In the early 2000s, I had the pleasure and privilege of watching singer-songwriter Jason Mraz emerge into his own.

Long before the sold-out arenas, Grammy Awards, and millions of records sold, there was a young man armed with an acoustic guitar, an infectious smile, and an endless supply of optimism. Week after week, a small group of friends and I would gather in restaurants, coffee shops, and tiny venues around West Hollywood to watch Jason and his friend, percussionist Toca Rivera, perform for drinks, tips, and whoever happened to wander through the door.

Looking back, it feels a little bit like witnessing lightning in a bottle.

For nearly two years before he landed the recording contract he so richly deserved, Jason steadily built something special. Not just a fanbase, but a community.

People kept coming back because the music was good. But there was something else happening too. His songs were playful, hopeful, and deeply human. They invited people in. They made strangers smile at one another. They reminded us that joy could be a choice.

I am proud to have been one of Jason’s original Los Angeles cheerleaders.

I’m even prouder to still be a fan all these years later.

Over the decades, Jason’s music has been a soundtrack for more moments in my life than I can count. It has accompanied road trips, heartbreaks, fresh starts, creative breakthroughs, and quiet afternoons when I needed a reminder that the world is not quite as dark as the headlines suggest.

One album in particular continues to find its way back into my rotation: Mr. A–Z.

Released in 2005, the album feels as fresh and relevant today as it did when I first heard it. Songs like “Life Is Wonderful,” “Geek in the Pink,” and “Wordplay” showcase Jason’s gift for combining clever songwriting with genuine warmth.

Beneath the wordplay and catchy melodies is a worldview that has always resonated with me: look for the good, lead with kindness, stay curious, and don’t take yourself too seriously. That may sound like a simple recipe for success, but simple isn’t always easy or sustainable.

Like most people, I occasionally lose my way. I get frustrated. I become cynical. I spend too much time doomscrolling and not enough time appreciating the people and experiences right in front of me. When that happens, Jason Mraz’s music often serves as a gentle course correction.

A reminder of my better angels. A reminder of my true nature. A reminder that kindness is still a superpower, optimism is still a choice, and wonder is still available to anyone willing to look for it.

The older I get, the more I appreciate artists who make me feel better about being human. Not because they ignore life’s difficulties, but because they help me navigate them with a little more grace and a lot more tenderness.

Jason Mraz has been doing that for me for the past twenty-five years.

Not every artist becomes the person you knew when you first met them in a deserted coffee shop. Fame has a way of changing people. Success has a way of magnifying flaws. But every now and then, some become exactly who they were destined to be.

Jason Mraz is one of those rare, lovely human beings. And for that, I remain grateful.

So here’s to “Mr. A To Z.” And here’s to looking for the good.

Happy Birthday, Jason!

Thank you for being a friend…
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 06-23 = Alan Turing (1912-1954) = English mathematician and scientist 🌈

• 06-23 = Alfred Kinsey (1894-1956) = American sexologist and educator 🌈

• 06-23 = Hubert “Jay” Stowitts (1892-1953) = American artist and dancer 🌈

• 06-23 = Jason Mraz (1977- ) = American singer-songwriter 🌈

MAN CRUSHES OF THE DAY

“We can only see a short distance ahead, but we can see plenty there that needs to be done.”
Alan Turing

“The only unnatural sex act is that which you cannot perform.”
Alfred Kinsey

“It’s from being melancholy and having my human down experiences that I learn, that I overcome, that I transform - and these realizations I put into song. That’s what I choose to put in my backpack and carry with me around the world.”
Jason Mraz

I’ve never been much of a debater.

Given the choice between celebrating and debating, I’ll take celebrating every time. Life is short, and Pride Month is even shorter, so I’d rather spend my energy dancing with the gays, theys, and baes than arguing in comment sections.

But celebrating our community doesn’t mean pretending we’re perfect.

One of the things I’ve come to appreciate over the years is that LGBTQ history is just as messy, complicated, inspiring, frustrating, and thoroughly human as any other kind of history. We have our heroes. We have our villains. And we have a whole lot of people who fall somewhere in between.

• For every Harvey Milk, there’s a Roy Cohn.

• For every Bayard Rustin, there’s a J. Edgar Hoover.

• For every Marsha P. Johnson, there’s a Milo Yiannopoulos.

Some people spent their lives opening doors. Others seemed determined to slam them shut. And throw away the key.

Take Roy Cohn. Here was a man who helped fuel anti-gay persecution while privately engaging in the very behavior he publicly condemned. His story is tragic, infuriating, and cautionary.

Then there’s Harvey Milk, who became a symbol of visibility, hope, and political engagement for generations of LGBTQ people.

Both men were gay. Both left a mark on history. The marks they left couldn’t be more different.

But most people aren’t quite so easy to categorize.

The older I get, the less interested I am in sorting people into neat little boxes labeled “hero” or “villain.” Real life rarely works that way. Most people are walking contradictions.

• A person can make a groundbreaking contributions and still be deeply flawed.

• A person can say something foolish and still have value.

• A person can be right about one thing and spectacularly wrong about another.

History is complicated because people are complicated.

That’s not a bug. It’s a feature.

Pride Month often focuses on the victories, and rightly so. We should celebrate the activists, artists, politicians, performers, writers, organizers, and everyday people who helped make our lives better.

But we can also acknowledge that our community contains the full spectrum of humanity: The good. The bad. And the ugh-ly.

To me, that’s worth celebrating. Not because bad behavior deserves applause, but because it reminds us that LGBTQ people aren’t a monolith. We never have been.

We’re dreamers and troublemakers. Rebels and rule makers. Saints and sinners. Introverts and extroverts. Activists and couch potatoes.

We’re a community, not a clone factory.

And maybe that’s one of the most beautiful things about Pride.

It doesn’t celebrate perfection. It celebrates people.

Keep calm and don’t be tardy to the party!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 06-19 = Allen Irvin Bernstein (1913-2008) = American veteran and writer 🌈

• 06-19 = Elisabeth Marbury (1856-1933) = American agent and producer 🌈

• 06-19 = James VI + I (1566-1625) = King of Scotland, England, and Ireland 🌈

MAN CRUSHES OF THE DAY

“I love to win; but I love to lose almost as much. I love the thrill of victory, and I also love the challenge of defeat.”
Lou Gehrig

“Music is therapy. Music moves people. It connects people in ways that no other medium can. It pulls heart strings. It acts as medicine.”
Macklemore

Before Boy George and the rest of Culture Club arrived on my musical radio, I was desperately trying to figure out where I fit in.

Like a lot of kids growing up in the late 1970s and early 1980s, I relied on the radio to introduce me to new styles of music. I gravitated toward the happy, sentimental stuff. Soft pop. Easy listening. Catchy songs with big hooks and bigger feelings.

Think Air Supply, Debby Boone, and Lionel Richie.

Whatever they were calling it at the time, it was the music my tween self loved to sing and dance along to. The problem was that loving that kind of music didn’t exactly earn you points on the playground. Cool I was not.

So, for a brief and regrettable period, I pretended to like heavy metal. I pretended because the bullies at my school liked it. Or at least they claimed to.

Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that if I could just appear “normal” enough, maybe I’d stop feeling like an outsider. Like a loser.

Looking back, it’s the only time in my life I can remember trying to act like someone other than a version of myself.

And then Boy George showed up.

Suddenly, there was this wildly talented singer fronting one of the biggest bands in the world. He wore makeup. He was fashion-forward. He blurred gender lines with complete abandon and confidence.

Boy George looked nothing like the rugged, hypermasculine men I was constantly being told I should want to emulate. And yet there he was.

On television. On magazine covers. On the radio. Everywhere.

Most importantly, he wasn’t apologizing for who he was.

For a kid who constantly felt out of step with everyone around him, that was a revelation.

Boy George wasn’t asking for permission. He wasn’t trying to blend in. He wasn’t pretending to like things he didn’t like in order to make other people comfortable. He simply existed as himself and dared the world to deal with it.

Oddly enough, his example is what finally helped me “man up.”

Not the tough guys. Not the bullies. Not the macho, macho men.

No, a flamboyant pop star in braids and eyeliner taught me more about courage than any of them ever could. Boy George helped me understand that real strength isn’t about fitting into someone else’s definition of masculinity. It’s about having the confidence to be yourself, even when doing so makes other people uncomfortable.

And that lesson stuck.

As the years passed, I stopped worrying so much about whether my interests, personality, or appearance measured up to someone else’s expectations. I embraced the things I genuinely loved instead of the things I thought I was supposed to love. It did not always win me friends or help me influence people.

