CommuniKate

Some have asked, “How did YOU get invited to the White House State dinner?” The incredulity of the question implies we were like the reality couple that crashed the dinner. They were the first couple we saw when we arrived by taxi. I’m not one of those new security behavioral observers, nor do I play one on TV, but they seemed odd.

They came with a camera crew and their exit from a black stretch Hummer limo was well-lit in the dim evening. She was a tall thin blonde in a garish red beaded sari-esque something and he was stocky, grinning junior high coach looking guy. They stood behind us in line. I heard her tell Pepsico’s CEO, Indra Nooyi how they’d just gotten back from India and that it was great shopping. Does wincing make a sound?

Okay is two paragraphs enough on that episode before the whole amazing evening gets derailed by those self-serving balloon boy gate crashers and the media makes a four day news cycle out of If-Obama-can’t-protect-the-White-House-how-will-he-protect-the-country-narrative like it was some kind of 9.11 breach? Ugh.

As an Indian and long time activist Urvashi was invited and she brought me. Since we were in a very diverse room for mainstream DC where media and government boldface names were gathered, we vowed to work it.

At the cocktail reception, we met as many people as we could and after suitably pleasant openers, pushed either for LGBT equality or for peace. Both if we had time. When we were hustled through the receiving line to meet the very cool President Obama, the very hot First Lady, and the Indian guests of honor, Urvashi thanked Mr. Obama for what he is trying to do and suggested he be tougher on the right wing. I seconded that. Urvashi and I held hands and represented as we walked past the press. We worked the dining room. At our table we again inserted peace and full equality whenever we could. It wasn’t like, “Pass the papardam, I’m a pro-choice, pro-peace lesbian, here’s the chutney.” But close.

During the entertainment, before Jennifer Hudson practically blew the tent down, I sat thinking how ironic it was that a month earlier we had been in DC for the Equality March. We weren’t gassed or thrown in jail and there we were at a state dinner sitting next to the CEO of Tata in India and the new US Commerce Secretary.

Others have asked, “WHAT did you wear?” Since you asked, Urvashi wore a red silk kurta with an embroidered shawl, and I wore a knee length black Nehru-esque jacket and pants with an orange scarf.

If you are coming to New York City during the holidays and you want to see a show – book some tickets to The 39 Steps. Based on the movie by Alfred Hitchcock, it is a comedic tour de farce with some of the best physical comedy I’ve seen live. Four actors play fifty characters at break neck speed with accents to match. Thank god for Velcro. Harriet Levy, my friend and Broadway producer maven, invited me to moderate the talk back after the show and I was honored to be close to such talent. Nearly speechless, actually.

Heck, while you’re in New York, go to the Natural History Museum. You won’t see Ben Stiller, but it’s amazing. I was there to see the award-winning documentary Edie and Thea: A Very Long Engagement in the Margaret Mead Theater. The documentarians, Susan Muska and Greta Olafsdottir and Edie her wonderful self were there to answer questions. After the film, we rambled out through the museum and wondered why we don’t go there more often. Or every day.

Since I was in New York, I had the honor of emceeing the outrageous 75th Birthday Party for Gloria Steinem at the Gramercy Park Hotel. It was good to be together with strong feminist women in the wake of the Stupak-Pitts amendment to limit abortion funding. But Gloria seems to sigh and soldier on; she’s an inspiration. Historian Blanche Wiesen Cook spoke and then Ann Hampton Callaway improvised a kicker birthday song to Gloria. As an extra bonus, the party benefited The Ms. Foundation.

And again, because I was in New York, I was able to do a last minute fill-in on an over-populated panel Joy Behar’s new CNN show. I got a few words in, but let me be clear that while Sarah Palin has been a comedy gift, she is dangerous and clueless about her folksy demagoguery.

I left New York to do the last show of my 2009 “Yes on K8!” Tour at the beloved Birchmere in Alexandria, VA just outside of DC. First I stopped at the Lambda Bookstore in DuPont circle, signed books and chatted with old friends and fascinating readers. What was a sad day in DC – the first Friday in forty years that the Washington Blade would not be published – was slightly improved by the appearance of “The DC Agenda” a thin broadside put out by the plucky Blade Staff covering news of DC City Council’s defense of marriage equality in the face of mighty bishoprics.

I write this from Syracuse, New York where I just attended the 90th birthday party of my dear comic mom, Jane Heitzman. I’ve known her for almost fifty years and it was Jane who introduced me to Nichols and May, Moms Mabley, Bell Barthe and much more. She would make me do dramatic readings in different accents of the many Christmas letters they received. I did some of my best early performances for her. She is as hilarious as ever and still appreciates a champagne cocktail.

If you have read this far, and thank you, I know you’re busy with holiday plans, you will look forward to my next blog with all the details of the White House State Dinner for the Prime Minister of India that I will attend with my dear partner on Tuesday night. I almost tossed the invite by mistake. Note to self: if it’s embossed, read it.

“Purpose of your visit?”

“To visit friends.”

“And you’re only staying one night?”

“It’s for a party.”

“Are you bringing gifts?”

“No.”

