Hello, from Brussels!  A very cold place.  An unexpected diversion from our English holiday.  And unfortunately, my dad and Boo are sicky on account of the cold.  I, however, am adjusting in and out of sick and comfortably numb.  *dusts off hands*    *gives a posh look*   Better living through beer and chemistry, I say.  ;-)

The title of this post is something I felt needed comment.  I haven’t blogged during this holiday and I probably won’t.  Those of you attached to my Facebook will be able to see the photos.

Honestly I hadn’t remembered that this is a largely French speaking area and that it uses the Euro.  Two things I was quickly able to adjust to.  As Boo, my mother and I walked around Brussels today…I found myself surprisingly able to get by on what little French I remembered.  Luckily, the kind people I dealt with could tell I wasn’t primary in French, taking my low-voiced and short sentences as a sign of effort to acclimate.  It was appreciated.

I’m happy to report that my accent-jumping abilities have operated beautifully since our arrival across said pond.  But this is a trait not available in all Americans, and it certainly wasn’t true for an American nearby today.  I was inclined to remind our party of the importance of silence and keeping chat to a minimum if you don’t speak the language.  Yes there are English speakers here.  Yes there are Americans here.  But one thing you will notice as a majority is that we aren’t drawing any unnecessary attention to ourselves by speaking American.  (And yes…far as I’m concerned it’s a language of its own, not just an outwardly obvious dialect of English.)

Today in the streets, we heard yelling, hollering, chanting…by hundreds if not a couple thousand.  The way the sound echoed around street corners and buildings made it hard to tell where the sound originated.  We soon discovered that walking any further in our current direction would bring us head-on into Palestinian protest.  It was only then I remembered what’s going on in the news and how Brussels is the financial capitol of the European Union.  We walked the direction the Belgian police were not going….

Not much else to say on that, really.  Just to say that sometimes…one should have a Coke, smile and shut the hell up.

Talk to you soon.  Busy drinking beer and taking pictures!

I recently had reason to think about the word “privileged” a little more closely. Someone recently called my partner privileged, but did so in an insinuation that he’s never had to work a day in his life to get where he is or what he has – that he’s always had everything handed to him.

I can be dismissive with most things, but not when it comes to the defense of my man. Sure, he puts off a certain sense of arrogance sometimes. And there are even times where he comes off as a bit of a self-righteous snob. But if you’ve gotten to know him, you know this is a joking stance and nothing more than bullshit for the sake of provocation. He doesn’t do it all of the time. He’s actually come a LONG way since we started dating five years ago.

I’ll go on record as saying that this man has worked tooth and nail for everything he has. All three of his degrees. Every job appointment. Every promotion. His house. His car. Nothing has ever been handed to him. Besides…his father, who I never met – rest his soul…certainly wouldn’t have allowed it. In many ways, even without those reminders from his mother…my man takes after his father a lot. Very heavy sense of duty and honor. Far as I know, he can’t play cards for shit…but he plays the cards he has better than anyone I’ve ever met.

The person to whom this post is directed is almost 100% sure not to be reading this and quite obviously has a different idea of what family means. Without going into detail, it’s not nice to say something about someone when you don’t know what you’re talking about. And because it’s not my place to step in and say something directly to them, I use this venue to say back…the fuck…off.

Back off my man. Back off his mother. I’ve never seen a harder working family outside my own. If anyone is privileged, it’s me for having them around. It is you who is in the lack.

In the throes of a pretty bad pen-shoved-into-my-head headache (in partial thanks to Trina), I am remembering that today is the day people have decided they will call out “gay”. There is apparently a movement to affect the workforce for a day to make people recognize what it would be like not to have us.  It is supposed to equate to days like when people are asked not to use an ATM for an affect on the economy.

Well…I think it’s ludicrous.  And unprofessional.  Sure, you’ll be affecting the workforce by calling out gay.  But you’ll also be promoting separatism instead of unity.  And if there’s one thing that we’ve been fighting for decades to achieve, through stereotypes, really bad comedy, stage, movies….porn…it’s unity.

I won’t say “shame on you” for calling out gay, but I’ll shake my head.  If I see my fellow gays at work today, I’ll thank them for coming in.  If I find out any of my friends called out, though…I won’t encroach my beliefs on them and say anything unless they ask my opinion.  That’s just how I work.