I told myself (and anyone who asked) I was ahead of my time.

That’s a gift Boy George gave to a lot of people, whether they realized it or not.

His influence extended far beyond music. He showed an entire generation that there were different ways to live, different ways to be creative, and different ways to move through the world.

Culture Club’s songs still hold up remarkably well today. They’re joyful, soulful, and instantly recognizable. But for me, the music was only part of the story.

What I remember most is his example. His actions, not his words.

Thank you, Boy George, for being an inspiration. And HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 🥳🎂

I’ll Tumble 4 Ya!
Clint 🌈✌️

ICYMI = IN CASE YOU MISSED IT

• SUNDAY = Being Sick Is Ick

• MONDAY = AI Is Getting On My Last Good Nerve

• TUESDAY = Confessions Off The Dance Floor

• WEDNESDAY = Acceptance + Kindness = Love

• THURSDAY = The 'Disco Nap' That Went All Night Long

• FRIDAY = The Great Unfinished Project Graveyard

• SATURDAY = In Memoriam: David Hockney

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 06-14 = Bill Sherwood (1952-1990) = American musician and filmmaker 🌈

• 06-14 = Boy George (1961- ) = British singer-songwriter and DJ 🌈

• 06-14 = Paul O’Grady (1955-2023) = British comedian and drag queen 🌈

MAN CRUSHES OF THE DAY

“If I wanted your opinion, I’d slap it outta ya.”
Paul O’Grady

I heard about David Hockney’s passing a few minutes before a friend arrived to grab breakfast and hang out yesterday.

I’m glad I had the distraction because if I’d had time to sit with the news, I might have slipped into a deep depression.

Hockney was my favorite living artist. Was. Living.
But he will always and forever be my favorite artist.

The strange thing about losing someone you’ve never met is how personal it can feel. David Hockney didn’t know I existed, but his work has been part of my life for decades. That’s what great artists do. They become companions and tour guides.

For me, Hockney wasn’t just a painter. He was proof that art could be intelligent without being pretentious, serious without being gloomy, and beautiful without apology.

His California swimming pools may be his most famous images, but they were never just paintings of pools. They were paintings of light, memory, desire, and possibility.

As a photographer and visual storyteller, I found myself returning to his work again and again. His photo collages fascinated me. His landscapes fascinated me. His portraits fascinated me. Most of all, his endless curiosity fascinated me.

While many artists spend their later years repeating themselves, Hockney never stopped experimenting. He embraced photography, fax machines, iPhones, iPads, and whatever new tool caught his attention next. He saw technology as another paintbrush.

He was also a queer pioneer.

Hockney lived openly as a gay man during a time when doing so carried real risks. He painted queer life as everyday life, helping create space for generations of artists who followed.

What I admired most, though, wasn’t just his talent.

It was his joy.

Even into his eighties, he seemed genuinely excited to wake up and make something. Curious. Playful. Entirely himself.

We live in a culture that often mistakes cynicism for wisdom. Hockney never seemed interested in cynicism. He was interested in seeing.

Really seeing.

• A splash in a pool.

• A winding road.

• A friend sitting in a chair.

• A field in bloom.

He transformed the ordinary into something extraordinary by paying attention.

The tributes pouring in have called him a giant, an innovator, and an icon. All of that is true. But today I’m thinking less about art history and more about influence.

I’m thinking about a young artist discovering a Hockney painting for the first time.

A queer kid seeing themselves reflected in his art.

A photographer realizing there are countless ways to look at the same subject.

I’m thinking about the millions of us whose lives became a little richer because David Hockney spent his life paying attention and sharing what he saw.

Thank you, Mr. Hockney.

For the color.

For the curiosity.

For the courage.

For helping us see.

For helping us love ourselves.

Thank you for being a friend!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 06-13 = Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935) = Portuguese writer and philosopher 🌈

• 06-13 = Jonathan Harvey (1968- ) = English writer and actor 🌈

• 06-13 = Paul Lynde (1926-1982) = American comedian and actor 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“My table seats eight, so that’s my maximum. Having a small number of guests is the only way to generate good conversation. Besides, your whole house doesn’t get wrecked that way.”
Paul Lynde

Long before I came out, before I had the vocabulary to describe who I was or the courage to admit it to myself, I stumbled across a copy of Torch Song Trilogy by Harvey Fierstein.

I was far too young to fully understand it. But I read it anyway. Then I read it again. And again. And again.

At first, most of it went over my head. The characters were adults navigating relationships, heartbreak, loneliness, and love in ways that were completely outside my experience. But even when I didn't understand every detail, I understood that these were the kinds of people I might one day become: funny, flawed, vulnerable, and unapologetically themselves.

For a young gay kid growing up without any examples of what my future might look like, that mattered.

Every rereading revealed something new. As I got older, the play seemed to grow alongside me. What had once felt mysterious gradually became familiar. What had once been confusing became illuminating. Torch Song Trilogy didn’t just entertain me. It helped me imagine a life beyond the one I knew.

I suspect many LGBTQ people have similar stories. Before representation became commonplace, we often found ourselves searching for clues. A novel. A movie. A television character. A magazine article. Anything that suggested we were not alone.

For me, my first gay uncle was Harvey Fierstein.

Even today, my favorite single page of writing remains the “Author’s Note” from Torch Song Trilogy. I’ve returned to it countless times over the years. There is wisdom there, but also humor, honesty, and a deep understanding of what it means to be human. Like all great writing, it is incredibly specific while somehow speaking to something universal.

Of course, Fierstein’s legacy extends far beyond a single play.

Over the course of an extraordinary career, he has been almost impossible to categorize. He is an actor, playwright, screenwriter, librettist, storyteller, activist, and artist. He gave us Torch Song Trilogy. He wrote the book for La Cage aux Folles. He penned Kinky Boots. He brought unforgettable characters to life on stage and screen. Through every medium he touched, he helped expand what LGBTQ stories could be.

More importantly, he did it while sounding unmistakably like himself.

Artists are often encouraged to smooth out their rough edges, but Harvey Fierstein built a legendary career by embracing his. His voice, both literal and artistic, is one of a kind. No one else sounds like Harvey Fierstein because no one else is Harvey Fierstein.

These days, I find myself inspired by yet another chapter of his creative life: his quilting. Watching someone continue to explore new artistic passions well into a legendary career is a reminder that creativity doesn’t have an expiration date. There is always another skill to learn, another medium to try, another story to tell.

One of the greatest lessons Harvey Fierstein has taught me is not simply how to be gay or how to be an artist.

His greatest lesson for me is how to keep growing, how to stay curious, and how to keep making things.

So today, on his birthday, I’m grateful.

Grateful for the kid who picked up a copy of Torch Song Trilogy without fully understanding what he was reading. Grateful for the countless artists who helped me see possibilities I couldn’t yet imagine. And grateful that Harvey Fierstein is still here, still creating, still inspiring, and still reminding generations of LGBTQ people that our stories matter.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Fierstein. The world is a better, richer, and more colorful place because you’ve spent a lifetime filling it with your voice. Loudly and proudly.

Keep calm and carry on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FOLLOW HARVEY FIERSTEIN ON INSTAGRAM

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 06-06 = A’Lelia Walker (1885-1931) = American entrepreneur and arts patron 🌈

• 06-06 = Annie Adams Fields (1834-1915) = American writer 🌈

• 06-06 = Harvey Fierstein (1952- ) = American actor and playwright 🌈

• 06-06 = Holly Near (1949- ) = American singer-songwriter and activist 🌈

• 06-06 = Sandra Bernhard (1955- ) = American comedian and actor 🌈

• 06-06 = Thomas Mann (1875-1955) = German writer 🌈

• 06-06 = Ty Defoe (1984- ) = Native American artist, activist, and writer 🌈

• 06-06 = Violet Trefusis (1894-1972) = English writer and socialite 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life; define yourself.”
Harvey Fierstein

As a kid, I remember hearing Judy Garland sing “Over the Rainbow” and imagining a magical place where the problems of the world simply disappeared. A place where people could just be themselves. A place where we all belonged.

Of course, reality is rarely that simple.

Like many LGBTQ+ people, I’ve learned that belonging is less of a final destination and more of a lifelong search. We spend years looking for spaces where we can lower our guard, speak honestly, and exist without explanation or apology.

