as sprawling as a phone booth. And the farthest I usually travel on the job is to the Starbucks on the next corner.

But an overnight stay was called for last weekend, as the company was holding its annual employee-awards gala at the Portland Hilton. My boss was up for two big awards that evening, so even though no paid time was allotted for the trip, the presence of her staff was forcibly coerced gently encouraged.

Naturally, any reservations I may have had about devoting the better part of my weekend to an unpaid work function were allayed by the promise of a free dinner. And the boss generously sweetened the deal by putting each of us up in the hotel at her own expense. It also didn't hurt that the "City of Roses" is a handsome town, and always a fine place to visit.

The night played out as only a gathering of hard-partying bankers could. Awards ceremonies may be invariably tedious, but open bars and chocolate cake will always help to dull that pain. People-watching with a table full of tipsy colleagues never fails as an amusing way to pass the time (and never, ever devolves into catty critiques of the hairdos and formal wear of intra-company rivals). There was plenty of drunken reveling when my boss won the "Manager of the Year" award. And afterward, our team made its way to an elementary-school-turned-brewpub to drown the remainder of our night in (surprisingly not awful) raspberry-flavored beer.

I rode down to Portland that day with the boss and her husband. It was an uneventful, but well-soundtracked three hours in their comfy SUV. But arrangements for the next day's drive home were a tad less conventional. The hubby would be driving solo back to Seattle, but the boss and I needed to swing by another branch to pick up the truck... the ice cream truck, that is.

I work for a bank that glories in its un-banklike quirkiness. Our branches are designed to resemble inviting hotel lobbies, and are often referred to as "cafes". Cash and receipts aren't so much handed to customers as they are served on platters with fancy chocolates. We offer complimentary espresso, sweets, and free Internet access to anyone who walks through the door. And we regularly host local merchants and organizations in need of promotional-event space: "What's that? You want to set up a professional dog-grooming station in the middle of our lobby? You bet!"

We also have an ice cream truck. It's one of the bank's more deliciously ingenious marketing tools ("How about a home equity line with that snow cone, Mrs. Smith?"). The truck is shared by a handful of our Washington State branches, and last Sunday, it was the boss-lady and her trusty sidekick's duty to retrieve said truck from Vancouver, and drive it back to Seattle.

Now, you might imagine that a three-hour drive in this particular SUV (sweet utility vehicle) would be a nonstop joyride of frozen delights; a 200-mile, sugar- and cream-fueled jaunt down the Häagen-Dazs Highway. And, had the truck's freezer been fully functional that day, I suppose this would have been the case.

But the truck was a lie. And not even a truck, really. It was just a big, empty van with the big, empty promise of "free ice cream" splashed across its sides. There was no ice cream, free or otherwise. That broken freezer melted my sugar-high hopes like so much Cherry Garcia, reducing them to a tepid puddle of oozy disappointment. The dream was over before it even started.

All that was left now was the long ride home in a goofy-looking van.

Adding profound insult to grievous injury, we discovered that the van was ill-equipped to play the music on either of our portable devices. With a CD-only stereo system, our great road-trip playlist was suddenly cut down to the few discs that were already in the van (Alvin and the Chipmunks, and an empty case missing its copy of the Grease soundtrack. Awesome). We also had our pick of cheery talk radio (of the "Praise Jesus!" and "Obama's a socialist-alien!" variety), and a selection of top-40 stations that seemed to know of only four contemporary pop groups between them.

But the trip did go fast. Literally. Not being loaded down with 31 flavors of frozen cargo does wonders for a vehicle's agility. I can imagine what a sight we must have been - a big, flashy delivery van painted in bright colors, covered with silly slogans, and cruising along at 85 mph (past a puzzled state patrol officer looking unsure whether to stop us for speeding, or for a quick cone). Weaving through freeway traffic with the urgency of a blaring ambulance, we no doubt gave the impression that some dire ice cream emergency required our immediate attention. And actually, such an impression wouldn't have been that far off.

There was no way we were going to drive 200 miles in an ice cream truck and not have any ice cream. Surely that would upset the natural order of things in unfathomable ways. Not acceptable. So about halfway through our journey, the boss made the kind of brilliant executive decision that earned her that "Manager of the Year" title: "That's it," she declared. "We're stopping at the next Dairy Queen and getting some Blizzards!"

The confused looks we were given as we rolled into the DQ parking lot in our "free ice cream" truck were priceless. The irony was lost on no one as I stepped up to place my order, and the astute cashier asked me what, exactly, we were doing there, and why on earth we were paying for ice cream.

"It's a long story, man. I'll explain as soon as I get a giant chocolate milkshake with a mountain of whipped cream on top."

On our triumphant return to the Emerald City, I was kinda hoping Mike would be there to greet us as we pulled up to my building. I didn't know him as a child, but one of my most cherished images is that of a young, pudgy Mike running with the contents of a hastily smashed piggy bank and yelling "WAAAAIIIT!" as he chased down a passing ice cream truck. It's a precious Mike-memory that he and I revisit often. But alas, he wasn't home that afternoon. It was for the best, I suppose. There was nothing for my ice cream-obsessed boyfriend to chase this time but a couple of licked-clean DQ containers.

It had been a road trip quite unlike any other. It's not every day that a banker like me is delivered door-to-door in such a memorable and exciting fashion. After waving goodbye to my boss and our flawed, but noble chariot, I ambled inside, crossed "drive 200 miles in ice cream truck" off my bucket list, and crashed.

