Pulling the Plug

I'm not the only one who refuses to pay exorbitant cable bills. Apparently hundreds of thousands of people are unplugging and relying on Hulu, Netflix, iTunes, and DVD sets for their TV fixes. (And of course there's my rabbit ears!) Over 9000 comments have been posted in response to that story on Yahoo News.

I've actually adjusted to my limited channel access (now down to just two channels after my most recent auto channel scan). I no longer feel a compulsion to channel surf until I'm sure I'm watching just the thing I'd rather watch over all other possible choices. It no longer matters whether I hit the Channel Up or Channel Down button, since it only alternates between two channels. I'm enjoying the very easy decision of which channel to watch, especially since 95% of the time channel 20 isn't worth watching.

Which leads to the surprising finding that there are some pretty good shows on 5! Who knew that I would be watching so much FOX? I wouldn't yet call them my favorite shows (and does the word "favorite" mean anything in the absence of choice?), but I readily admit to liking them a lot. Human Target (impossibly handsome, hunky Christopher Chance, always cool and physically capable in the face of hopeless odds, and nice as can be), Bones (the comical but tortured dance between Bones and Agent Booth as they solve forensic mysteries), and House (the inappropriate, abrasive, brilliant Gregory House) all keep me interested. And I have become addicted to American Idol for the first time, too.

Life without premium paid TV isn't impossible - which is a good thing, since Verizon has apparently abandoned plans to expand its FiOS fiber optic network into Alexandria. With the exception of missing the winter Olympics, I don't feel I've suffered much at all. And without a way to record (not that I can watch anything I'd want to record now), I just shrug when I miss a show I'd wanted to see, rather than getting upset.

I've always lamented the loss of simpler times, and now, in a small way, I have rediscovered them.

Let's Hear It For the Boy!

Ricky Martin has "finally" (according to many) come out of the closet in the climactic ending to a deeply thoughtful piece on the homepage of his website, proclaiming to be a "fortunate homosexual man." Hallelujah!

It's about time, right? What took him so long?? Everyone knew that already, so what was he waiting for?

I just read a Washington Post article that detailed a 2008 study showing that both gay and straight people are very good at guessing sexual orientation. People correctly guessed 87% of the time when shown videos of straight people and 75% of the time with videos of gay people. My own gaydar has never resembled a spinning weathervane when considering Ricky Martin, but apparently I'm in the minority.

Speculation has been wild and sporadic over the years, certainly fed by Ricky's declining to answer Barbara Walters' needling questions in an infamous interview in 2000, which Walters now regrets. The persistence of the rumors alone was enough to make some believe them. Certainly people were more than ready to hear him confess that the rumors were true. So why did he wait ten years after evading Walters' question on national television?

As I came out to friends and family over several years, various people tried to make it safe for me to do so. Some cracked the door open just enough for a little light to enter, while others tried to reach in and pull me out. A dear friend invited me to a dinner party, adding, "You can bring anyone you want - ANYONE." A co-worker made reference to going downtown, dramatically winking with a knowing glance. Another co-worker noted the rainbow on my birthday cake and said, "Mark likes rainbows - RIGHT, MARK?"

My sister in-law, after the fact, told me she had wondered and had wanted to just ask me point-blank, but my brother had advised her to hold her question. Whether he was offering wise advice or simply exercising our family's talent for avoiding uncomfortable issues, he was right; depending on when she had considered asking me, I would have either denied it or become paralyzed and speechless with mortification.

In the years immediately preceding my coming out, I had been deeply involved with an "ex-gay" ministry (in fact, I was in leadership) and considered myself fundamentally straight. I was not ready to come out even to myself. And the years immediately following my coming out were uncertain and a little scary. I was in my 30s, and it was tricky navigating such a total change in my life. Coming out to others was a slow, gradual process and depended on my relationship to each person I told.

The right time for me to have come out was not when everyone was ready to hear it; it was when I was ready to tell them.

Ricky Martin was not ready to tell the world in 2000, or at any time during the next ten years. Ricky Martin was ready last week. Yes, it might seem like "finally" to the rest of us. But when he came out on his blog, he was able to do so with dignity, grace, and pride, on his own terms. And that is what I'm celebrating.

Potomac Winds Blowing Sweet Sounds

I help keep the rhythm going on my djembe* as each flute player in the circle takes a turn allowing his or her spirit to lead in song. I'm glad I spent time on the Web learning the basic strokes, and I try to incorporate tones, slaps, and basses in my drumming. Finally, recording artist and world flutist Suzanne Teng takes a turn with her flute, dancing in the middle of the circle as she plays. She gets closer to me, and then for an instant our eyes meet, and we are playing to each other. I was drumming for Suzanne Teng!

Never mind that someone else was playing a djembe, and on the other side of the circle someone was playing a doumbek, and over there was Gilbert Levy, percussionist extraordinaire and her partner in music and life, leading us all. That moment was still mine.