Maybe that’s why I think of that song whenever I think about Gilbert Baker. Not because he created a fantasy, but because he took something as ordinary and extraordinary as a rainbow and turned it into a symbol of belonging. In doing so, he helped generations of LGBTQ people find not only community, but pride in themselves.

What can I possibly say about Gilbert Baker that hasn’t already been said?

By now, most know the basics. He designed the rainbow flag. He gave our community a global symbol. His work has inspired generations and become one of the most recognizable images in modern history. The facts are easy to find. What’s harder to articulate is what that flag actually means to me.

Every Pride Month, I find myself trying to put it into words, and every year I come up a little short. I think about it whenever I see one hanging from a front porch or displayed in a storefront window. I think about it when politicians argue over it, and when corporations embrace it for thirty days before quietly packing it away.

For me, the rainbow flag has always meant something far more personal: the possibility of belonging in a world that doesn’t always make room for people like us.

I especially think about it when I remember the first time I saw the giant rainbow flag flying over the Castro in San Francisco. Circa 2000.

At the time, I was still carrying around a lifetime of messages telling me I was different. That certain parts of myself were better left hidden and unspoken.

Like many LGBTQ+ people, I had become accustomed to scanning every room, every neighborhood, and every new situation for clues about whether I would be safe and accepted.

Then, I looked up and saw that enormous rainbow flag waving against the sky.

Something inside me broke open. It wasn’t just fabric. It was visibility. It was history. It was a soaring reminder that millions had walked this path before me, and millions would come after. For the first time in my life, I felt connected to something vastly larger than my own limited experience.

That is the genius of what Gilbert Baker created. Before the rainbow flag, many LGBTQ symbols were tied to tragedy, struggle, and persecution. They carried vital history, but they also carried deep pain.

Baker chose a different path. He chose a rainbow, a symbol of diversity and hope. That choice was more radical than it may seem today. For generations, LGBTQ people were taught to hide who they were, apologize for who they loved, or feel ashamed of their existence. Baker’s flag offered a different message: you belong, and there is beauty in being exactly who you are.

The older I get, the more remarkable Baker’s achievements seem. The LGBTQ community is not a monolith. We come from different backgrounds, cultures, and generations, often holding wildly different ideas about our collective future. And yet most of us embrace the rainbow flag (or a variation of it) wholeheartedly.

Most flags represent nations; they define borders and separate people into groups. Baker’s flag does the exact opposite. It invites people in. It says there is room here. It says you’re not alone.

I suspect that’s why it continues to resonate nearly fifty years after its creation.

For some, it is a political statement. For others, a celebration. For many, a battle cry.

I don’t know if Gilbert Baker could have fully predicted the impact his creation would have. I doubt anyone could.

On my first visit to San Francisco, a giant rainbow flag made me cry. I didn’t cry because I had finally arrived at that mythical place I imagined as a child. I cried because, for the very first time, I felt seen and part of something bigger.

Few people have given a greater gift to the LGBTQ community than the man who stitched together a handful of colored stripes and created a symbol that reminds us we are better together.

Somewhere over the rainbow, we’re told, dreams come true.

Gilbert Baker’s legacy is a timeless symbol of love and light.

Thank you, Mr. Gilbert!

Keep calm and get your Pride on…
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 06-02 = Andy Cohen (1968- ) = American television host 🌈

• 06-02 = Brent Hawkes (1950- ) = Canadian pastor and activist 🌈

• 06-02 = Gilbert Baker (1951-2017) = American artist 🌈

• 06-02 = Marquis de Sade (1740-1814) = French aristocrat and politician 🌈

• 06-02 = Wayne Brady (1972- ) = American actor, comedian, host, and singer 🌈

• 06-02 = Wentworth Miller (1972- ) = American actor and screenwriter 🌈

• 06-02 = Zachary Quinto (1977- ) = American actor 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“The rainbow is a part of nature, and you have to be in the right place to see it. It’s beautiful, all of the colors, even the colors you can’t see. That really fit us as a people because we are all of the colors. Our sexuality is all of the colors. We are all the genders, races, and ages.”
Gilbert Baker

Whether or not you personally celebrate Pride Month, the LGBTQ community has collectively come a long way, baby.

From the protests and riots of the 1960s to the parades and parties that followed, what began as a fight for visibility and basic dignity has grown into a movement that has changed countless lives.

I came out in 1994 when I was 21. Back then, coming out felt a lot different than it does today. There were fewer role models. Less visibility. Less acceptance.

For many people, coming out still involves risking family, friends, jobs, housing, and community. In some parts of the world, being LGBTQ remains dangerous if not deadly.

That’s one reason Pride Month matters.

It gives us a chance to celebrate how far we’ve come. Not just the big victories. Not just the court rulings and political milestones. But the small victories matter too.

Being able to introduce your partner without hesitation. Holding hands in public. Seeing LGBTQ characters in books, film, tv, pop culture, and public life. Finding community and support without feeling completely alone.

Those things may seem ordinary now. That’s exactly what makes them extraordinary.

Progress happens so gradually that we forget what life looked like before.

I think about the generations that came before mine. Those who marched when it wasn’t safe. Those who fought for rights many of us now take for granted. Those who paid enormous personal costs simply for being themselves.

Many never got to see the changes they helped create. I did. I bet you did too.

That doesn’t mean the work is finished.

Rights can be challenged. Acceptance can change. Around the world, many LGBTQ people still face discrimination, harassment, and violence.

Pride has always been both a celebration and a reminder.

A celebration of progress.
A reminder that progress requires people willing to fight for more.

Fortunately, resilience has always been one of our community’s greatest strengths. We’ve spent generations learning how to support one another better, adapt, organize, and keep moving forward. Together.

That’s worth celebrating.

So this Pride Month…

• Celebrate marriage equality.

• Celebrate greater visibility.

• Celebrate every person who feels safe enough to live openly and honestly.

• Celebrate the teenager who found the courage to come out.

• Celebrate the parent who chose love over fear.

• Celebrate the ally who spoke up when it mattered.

• Celebrate the fact that somewhere, someone is discovering they aren’t alone.

Pride isn’t just about remembering where we’ve been. It’s also about recognizing how far we’ve come and imagining what comes next.

After everything this community has accomplished and endured over the years, I think we’ve earned the right to celebrate. So don’t be tardy to the party.

Keep calm and Pride on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

MORE PIONEERS + PRIDE

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 06-01 = Brandi Carlile (1981- ) = American singer-songwriter 🌈

• 06-01 = Cleavon Little (1939-1992) = American actor and comedian 🌈

• 06-01 = Ferron (1952- ) = Canadian singer-songwriter 🌈

• 06-01 = Marilyn Monroe (1926-1962) = American model and actor 🌈

• 06-01 = Michael McDowell (1950-1999) = American author and screenwriter 🌈

GIRL CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I’m selfish, impatient, and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I’m out of control, and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.”
Marilyn Monroe

MARILYN MONROE: HOLLYWOOD ICON
(Academy Museum Of Motion Pictures)

Before it was the unofficial start of summer, Memorial Day was a day of remembrance.

It wasn’t about mattress sales or backyard barbecues or going to the beach.

It was meant to honor our military personnel who never made it home.

And hidden inside that history are countless LGBTQ service members whose sacrifices have largely been erased from public memory and record.

For generations, queer Americans served this country while being told they were unfit to serve. They fought in wars, flew missions, worked as medics and intelligence officers, and died defending freedoms they themselves could not fully enjoy.

Many lost careers, benefits, and entire futures simply for being gay.

Some were dishonorably discharged. Others were forced to hide who they were for decades just to survive military life. Even after death, many remained invisible. Their partners could not openly grieve them. Their stories disappeared into silence.

And yet they served anyway.

That matters.

Because LGBTQ Americans have always been here. In every branch. Every conflict. Every generation. We were at Normandy, in Vietnam, in Iraq, and in Afghanistan. Part of the American story has always included queer people, even when politicians and pundits have pretended otherwise.

So this Memorial Day, enjoy the long weekend. Enjoy your friends and family. But maybe also take a moment to remember the people who paid for those freedoms, including the LGBTQ veterans and service members who were too often denied dignity by the very country they defended.

And if you are one of those veterans yourself, thank you.
You and your service deserve to be remembered too.

Thank you for being a friend!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 05-25 = Anette Trettebergstuen (1981- ) = Norwegian politician 🌈

• 05-25 = Anne Heche (1969-2022) = American actor 🌈

• 05-25 = Ian McKellen (1939- ) = English actor 🌈

• 05-25 = Robert Ross (1869-1918) = Canadian journalist and art critic 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I learned that coming out was crucial to self-esteem.”
Ian Mckellen

“I’m not quite as cool as I would like to be, really.”
Ian Mckellen

There are moments when I realize history is not actually “history” to everyone else.

