December 04, 2006

Making Lemonade

Posted by: Citizen Crain

It's that time again. Time to uproot myself again and fly 5,000 miles away from home, to what will be my new home, in Rio De Janeiro. It was great for me to have some time back in Washington, albeit at a long distance from my better half. If we had the choice, Washington is where we'd call home.

But when life gives you lemons, you do your best to make lemonade. And as lemonade goes, Rio is mighty, mighty tasty.

November 11, 2006

The Boy From Ipanema

Posted by: Citizen Crain

(A quick note — I've never been too comfortable writing about my own life; in a decade as an editor I wrote maybe a dozen columns that were personal. But that's supposed to be one of the liberating things about blogging, so forgive me the indulgence.)

OK, so he's from Belém, not Ipanema. But Ipanema is where we met, and that's where he is now. As for me — just three days back in Washington and the distance is already beginning to take its toll. 

At the risk of throwing a pity party for one, can I ask why this has to be so difficult? Despite annoying claims from self-help authors and Bible-thumpers, there's no manual for life, and even less so for relationships. Then throw in some uniquely modern problems that my own relationship struggles with.

The whole idea of long-term, committed same-gender relationships tried en masse is an entirely novel concept. And rather than be embraced for trying to settle into stable households, many of our (former) friends, family, and fellow citizens condemn us for it.

The idea of commitment has no doubt come more naturally to the lesbians than us gay men. Credit the horrific HIV pandemic with helping so many to finally see the advantages of hearth and home over being a ho, and then doubly credit growing acceptance and coming out at an early age with improving our odds for success.

Just as new and unique is the long-distance relationship, at least tried by so many, enabled by cheap long distance and discount air carriers. The last five years have really revolutionized things; the Internet and new technology have made national borders seem as irrelevant to the heart as crossing a state line. I like the take from my friends at Love Exile, a group of gay Americans forced to live abroad to be with their non-American partners:

The world is getting smaller and smaller; more and more people travel the world, where they make friends and meet lovers who sometimes become partners.

That's what happened for me and the Boy in Ipanema. And so far so good — actually, so wonderful — almost two years later. But as anyone with long-distance history can tell you, there comes a point — that fish-or-cut-bait point — when growing as a couple means finding a way to be together for more than just visits, whatever the duration.

We forestalled that inevitability for a long time, thanks be to Skype! Even so far apart, we chat online throughout the day and talk by Internet telephone every night. With the latest Skype version, we're even able to see and talk live, in real-time by webcam.

Still, decision-time arrived and I never gave serious thought to anything but relocation. Bringing him to the U.S. is impossible with our incredibly restrictive immigration laws, and I'm not even talking about the anti-gay ones. My American friends are amazed to learn he's never once visited me here, or been to the U.S., or even spent more than a weekend in an English-speaking country. But such is life in post-9/11, xenophobic America. (Don't tell me immigration would be such a hot-button issue if Canadians were sneaking across the border instead of Spanish-speaking, dark-skinned Latinos.)

Of course, if we were a straight couple, those immigration woes would magically disappear. U.S. law requires only that we've met a single time for a "fiancé visa" allowing a visit here to marry, with permanent residence (green card) to follow. There's even an exception for that single requirement if we could prove economic hardship or a cultural background that frowns on husband-wife face-time pre-nuptial.

Not so for gay relationships, where becoming involved with an American can actually make it more difficult for the non-American to get a visa, even as a tourist, because our government suspects the foreign lover won't go home before the time expires.

So here we are, almost two years later. Still together despite the usual relationship throes, completely different backgrounds, a huge initial language barrier and even a brutal beating by seven thugs for holding hands in the street. Back in Washington, I hope to quickly sell my condo and my car and most of my possessions, so I can get back to Rio and Ipanema Boy.

This week, I allowed myself the quick fantasy of the new Democratic-controlled Congress slipping gay partnership rights into the coming immigration reforms. Thinking about that prospect tonight, I remembered how Democrats reacted when they gave Republicans a "thumping" in another midterm election, way back in 1974. (OK, so I was a precocious 9-year-old political junkie.)

"W.I.N." buttons made popular by President Ford to "Whip Inflation Now," got turned upside down by his Democratic opponents: "N.I.M.," they said, "No Immediate Miracles."

October 14, 2006

Long-distance dedication

Posted by: Citizen Crain

Even though my boyfriend and I are in the process of locating in the same city, for the next month or so we are still very much long distance: Washington, D.C. to Rio De Janeiro, Brazil.

Those who've done it know the positives (yes, there are some) and negatives that come from being in love with someone in a distant zip code, country, or in our case, continent. One downside is the emotional toll it can take when travel plans go awry, as they are wont to do. That's what happened to us on Thursday, when I caught my Continental Airlines flight to Rio, which was connecting through Houston.

I knew I was in for a rough day when, a few hours before the flight, I rechecked my reservation only to discover the flight was out of distant Dulles Airport, not the nearby National Airport (I won't call it Reagan Airport, out of deference to a close friend who still remembers that administration's deadly silence in the early days of AIDS).

As my taxi approached Dulles, we got caught it a massive traffic backup on the special road devoted to airport travel; a truck had flipped over and spilled its contents onto the highway, shutting down one of two lanes for traffic.

I actually still managed to catch my flight, but the pilot announced once we were airborne that thunderstorms in Houson had closed George H.W. Bush Airport (no rule against using his name, is there William?), and we would have to divert to Gulfport, Miss., just to refuel while we waited for it to reopen. By the time we arrived in Houston, my flight to Rio had left 20 minutes earlier.

Waiting in line at the Continental desk, I heard the agent explain to a woman who missed the same flight our depressing options: wait TWO days and fly out on Saturday night, arriving Sunday morning, or take an incredibly circuitous route on Friday: Houston to Newark to Sao Paulo to Rio, arriving Saturday morning.

She chose the latter but when it was my turn, I convinced the very nice Continental agent to let me switch to partner Delta Airlines, from which I'd purchased the ticket, and fly to Atlanta on Friday and then to Rio in the redeye on Friday night, arriving Saturday. That's what I did, finally arriving at our apartment in Ipanema almost 48 hours after I caught the taxi in Washington.

I'm thankful there's only one more of those D.C. to Rio trips before my move is complete.