Feb

Moving forward going back…

It’s official. As of March 26, 2011 I’ll be back on KGO AM 810 San Francisco Sat/Sun 7p to 10p. My old job, basically. To do that, I’ll have to pull my M-F show from Green960 San Francisco, and that saddens me greatly. But effective March 25th that show will be pulled. I will continue M-F in my other markets, KRXA AM 540 Monterey/Salinas/Santa Cruz, KYNS San Luis Obispo, KJRB Spokane, KGOE Eureka, KJRB Spokane and Green1640 Decatur 3pm to 6pm M-F PST.

It’s been a long two years away from KGO, and I welcome the chance to be back in that family. I’m sad I have leave Green but I continue to have the support of Don Parker and Alan Eissenon there, two gentlemen and radio pros indeed.

As for KGO, Jack Swanson has always been and continues to be a supporter, and now I’ll be in his stable of talent yet again.

So, seven days a week of Karel. Not sure the world is ready for it, but here it comes!

Feb

“Spring Awakening”— Teen Masturbation, Pregnancy, Incest, Suicide and Rape In A Catchy Musical

by Charles Karel Bouley II

Photos by Andy Snow / Spring Awakening Tour

Watching the touring company of “Spring Awakening” at their premiere night at the Pantages Theatre in Hollywood, CA was awkward at times; but then again, so was puberty so that’s the point. Watching all the foibles and fumbles everyone goes through when it comes to sexuality and growing up, seeing them played out on stage can not only hit close to home, but can make someone downright fidgety.

The play’s themes are so universal they span time. Originally written in Germany in 1891 by Frank Wederkind the play was actually banned for some time due to the subject matter: teens coming of age sexually, dealing with societal pressures and confines and finding out the they don’t fit, things don’t add up, that their bodies are saying something that their parents aren’t and that there’s sexual secrets in all families, even the best of them.

This rock musical adaptation with music by Duncan Sheik (yes, that Duncan Sheik) and book and lyric by Steven Sater roared in to the Pantages in full Hollywood fashion, with limos and celebrities, red carpet and lots of flashes going off. It’s great that Los Angeles still has the Pantages in full glory (thanks to a Disney rehab years back for the debut of the “Lion King” and Nederlander’s management); a little piece of Broadway theatre and excitement on Hollywood Blvd. There is something about live theatre, small and large, and anyone that hasn’t been to a big production, should. Yes, even in a down economy. Especially in a down economy. If you can find a way (and there’s many half priced ticket outlets and discounts), see theatre.

My date for the evening had never been to a premiere and even after 32 years of them I still enjoy them. Richard Schiff sat directly behind us, and I just kept thinking I’m feet away from Toby from the “West Wing” (a show I miss greatly) and a great actor; singer / songwriter Melissa Manchester milled about as Margaret Cho found her seats, Camryn Manheim, Michael Gross, Lorenzo Lamas, Max Adler, super choreographer Kenny Ortega (Michael Jackson), on and on. There’s something magical in these nights, in Hollywood, in theatre. That magic sells billions each year and has crafted dreams for decades, one of the United States’ biggest exports and industries remains the Entertainment Industry, theatre included. Yes Los Angeles celebs and audience came out to see why “Spring Awakening” won eight Tony Awards including Best Musical and stir up just a little stardust.

It’s an inventive production, one that reminded me oddly of another Rock Musical that changed things for theatre (and film) “Hedwig and the Angry Inch.” Both dealt with sexual identity and discovery, both had bands on stage with them, rock bands, instead of the traditional orchestra and at key moments of the story both used rock-themed songs to tell an important part. Oh, and John Cameon Mitchell’s Hedwig was from Germany and this play is set in 19th Century Germany. And sexual repression rules the day.

While the themes are universal, the presentation is far from ordinary. Musical numbers are separated out by the cast grabbing hand held mikes instead of the traditional hidden body microphones, often with microphone stands and other production typical of a music artist’s stage show and not a play. Then, it’s mikes away and back in to the scene; and oh the scenes.

Remember puberty? Remember (guys, mostly) someone knocking on the bathroom door or bolting in to the bedroom just at the WRONG moment? The embarrassment? Well, imagine what’s going on inside the bathroom, yes, the masturbation, being set to song. So, as a young blonde star, in this case Devon Stone, pumps under his bathrobe to the music dancing girls swirl around him. When Christopher Wood’s Melchior and Elizabeth Judd’s Wendla figure out a lot can go on in a dark hayloft, we actually see the sex act (implied, but some partial nudity) and then the awkward moments thereafter. When Aliya Bowle’s Martha is told to “be sure you put on that lovely nightgown, the one daddy got you that he likes so much…” we don’t have to be told what that means, the song “The Dark I Know Well” makes it very, very clear. And Stone returns in another scene where he finally makes a play for his object of affection—another male castmate—and the resulting scene provides some comic relief; in fact, the gay relationship is rarely touched upon although present throughout.

Almost every stress point an adolescent can face at that time is examined, from unwed pregnancy to teen suicide, and it’s all filtered through the pressures the kids are under from parents and society, especially religion. Finding out who you are, discovering who you like sexually is a never ending process, and changes in time. Sexuality is fluid, if there’s seven billion people, there’s seven billion sexualities, and the feelings are universal yet teens are often told the feelings are wrong, to deny them, that they are going to hell because of them.

The sad part is that as I watched a play written in 1891 the Puritanism it expressed, the repression, the denial of things like incest, homosexuality and such remain in full force today.

For instance, prior going to the theatre I did my syndicated radio show. On it, I spoke about the app “Confessions” an app for the iPad / iPhone approved by the Catholic Church to digitally allow one to confess. I could write 2000 words about that alone, and may, and spent an hour going through it on air. But the point is the questions. The app does a Spiritual Examination, a checkbox quiz for each commandment. These are samples: “Have I encouraged anyone to have an abortion?”; “Did I give scandal to anyone, thereby leading them in to sin?”; “Have I mutilated myself through any form of sterilization?”; “Have I encouraged or condoned sterilization?”; “Have I engaged in sex outside of marriage?”; “Have I been guilty of masturbation?”; “Have I sought to control my thoughts?” “Have I been Guilty of any Homosexual Activity?”; “Am I careful to dress modestly?”

That’s not Torquemada and the Inquisition, it’s the Confession App from the church at the iTunes store in 2011. It calls a vasectomy or tubal ligation mutilation. It assigns guilt to homosexuality, masturbation, non-marital sex, hell, even dressing “non modestly” whatever that means. As I watched “Spring Awakening” I was forced to say we have come no further to help these kids at all.