It is revelation.

I had one of those moments back in 2008 after seeing Milk, based on the life and times of Harvey Milk, with a young gay coworker.

After the film, we went to lunch and cussed and discussed what we had just watched. My colleague was completely captivated by the story unfolding onscreen. The marches. The organizing. The hope. The assassination. The heartbreak.

He looked at me and asked, almost in disbelief, “All that really happened?”

His question stopped me in my tracks and left me staring at him like Nipper, the RCA Victor dog listening to the gramophone.

Why was I so shocked? Because I had spent years reading about Harvey Milk. To me, he was not just a heroic and tragic figure from a movie. He was one of the first openly gay elected officials in America. An activist. A coalition builder. A businessman. A man who understood the political power of visibility long before most of the country was even willing to acknowledge queer people existed.

What fascinated me most about Milk was how he never separated the personal from the political. His Castro Camera was not just a shop. It became a gathering place, an organizing hub, and part of the foundation for a movement. He understood that simply existing openly in public life was radical at the time.

And that’s what made him so powerful.

He wasn’t trying to be the “perfect” gay man to make straight America comfortable. He was loud. Funny. Charismatic. Messy. Hopeful. Human.

He talked to working people, union members, activists, and everyday queer folks like their lives mattered. Because he genuinely believed they did.

That mattered to me when I first learned about him years ago. It still matters now, especially when I think about how many LGBTQ people grew up without seeing anyone remotely like themselves in politics, media, or public life.

When Harvey Milk urged queer people to come out, I don’t think he was naive about the danger involved. He understood something that invisibility was often even more dangerous. If nobody knew us, nobody had to care what happened to us.

That simple realization made a big impact on me when I was coming out.

Milk’s story also taught me that queer rights in America were not handed over politely after a thoughtful debate and a spot of tea. LGBTQ people fought for every inch of progress. Some lost careers. Some lost families. Some lost their lives.

I knew all of that sitting across from my coworker that afternoon. I knew about the Briggs Initiative. I knew about Dan White and the assassinations of Milk and Mayor George Moscone. I knew about the riots and outrage surrounding the so-called “Twinkie Defense.” I knew the AIDS crisis was already looming just beyond the horizon of the story we had watched onscreen.

My coworker, meanwhile, was encountering much of this history for the first time.

And part of me envied his innocence.

Not because ignorance is admirable. But because he had somehow managed to grow up gay without carrying the full emotional weight of queer history everywhere he went. He discovered Harvey Milk through a film instead of through fear, activism, cultural memory, and survival stories passed between generations.

That lunch has stayed with me for years because it clarified something important: Representation matters because memory matters.

For decades, queer people were erased from public life or reduced to stereotypes, punchlines, whispered rumors, and cautionary tales. Entire generations grew up without seeing openly queer adults portrayed as leaders, activists, or fully realized human beings.

Then along came films like Milk.

Not perfect. Not comprehensive. But visible.

And visibility changes people.

I saw that firsthand sitting across from my coworker while he realized this history was real. That Harvey Milk was real. That the movement was real. That the rights and freedoms many of us now take for granted were built by ordinary people willing to risk extraordinary things simply to live honestly.

For me, the film felt like remembrance. For him, it felt like discovery.

And somewhere between all our cussing and discussing, I realized something else: Harvey Milk’s greatest legacy may not simply be that he won office or changed laws. It may be that decades after his death, he is still helping queer people find each other across generations.

One generation remembers the fear. Another discovers the courage.

And somehow Milk’s story still connects us.

That matters now more than ever. Because history has a way of disappearing when people stop telling it. Progress starts looking inevitable. Rights start feeling permanent. The names and faces behind the movement slowly fade into abstraction.

But Harvey Milk was never an abstraction.

He was a real person who chose visibility in a time that punished it. A flawed, funny, stubborn, hopeful man who believed queer people deserved not only equal rights, but equal dignity.

And every time a younger LGBTQ person discovers his story for the first time, that belief keeps moving us forward.

Honestly, I think Harvey Milk, the man and the myth, would have loved that.

Keep calm and fight on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FYC = RELATED + RECOMMENDED

MILK (2008)
Where To Watch = JustWatch

THE TIMES OF HARVEY MILK (1984)
Where To Watch = JustWatch

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 05-22 = Barbara May Cameron (1954-2002) = Native American photographer, poet, writer, and activist 🌈

• 05-22 = Harvey Milk (1930-1978) = American lieutenant and politician 🌈

• 05-22 = Laurence Olivier (1907-1989) = English actor, director, and producer 🌈

• 05-22 = Mark Bingham (1970-2001) = American businessman and hero 🌈

• 05-22 = Morrissey (1959- ) = English singer-songwriter 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Hope will never be silent.”
Harvey Milk

For the longest time, I felt weird about marketing myself.

Not the writing. Not the photography or videos or the endless little creative rabbit holes I disappear into in the middle of the night. I’ve always loved making things.

The awkward part has always been the promotion. Posting links. Selling subscriptions. Talking about merch. Reminding people that creative work may feed the soul, but it doesn’t always pay the rent or the electric bill.

Somewhere along the way, a lot of us absorbed this idea that artists should remain above commerce. Pure. Noble. Eternally creating for the love of the craft while somehow surviving on caffeine, validation, and ramen noodles.

Meanwhile, everybody else in the world gets to monetize their skillsets without being accused of “selling out.”

Over the weekend, a dear paid subscriber reached out asking where he could find my Pride t-shirts and merch. And honestly? I’d completely forgotten Pride Month was almost here.

Thankfully, I already had most of the designs in my Threadless shop, hidden away like a box of rainbow decorations waiting for June to roll around again. So I reopened it.

And while dusting off the designs and reorganizing the shop, I remembered why I made them in the first place. Not just because they were fun. But because I genuinely love queer culture. I love our flags, our humor, our resilience, our aesthetics, and our uncanny ability to transform survival into art.

We’ve always known how to make beauty out of scraps. How to turn camp into armor. How to create joy even when the world gives us every reason not to.

That’s part of what Pride has always meant to me.

Not just parades and parties and rainbow flags. But visibility. Creativity. Community. The simple but radical act of saying: We’re still here, damnit.

Which is why I’ve always found it a little strange that massive corporations can cash in on Pride every June without much criticism, while independent LGBTQ creators are often expected to stay humble and grateful in the corner while everyone else profits from the party.

Why shouldn’t queer creatives benefit from Pride too?
After all, Pride happens because queer people built it.

People wear Pride shirts because they want to feel connected to something bigger than themselves. They decorate their homes, laptops, jackets, water bottles, and bodies with reminders that they belong somewhere. That they survived something. That they found their tribe(s).

And honestly, queer people have always sold things to survive.

Books. Zines. Posters. Buttons. Photographs. Art prints. Independent magazines. Homemade jewelry. Vinyl records. Drag show tickets.

Long before corporations discovered rainbow capitalism, queer people were creating entire underground economies built around supporting one another’s art, businesses, publications, performances, and survival.

That isn’t “selling out.”

That’s resourcefulness.
That’s community.
That’s Pride.

Especially now, when so many independent queer creators are struggling just to stay visible. Journalism is collapsing. Advertising revenue is unreliable. Social media algorithms reward outrage and nonsense over thoughtful work and genuine connection.

So sometimes a t-shirt sale matters more than people realize.

Sometimes it helps pay for groceries. Or website hosting. Or camera equipment. Or simply the time and space required to keep creating.

So yes, I’m promoting my Pride merch this year. Proudly, actually.

Because every shirt, sticker, mug, subscription, recommendation, and small act of support helps keep independent queer voices alive in a world that still tries, in ways both subtle and obvious, to erase us.

And maybe that’s what Pride has always been about, underneath the glitter and go-go boys, anyway.

Not perfection.
Not branding.
Not corporate slogans.

Just people finding ways to support each other, celebrate each other, and keep showing up for one another year after year after year.

Keep calm and get your Pride on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 05-20 = Gregory Gray (1959-2019) = Northern Irish singer-songwriter 🌈

• 05-20 = Honoré de Balzac (1799-1850) = French novelist and playwright 🌈

• 05-20 = Karl M. Baer (1885-1956) = German-Israeli author and social worker 🌈

• 05-20 = Omar Apollo (1997- ) = American singer-songwriter and actor 🌈

• 05-20 = Ted Allen (1965- ) = American television host and author 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

A while back, I accidentally jumped the gun and wished an early happy birthday. Very early. Two months early.

