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My significant other, A. Andrew Gonzalez, and I have lived together for about 3 ½ years now. We share so much musically, artistically, spiritually and even politically.

But I tend to forget how much he means to others. He’s an artist with a rapidly growing international following. Tonight, I took on the foolhardy mission of finding and reading all the websites that reference him. That was several hours ago, and I have many more hours to go.

His paintings are featured in magazines, books, promotional materials, on CD covers, in galleries, in lectures and even in an Italian Renault ad, but that’s not what amazes me. What I’m truly awed by are the number of people deeply moved by his work.

Regardless of what Andrew’s paintings specifically mean to him, others see him as depicting angels, goddesses, love, healing, magic, nirvana and even sex. They see what moves them, and they respond strongly to it.

It’s the way I’ve always felt about my music: It’s my child, and the labor is often difficult, but it’s also its own entity; something that affects others apart from me. Andrew’s art is a powerful and positive force in and of itself.

On a less lofty note, I feel a great deal of pride as I read the words of his fans. I’m honored to be a small part of it; to help him brainstorm occassionally for titles, offer an opinion when asked (and sometimes when not! ) and to lend my support wherever I can.

For those who have asked, no, I’m not the model in most of his paintings. He uses a variety of models, and they look quite different before he recreates them as monochromatic representations of the transfigurative, adding the “biosophic fire”that people mistake for long blonde hair. (Rather, it’s the depiction of living energy.)

I am the model for one painting that Andrew’s still working on. However, I’m unlikely to be a model for much more than this, because I’m too modest to pose nude.

I know a lot of men who have turned to yoga to improve athletic performance, end back pain, cope with old injuries and beat stress. There’s nothing effeminate about them, but that doesn’t stop clueless wise-asses from cracking jokes.

What’s a guy to do? I stumbled across a discussion on this very topic, and found a story that ought to put all those rumors to rest. From forum member Bruce:

“Unintentionally, awhile ago, I rode my Harley to practice and got caught in a late summer Texas rain storm. Arrived with soaked leathers, caked in mud. Stumbled into the studio, swung the rolled up mat to dry it with my jacket opened revealing my Smith & Wesson 357 revolver.”

 

Any questions?

My post on the killing of Rigoberto Alpizar seems to have struck a nerve. Not only has it elicited the most responses of any post to my blog yet, but I’ve had people talk to me directly to make their views known. Not all were supportive.

Perhaps this incident has struck a more personal note with me than it might with others. Prior to 9/11, I was aboard a flight that was descending to land. I began to feel incredible pain and pressure near my bladder, and was forced to stagger to the restroom despite being asked to remain in my seat by a stewardess. What I didn’t realize was that the changing cabin pressure was causing a cyst on my uterus to slowly rupture.

In the tiny bathroom, I collapsed and temporarily lost conciousness. The next thing I knew, the crew of the plane was beating on the door trying to get me to respond. The plane had already landed and the other passengers had disembarked. I could barely talk and I know my voice sounded very strange. Through tears of agony, I tried to explain that I was unable to leave the restroom. The crew misinterpreted this to mean that I was refusing to leave.

After what seemed like forever, I finally managed to pull my pants up and unlock the door. I more or less fell out of the bathroom and slammed my way through a crowd that now included airport security. I was trying to retrieve my luggage and exit the plane, but my body didn’t respond as planned.

I staggered horribly between the seats, smashing into things with every step. When I finally reached my seat, the cyst spectacularly finished bursting. This caused me to temporarily lose my vision, pitch face first into my seat and start screaming non-stop at the top of my lungs. A stewardess decided that I was having a panic attack and made things worse by trying to force me upright to calm me down.

As the pain finally began to subside a bit, medical personnel entered the cabin and lifted me into a specially-made wheelchair, which they securely strapped me into, immobilizing me completely. Upon being wheeled into the airport terminal and being confronted by a huge crowd of curious onlookers, some of whom were taking pictures, my embarassment finally overcame my pain and weakness enough for me to explain to airport officials what I suspected had happened.

In our post 9/11 environment, I can’t help but think of what would have happened to me if all this had occurred now, and on liftoff rather than landing.