Gay teens are still killing themselves in record numbers. In fact, the Los Angeles cast of “Spring Awakening” did a benefit for the Trevor Project at M Bar the night after the opening (Feb. 9, 2011). The Trevor Project is to help GLBT teens not kill themselves. Teens are still getting pregnant because they don’t know about safe sex and many parents are leaving it the schools or society to teach their kids the do’s and don’ts. Abstinence is still taught and condoned, promise rings worn, on and on and on. And yet behind the scenes, we see each day the reality of sex and kids. They’re having it. People are having it with them. Some people that shouldn’t. Some are gay, straight and every shade in between. And they make mistakes. And some don’t make it through.

“Spring Awakening” pulls back a curtain on issues we’d rather not see, but ones we have all encountered. It’s a reminder through song and stage that growing up is tough, and figuring out who you love, when and why is tougher (and an evolving question for life). The cast is spectacular, young, exciting, incredible voices, full of hope and promise much like the characters they play. They filled the Pantages with laughs and moments a little risqué for some. But was it the “blueness” of it, or was it the fact that the sentiment was touching on a past journey of their own? Because everyone in the theatre, cast member and audience alike, has lived through something as a teen portrayed on the stage.

It’s only in Los Angeles for a short time, February 8 through 13 but then moves on to Denver February 15-16, Albuquerque February 18-19 and Bloomington Indiana February 22. For more info go to http://www.broadwayla.com

To hear more of the Karel Show go to http://www.thekarelshow.com

Jan

Traces: Cirque of the Street

For as long as there’s been streets and public parks, there’s been performers using them as a venue for art of many kinds. Acrobats have always been a part of that landscape, and while their tricks and tools have evolved from using each other as props to stainless steel 10′ diameter hoops or velvet ropes dangling from hydraulic pulleys their ability to cause jaws to drop remains.

Seven talented performers have come together for one of five touring shows of the Canadian-incepted and based dance/acrobatic fest “Traces. ” This group will perform through February 20, 2011 at the Ricardo Montalban Theatre in Los Angeles before moving on for a three year outing stopping in a variety of cities (get the schedule at www.TracesUSA.com).

The press release says “Traces” takes place “in a make-shift shelter, with an unknown catastrophe waiting outside the doors of tarp and gaffer’s tape. The audience learns that the characters have constructed this clubhouse to live to the fullest what they believe could be their last moments, hoping to leave nothing unsaid or undone…hoping to leave a lasting mark, their traces, as best they can…” There can be no doubt the play has a post-apocalyptic, raw edged feel, a set of steel and metal, a piano of planks and a black and white projection screen with a very “Cloverfied” aire as raw video is fed in from the front of the actual theatre and then used throughout. Some of the nuances of the referenced story may be lost, but the overall feeling that these dancers are using their bodies, their movement, their raw energy and emotion to desperately leave a mark before somehow disappearing is more than apparent.

Photo Courtesy Broadway L.A.

It’s easy to classify or compare “Traces” to other theatre experiences; It has the acrobatics of a Cirque production, the raw excitement and street feel of any current dance movie or “Think You Can Dance” TV show, the fluidness of a ballet and moves that seem to defy the laws of physics. The show could easily be in Las Vegas as a successful nightly production and the response from the star-studded audience at the Los Angeles premiere made it obvious why there’s so many touring companies of the show.

While the group numbers leap of the stage, some literally, there’s definitely some stand outs. Make no mistake, this is an ensemble show, with all the parts adding up to one creative and stunning whole, but the seven individuals each get a chance to shine when it’s “their time.”

Mason Ames is the adorable “lug” of the group. Taller, a little larger, he describes himself as “clumsy” in the play but is anything but clumsy. His “duet” with the only female of the group, the petite and beautiful Valerie Benoit-Charbonneau, sets the tone early on that there would be as much emotion in the production as dance, as much emotional nuance as sweat.

“The play is all about trying to make a mark,” Ames told me at the “Venice” Magazine after party. “It’s about each of us trying to leave a trace, something behind. But it’s also about our relationship to each other. My character and Valerie’s have something and throughout the play we find out what, exactly, that may be,” he concluded.

Florian Zumkehr dazzles high atop a chair on his head, or at the guitar singing a ballad right after a winded performance. Later he would tell me the song is actually from a German punk band, but in “Traces” it’s given the handsome Swiss man with a guitar treatment and it works, providing a respite from the frenetic pace the troupe maintains.

Florian Zumkehr

Bradley Henderson, originally from San Francisco who told me his parents were more than happy to “send me to the National Circus School in Montreal, no, they were thrilled, really!” does a spectacular routine with a giant metal hoop, part art, part acrobatics, part dance and all entertaining, it shows how a human’s simple interaction with an inanimate object can create a stunning visual experience.

Valerie Charbonneau’s aerial routine on a single velvet rope, propelling her across the stage at the top of the theatre with no net below is as dangerous as it is breathtaking. I asked her afterwards if she had seen our Pop star Pink’s last tour or 2009 Grammy Performance where she does a few of the same moves and while she had not seen it she did state, “I can’t imagine having to sing and be soaking wet when doing that every night,” she laughed.

The oldest of the troupe at 28 is the Chinese born Xia Zhengqi who, because of his size, spends a lot of time being thrown about in ways that would make most feint. His talent with what I can best describe as a deconstructed large spinning Duncan butterfly yo-yo-on-a-string (I’m sure there’s a technical term that escapes me) should be an Olympic sport, if it’s not already.

Philippe Normand-Jenny tests the height of the theatre’s ceiling as he is propelled through the air off a see-saw with two other cast mates jumping on one side and him flying off the other landing in the arms of three other cast mates and a giant memory foam pillow solicited more than a few gasps from his spins, height and speed. Had one thing gone wrong he easily could have ended up with his name and the rest of his body in the lights above the stage.

Karel and Mathieu Cloutier at "Venice" After Party for "Traces"

Created by seven acrobats in Montreal—7 Fingers productions—The name of the troupe is a play on the French idiom regarding the “five fingers of the hand.” The phrase pays reference to distinct, individual parts moving in coordination towards one common goal. With five touring groups, that’s 35 acrobats touring the world mixing cutting-edged music (think Chemical Brothers mixed with contemporary Jazz, Hip Hop and even a little Yael Naim flavor) with as many dance and acrobatic influences.

To gauge the success of a creative endeavor such as this, one that calls upon music and dance more than dialogue and production, all one has to do is look at its multigenerational appeal. Everyone at the Montalban theatre, young and old, were brought to their feet more than once and for quite a sustained (and deserved) standing ovation at the end by number after number. Mason Ames, Valerie Benoit Charbonneau, Mathieu Cloutier, Bradley Henderson, Philippe Normand Jenny, Xia Zhengqi and Florian Zumkehr need not worry about leaving a trace, as the play moves the audience in a much more emotional way than a typically staged production with dialogue and action. This play appeals, plays directly to, the basic emotions of the audience, joy, elation, sorrow, fear, anger, doubt, love…with a moving and often invigorating soundtrack. The raw visuals, whether used for dramatic impact or for comic relief (there’s a very funny Busby Berkley-esque number complete with overhead visuals) add to the production just enough without distraction and what’s left is the audience being able to tap in to the very essence of each of the character’s dance or stunts, leaving us as exhausted as them when done.

