Wisconsin Tour 2007 Highlights

"Youse guys are here for me and I'm here for youse guys."

As sweet a definition of a support group as I have ever heard--and in the language of my people, no less.

The source could have been from Wisconsin, or she could've been a UPer (denizen of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan), but the language is pure Upper Midwest, in case youse guys were wonderin'.

Yes, I'm back from five days in Wisconsin, featuring visits with one college buddy, three relatives, one friend of the family, 12 or so members of an anonymous fellowship, a friend from my Morocco days and 60 or so high school classmates (incl. spouses).

My trip was fraught--two of the relatives have fallen on very hard times, health-wise, and I don't have any friends who can think back on their high school days without flinching. (And it may not be a sign of an open heart/mind, but I do draw back a bit from anyone who tells me they had a blast in high school.... How, indeed, is that possible?)

Anyway, to add to the fray, I agreed (sort of) to do some standup at my reunion. This prospect bothered some of my comic friends--particularly my Comedy Buddy--to no end, but it seemed like a good idea to me.

And you know what? It was a good idea. While the setup was terrible--a very bad sound system was blaring the worst hits of the '70s before I went up, and the head of the reunion committee introduced me repeatedly (at least four times, I kid you not) as a "professional comic"--my set went very well. Sure, there was some dead air, but not as much as at your average Elks Club, and when my classmates laughed, they laughed but good.

The best part was afterwards, when a couple of people pulled me aside to tell me their "gay-friendly" stories. They were personal, so I won't repeat them here, but considering the sources were guys who lived their entire lives in either my home town or a town of about 3,000 people in the same state, their tales were remarkable. Heart-warming. Balm for this ol' dykesaurus' soul.

But the best part of the evening? Long before I performed, I got a hug from someone in my class who could have easily given me the cold shoulder--or worse--and had cause to do so.

That verged on the miraculous, really. Made the whole trip worthwhile, in an instant.

Healing in the Heartland, people--if it can happen there, it can happen anywhere.

It is good to be home, however. I had to get out of there before I ate any more saturated fat--the state is teeming with it, and while I made sure to eat at least some fruits and vegetables each day, I realized I am powerless over the food of my forefathers and mothers.

Let's just say I didn't count WW points on this trip. I studiously ignored them.

My favorite off-the-charts repast was a plate of potato salad. Now I'm sure it had more points than Heinz has pickles, but who can refuse a plate of fresh potato salad? Especially when it was prepared by a great gal named Florence who tells you stories about your dear departed parents, and who catches you up on the "kids" who still live in town?

Would you turn it down? You're made of sterner stuff than I, Dear Reader.

It is good to be home, even though I received my first "hate" mail upon my return. Wrote a letter to the editor of our local paper in response to a call to arms by MassEquality, and received what was intended to be hate mail, but actually was quite hilarious.

The message? "Dirty Fagg."

Yes, indeed. Not only did this person call this 100% dyke a fag, he or she SPELLED IT WRONG.

The clincher: The person also put a return address on the envelope containing this terse bit of balderdash.

Is it any wonder the anti-gay folks aren't exactly doing well?