You want people to see what the world is like WITHOUT US?  For shame.  We are here.  That’s just like asking the world to have all of a particular race stay inside for one day.  Then we could see what it’s like not to have ____ people.  And the sad thing is, there are people that would totally go for that until they realize the impact it would have.  Even sadder than that…there are people who would be completely satisfied finding someone of their kind to fill the empty spots.

We should never promote any sort of thinking where we exclude either ourselves or someone else from this world.  It’s genocidal.  It’s suicidal.  And it’s holocaustic.  This is OUR world.  All of us.  Together.  Not separated.

Now before you all take me to task for this opinion, let me remind the audience that I’m gay.  I have friends who are directly affected by Proposition 8.  I understand what people are trying to prove with this movement.  I have just reached a point in my life where I am lucky enough to feel I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself.

The last thing I expected on my way to work this morning was that I’d be writing a response to the press. When I got to the back of the Washington Post Express, I saw that I was quoted again. This time, however…not the quote I would have expected. (laughing)

So, my response. Yes. I might be a bit delusional about the popularity of the pop star, whose birthday was Tuesday. That must be it. I might be a bit delusional about the popularity of the pop star who broke the electronic sales record (known only for the past 5 years) with a single that repeats the same word over and over for the entire song.  Thank you for pointing that out.

I still squeal that I’m even considered for quoting. Guess I never have to doubt whether I have readers, even if they only stop by. A writer likes that. So thank you for the popularity boost, even if it’s only temporary. Popularity or infamy, if you say it – own it.

Another reader, Kristin, mentioned the existence of the accidental celebrity who might not have asked for the popularity but got it anyway.

• “WHY does it have to be that someone who is incredibly talented and loves music and loves to perform on stage is EXPECTED to be okay with being followed on a private honeymoon … on a trip to the grocery store … on an early morning trip to grandma’s house with a freshly-baked pie … to try on new shoes at ALDO … or to the bathroom by 10, 15, 20 cameras and people screaming and clamoring and trying to distract them from just…taking…a…freaking….pee?!”

My response to Kristin – it’s quite simple, really.  Somewhere out there…someone…must want to know the color of their pee.  Paparazzi’s job – secured.  It warrants mention that Brad Pitt was recently quoted as saying there should be a law against photographers who “climb over your walls” and call out “your kids’ names”.

It occurs to me that one of the big reasons this blog hasn’t seen a lot of writing lately is because I simply do my best work first thing in the morning. I don’t know why. Subway State started out as a 7am-ish blog anyway, so it makes sense. But why is Aaron up this early, you ask?

I couldn’t sleep…again. But this time it was more for the fact that I ended up with song loops stuck in my head and I couldn’t shake them. I absolutely hate when that happens. For a DJ, it’s very inconvenient. 60k tracks to choose from…and I pick these? Embarrassingly enough, they are all recent pop releases. Kanye West, Beyonce, Britney Spears. Oddly enough, not a trace of anything else. (This post appropriately falls on Miss Spears’ birthday and album release. It’s also post number 808…and Kanye’s new album name is 808’s & Heartbreak. I am not making this up.)

It was in this lack of sleep that I discovered the true meaning of pop music. It’s not just a buzz word, people. It’s a description. Pop music is designed with hooks that are so … catchy (?) … that they get implanted in your brain on repeat and … wait for it … cause your sanity to … pop. Even further, it explains why pop music is so ‘popular’ (har) and why we fall for it every time – we need the psychotic break to even everything out!

Admit it. I don’t care who you are. You like Britney Spears. Even if you detest some of, if not all of her music…or her actions…at some level you still like her. She publicly redefined the psychotic break and had the guts (though an arguable point) to put it all out there for us to see. And she’s not the only one. We ate it up just like the tunes that go triple-platinum, sometimes despite their lack of substance. Or rather…we chewed her up and spit her out. Her career continues because she bucked up, healed, and got back to work. How many dynamos can say the same? And how many of them are stuck in your head on repeat?

But as Rex says, (paraphrased) “if you’re a celebrity, you signed up for it. It’s part of your job description to be deconstructed in the public eye for the simple and the inscrutable.” I didn’t agree with him at first, but I have come to. It’s obvious that you’re not just hired for your music anymore, but also your ability to make us feel better via projection. Classic psychological disorder. Borderline mass hysteria? You tell me – but only after you go to a New Kids On The Block reunion concert.