See “Traces” more than once and bring a friend. You’ll leave the theatre ready to sing and dance, and amazed at the many ways the human body can be used to create beauty and art.

To read or hear more from Karel go to The Karel Show

Karel and Florian Zumkehr at "Traces" premiere

Nov

Healthy Gay Men Don’t Need Pills

We Don’t Need Your Pills, Thank You

by Charles Karel Bouley II

AIDS drug Truvada shows promise as prevention for HIV transmission in gay men, according to reports out November 23, 2010

I have some experience with AIDS. No, I don’t have it, I’m still HIV negative after over 50 HIV tests (I’m tested 2x per year for oh…20 plus years now, even when monogamous in a relationship…why don’t you?). I lost my first friend to the gay cancer, GRID, in the early 1980s and began covering the plague as a journalist at that same time.

In the late 1980s I would marry/partner with an HIV positive man, who over time developed full-blown AIDS (his t-cells dropped below 200, the criteria then) and only had AZT to take. I watched that drug takes its toll on so many that most refused to take it at some point.

Then 3TC came around, and there were two drugs, two types. Then Combivir and then and then and then. My husband, Andrew Howard, would go on to grace the cover of the “Wall Street Journal” and we both were in Der Spiegel and featured on CNN and every major news network. Why? Because our friends were still dying. Because Andrew thought that he was going to follow the course of our good friend Lorenzo Braxton whom we had just buried. Because I was desperate and heard of a drug study at Stanford for a new type of drugs called Protease Inhibitors. I called the University administrator in charge of the program every day until they agreed to see his medical records.

When they set up an initial appointment after weeks of hounding, of calls, of letters, we flew up. In the intake they said he might be able to join the study, on open label, meaning we wouldn’t know if he was getting the drug. He was crushed. Unless, of course, he’s on mycobutin as a prophylaxis for an infection called MAI. I remember running to the Stanford lobby (pre cell phone) and calling his doctor, who then called in a prescription to his pharmacy for the drug all while the nurse at Stanford called to confirm he was on it. If he was on it, they had to tell him he was on the experimental drug because it interacted. She called, the prescription made it in in time and he got on the study. A dirty trick? We were desperate, as everyone was.

We flew up twice a month. We got a watch with an alarm and set five alarms a day for the pill regime. And over time, it worked. His T-cells rose, his viral level decreased, he regained his health and went off social security disability to become my on-air partner, making history at KFI Radio Los Angeles with me as the first openly gay male couple to host a drive time show in a major market.

The drug was Crixivan, by Merk, and it, and other protease inhibitors changed the game and have kept so many of my friends alive. If Lorenzo had only lived a few more months, or Michael Mungarro, or John Delicce, or my beloved Gary Alexander, or (unfortunately, most of you can fill in a name here).

In 2001 Andrew died unexpectedly in front of me. A heart attack. A 34 year old man dead of a heart attack? Andrew would be one of the canaries in the cage. I sued his primary care physician and the hospital, and my case was allowed to go through after I changed California State Law to do so making AB25 and AB 205 retroactive and allowing any same-sex partners with a case subjudice to proceed. Making history even in death. But my knowledge of HIV, which was extensive at his death, after living with him and it for so long, grew even more in the deposition process, talking with the coroner, with HIV experts across the state.

Seems protease inhibitors raise the cholesterol levels in those that take them and doctors must add in a statin drugs. We know that now, because of people like my late husband.

After his death, my inner circle continues to be comprised of those with HIV, living with AIDS. And I have written things to upset them, and the gay community about HIV. My book is entitled “You Can’t Say That” because Bill LaPointe, then publisher of the Long Beach/Orange County Blade, a Southern California GLBT publication for which I still write, told me I could not say that if you contract HIV in this modern era you deserve it, because education about prevention has been around for 20 years and it’s a hard virus to get. I slept with an HIV positive man for almost 12 years, doing all kinds of things, and never got the virus. I’m living proof safe sex works. And if I turn up HIV positive, I will have worked for it, made bad decisions and thus deserve it. Not that we shouldn’t care. Many will deserve the heart attacks they have after years of bad food and no exercise, but we love them anyway.

And it is from this history that I say the recent revelation that the drug Truvada can cut the risk of HIV infection through daily use 44% when given with information, condoms and the like, and up to 76% in those that take the drug daily (according to MSNBC http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/40333614/ns/health-mens_health/) is nothing more than a way to make clients out of a population that doesn’t need pills, healthy gay men.

First of all, SAFE SEX WORKS. Don’t exchange body fluids, period. I know the backlash. I’ve seen the bareback ads on Craigslist (ads where men want to have sex without a condom), I’ve heard of people getting intentionally infected, I’ve seen the rise in PnP (party and play, unsafe sex and crystal use) in the community. I get it. Gay men are behaving badly and getting HIV. Well, what they need is a huge dose of personal responsibility, not a pill.

First of all, if this drug is like all the others AIDS drugs it’s toxic. There is no approved HIV drug that is not toxic to the body, period. The side effects of these drugs are unspeakable, from sexual dreams so vivid people wake in all kinds of states to gambling addictions or suicidal thoughts; vomiting, nausea, headaches beyond belief; diarrhea, blurred vision, insomnia…half of the drugs those with HIV take are to manage the side effects of the other drugs they take.

For instance, what is Truvada? Well, it’s been around for six years. It was approved in 2004. It’s a nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitor, or an NRTi, in AIDS speak. There’s other kinds, non-nukes, they’re called, and then the protease inhibitors, each class of drug attacking the virus or its ability to replicate differently.

Truvada is two drugs combined, as many AIDS drugs are, Viread (tenofovir DF) and Emtriva (FTC, a relative of the earlier mentioned 3TC now called Epivir) . In AIDS patients to be effective it must be combined with another drug, like a protease inhibitor or a non-nuke (NNRTi) like Sustiva.

Truvada’s components are effective against Hepatitis B, and it’s used off label for that already in some places. But what can it do to you?

Well, from the website for the drug, here’s just a few things:

• Lactic acidosis, which can be fatal, and severe liver problems have been reported in people taking nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitors (NRTIs). Contact your doctor immediately if you experience nausea, vomiting, or unusual or unexpected stomach discomfort; weakness and tiredness; shortness of breath; weakness in the arms and legs; yellowing of the skin or eyes; or pain in the upper stomach area.?