When I first heard the news of the killing of Rigoberto Alpizar, the Costa Rican-American who was shot by US air marshals at Miami International Airport this past week, my thoughts immediately turned to Jean Charles de Menezes. Menezes was the Brazilian man shot and killed by London police officers in a subway car on July 22nd of this year.

The day of the shooting, police identified Menezes as a terrorist suspect whom they believed was carrying a bomb and who’d acted suspiciously. Media outlets claimed he’d jumped over an entry barrier, run from police and was wearing a bulky coat suitable for hiding explosives. The police allowed these claims to go uncontested. Undercover agents claimed Menezes advanced towards them even after they identified themselves as police, and that they were forced to shoot him to keep him from detonating the bomb.

As evidence to the contrary mounted, with witnesses providing their own accounts, security footage that disproved at least one official claim and one officer who been involved providing conflicting testimony, officials began to distance themselves from the story that had been repeated worldwide.

By the time the dust settled, every major claim had been proven untrue. Menezes was officially cleared as innocent. Unfortunately, far fewer news outlets relayed this fact than had relayed the initial claims.

A similar thing is happening with the case of Rigoberto Alpizar. The official story is that Alpizar ran erratically up the airplane aisle shouting that he had a bomb. Air marshals ordered him to stop, but he forced his way out of the plane. On the jetway, air marshals ordered him to lie on the ground. Instead, he again claimed to have a bomb and reached into his backpack, leading the marshals to believe he was about to detonate it. To prevent this, they shot him. Shortly thereafter, they searched and detonated his luggage, which proved his innocence.

At least seven witnesses now say that Alpizar didn’t say anything at all as he ran towards the plane’s door; only that, before rising from his seat, he shouted “I have to get off!”. They say that Alpizar’s wife, Anne Buechner, ran after him, shouting to airline employees that he was bipolar and hadn’t taken his medication.

When it became clear that Alpizar was going to exit the plane, his wife turned back to get her own luggage and follow him. Clearly, it wasn’t obvious to her that this had become a life or death situation. One problem was that the air marshals were undercover and at a distance, with one wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Alpizar exited onto the tarmack, and witnesses heard the air marshals shout “Stop!”. This is when air marshals say they ordered Alpizar to lie flat on the ground.

One passenger pointed out to reporters that Alpizar was wearing a fanny pack. “You can’t get on the ground with a fanny pack”, he said. “You have to move it to the side.” This may have been the movement that air marshals misconstrued as an attempt to activate a bomb.

Buechner attempted to run outside to again explain to the air marshals why Alpsizar was behaving strangely, but was stopped by fellow passengers who were concerned for her safety. Just then, 5 or 6 shots were fired, killing Alpizar.

One witness who helped to console her after the shooting says Buechner said her husband had believed there was a bomb on the plane and was trying to get to safety. It’s possible that Alpizar said something about a bomb to the air marshals once he was outside, but that they misinterpreted his meaning. For the record, Alpizar was a 20 year+ US resident who spoke fluent English.

As for why a man who had already been diagnosed as bipolar would stop taking his medication prior to boarding an international flight, the answer may lie in a little reported fact. Alpizar and Buechner had been working as medical missionaries in Quito, Ecuador. Just before catching their plane back to the US, Buechner’s fanny pack was stolen. It’s likely that Alpizar’s medication was in that fanny pack.

In addition to the lack of medication, travel and sleep disruptions can aggravate bipolar disorders, but the resulting behavior is rarely a danger to others. Unfortunately, in this tragedy of errors, a man lost his life.

No-one would claim that the air marshals involved didn’t believe they were protecting the lives of the other passengers. They had little time to decide on a course of action, and all of us are wiser in hindsight. However, it seems clear that their minds were already set on a particular scenario, regardless of a reality that didn’t fit. Why would a terrorist get up, announce themselves and then run to detonate their bomb where it would do the least damage? None of us are served by excessive paranoia and an investigatory system that is anything but transparent.

Witnesses didn’t hear Alpizar say anything

Wife mentions Alpizar was afraid there was a bomb on the plane

Wife’s fanny pack was stolen prior to flight

Experts: Travel, Sleep Disruptions Can Aggravate Bipolar Disorder

None of 7 witnesses MSNBC interviewed heard the word “bomb”