It was the final workshop at the 7th annual Potomac Native American Flute Festival in Arlington, Virginia, and the climax of a great weekend of flutes and friends. For this festival, my fourth, I accepted an invitation to serve as what would come to be known as an "uber-volunteer," basically being available to help for the entire festival, rather than just a few hours here or there. It was well worth the long hours to become much more a part of the festival than ever before.

Mostly I helped with food service: keeping the snack table stocked, making urns of coffee, putting large trays of sandwiches out for lunch, taking meal tickets, and generally keeping an eye on things. But I also sat at the information desk, sold CDs, took tickets at the Saturday night concert, and helped vendors move their wares.

In between shifts I had ample opportunity to try out flutes from the various vendors - always a high point of the festival. It's just amazing how different a flute made by one maker sounds from one made by another. Discovering each flute's unique voice is one of the greatest pleasures a "flutie" can have.

Every year we are blessed by having some of the finest flute makers in the country here: Colyn Petersen, Brent Haines, Brad Young, Hawk Henries, and several others. We are also lucky to have some newer, perhaps unfamiliar makers come to the festival to expand our flute world.

Last year I decided my next flute would be a high Hawk Henries. He had one I really liked, but since I had just dropped some serious money on a custom flute by Brent Haines, I waited a whole year, just thinking about that flute. And I'm glad I did, because now he had a gorgeous spalted birch version of it with an Alaskan yellow cedar bird and endcaps. I knew as soon as I saw it and blew my song into it on the opening day of the festival that it was mine.

Every flute Hawk makes is stunning in its simplicity and natural beauty. He adds no decorative frills, and that somehow allows the woodgrain of every flute to be the star of the show. The bird (totem) is typically small and flat - again, simple and

unobtrusive, pleasing to the eye but not calling attention to itself. The leather ties securing the bird to the flute are thin and unadorned with beads or feathers, simply enhancing the overall look.

He uses only hand tools to make his flutes, and yet each one seems perfect and exact. When you pick one up, you are struck by how silky it feels under your fingers.

Hawk Henries' flutes are a perfect reflection of the quiet, gentle, unassuming, beautiful man he is.

My new flute, however, has to be a cut above all the other flutes Hawk brought this year. The spalted birch is fascinating and beautiful to look at, and the Alaskan yellow cedar complements it perfectly. And its aroma is intoxicating.

But let's not forget its sound! While it's definitely beautiful enough to serve only as a decorative piece, it is ultimately its voice which brings it home for flute players. And this flute has a high, distinct - forgive me - bird-like sound. It chortles and barks, too, so there is plenty of interest in what might otherwise be a limiting range.

I had a golden opportunity to become familiar with other makers' flutes as well, while sitting at the information desk. Right across from me sat more than a dozen flutes donated by their makers to be raffled off throughout the weekend. They just begged to be played, so of course I obliged! Here was a Colyn Petersen, always reliably clear and resonant. Here was an interesting cane flute by Geri Littlejohn, who often makes flutes in their natural state, like actual tree branches. Here was a Leonard McGann, a Brent Haines - and here was an incredible raven's head flute by Brad Young. It became the flute I couldn't stop playing. The sound was just beautifully clear, and it was so easy to play well. By the end of the afternoon I had become quite attached to it, though I knew someone else would probably win it.

Later in the day, I found out I had won a flute! It wasn't the Brad Young, but rather the river cane flute by Geri Littlejohn, also one I liked playing, so I was very happy.

The cane comes from the coastal areas of the Southeast, and Geri gave it an interesting finish by burning it in places and then applying a coat of oil. This also gave the flute a wonderful smell which reminded me of a campfire.

Of course the best part of the festival was sharing my interest in and love of the Native American Flute with other like-minded people and making new friends in the process. I am struck by the wonder of being in such company, sharing in our unspoken understanding of the captivation we feel with this incredible instrument, and laughing at the "sickness" we all have in common, the inability to stop buying more flutes. (Nobody's trying to get well, either!)

After the excitement of playing my djembe with Suzanne Teng and Gilbert Levy at the final workshop on Sunday, I talked with Gilbert for quite a while about drumming. ("It all boils down to boom-chic.") The last event was an Open Mic, and then we tore down, packed, and cleaned up. My new friend Jeff from upstate New York sat tapping out his Sunday festival report for the online Flute Portal on his iPhone. Debbie swept the now-empty vendor area with a broom. Vendors trickled out, hugging and saying goodbye until next year.

I was sorry to see the festival end, but I felt re-energized, and that was my hope for attending. What's next? Attending the Northern Virginia Flute Circle, for sure. Considering making the trip to Musical Echoes or Native Rhythms in Florida, or the Pacific Northwest Flute Quest. Going to a drum circle to play my djembe. And of course throwing my name in to serve as on-site staff at next year's Potomac Flute Festival!

*African hand drum

Photo credits: 1) Suzanne Teng playing flute, me directly behind her playing djembe, photo courtesy of Jefferson Svengsouk; 2) Night Writer, 3) Night Writer