• The Viread in Truvada may cause bone problems. In one clinical trial conducted by the manufacturer involving HIV-positive patients who were new to HIV therapy, Viread [combined with Sustiva and Epivir] caused decreases in bone mineral density (osteopenia) at the hip and spine. Researchers are currently looking into the seriousness of this possible side effect. If you have a history of bone fracture or are at risk for osteopenia, your doctor may want to consider ordering bone scans on a regular basis while you are taking Truvada. While it’s not clear if calcium and vitamin D supplementation can help this side effect, it might be beneficial if you are taking Viread.?

• Some patients treated with Viread have had kidney problems

• The Viread in Truvada can be problematic for HIV-positive people who have a history of kidney problems (renal impairment). If you have a history of kidney problems, including kidney problems after using the hepatitis drug Hepsera (adefovir), your doctor will need to order a simple laboratory test to calculate your “creatinine clearance,” which is a measure of your kidney function. Depending on the results of this test, you may not be able to take Truvada. It is always important to be careful if using Truvada in combination with drugs that cause kidney problems or other drugs that are removed from the body by the kidneys.?

• HIV drug regimens containing nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitors (NRTIs), including Truvada, can cause increased fat levels (cholesterol and triglycerides) in the blood, and abnormal body-shape changes (lipodystrophy; including increased fat around the abdomen, breasts, and back of the neck, as well as decreased fat in the face, arms, and legs).

• The most common side effects of Truvada are diarrhea, nausea, fatigue, headache, dizziness, depression, insomnia, abnormal dreams and rash.

And of course, it hasn’t really been studied in healthy individuals that take the drug.

See the bullet point above that says Lipodystrophy. Let me tell you about buffalo humps, as those in the know call them. Andrew got two of them. Barely noticeable, behind his neck and in his lower abdomen. No one knew what to do at the time, short of surgery, but the humps would appear elsewhere. Big fat humps. So his doctor put him on injectable Serostim, recombinant human growth hormone. Three times a week we’d give Andrew a $400 shot. Yup, a box of Serostim, seven injections, $2800 our copay; Experimental and all.

He died with those damned humps. He hated them. And healthy gay men won’t like them either.

And let’s talk about tens of thousands of people waking up so terrified because they don’t know if what just happened was real, or a dream, and the dream was something that would make any creation by Clive Barker or Tim Burton pale by comparison. That little side effect stated “abnormal dreams” is the understatement of the century. I’ve slept next to those dreams, they can be horrific.

Everyone wants a pill, a fix, a cure all for what ails us. Science is looking for the magic bullet pill that we can take and eat whatever we want and still lose weight. Because we are lazy.

The same for HIV. Gay men are getting lazy. Condoms suck. They ruin the moment. I want to feel this or taste that or whatever reason someone has for not having safe sex. But to bring forth this pill, to make healthy people customers of drug companies when all they have to do is take control of their bodies and lives is not only ridiculous but seems almost criminal. How many will see this as a prevention and run out and have unprotected sex? Far too many, since so many are doing it now.

No, this is not a good thing for the gay community, nor is it good news for the world. AIDS has always been preventable, ALWAYS. Use a condom. Don’t swap blood or fluids. Be responsible.

We already have emergency measures, morning after for people if they think they’ve become infected. They take the HAART therapy for a period of time. Every nurse that gets a needle stick knows this. Highly Active Anti-Retroviral Therapy (the cocktail, so to speak).

We need a cure for HIV and AIDS. We’ve always had a way to prevent it, it’s called common sense and responsibility. One day I may turn up positive, and if I do, I’ll know why. It will because I messed up, not because I didn’t take a pill.

Truvada, thanks, but no thanks. Perfectly healthy gay men don’t need a pill that can give them such side effects to stay that way; nor do they need to spend the billions on this drug that this could generate. Condoms are free at most clinics or Centers, minimal at most drug stores and information is everywhere.

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To hear more on this and other topics tune in to the Karel Show Monday through Friday 3pm to 6pm PST on KKGN Green960 San Francisco, KRXA AM 540 Monterey, KYNS San Luis Obispo, KJRB Spokane, iHeart Radio, iTunes and online at www.thekarelshow.com

Oct

The World in 107.1 miles

Jerry Brown should ride a motorcycle. Meg Whitman should ride a motorcycle. In fact, every politician from Nancy Pelosi to President Barack Obama should hop on a motorcycle as rider or passenger and take a trip just around one city, one area, one place. Not a sealed bubble of a car or motorcade, but all the sights and sounds and stops of a motorcycle. And so should you.

Ever since my car was totaled I’ve been a motorcyclist, never thought I’d be, never even imagined it. But here I am, a 47 year old openly gay entertainer and media figure out riding about every day on an Aprilia Mana 850, one of the smartest commuter bikes around (partiality noted here). This weekend the Motorcycle Industry Council loaned me a Suzuki Gladius to ride about. I, of course, don’t like to shift, so I stayed on my Mana, but my good friend Niall decided to test it out with me.

Niall and I are an unlikely pair. He’s the epitomé of the straight male in the biker world. A Harley mechanic by trade, bag full of firearms that he loves to take out and practice with, reads all the right wing blogs and there’s not a conspiracy theory around that he won’t entertain or argue about. Born in Hawaii he’s racially tolerant, but has made his fair share of bigoted, racist or even homophobic statements based more on economics than anything else. He believes in border security, kicking Al Qu’eada’s ass and has been in his share of bar fights. And yup, he hangs out with a big queer, me. And we fight and fight about topics. Recently, he’s become engaged and much less rough around the edges. It was our first solo ride after two years of friendship.

Living in Southern California there’s never a shortage of world-class scenery, although most that live here don’t notice any more (more on that later). So we geared up, even in the summer (a lot of bikers forget that asphalt still hurts in the summer weather and leave off jackets or gloves or boots…). Luckily I have AlpineStars (partiality noted here) Summer Collection jacket with all the protection but not all the heat of regular moto jackets. Full face Shoei helmets, good summer gloves and my AlpineStars ankle boots that I wear on the bike or off basically every day. Yup, I got this.

So, off to the gas station, the first learning experience of the day for them (and me). In fact, the trip to the gas station would begin the lesson.

On that first leg of any bike journey is where Meg, or Jerry, or Barack or any other passenger would learn two things from the get go: first of all, protecting ourselves on the roads whether in a car or on a bike is up to us, we must be prepared; and that all that preparation may one day be for naught because our roads are crap (California’s are 48th in the nation and since the nation’s are crap, that’s equivalent with Kabul at this point in some areas), and that because drivers want to text or eat or phone more than drive laws that prohibit such don’t work because you can’t legislate personal responsibility. They would see why 30,000 people a year die in accidents on our own roads (although I’m happy to say motorcycle miles are up and fatalities down) at the hands of poor technology, poor roads, unprepared drivers (we give licenses to anyone basically) and an auto industry that refuses to make it a safer experience. They would see that Americans are in more danger just getting home from work than they are from Al Qu’aeda and launch a full scale attack on our transportation system, at least a three trillion dollar once since that’s what we’ve spend on Al Qu’eada (or more). They would see there’s plenty of jobs just waiting because we basically need to rebuild our roads from scratch.