Note from an Absentee Blogger

It recently occurred to me that in the last eighteen months, I've written a book.

I've been a full-time college student since the fall of 2010, and in that time, I've written somewhere around 90 essays, reports, and research papers for school. Their lengths have ranged between one and sixteen pages, but I'd guess that the average is around four. 90 x 4 = 360 pages. And that, my friends, is a pretty decent-sized book.

I tell you this not to brag about what a prolific writer I've become, but to offer as my somewhat flimsy excuse for being so non-prolific as a blogger.

A lot of work goes into my school papers. They're the products of countless hours of study, research, and reflection (not to mention the writing itself). All of this leaves little time or motivation for pleasure writing (which is what blogging's supposed to be, right?). I've also taken on two part-time jobs since my last post. These have soaked up pretty much every free moment not already devoted to studying.

I know. Excuses, excuses. This blogging thing should be quick and easy. No research or study required. Just write what's on your mind. Simple. Done.

But as it turns out, writing for school seems to come a lot more easily than writing for my friends and family (and any unfortunate strangers who might stumble across this site). Most of my school assignments come with built-in structure, well-defined content expectations, and most importantly, enforced deadlines. I can usually nail a straightforward school paper with relative ease and surprising speed. I've been known to crank out the occasional quarter-long writing assignment in a single weekend. And I believe my 3.97 GPA suggests that I've been doing pretty well at this (okay, that was me bragging).

But with this school work, I don't really swing for style points or try to wow professors with my prose. I just try to articulate my learning in a clear and concise manner while hitting all of the marks laid out for the paper. Not terribly exciting, but it does the job, and it's still work I can be proud of.

Writing for this blog is a whole different ballgame. Trying to convert the considerable amount of mush in my head into coherent, interesting, and, if I'm really "on", funny and/or poignant pieces can be somewhat challenging for me. Without the benefits of a well-structured assignment, and with plenty of distractions all around me, I can quickly lose my writing steam. As is often the case, I may start a piece, decide halfway through that I hate what I'm writing and that I SUCK AT THIS, and then simply throw my hands up in frustration. For me, the discouragement of a single false start can fuel an entire month's lack of inspiration. It makes me dread writing.

On the other hand, if I feel like I'm onto something, it can consume me. Hours will fly by and my basic needs and obligations will go neglected as I obsessively tweak the life out of every word and phrase in a given piece. But only rarely does this result in a completed post that I actually consider worthy of the eyes of my friends and loved ones. In other words, I really do try to dazzle you, my dear readers, with the style of my prose. Writing for you guys is a labor of love, so I guess that's why it takes a little more time. I'm sure you understand.

Anyway, that's it. This is the explanation for my prolonged absence from SOTD. I do sincerely hope I can post more frequently, and will do my best amuse you all with my (hopefully unique and witty) insights whenever I get the chance. I already have one or two new posts in mind for the immediate future, plus an upcoming guest post for my friend's blog you won't want to miss. So, this is encouraging, right?

Thanks for reading, folks! You'll be hearing from me again real soon!

Another Exciting Shout-Out!

My apologies for the blog-neglect, SOTD Readers. I’m a full-time college student and I’ve been swamped with both midterm and end-of-the-quarter schoolwork for the past couple of weeks. Consequently, I’ve been writing up a storm (and who knew this steadfast Seattle liberal had a ten-page essay on Ronald Reagan in him?). Unfortunately, it’s all dry, boring, wannabe-academic research papers that really have no place in front of human eyes, let alone on this blog.

But I did want to share this quick blurb about my recent guest post on The Everywhereist, which just got a very kind shout out on HostelBookers.com:

“This one is a joint effort of sorts. Dan Thies for writing article, and The Everywhereist for featuring it on her blog. Thanks to both. It’s a breath of fresh air to read the experiences of someone who doesn’t take safari too seriously – less time spent comparing binocular focal lengths with khaki clads, and more time taking obscured, and less than perfect wildlife photography. If it is any consolation Dan, I’d have said a giraffe too.”

Please note its first-place ranking among their favorite blog posts of July (which, for all I know, merely denotes the order in which the piece was read, and has nothing to do with its “rank” on the list). Either way, not too shabby.

Thanks for the recognition, HostelBookers!

And thank you for your patience, readers. There’s plenty of fun stuff I’m dying to blog about. Just need to get through the rest of the quarter – only a couple more weeks to go!

(Oh yes, and thanks to The Everywhereist, too!)

At Least They Like Me Back Home

So hey, someone in my hometown actually noticed my recent post about the Latchis Theater marquee – and now it’s in the paper!

It seems that Jeff Potter, editor for the Brattleboro-area indie weekly The Commons, enjoyed what I had written (apparently, we have a mutual affinity for my bad jokes), and he very graciously offered to publish my piece in his distinguished paper.

Yeah, I know. I’m totally famous now. And it only took seven blog posts to get there!

Seriously, though, I was sincerely flattered by Jeff’s offer, and I’m honored to be featured in this week’s edition of my hometown’s exciting new weekly!

Be sure to check it out, and enjoy!

(What’s that you say? You'd love to read this masterpiece, but you live nowhere near Brattleboro and have no access to print copies of The Commons? Never fear. You can go ahead and click this link here for a quick zip across the Intertubes, right into the web version of this story. That’s right, I’m featured both in print and online. It’s a wonderful time to be alive.)