say, uncle…

An uncle of mine recently passed away. We were always very close and he served as a surrogate father to me after my biological father was killed in an elevator accident when I was a toddler. He spent lots of time with me, up until my mom remarried. My stepfather drank a lot and he didn’t like my uncle competing with him for my respect, as he described it. It also drove him crazy that my uncle always seemed to have plenty of money even though nobody ever really knew what he did for a living. Things worsened to the point of violence. Both my mother and I lived in terror of my stepdad, and for years we tolerated his harsh words and fists. The day before my uncle died I visited him in the hospital. He gave me an envelope that held a key to a locker in the Greyhound bus station downtown. He told me that if he’d ever had children, he’d wish them to turn out just like me. He made me promise never to tell a soul about our conversation and to never, ever look back. The next morning I went to visit him at the hospital and found that he had slipped away in the wee hours of the morning. On the way home from the hospital, I stopped at the bus station and found the locker that matched the key he’d given me. Inside was a large duffel bag stuffed tight with stacks of crisp, $50 bills. It’s a really big amount. I realize that I should probably report the money to the authorities, but that’s not going to happen. Here’s my question: Should I spend at least part of the money on hiring a thug to beat up my stepfather?

The Gay Perspective: In this case, living well truly is the best revenge. Don’t waste another penny on that jerk.

Ruthless says: Go west, young man! (Wait, are you not a man? Is that why you want to hire someone to beat up your stepfather? Well, either way.)

This is the making of a profound and beautiful story. Imagine yourself—the Isolato if you will—with nothing but the duffel bag, the clothes on your back and a one-way bus ticket to California to your name. Oh, and a journal and pen to record your thoughts along your travels. Forget your stepfather, life awaits you!

Alternately, you could go see Into the Wild at the Market Arcade. It’s a short walk from the bus station. Afterward, you can walk around the corner to Billy O’s Golden Swan and down a bottle of whatever is your poison. Stay there for hours. Then go home and beat up your stepfather yourself.

loose lips

For years I’ve prided myself on the advice I give to friends. They are always seeking me out and asking me what I would do in this or that situation. Usually, my advice is pretty benign and upbeat, but recently I told a very close friend that her husband was having an affair. A waitress friend of mine had relayed this information to me. Well, turns out she was wrong. It was a different guy who looked just like my friend’s husband. But now my friend’s husband has moved out and is seeking a divorce, saying he’s sick of my friend’s wild accusations and is no longer happy. I guess I feel bad about it but I was only trying to help.

Dr. Sigmund Fraud says: Giving advice is an awesome responsibility that should never be taken lightly. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? Yes, this time your incessant meddling has completely blown up in your face. You’ve ruined a friendship and a marriage with one careless piece of gossip. That’s not easy to do, but you’ve done it. Don’t give us the “I was only trying to help” routine. You’re not a child. You knew how much damage your accusation would do, yet you passed on a piece of hearsay just so you could revel in spreading bad news. Now that you realize you in fact managed to propagate a wicked lie that is about to ruin the lives of two people, you “guess” you feel bad about it? All I can say is “Wow!” You are utterly despicable.

And yet I am strangely attracted.

Ruthless says: If he’s not the kind of guy to stick with her through false accusations of infidelity, then she doesn’t want him anyway. Likewise, if she’s not the kind of friend to stick with you after you falsely accused her husband of infidelity, then you don’t want her anyway. And if you’re not the kind of friend to make sure a story that could potentially destroy lives and families is true before passing it along, then she doesn’t want you either. You know, ironically (or is it paradoxically? I can never decide) it sounds like this story worked out just about the same as it would have if the infidelity were true. This was a lose-lose-lose situation from the get go.

PS: Are you still talking to your waitress friend?

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