And they would immediately call Google and say “what can we do to help you with your new Auto Automation software and how can we help roll it out within five years since tens of thousands of Americans are dying needlessly?”

Because trust me (and Niall, and every other motorcyclist out there) most of you simply can’t drive, don’t want to, or refuse to put down the frackin phone, don’t thoroughly look around, bolt out of parking places…well, let’s just say driving is a lost art form and it’s literally killing us.

At the gas station there’s so much to learn. Niall and I pulled up to the same pump. We never look at the price, because even if it’s $.50 more per gallon we’re talking four gallons here, so no big difference. He offered to pay (common among bikers) and I figured I’d get the next one. When he came back, if we had guests, they would have gotten the same earful I did.

“This station charges $2.00 to pay with a card, $2.00!” he exclaimed. “So, if I make $12 an hour, I have to work 1/5th of an hour to pay a bank fee to access my own money, to pay a company to buy their product? Where’s the bank reform on all this kind of crap. Banks charge us to death just to use or get to our money these days! Everybody is trying to pick our pockets!”

He’s right. Bank reform was a joke. The working middle class, if there’s any left, or the working upper class poor (under $75k per year) are “fee’d” to death by the banks. And the tension is mounting. On a recent trip to San Francisco I decided to go see my brethren in the Castro (the gays) and do some banking and iPadding (is that a verb yet? If not, it is now). I walked in to Wells Fargo and a woman was trying to close her father’s account. There was a $25 fee she was never told about, her father had no clue about, in this account that the bank had seen fit to open for her father (I’m a good listener and she wasn’t quiet). She went on about all the fees, the fees, it’s the fees that’s are causing us to leave she exclaimed. I’m quite sure the banker at some point would have reached in his wallet and given her $25 just to make this go away.

Then, while walking down Market a man next to me comment about the empty shopping mall. I made a comment about the economy and he immediately went in to a tirade against his bank who had begun doing what? That’s right, charging him fees of unknown origin, so he went in and gave them a piece of his mind and got them taken care of immediately.

Frustration, it’s everywhere, from the Streets of San Francisco (mad props to the late Karl Malden for the reference, oh and my boyhood crush, Richard Hatch) to the gas station at 7th and Junipero in Long Beach. People are hurting, and often it’s banks and businesses that are hurting them in the name of a fee for something that costs them nothing.

Back on the bikes (the Gladius took under four gallons, the Mana three) and off to San Pedro across the bridges, including the Vincent Thomas Bridge over the second busiest port in the world, the Port of Los Angeles. It’s an important gateway to America and it’s goods, and as such a possible target. I won’t go in to how easy it is to sneak things in containers in or simply walk up to a giant supertanker, but, well, it’s easy.

Next stop Ports O’Call Village. In my teens it was a playground for cruise ship passengers coming or going, the affluent of Palos Verdes, CA and San Pedro, CA and tourists. Waterfront shops and restaurants centered around a bustling port, huge container ships passing by over lunch.

Today it is bustling as well, Full of fish markets where you buy the fish raw and then they cook it for you. About 80% Hispanic, this is where workers, especially Hispanic workers, bring their families on weekends for family lunches. After Niall is asked by a security guard…”Hola, Senor, do you have any cervezas in your backpack? May I look?” Niall and I laugh out loud and say sure! He then sees our helmets and says Oh, itz-ok. No problem.

We laugh out loud about excuse me sir, is that a bomb in your bag, might I look, oh, never mind, you look OK sort of scenario, you know, like airport employees asking if you’ve put anything dangerous in your checked bag (has anyone EVER said yes?).

We get to San Pedro Fish Market at the end of the Village and split a combo plate, It’s shell on shrimp sautéed in the best spices, with Tilapia fillets, peppers, potatoes and onions all thrown on the same plate covered with four tortillas and served with a huge side of salsa. $12.

If we had guests, they’d see, as we did, the four women behind the counter, in the insufferable heat of the day and the grills. Which of them has health insurance? Probably none. Maybe one or two. How many hours must they work like this each week to make ends meet? Is this their only job? And in today’s world, of course, are they legal?

We share a table with a family of five, two kids, boys, mom, dad, and Grandma. Niall and I begin eating shrimp like we’re Baleen whales and fish and peppers all with our fingers, drinking lemonade and laughing. A Mariachi band, a live one, complete with trumpets, begins playing in the crowd behind us. The port is alive today with the darker faces of America and it’s fabulous.

We talk to the family next to us. They’re from Las Vegas. They come out here often to this very place; they drive hundreds of miles to visit a place most in the area have long since forgotten or visit infrequently. Mom and Grandma are, of course, in the service industry. Dad, construction. The boys in school. I speak Spanish, because I live in California, so the conversation was easy.

They offer us food. A huge fish with a face that’s been cooked.

Niall recalls living in Hawaii, spear fishing, then just cooking them right there. And there we are. The big homo in biker gear with tattoos showing, the Harley Mechanic out with the a friend while his fiancée shops for bride’s maids dresses in the garment district of Los Angeles, and the Hispanic family from Las Vegas. Sharing food, conversation, laughter. They buy a giant Corona, and I mean big, and let me take a photo with it. Suddenly, I’m the tourist and I just live two bridges away.

As Niall and I walked away, we both thought the same thing out loud. Legal or not, whatever, who cares. Those were great people, good people, people we are GLAD are in America. If they, or anyone they love, needs help getting in to this country, then dammit, help them, don’t vilify them. They’re not the enemy, the brown people. They’re family. They’re us. They’re part of our community and our culture and we love them as much as anyone else because we’re the same. We just want to sit and eat affordable fish with our families and laugh on a Sunday.

Take that Meg. Learn it. Back on the bike.

Now it’s up the coast, through Palos Verdes Estates and by some of the most beautiful coastline in the world. In the estates we see three Meg 2010 signs, ahh, the wealthy and their idea of what California or the country should be. They want to keep their million dollar beach front property and most of their money, and she’s all for that. They want their Brown people in their maid’s quarters, not at their Ports having lunch. Gotta love them.