Thankfully, today is his actual birthday, which gives me the chance to finally get it right: Happy birthday, Mr. Maupin! May all your wishes come true.

Few writers have captured the messy beauty of human connection quite like he has. Through humor, heartbreak, friendship, sex, loss, and chosen family, his words have painted vivid characters and emotional snapshots that made countless LGBTQ readers feel seen.

Especially those of us who grew up searching for reflections of ourselves that weren’t hidden in shadows or reduced to punchlines.

His stories didn’t just entertain. They comforted. They challenged. They reminded readers that queer lives deserved to be more than just supporting characters. As a result, his work is filled with humor, heart, and happy endings.

That kind of legacy lasts far longer than any candles on any cake.

Here’s wishing him a happy, healthy celebration and many more birthdays to come.

Live long and prosper, Mr. Maupin.

And thank you for being a friend!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 05-13 = Alan Ball (1957- ) = American writer and director 🌈

• 05-13 = Armistead Maupin (1944- ) = American writer 🌈

• 05-13 = Cheryl Dunye (1966- ) = American filmmaker 🌈

• 05-13 = Réal Ménard (1962- ) = Canadian politician and lawyer 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“The world changes in direct proportion to the number of people willing to be honest about their lives.”

I remember the first time I “met” Keith Haring.

I was ten years old, parked in front of the television, watching Dan Rather on CBS Evening News. That alone was unusual. Because, in our house, the nightly news was usually delivered by Peter Jennings over on ABC World News Tonight.

But for whatever reason, on that particular night, we switched channels. And that small, random deviation from our regularly-scheduled programming ended up changing more than I could have understood at the time.

Because that was the night I was introduced to Keith Haring.

I didn’t have the language for it yet. I couldn’t have told you about pop art, or graffiti as cultural resistance, or the democratization of art. I was just a kid. But I knew what I liked. And I liked what I saw.

Haring’s figures were simple. Bold. Alive.

Radiant babies. Barking dogs. Dancing bodies that looked like they were vibrating right off the canvas.

Even then, I understood something instinctively:
These weren’t just drawings. They were messages.

Haring’s work first gained notoriety in the New York City subway stations. He turned empty ad panels into canvases, chalk in hand, creating art in real-time for commuters who might not otherwise step foot inside an art gallery or museum.

Strangers rushing to work became his audience. The city itself became his gallery.

To my ten-year-old brain, his art felt rebellious and joyful at the same time. His work looked like modern-day cave paintings to me. But instead of telling stories of survival, they told stories of energy, connection, and pride.

As I got older, I learned what I couldn’t fully grasp back then. That beneath the playful lines was a sense of urgency and weight. Haring worked during a time when New York was alive with creativity and also reckoning with crisis. His work took on themes of love, sex, power, and the AIDS epidemic. It was activism disguised as accessibility.

He made it impossible to look away, even when the message was uncomfortable.

That’s what made Keith Haring and his work so powerful. He didn’t separate art from life. He didn’t wait for permission. He showed up, again and again, and made the work where people already were.

Looking back, that moment in front of the TV wasn’t just about discovering an artist. It was my first understanding that art didn’t have to live behind glass or inside quiet rooms. It could be immediate. Public. Alive.

Art could meet me exactly where I was.

Decades later, that still feels like the lesson.

Because those lines, as simple as they were, didn’t stay contained. They moved. Across subway platforms. Around the world. On public walls and in private art collections.

Haring’s work found a ten-year-old kid in a living room who wasn’t even supposed to be watching that channel. And it burned a hole in my imagination.

Keith Haring was here. And his legacy lives on….

Keep calm and keep his candles lit!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 05-04 = Keith Haring (1958-1990) = American artist 🌈

• 05-04 = Lance Bass (1979- ) = American singer, dancer, and producer 🌈

• 05-04 = Lincoln Kirstein (1907-1996) = American writer, impresario, art connoisseur, philanthropist, and New York City Ballet co-founder 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I don’t think art is propaganda; it should be something that liberates the soul, provokes the imagination and encourages people to go further. It celebrates humanity instead of manipulating it.”
Keith Haring

Every once in a while, I run across a name from LGBTQ history that feels bigger than the person attached to it. Lawrence Ferlinghetti is one of those names.

For a long time, I’ll admit, I didn’t know much about the man or his work. I had heard his name in passing, but that was about it. But if you care about poetry, publishing, independent bookstores, free speech, or San Francisco, sooner or later you hear his name spoken with a kind of reverence.

City Lights. The Beats. Howl.

At first it almost sounds like literary folklore. A half-remembered story from another era when poetry somehow mattered enough to get people arrested.

But the more you learn about Ferlinghetti, the more the myth gives way to something clearer. His life mirrors the long arc of the twentieth century.

He was born in 1919. His father died before he was born, and he spent much of his childhood moving between relatives and foster homes.

During World War II he served in the Navy and later witnessed the aftermath of Nagasaki. Seeing a city flattened by an atomic bomb left a permanent mark on him. That shadow runs through his poetry and his politics for the rest of his life.

After the war he studied literature in Paris and eventually landed in San Francisco, a city that has always had a gravitational pull for artists, outsiders, and people who just don’t quite fit anywhere else.

That’s where his real story begins.

If you’ve ever spent time in San Francisco, there’s a good chance you’ve wandered into City Lights Bookstore in North Beach. Even if you didn’t know who Ferlinghetti was, you’ve hopefully felt the energy of the place.

City Lights is not just a bookstore. It’s a cultural landmark. Its shelves are packed with political manifestos, experimental poetry, independent zines, international literature, and more than a few ideas that might make polite society a little uncomfortable.

In 1953, Ferlinghetti co-founded City Lights.

In 1956, City Lights published Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and Other Poems.

Today, it’s hard to fully explain how explosive that poem was at the time. It was raw, angry, queer, ecstatic, and completely uninterested in behaving itself. Ginsberg tore into the machinery of American conformity with a voice that was too honest for the authorities’ taste.

So they arrested the publisher. For publishing a poem.

The obscenity trial that followed became one of the most important free speech cases in American literary history. After nearly a year of legal wrangling, the judge ruled that Howl was not obscene and, in fact, had redeeming social importance.

The decision loosened the grip of censorship on American publishing.

Ferlinghetti never seemed interested in being the hero of that story. Through City Lights Publishing, he created the Pocket Poets Series, small, inexpensive books designed to put poetry directly into people’s hands. You didn’t need a university degree or membership in a literary club. You could carry a poem in your pocket.

For decades, he published writers who were experimental, political, queer, immigrant, or simply too strange for mainstream publishers. He believed bookstores should be places where ideas collide, not quiet retail spaces where nothing uncomfortable is allowed to happen.

And he kept at it. For more than seventy years.

Ferlinghetti lived to be 101. His life stretched from the final years of World War I to the digital age. Through it all, he wrote poems, painted, protested wars, and defended the fragile ecosystem that allows art and free thought to survive.

I’ve been thinking about the kinds of people who make creative worlds possible. Not just the artists. But the connectors and risk-takers. The people who build the spaces where ideas can meet.

Ferlinghetti was one of those people. He understood something simple but powerful: Culture rarely grows in isolation. It grows in places.

City Lights was a home for restless minds. A place where poets, outsiders, and troublemakers could find each other. A place where someone could walk in off the street, pick up a thin paperback of poems, and suddenly realize the world might be bigger than they thought.

The more I think about it, the more I suspect that’s the kind of legacy most creative people secretly hope for.

Not fame. Not myth.

No, what most creatives want to be remembered most for is opening doors for the next generation.

Keep calm and read on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 03-24 = Bob Mackie (1939- ) = American costume designer 🌈

• 03-24 = Jim Parsons (1973- ) = American actor and producer 🌈

• 03-24 = Lawrence Ferlinghetti (1919-2021) = American poet, publisher, and City Lights Bookstore co-founder 🌈

• 03-24 = Margarethe Cammermeyer (1942- ) = Norwegian-American officer 🌈

• 03-24 = Tig Notaro (1971- ) = American comedian and actor

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I think if there’s a great depression there might be some hope.”
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

“We were just a one-room bookstore; we didn’t have any money for lawyers.”
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Some artists don’t just create. They detonate.

Two such trailblazing artists were born this way on this day:
Alexander McQueen and Rudolf Nureyev.

