Of Civil Unions and Civil Rights: Gay Fathers Testify in Annapolis

A cold wind whips through Annapolis on a Monday night, but the crowd is untouched. Several hundred people gather next to the Governor’s Mansion for a demonstration. Every ten feet or so someone holds up a sign with a district number. Police orbit the crowd waiting for trouble, but mostly giving directions.

It looks like any rally you’d see during legislative session in Maryland, until you notice the two young men in business attire clutching each other close to get warm. And the signs that read, “I Love My Two Gay Dads.”

It’s the movement for same sex marriage and tonight they are going to see their representatives in Annapolis. What only a few years ago seemed a wild dream has become a movement. And it’s a movement that appears to be getting stronger by the day.

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Saying Goodbye to the Year of the Pig

2007, year of the pig. Lest we forget, in this time of times, these things that may well be forgotten, and in no particular order:

1. America woke up and noticed that its infrastructure was collapsing - in July during a New York City steam explosion and then again in August when a highway bridge in Minneapolis disintegrated into the Mississippi during rush hour, leaving 12 dead. America thought that was too bad, then rolled over and went back to sleep. No word on how the nation’s little things like, say, the power grid, suspension bridges, or tunnels feel on the matter.

2. Can’t forget the Great Boston Aqua Teen Hunger ForceTerror Bombing Campaign in January, where stupid Lite-Brite signs of stupid 10 pixel robots placed around the city as a movie promotion brought the Homeland Security Dept to it’s knees. Continue reading Saying Goodbye to the Year of the Pig

Camera Obscura: A Smalltown Photographer’s Guide to Covering International Politics

I am a photojournalist for a smallish daily newspaper in the Baltimore/DC area. NO, NOT that one.

To apply for credentials to cover the Annapolis Peace Conference, hereby known as the APC, because I’m so tired of typing the word ‘conference,’ required filling out an application with the standard personal info and numbers over a secure email program you had to download.

You also had to send in a photograph of yourself, sized at the odd 1- and-3/8th inches. After asking around the newsroom, I had to call my wife who figured out that meant 1.377 in computer talk.

All was diligently completed before the holiday and a confirmation email was received. Things were looking good. Let me add, I was really looking forward to this. The eyes of the world on my town; my coverage area. I don’t care what it is, if it happens in my town, I shoot it. So it’s especially great when something actually happens. Continue reading Camera Obscura: A Smalltown Photographer’s Guide to Covering International Politics

Smashing Pumpkins, Blowing Chunks

Early nineties. Late teens. The time in life where you’re just starting to figure out that you can go places and do things; that you have limitless options. The idea both terrified and exhilarated you. And, you’re a punk.

One of your bands was playing in DC. The Red Hot Chili Peppers. You got tickets for you and your 15-year-old girlfriend. Her parents wouldn’t let her drive to DC with you, so they drove her and her friends and you met there. You went with your friends. You’d never driven all the way into DC before.

First person. We got to the show and had to wait outside. This was before I realized that rock shows never start on time, so the only people in line were the other punk kids who had also not realized this. And my beautiful, dyed hair army jacket girlfriend.

And it was cold. REAL cold. Mid-winter cold. DC outside a club cold. An hour went by, and I’d do anything to stay warm. One of my friends was smoking, which I didn’t then. Maybe a cigarette would keep me warm.

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I is for International Imbroglio

Starting this is hard. I promised to have this done by Sunday night, and here it is Saturday night and 20 words down. I needed a deadline to actually produce, so I told Matt Sunday night. So here I am, the wife and baby asleep, trying to produce.Matt asked me what I was going to write about. “Something geopolitical,” I said. Smart sounding way a of saying I’m not sure. “Something geopolitica,l” it can really cover an endless body of blathering, as I hope we will soon find.

Maybe an introduction first, I’ve been on the boards but this is my first story. My name’s Joshua. 34, married 7 years, one daughter. Professional journalist, photojournalist in detail. Been in “the business” 8 years, now working at a daily newspaper in the Baltimore/DC area. No, not that one. Not that one either. The plan was to slowly move up the ladder and land at one of the big guys, then sit back and work for thirty years. It seems, however, that when I wasn’t looking the ladder had caught fire and maybe it wasn’t going as high as we were led to believe in the first place.

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