We stop at a friend of Niall’s in Manhattan Beach in a mobile home park. While Niall talks I inquire about how much one of the mobile homes that’s for sale is; $200k for a double wide about 10 blocks from the beach,Down from $400 at one point. It becomes obvious why we have a housing crisis. In fact, the countless for sale, for lease or for rent signs, coupled with the going out of business or moving sales along PCH spoke volumes as well. All is not well. And while there’s still beauty and joy, there’s something behind it, too.

Next stop is a huge Harley shop on Lincoln/PCH. Me, at a Harley shop, this should be fun. I’m not fond of them, and agree with Matt and Trey from South Park about many of their riders. I know.

Well, I did. Until the stop. Naill needed gaskets for his Buell. Buell worked for Harley, broke off, made bikes of his own. Past tense. Like many brands of the day, gone.

The guys that came in while I sat iPhoning (bikers wait until they stop to use their phones, novel idea) were, well, every man. They were America. They were workers, older, younger. They were….what was the middle. And their conversations were the same as those at the Port. Family. Friends, the economy. And yes, relaxation. Remember to get out for a minute and enjoy something, anything you love or have, And how time for that is fleeting these days.

Now it was up the coast. There’s something magical about the tunnel that leads to PCH right past Santa Monica, where the 10 freeway begins (at the Pier). I’ve traveled that 10 from beginning to end, literally, and that’s another story. But just passing the beginning of it made me feel not only connected to the rest of the country through that artery, but to the troubles of Katrina and the Gulf Spill directly. That road that starts right there leads to such disaster, such change, such wasted opportunity.

On PCH it is everything every song, poem, movie or work of art can depict. We drove through Malibu, where I had dreamed I’d live when I was younger, home of the rich playground of those that wish to be around them. For sale. For rent. Foreclosed. Yes, even Malibu. And let’s not talk about how it burns almost annually. The traffic congestion locals must endure. No, on some days, it’s just pretty. This was one.

A quick right on Sunset Blvd. and another right in to the Lake Sanctuary on Sunset. Here there is a Shrine with part of Ghandi’s ashes in it. Yes, that Ghandi. Set in a peaceful and serene setting it’s a spiritual place (there is a church there), a place of reflection. I certainly did. I would hope any guest would. Reflect on the smells so far along the way. The ocean mist in Redondo. The BBQs at the beach. The pollution of being in traffic..all of it. You see, smell, hear it all on the bike. Reflect on the conversations at the Port, the laughter, the feeling of true Middle America at the Harley store. Take it in, it’s your state, your country, your world. Experience it, don’t just talk about it, bustle through it or legislate about it.

Then it’s off to the twists and turns of Sunset Blvd. The Mana and Gladius do well, and it becomes clear the only way to get around in an urban environment is a mix of bikes, public transport and other vehicles. Cars just don’t make sense in many settings. We fly past UCLA, a college struggling to turn out America’s next generation of great thinkers. I reflect (you do that a lot on a bike) about the woman I met on a plane back from San Francisco who taught gender studies. She told me of how so much of their time, at their level, at that school, is still spent just teaching kids how to do the basics, like study skills, writing skills, and well, basics. The education system is failing, but the people inside of it are trying so hard, especially the educators.

We pass the first building I did radio in with my late husband Andrew Howard and I cry for a moment. Lucky for me I wear a full face helmet. Donna Summer sings “Sunset People” on my iPod and I laugh, never imagining my life like this. We got to the Abbey in West Hollywood, a long running gay bar in L.A.’s gay Mecca, or Gecca I guess.. Yup, Niall and me and the Abbey on a Sunday. It’s packed. There’s a fabulous gay anthem playing, the obligatory disco diva singing her guts out. Cocktails are flowing. People are chatting. People who survived the bullying everyone hears about. People who “don’t tell” or whom you would never have to ask. People who are legally married, some waiting, some just looking for a connection for the night or a lifetime. It’s people, partying, having fun, fellowship, friends. Niall and I get a juice beverage (pansies, I know but motorcycles are unforgiving in that respect) and we mingle. We see Celebrity X behind the Velvet Rope (below an incredible painting of Liz Taylor that made us laugh out loud!), we see the gay boys and their fag hags, the West Hollywood queers who wear more products in their hair or faces than the women they’re with, each and every one fabulous in their own respect.

I turn to Niall and say, you know, being gay is so fabulous. I love it. I love the music. I love the men. I love that women love us. I love how we get to sing and dance and do whatever we want whenever we want, why, Because we’re Gay! I turn to him, and ask, is being straight just as much a blast?

“Hell f–ing ya!” he exclaims. And we both decide if being gay is a blast, if being straight is a blast, it really must be that just being yourself is a blast, no matter what the package. Here we are, an unlikely pair (and I wish with Jerry, Meg, Barack, Nancy Pelosi, someone in tow) having a great day, experiencing so much of our own area that so many never even take the time any more (including the people). It’s a blast. And yes, I’m a big old homo all the while, and he’s a little fabulous nonhomo and it’s all great.

Being gay is a blast. Bullies are idiots. Politicians who say we shouldn’t marry, or serve, or Gubernatorial Candidates who think gay is not OK (in NY) should all just stow it. Or, better yet, come for a ride with me. Get to know a few. You’ll be amazed. We’re the same.

Then it was sunset at the top of Los Angeles, at the newly reopened and 75 year old Griffith Park Observatory. Downtown Los Angeles to the left, the mid-Wilshire, Santa Monica and beaches to the right, Long Beach off in the distance, mountains behind us and Hollywood sign almost reachable. We drove up to the building (cars were prohibited, motorcycles OK) and parked. And looked. Niall had never been there. All these years in Los Angeles. We’re surrounded by people from all over the world who have come here to see this, this view, of this city. I explain to a young girl as she is literally gob smacked by the Hollywood sign (a little starlet, I could feel it), telling her mom “I don’t even care if you get me in the foreground, just get the sign…” Anyway, I explain to her how it was all about real estate, Hollywoodland, but the “land” fell off and this became an icon. Realtor went broke basically. So an icon of dreams built around a “for sale” sign of sorts. Irony is everywhere.

We look at the sprawl of L.A. and say to each other, since we’re at an observatory, that if we do find life on a new planet, we should tell it to not let us on. We don’t do well with planets. Just look out there.

As we move around the roof, we look at lives so different. Near the observatory, houses are millions of dollars. But just down the hill, look, you can see it there, poverty. From up top the lines between rich and poor, easy and not, the distance between the two is…nothing. Nothing at all. So why such disparity? How can less than 10,000 feet away from such poverty there be such wealth?

The sun sets and neither of us can believe all the things we’ve seen, we’ve thought, we’ve learned or laughed about along the way. As a gay man, I think this is what male bonding must be, Because at that moment, Niall and I were best friends at the top of the world. We agreed that taking the view, the people, the lives we had, no matter how challenging, for granted, was just not a given.