Different mediums. Different eras. And yet the same shared instinct to disrupt, to provoke, and to refuse the limits handed to them.

They didn’t just push boundaries. They made new ones.

Different worlds, yes. But the same kind of energy I’ve always been drawn to and, if I’m honest, a little intimidated by.

I didn’t grow up around high fashion or ballet. My awareness and understanding of both men came later, pieced together through documentaries, clips, and late-night research rabbit holes.

McQueen’s theatrical runway shows were what first pulled me in. They weren’t just presentations of clothes moving down a runway. They felt more like fully realized worlds, each one built around a clear and uncompromising point of view.

And Nureyev? It was the same kind of feeling, just in a different form. Even through a small screen, decades removed from when he was actually on stage, there’s a kind of power and presence that comes through immediately. You don’t need to know the story of the ballet. You don’t need any technical background to understand what he’s doing. You just feel it.

What strikes me now isn’t just their talent. It’s that neither of them seemed interested in asking for permission.

Nureyev didn’t dramatically defect to France to win new fans.
McQueen didn’t stage provocative runway shows to make people comfortable.

They weren’t chasing applause or approval. They were responding to something they couldn’t ignore. An instinct, a vision, a kind of creative pressure that demanded to be expressed, whether or not it was accepted or understood.

It’s easy to romanticize creatives like them. To talk about disruption and legacy and genius without acknowledging the weight that often comes with it.

Neither of them had easy paths. And I don’t think that’s incidental.

• There’s a cost to not playing it safe.

• To being the one who pushes instead of preserves.

• To insist on your own vision when the world wants something familiar.

I don’t pretend my stakes are the same. But even though I’m not about to start designing haute couture or training for the ballet, I recognize the creative urges.

What I take from McQueen and Nureyev is something less visible, but more useful:
Permission. Not the kind you ask for. The kind you take.

• Permission to trust your instincts, even when they don’t align with expectations.

• Permission to let your work be a little messy, intense, and hard to categorize.

• Permission to believe that pushing boundaries, even in small ways, matters.

From both men, I’ve learned to be a little braver.
A little less concerned with getting it right.
A little more willing to follow an idea wherever it leads.

So today, on their shared birthday, I’m less interested in celebrating what they did and made, and more interested in who they were and how they moved through the world.

Thank you, Mr. McQueen and Mr. Nureyev, for blazing those trails.

Keep calm and keep those candles lit!
Clint 🌈✌️

NEW + NOW PLAYING (ON SUBSTACK)

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 03-17 = Alexander McQueen (1969-2010) = British fashion designer 🌈

• 03-17 = Alice Austen (1866-1952) = American photographer 🌈

• 03-17 = Bayard Rustin (1912-1987) = American activist and organizer 🌈

• 03-17 = Robert de Montesquiou (1855-1921) = French artist and writer 🌈

• 03-17 = Rudolf Nureyev (1938-1993) = Russian-French dancer and choreographer 🌈

MAN CRUSHES OF THE DAY

“Of course I make mistakes. I’m human. If I didn’t make mistakes, I’d never learn. You can only go forward by making mistakes.”
Alexander McQueen

“You live as long as you dance.”
Rudolf Nureyev

Last August, one of my favorite writers of all time, Armistead Maupin, and his talented photographer husband, Christopher Turner, joined Substack. Their newsletter-vlog, Barbary Lane Dispatches, quickly became a regular fixture in my feed and in my life.

It still feels a little surreal to hear from one of my literary heroes in real time, still telling great stories about his life and about our community.

For years, I only knew Armistead Maupin through his characters and his books. Now I get to see the storyteller himself, still observing, reflecting, and sharing with readers. It is a reminder that the voice behind the Tales of the City series hasn’t faded with time. If anything, he’s found new ways to delight, educate, and entertain.

Because to me, Mr. Maupin is and will always be a great storyteller. The medium does not really matter. The platform does not really matter. The era does not really matter. Give him a place to publish and an audience to engage with, and he does what he has always done: tell stories about living, breathing human beings, fictional and real-world.

Tales of the City began as a newspaper serial in the San Francisco Chronicle in the 1970s. Day by day, installment by installment, readers were introduced to the unforgettable residents of Barbary Lane. Characters like Michael “Mouse” Tolliver, Mary Ann Singleton, and the magical-mysterious Anna Madrigal felt less like literary inventions and more like people I knew. Or at least people I wished I knew.

For many readers, myself included, those characters and stories were more than entertainment. They were proof of our collective humanity. At a time when queer lives were rarely portrayed with warmth or humor, Mr. Maupin wrote about all kinds of people simply living their messy, funny, loving, and oh-so-human lives.

Over the decades, Mr. Maupin’s stories have moved from the newspaper page to bookstore bookshelves, and have been adapted for four miniseries and a musical. Different media. Different audiences. Same storyteller.

Which is why seeing Mr. Maupin show up on Substack feels less like a surprise and more like a natural continuation of what he’s always done. For me, his storytelling’s come full circle.

The technology may be different, but the rhythm feels familiar. Short dispatches. Personal reflections. Short stories delivered directly to readers who are more than happy to hear them from him.

I have to admit that sharing the same platform with one of my literary idols still brings a smile to my face. I don’t fanboy many people, but I can’t help but be a fan of the man whose writing helped me see a life outside the closet. A life filled with what he so beautifully calls “logical family.”

There is something wonderfully strange and delightful about publishing in the same digital neighborhood as a writer whose books still sit on my nightstand.

In the long tradition of literature, storytelling always finds a way. Newspapers, novels, newsletters. The formats may change and the platforms may evolve. But storytellers keep telling stories.

And few do so with as much warmth, wit, and humanity as Armistead Maupin.

So today, on his birthday (two months early), I want to say thank you:

• Thank you for the stories that helped expand the world for so many readers.

• Thank you for the characters who felt like friends and neighbors.

• And thank you for continuing to show up and tell stories.

Happy (Early) Birthday, Mr. Maupin!
Clint 🌈✌️

ICYMI = IN CASE YOU MISSED IT

Barbary Lane Dispatches

Heroes: Christopher Isherwood

Listen now

a year ago · 39 likes · 5 comments · Christopher Turner and Armistead Maupin

Barbary Lane Dispatches

I Found Myself in 1970s San Francisco

Here’s a transcript of the video…

Listen now

4 months ago · 590 likes · 47 comments · Christopher Turner and Armistead Maupin

Barbary Lane Dispatches

My Relationship with Rock Hudson

Here’s a transcript of the video…

Listen now

7 months ago · 296 likes · 20 comments · Christopher Turner and Armistead Maupin

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 03-13 = Bill Cunningham (1929-2016) = American fashion photographer 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Sooner or later, though, no matter where in the world we live, we must join the diaspora, venturing beyond our biological family to find our logical one, the one that actually makes sense for us. We have to, if we are to live without squandering our lives.”
Armistead Maupin, Logical Family: A Memoir

I have no idea if Edward Albee and Jack Kerouac ever met.

For all I know, even though they moved in similar professional and social circles, their paths never actually crossed. No shared dinners. No chance encounters at a party in New York. No smoky, late-night debates about art, language, or the meaning of life.

But in my mind, they were friends.
And in fact, they were birthday twins.

Both men were born on March 12. Different years, different worlds, different artistic callings. One became a towering voice of the American theater. The other helped ignite a literary movement that reshaped modern writing. But every year, at least in theory, the calendar gave them something in common: a birthday.

I like to imagine that somewhere along the way they noticed this strange little coincidence.

Maybe Albee raised a glass one evening. “Here’s to Kerouac…Happy Birthday!”

Maybe Kerouac scribbled something about it in a notebook while riding a bus across the country. A quick thought about sharing a birthday with a playwright who wrote sharp, uncomfortable truths about human relationships.

Of course, there’s a 50-50 chance that none of this ever happened.

Still, the idea amuses me.

Kerouac, the wandering spirit of the Beat generation, chasing experience across highways and rail lines. His most famous novel, On the Road, turned restless movement into a kind of spiritual practice. Motion was the point. Life was something to be lived quickly, intensely, and in real time.

Albee worked in a very different lane. His characters were not usually racing across the country. They were more likely trapped in living rooms, circling each other with words that cut like knives. His landmark play Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? turned a long night of cocktails and conversation into one of the most brutal dissections of marriage ever staged.

One writer ran toward the horizon. The other locked the door and forced everyone in the room to talk.

Different energies. Different art forms. But both men were deeply interested in truth. Not the polite version of truth we show strangers. The messier kind that leaks out when people stop pretending.