As usual I began my trip to Vancouver, feeling like a really bad friend. As we began our descent into the clouds over the beautiful western Canadian city, I was feeling a little feverish, and worried it might be the Swine Flu. But it turns out, it was Olympic Fever. The Winter Games begin in February and there’s a frantic undertone in the usual tranquility of Vancouver.

The veteran organizer Pat Hogan of Sounds and Furies Productions met me. She really is a production feminist friend from way back and seems to have longer days than most mortals. The show was in Wise Hall, an old cultural and sports center, that has been refurbished from its days as a post-game drinking hole for Welsh, Scottish, Irish and English teams. I had prepared for the requisite percentage of “Canadian content” but was mostly chagrinned to be describing our American struggle for marriage equality and healthcare. They have both in Canada. Their forbearance had just a tinge of justifiable smugness.

The next day, after hours of annoying if efficient immigration lines, I flew into Seattle, WA and hitched a ride with Seattle producer, Paul Bauer for a one hour drive to Olympia. Nothing like car rides for uninterrupted catch-up. That night I performed at the gorgeous Washington Center. Before the show, I stopped over to the Chica’s Café for a 50th birthday party my friend Kathy [aka Doodle] Smith hosted for her girlfriend. I’ll go anywhere for a Scorpio sister.

The next morning I left two days of rain and fifty degrees. In the Northwest they don’t say rain. They say drizzle, and only tourists use umbrellas. One woman told me since it rains all the time, you just can’t give into it. But what about my hair?
When I landed in Phoenix it was hot and dry. Luckily I had stored up hydration or I would have split down the middle.

But the ever-prepared Barbara McCullough-Jones, from Equality Arizona met me with a bottle of water. EA has done lots of events at the Fairmont Hotel in Scottsdale, so my lodgings were gratis. The place is a huge resort, but the man who took me to my room knew the way and it turned out he was from my hometown of Buffalo, NY. On our long trek, we shared about lake effect and the heartbreak of the Buffalo Bills.

That night I performed to a great crowd at the Wrigley Mansion. Yes, of the gum fame. Though not Nicorette, so what’s the point? Arizona is a state that has valiantly fought the Mormons and the right wing for marriage equality, so it was a great night to let off steam. Also good hydration.

After a great breakfast chat with Barbara about all the strategies they’ve been doing to change hearts and minds in AZ, I flew to Tucson. The town is a bit bluer than the red of Phoenix and that day they were having their huge annual Day of the Dead Parade. The lovely Kristen Birner, a friend from back in the Olivia, Redwood travel booking days, and a transplant to Tucson of six years, produced the show for the Alliance. At the reception after I met the Alliance board members, Lane Aldrich an artist and transplant from Bowling Green OH, special guests and a wonderful group of young LGBT and allies who work with Wingspan, their LGBT center.

The next morning at 5am, Jeff who with his partner runs The Royal Elizabeth B&B where I stayed very happily, got up and drove me to the airport. He wouldn’t hear of taxi. Jeff and Chuck are Long Island/DC transplants – I met one native Arizonan in two days – gracious hosts and political activists. I had one of the best early morning to the airport conversations I’ve ever had. Even better than the 430a ride to O’Hare with the vet at the Chicago Zoo who told me how she got rhino semen. Another story, another time.

Safely and happily home now in Manhattan. It’s freaky warm for November and about to rain, this day after my birthday. My life is a gift.

At 7:30 this election morning, we walked to our local polling place in the elementary school, past the “Vote Aqui” signs, past the bake sale moms, the cellophaned chocolate chip Frisbees and into the voting area. The elderly near-sighted, hard-of-hearing, darling polling ladies found our names. We signed the right spaces, went into the booth and voted. I love yanking that riverboat-sized lever that registers my votes. We walked out. It took about five minutes.

Last year we went to vote at 6 a.m., joined the end of a huge, line snaking down the block, dark morning air dotted with puffs of steam from coffee. Inside the packed, bikram muggy voting area, we were sent from one table to the next, stood in more lines and finally voted for Barack Obama. It took about an hour. It was just getting light as we left.

What a year it has been. No doubt you have your own ups and downs for your personal political highlights reel. When I view my own reel it seems to go into slo-mo on gay issues at first with Rick Warren, DADT and DOMA dallying, but then speeds up with the signing of the Hate Crimes bill and the lifting of the HIV immigration ban. I used the split screen function for economy, environment and education highlights. Obama’s got a lot going on. I spliced in a lot of art, music, vegetable garden, and Michelle footage. Lots of Michelle highlights. There’s too much quagmire footage.

I’m waiting to hear how my brother Bill did in his re-election bid to his city council in PA and for LGBT news from Kalamazoo, Washington and Maine. The governor’s race in NJ is too close to call. Our mayor’s audacious bid for a third term seems a done deal.

But mostly I am remembering last Election Day, stomach in knots, approaching-avoiding exit poll news, obsessively cleaning. That night at a friend’s house we watched, stunned as Barack Hussein Obama hit the required electoral count and heard the city erupt around us. Today a year after that historic election night, I realize I am happy to be a year into the Obama administration.