And we realized, before getting on the bikes again that America, including our little portion of it, is still such a great place with such great potential. Anyone riding with us would have seen that, too.

We hit Sunset again, wanting to go beginning to end, and rode in to downtown Los Angeles as the sky turned Orange. The Walt Disney Center, with it’s fabulous architecture, across from the Catholic Taj Mahal, Our Lady of the Angels $300 million … thing…(they even have a gift shop and their own wine, no lie)…amongst the towering corporate logos could not have felt any more Metropolis or world class if it tried. We turned left on 6th Street to go across the very famous and very filmed 6th Street Bridge (S.W.A.T. with Colin Farrell landed a plane on it, so many movies have been filmed on it over the years).

On the way, we drove through skid row, San Pedro streets, Los Angeles streets. Again, just five blocks away there’s lofts, and nightlife and Los Angeles Live. The Biltmore Hotel, where I went at 21 for my first Grammy party, a stone’s throw. Cardboard boxes line the streets, the smell of urine overwhelming in the helmet. An hour ago I was in Bel Aire, driving by the $300k a month home where Michael Jackson died, now, I’m seeing cardboard boxes and urine smell. We drive by the hotel where Andrew(my late partner) and I stayed for a day on air on radio on skid row. I remembered the dead junkie in the room next door, the crack pipe on the heater in our hotel room. We had security. We had people. We weren’t alone on these streets.

I have been. Homeless, Both with my parents and then in my 20′s. I have slept in my car, and eaten food out of a McDonald’s dumspter (every 10 mins they throw away any packaged food not sold, can’t donate it for insurance reasons, dumb, I know. At least they used to).

I can’t help wonder as Niall and I pass these people, how? Why? The numbers have increased since my last drive through here (the Dish Factory is near skid row, cheap dishes). More boxes. More urine. There’s kids, kids out on the street. Kids! I want to stop. The Nikko Hotel, I can see it’s emblem from here. Take them in. A basement, something! Kids! My heart aches. We turn on to the 5 Fwy south.

It’s down the 710, newly paved with a sign saying “your stimulus money at work.” Well, yes, we need it, but what about money for those people over there?

Niall takes the Gladius home once we zoom back to Long Beach. We bid goodbye at a stoplight and I bring Manny back (my Mana). I take off my gear and hug my dogs.

What a day. What a fabulous, wonderful, conflicted, thoughtful day, Great friend, great food, great people. A day of joy, beauty, some of the greatest beauty that tourists still spend good money to come see, in the entire world. And a day of such hardship, Middle class angst, frustration, growing fear. The best the world has to offer, and the worst, all in one day, and all in 107.1 miles.

Everyone should take a 107.1 mile journey around their world on a motorcycle. Or car or bike or bus. Take time to talk, to listen, to really see.

In that 107.1 miles you’ll see the world, And yourself in it. And how it’s all so very connected and the solutions are so very simple.

Meg, Jerry, Barack, Nancy, Dianne Feinstein, Barbara Boxer, Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh, insert name here, I’ve got a seat waiting on the back of my bike or we can get your trained in under a week and riding your own. Either way, get out of your bubbles. Travel that 107.1 miles and see that we’re not talking an economy or race or policy. We’re talking people connected by 107.1 miles of life.

—

Listen to the Karel Show Daily in multiple markets or online at www.thekarelshow.com 3pm to 6pm PST.

Sep

Truth

Written by me in 2005 to sum up how I felt at a deposition in my case against L.B Memorial Hospital and Dr. Kooshian:

The truth.
Where is the truth?
How does one find it?
People sit and swear to tell it.
They affirm to deities to defend it.
They profess their love of it.
And then evade it…
coat it…
dodge it…
colour it…
Lawyers jockey to be in control of it.
Judges sit in awe of their ability to discern it.
And yet the only thing sure about the truth
Is that everyone sees it differently.
And swears their version is absolute.
And once the truth is finally revealed
It is just as quickly lost to versions of it

Aug

It’s A Radio / TV Stunt, Nothing More, Nothing Less

By Charles Karel Bouley

Beck’s Event Was a Great PR Stunt but the gathering of a movement?

The industry of Glen Beck is happy: those that own him in radio and TV. He had an absolutely great weekend when it comes to the media. His stunt worked. But what amazes me is why America sees it as anything more than that: a stunt.

I’m in radio. For 20 years I’ve had Program Directors, General Manager, Promotion Managers and yes, myself, coming up with ideas to get attention, ways to to get the show out in the community and get it noticed. In Los Angeles, two relatively obnoxious shock jocks are always holding rallies, and sometimes, thousands show up. But they’re not covered in our news as political rallies; they’re covered for what they are, radio station stunts.

So let’s get this straight America: the rally in Washington, D.C. this weekend was a radio station stunt, a TV station prank, not a political movement of any kind. Those of you that showed were there to see your favorite celebrities, Beck, Palin, just like those that lined the red carpet at the other big event this weekend, the Emmy Awards. And the people leading the rally, Beck, Palin, Fox, they are opportunists saying what you want to hear to get attention to their cause: self promotion.

Because that’s what this is about — self promotion —Not reclaiming America, returning it to any values, and certainly not about any kind of God. It was a successful act of self-promotion on the part of all involved, one that got to generate even more publicity by spitting in the face of those who remember a real movement, a real speaker and a real event that happened in that very spot 47 years ago that very weekend.

I’m not surprised it was all over the news. It’s the end of August, a typically slow news time, where networks are looking for stories. And, the event was created by the media, so the media, of course, responds in kind. Many times my radio stunts get or got coverage, but we always had to compete with any breaking news. We’d never do a stunt in the middle of a huge news cycle unless the stunt had to do with that event. Never compete. Beck and his xenophobes don’t have King, civil rights or any such nuisances on their radar, so to them, there was no competing event.

I am surprised of how the media treated the event. Again, it’s a TV station or radio station stunt; like a Man Cow stunt, an Opie and Anthony stunt, a Karel stunt, a stunt by any other name. What it’s not is a symbol of what’s happening in America. Because if it is, thinking, educated people should consider leaving.

Part evangelical speech, big chunk theatrical display, the stunt did everything it should for the participants: their names are all over the news, Becks’s show will have big cume (viewers and listeners) today which generates in to ratings and all is well in the corporate world of radio and TV.

Our Constitution gives Beck and his ilk the ability to have a stunt on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. And like a Pied Piper he led those who are strangely susceptible to his warped and bizarre tune. But it is just that, a tune, one he would change at a moment’s notice if there were more in it for him, or the others involved. But just because someone has the right to such a stunt doesn’t mean we have to play in to it or pay attention to it.