Kerouac chased it through experience. Albee cornered it through confrontation.

And both left behind work that still rattles around in our cultural imagination.

Which brings me back to their shared birthday.

I like to imagine that somewhere beyond the practical details of history, the two of them celebrate together every year. Maybe not with candles and cake, but with a nod of mutual recognition.

One raises a glass. The other scribbles a line.

Two writers. Two powerful voices. Two birthday twins of the page and the stage.

Keep calm and read on!
Clint 🌈✌️

NEW + NOW SHOWING

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 03-12 = Edward Albee (1928-2016) = American playwright 🌈

• 03-12 = Eric Stenbock (1860-1895) = Swedish writer 🌈

• 03-12 = Jack Kerouac (1922-1969) = American writer 🌈

• 03-12 = Patricia Campos Doménech (1977- ) = Spanish coach and pilot 🌈

• 03-12 = Vaslav Nijinsky (1890-1950) = Russian dancer and choreographer 🌈

MAN CRUSH(ES) OF THE DAY

“One must let the play happen to one; one must let the mind loose to respond as it will, to receive impressions, to sense rather than know, to gather rather than immediately understand.”
Edward Albee

“Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion.”
Jack Kerouac

• 01-04 = Dot-Marie Jones (1964- ) = American actor and arm wrestler 🌈

• 01-04 = Gianni Vattimo (1936- ) = Italian philosopher and politician 🌈

• 01-04 = Marsden Hartley (1877-1943) = American painter and poet 🌈

• 01-04 = Michael Stipe (1960- ) = American singer-songwriter 🌈

• 01-05 = Alvin Ailey (1931-1989) = American dancer and choreographer 🌈

• 01-06 = Gábor Szetey (1968- ) = Hungarian politician 🌈

• 01-06 = Joan of Arc (1412-1431) = French martyr and saint 🌈

• 01-06 = Kate McKinnon (1984- ) = American actor and comedian

• 01-06 = Nancy Ruth (1942- ) = Canadian Senator

• 01-06 = Simone de Beauvoir (1908-1986) = French writer and philosopher

• 01-07 = Caster Semenya (1991- ) = South African runner and activist

• 01-07 = Chester Kallman (1921-1975) = American poet, librettist, and translator

• 01-07 = Christian Louboutin (1963- ) = French footwear designer

• 01-07 = Jann Wenner (1946- ) = American publisher and Rolling Stone co-founder

• 01-07 = Michaela Jaé Rodriguez (1991- ) = American actor

• 01-07 = Michael Sam (1990- ) = American football player

• 01-08 = Cynthia Erivo (1987- ) = British actor and singer

• 01-08 = David Bowie (1947-2016) = British singer-songwriter and actor

• 01-08 = Edward Perry Warren (1860-1928) = American art collector and curator

• 01-08 = Gilbert Passmore (1942- ) = British artist (Gilbert & George)

• 01-08 = Jack Andraka (1997- ) = American inventor, scientist, and researcher

• 01-08 = Kerwin Mathews (1926-2007 ) = American actor

• 01-08 = Nacho Duato (1942- ) = Spanish dancer and choreographer

• 01-08 = Prince Albert Victor (1864-1892) = English royal

• 01-08 = Winnaretta Singer (1865-1943) = American heiress

• 01-09 = Lucy Hicks Anderson (1886-1954) = American socialite

• 01-09 = Simone De Beauvoir (1908-1986) = French philosopher and writer

• 01-09 = William Johnson Cory (1823-1892) = English classical scholar and poet

• 01-10 = Sal Mineo (1939-1976) = American actor

ICYMI = IN CASE YOU MISSED IT

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I made some good pictures, and I made some bad ones. I wasn’t trying to build an image, though; I was trying to build a life for myself.”
Sal Mineo

• 12-28 = F. W. Murnau (1888-1931) = German filmmaker 🌈

• 12-28 = Lili Elbe (1882-1931) = Danish artist and model 🌈

• 12-28 = Manuel Puig (1932-1990) = Argentine writer 🌈

• 12-29 = Billy Tipton (1914-1989) = American musician and bandleader 🌈

• 12-29 = Dylan Mulvaney (1996- ) = American actor and media personality 🌈

• 12-29 = Elsa Gidlow (1898-1986) = Canadian-American poet 🌈

• 12-29 = Katherine Moennig (1976- ) = American actor 🌈

• 12-29 = Lilly Wachowski (1967- ) = American filmmaker 🌈

• 12-29 = Paul Rudnick (1957- ) = American writer 🌈

• 12-29 = Paula Poundstone (1957- ) = American comedian and author 🌈

• 12-30 = Beauford Delaney (1901-1979) = American artist 🌈

• 12-30 = Paul Bowles (1910-1999) = American composer and writer 🌈

• 12-30 = Titus (39 BCE-81 BCE) = Roman emperor 🌈

• 12-31 = Diana Sacayán (1975-2015) = Argentinian activist 🌈

• 12-31 = Jennifer Higdon (1962- ) = American composer 🌈

• 12-31 = Joe Dallesandro (1948- ) = American actor and Warhol superstar 🌈

• 12-31 = Orry-Kelly (1897-1964) = Australian costume designer 🌈

• 12-31 = Taylor Mead (1924-2013) = American actor and poet 🌈

• 01-01 = E. M. Forster (1879-1970) = English writer 🌈

• 01-01 = J. Edgar Hoover (1895-1972) = American law enforcement administrator and 1st FBI Director 🌈

• 01-01 = James Hormel (1933-2021) = American philanthropist and diplomate 🌈

• 01-01 = Joe Orton (1933-1967) = English playwright 🌈

• 01-01 = Martine Rothblatt (1954- ) = American lawyer, author, and entrepreneur 🌈

• 01-01 = Toupie Lowther (1874-1944) = English tennis player 🌈

• 01-02 = Charles Beaumont (1929-1967) = American writer 🌈

• 01-02 = Christopher Durang (1949-2024) = American playwright 🌈

• 01-02 = Lynn Ann Conway (1938- ) = American scientist, engineer, and activist 🌈

• 01-02 = M. Carey Thomas (1857-1935) = American educator and linguist 🌈

• 01-02 = Todd Haynes (1961- ) = American filmmaker 🌈

• 01-02 = William Haines (1900-1973) = American actor and interior designer 🌈

THE END OF YEAR + BEYOND

There’s something about this final stretch of the year that invites introspection.

The holiday rush has mostly passed. The noise has softened. The calendar keeps ticking, but the urgency has loosened its grip. Time feels less like a taskmaster, demanding output, and more like a meditation guide, reminding me to breathe.

So I am giving myself permission to keep taking it easy through the end of the year. Though I’ll be around, doodling and noodling, I won’t be officially back to work until January 2, 2026. No dramatic resolutions this year. No pressure to reinvent my life just because the calendar changes.

This in-between time matters.

These are my favorite days to daydream. To let ideas drift without demanding immediate results. To jot down notes that don’t yet know what they want to become. To follow curiosity instead of productivity and see where it leads. Some thoughts will fade. Others will linger and quietly ask for more attention later. Both have their place.

Right now, I’m gathering ingredients. I’m revisiting old ideas with softer expectations. Entertaining new ones without worrying about timelines, algorithms, or whether they’ll translate neatly to the outside world. I’m clearing mental clutter. Noticing patterns. Paying attention to what keeps resurfacing.

This is the work beneath the work.

The quiet organizing.
The spacious thinking.
The pauses that make forward motion possible.

Rest, for me, isn’t disengagement. It’s recalibration.

I’m still showing up—just more gently. With intention instead of urgency. With curiosity instead of pressure. I’m tending the soil so the next season has something sturdy to grow from.

Because what comes next is already taking shape. In my mind anyway.

And I want to meet it rested. Clear. Open.
Not dragging the weight of 2025 into 2026.

My hope for the year ahead is simple, but expansive: to be productive and prosperous in ways that can’t be measured on a dashboard. Creative. Sustainable. Joy-forward. Built on ideas that feel aligned, not rushed.

So if I seem a little slower right now, please know that’s by design.
I’m not stalling. I’m preparing.

Here’s to moving gently through the end of the year.
To dreaming before doing.
To trusting that quiet seasons still count.

As 2025 is winding down, 2026 is already winding up.