Am I impressed that 10,000 or more gathered to see their favorite host and a few other of their conservative stars? Nope, just Friday night I was at the Greek where thousands gathered to see Cyndi Lauper, and I’ve been in arenas where 15,000 people have gathered to see a Pop Princess named GaGa. People will show up to see things they like. Let’s see Beck and his kind get those numbers on tour, like a GaGa or another performer. Gathering thousands is great, but don’t pretend you speak for millions any more than Oprah, who gathered twice as many in Chicago to kick off one season of her show in an outside plaza.

Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin are TV and radio personalities who pulled off a great stunt. The people that attended are dupes who actually believed the event stood for something and that there was a motive behind it other than profit. And the media that covered it as anything other than a radio or TV stunt have lost perspective on what, and who, in America qualify as a real movement versus flash mobs setup by multi-billion dollar corporations.

Aug

NYC Mosque Anger is Our Hangup

It’s not the mosque’s fault.

Nor is it the fault of the Muslim’s that wish to build it.

It’s our fault, We, The People, for letting a vacant lot sit where towers, a memorial, a park, where something, anything but an empty hole with some construction going on should be. Let’s face it, one man (with the help of hundreds of thousands of basic slaves one step up from the construction of the pyramids) built Dubai in the same time, in the same nine, count them, nine long years since the planes flew in to the World Trade Center and brought them down.

I visited Ground Zero shortly after 9/11 and then again in 2005. There wasn’t much difference. I’ve seen photos of the “reconstruction” that has gone on over the years. The giant inscribed cornerstone that now sits back in the quarry where it was mined, inscribed for the heroes and those that lost their lives, a rock solid symbol of things to come that never did.

No, as Dubai built the tallest buildings in the world, from 2000 through 2010, as they built islands where there was only sea, Ground Zero sat mired in permits, planning, approvals, with no real leader, no real figurehead. George W. Bush and his administration did nothing to ease this black eye on America; they did not demand and push through construction. The site was not seen as a national place of rebuilding and people are now living in condos and houses that were only vacant land in 2001 in other parts of the nation; Yet no one occupies replacement towers, landmarks, testaments to our resilience and ability to rebuild as of this day.

So when construction on an 11 story mosque is planned right near the site, many in the nation get angry. I know, I was one of them. For weeks on my show I rallied against the wisdom of building the structure; to expand the existing mosque. It seems I wasn’t the only one doubting the wisdom as President Obama refuses to comment on that issue, the wisdom of building the mosque, while announcing they should have the right to build it over his recent Gulf Coast weekend.

Like me, he’s forced to agree with the construction. I wasn’t, at first. It took Alan Colmes, New Yorker and talk host, to come on my show and “talk me down” from my position. How did he do it? Well, he tried every argument with me; but only one prevailed: the fact that other religions have been able to build or expand places of their faith around the site already. That’s the deal breaker for me in my opposition. If Christians, Jews, others are allowed, have been allowed or are being allowed to expand their presence on or near Ground Zero, then there should be no qualms about a mosque.

My position remains simple: the core of the attack, the roots of it, were, are, is, remain, religion. Yes, religion run amok, right wing, radical religion; but religion nonetheless. In fact, ever since 9/11 it’s felt very Crusade-esque; the Christian nation, America, taking on the Islamic extremists. Bible verses were put on missiles in the early days for the “shock and awe” campaign; some food and other items distributed in Iraq had Christian imagery or words on them even though it’s a Muslim nation.

So given that religion is so tied in to what happened, and given that there are ashes of the dead still on, in and around the buildings in the area making it all a memorial, a graveyard, I did not, do not want any kind of religious expansion there; be it Christian or Muslim. But New Yorkers, planning commissions and others have felt otherwise, as other faiths have expanded their presence near the site. Therefore, Muslims must be allowed.

As for the “wisdom” of it, well, it’s not so much wisdom as timing. If something glorious were at Ground Zero now; towers, memorial, a bustling area, or an area of reflection or both…if anything other than some unfinished, vaguely planned, bureaucratically impaired lot was there with only subbasements and train stations being built or completed then this wouldn’t sting so much. But the fact that Muslims can pull themselves together enough to build an 11-story Islamo-Disney as it is seen by many before the Twin Tower’s replacements are operational, built, functioning just feels like another slap in the face. And no amount of logic will change that.

So what to do? How about concentrating less on the mosque and more on Ground Zero itself. How about all the meetings, all the press, focus on the rebuilding of that site? And if the President wants to get involved, how about it be to expedite that project. We have millions out of work, particularly in construction. How about one of the first big public works plans be helping to put back what was taken from the country?

Until we actually rebuild that site, finish it, until America can see that site functioning again in full force, the wisdom of doing anything else around it is lost on me. And until we rebuild what religion gone bad has caused, then all religious building or expansion should be put on hold in that area. Unfortunately it has not been, and therefore, the mosque must be allowed to proceed.

I don’t like it any more than many, but I won’t blame the law abiding Muslim-Americans that want to build it. I blame New York City, State and the Federal Government, and We, the People, for not insisting that part of our wound is closed and healed before we pick at the scab.

Until Ground Zero is rebuilt and fully operational there’s no wisdom at all being exercised at the site.

This column was written using the iPad with Pages software and the DiNovo Edge Wireless Bluetooth Keyboard.

Aug

So Steph is Gay

Karel on Stephanie Miller’s Announcement:

Stephanie Miller came out today.

As someone that started in talk radio as openly gay at KFI. As someone who has had to jump through all the hoops, have programmers refuse to take my show or shake my hand, as for 15 years I’ve had to jump higher, run faster, be better, so nice to see that now, as she has affiliates, stations, appearances on talk shows, a career she’s comfy enough to come out.

Good for her. Could have used it a little sooner. Oh well. How convenient for her and the press will be nice as well.

Maybe I should have hidden it for years and then once I got affiliates, TV show, etc, come out.

So great for Stephanie, she’s found her true self. And maybe it will be a little easier now for openly gay people in media. But the lesson here again is honesty can wait until the timing is right. I guess I never learned that.

But now GLAAD will have someone new to bestow awards upon for their bravery. They’ve yet to call me. Guess being out from the beginning isn’t as brave as waiting.

Aug

8-10 on the Karel Show

Go to the podcasts for the show.

3pm: The Jet Blue Flight attendant is a national hero. He was fed up, had enough, grabbed a beer and out he went. What’s been your most dramatic leaving of a job. And why Congress should adopt his modus operendi

4pm: Michelle Obama is uppidity and should keep her globe trotting self at home. Yes, if you’re a racist. However, I tell you why we should not only pay for her trip, but schedule more.

5pm: Rod Stewart is to be a father at 66, 8 kids. We could not raise taxes on anyone if we simply stopped giving tax credits to people who have over two children. Two kids. After that, you’re on your own. And Rod and every man over 60 should have their tubes tied and stop with the vanity that is reproduction right before impending death.

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