Keep calm and keep clear!
Clint 🌈✌️

PORTRAIT + QUOTE OF THE DAY

“The only real freedom we have left is the home. Only there can we express anything we want.”
William Haines

• 12-21 = Michael Tilson Thomas (1944- ) = American conductor and composer 🌈

• 12-22 = Jean–Michel Basquiat (1960-1988) = American artist 🌈

• 12-22 = Marc Allégret (1900-1973) = French screenwriter and film director 🌈

• 12-23 = Mary Rozet Smith (1868-1934) = American philanthropist 🌈

• 12-24 = Brenda Howard (1946-2005) = American activist 🌈

• 12-24 = Galba (3 BCE-69 CE) = Roman emperor 🌈

• 12-24 = Lee Daniels (1959- ) = American filmmaker and tv producer 🌈

• 12-24 = Ricky Martin (1971- ) = Puerto Rican singer-songwriter and actor 🌈

• 12-24 = Stormé DeLarverie (1920-2014) = American drag king 🌈

• 12-25 = Albert Cashier (1843-1915) = Irish-American trans Union Army soldier 🌈

• 12-25 = Ismail Merchant (1936-2005) = Indian-English director and producer 🌈

• 12-25 = Quentin Crisp (1908-1999) = English author and illustrator 🌈

• 12-26 = David Sedaris (1956- ) = American comedian, author, and radio host 🌈

• 12-27 = Desiree Akhavan (1984- ) = American filmmaker, writer, and actor 🌈

• 12-27 = Guido Westerwelle (1961-2016) = German politician 🌈

• 12-27 = Lisa Kove (1958- ) = American civil servant and retired combat veteran 🌈

• 12-27 = Marlene Dietrich (1901-1992) = German-American actor and singer 🌈

• 12-27 = Martha Shelley (1943- ) = American activist, writer, and poet 🌈

• 12-27 = Wilson Cruz (1973- ) = American actor 🌈

WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON?

Two weeks ago, I got back from my first solo cruise wrapped in warm fuzzies and an afterglow of joy. I was a little tired. Insomnia and I are long-term frenemies, so that did not set off any alarms.

I unpacked. I napped. I told stories. And life started to roll on.

Or so I thought.

What followed was a slow, sneaky plot twist. The kind I didn’t see coming until I was already deep down in it, Nine Inch Nails style:

At first, I was just sleepy. Aggressively sleepy. Sleeping through alarms. Sleeping through entire days. Sleeping so much it stopped feeling restorative and started feeling wrong.

Then things got stranger.

My thoughts felt scrambled. My emotions became unpredictable. I felt disconnected from myself in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. Not sad, exactly. Not anxious in my usual way. Just…off. Unmoored. A little scary, if I’m being honest. There were moments when my brain was breaking up with me.

Long story short: the problem turned out to be some prescription interactions.

It was a perfect storm of medications that when taken individually were fine, but when taken together slowly turned my nervous system into Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory.

Thankfully, the morning things tipped from “this is concerning” into “what the hell is happening to me,” I had a follow-up appointment with my doctor. I walked into her office exhausted, foggy, and no longer fully trusting my own perceptions. But I did my best to describe the symptoms. I didn’t minimize them. I didn’t joke them away.

Once we looked at the full picture, it was clear something wasn’t right. Adjustments were made. Medications were discontinued. A plan was put in place. And the spiral slowly, over the course of days, stopped spinning.

I’m sharing this not for drama or sympathy, but for clarity. For myself. And for anyone who has ever thought, Why do I feel like I’m losing my grip when I’m doing everything “right”?

Sometimes it’s not burnout.
Sometimes it’s not mindset.
Sometimes it’s not a personal failing.
Sometimes it’s just chemistry, y’all.

I don’t love realizing how delicate my internal chemistry can be. I don’t love losing days to sleep I didn’t choose, or to thoughts that don’t feel like my own. And I really don’t love how quickly self-doubt creeps in when your brain is having technical difficulties.

Right now, I’m stabilizing. Slowly coming back into myself. Drinking water. Sleeping less (but still a lot). Paying attention. Being gentle instead of judgmental.

If the past couple of weeks have felt quiet from my side of the screen, I hope this helps explain why.

If nothing else, let this be a friendly reminder: if something feels off, trust that feeling. Ask questions. Advocate for yourself. You deserve to feel like you in your own head.

More soon. And thank you for the patience, the grace, and the quiet understanding.

Keep calm and push on!
Clint 🌈✌️

Today marks the birthday of the late, great author and poet Paul Monette, a writer whose words still burn with truth, tenderness, and fury.

I first discovered his award-winning memoir, Becoming A Man: Half A Life Story, while I was coming out in the early 1990s. The book felt like both a confession and a call to arms, a beautifully written account of one man’s fight to discover himself in a world that demanded he stay hidden.

To say Paul Monette’s story and storytelling moved me deeply would be an understatement.

What struck me most then, and still does now, is the way Monette wrote with equal parts love and rage. Love for the men he loved. Rage for the years stolen by shame and silence.

Monette knew that by telling his story, he might help others live theirs more freely.

All these years later, Becoming A Man remains one of those rare books that feels alive. Urgent, human, and heartbreakingly honest. It reminds me that all our stories matter. That even in the face of loss and grief and fear, we can choose to live as fully and truthfully as possible.

Today, on his 80th birthday, I remember and pay tribute to Paul Monette. I light candles to honor his courage and his craft, his love and his rage.

Thank you, Paul, for shining your light and helping so many find their own.

Keep calm and remember on…
Clint 🌈✌️

P.S. A few months ago, I was honored when a dear subscriber—hi, Victor!—reached out to share his memories of Paul Monette and his circle of friends and lovers. Paul and Victor were close friends until Paul’s bitter(sweet) end. I’m so grateful to have heard a few of their shared stories.

P.P.S. LGBTQ history rarely makes it into textbooks, so I think it’s up to us to document as much as we can…for ourselves and for the next generations.

FYC = FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION

• The Art Of Writing It Down ()

• Interview w/ Ballroom Icon Milton Garcia Ninja! ()

ON THIS DAY = OCTOBER 16

BIRTHDAYS

• 1758 = Noah Webster = American lexicographer

• 1854 = Oscar Wilde = Irish poet and playwright 🌈

• 1884 = Rembrandt Bugatti = Italian sculptor

• 1888 = Eugene O’Neill = American playwright and Nobel Prize laureate

• 1890 = Paul Strand = American photographer and director

• 1903 = Big Joe Williams = American singer-songwriter

• 1925 = Angela Lansbury = English-American actor, singer, and producer

• 1926 = Charles Dolan = American businessman and HBO founder

• 1928 = Mary Daly = American philosopher and theologian 🌈

• 1938 = Nico = German singer-songwriter, model, and actor

• 1940 = Barry Corbin = American actor and producer

• 1945 = Paul Monette = American author, poet, and activist 🌈

• 1946 = Suzanne Somers, American actor and producer

• 1947 = Bob Weir, American singer-songwriter

• 1947 = David Zucker, American filmmaker

• 1948 = André Leon Talley = American stylist and creative director 🌈

• 1958 = Tim Robbins, American actor, director, and screenwriter

• 1960 = Cressida Dick = British police commissioner 🌈

• 1961 = Scott O’Hara = American porn performer, writer, editor, and publisher 🌈

• 1962 = Flea = Australian-American bass player, songwriter, and actor

• 1969 = Wendy Wilson = American singer-songwriter

• 1971 = Paul Sparks = American actor

• 1977 = John Mayer = American singer-songwriter

• 1975 = Kellie Martin = American actor, director, and producer

• 1980 = Jeremy Jackson = American actor and singer

• 1980 = Sue Bird = American professional basketball player 🌈

• 1983 = Andrew Santino = American stand-up comedian and actor

EVENTS

• 1912 = Arnold Schoenberg‘s Pierrot Lunaire, sung by Albertine Zehme, premieres at the Berlin Choralion-Saal.

• 1916 = Margaret Sanger opens the first family planning clinic in the United States.

• 1923 = Walt Disney and his brother, Roy, found the Disney Brothers Cartoon Studio, today known as The Walt Disney Company.

• 1950 = The first novel of the The Chronicles of Narnia series by C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, was published in the UK.

• 2002 = The Bibliotheca Alexandrina opens in Egypt, commemorating the ancient library of Alexandria.

HOLIDAYS + OBSERVANCES

• LGBTQ History Month (October 1-31) 🌈🧐📚

• National Dictionary Day

• National Liqueur Day

• National Sports Day

• Spirit Day 💜💜💜

• World Food Day

PORTRAIT + QUOTE OF THE DAY

“Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.”
Oscar Wilde