Hurricane Gustav Eyeing Louisiana

Hurricane Gustav is en route to Louisiana and neighboring states. Landfall is expected in the next 24 hours. The lessons from Katrina will hopefully guide the response to this emergency. From all the way up here in Pennsylvania and Maryland, our prayers are with you folks down there.

TO HELP: Donate cash to the American Red Cross. The ARC is still the best bet to put your money to work because of its history and experience in these times. www.redcross.org. Of course, other charities are going to be involved. You can find them here: http://www.disastercenter.com/agency.htm and http://www.colorado.edu/hazards/resources/web/relief.html.

Best of luck, and God bless!

Catnip

I'm watching the cats going nuts over some catnip I put down for them. It's funny how much into it they are and how they seem to just forget the world for it. The scary thing is that us humans have so many of our own "catnips". Everything from heroin to sex, to even shopping, seems to make us forget the world around us.

And that is quite the scary proposition indeed. What's your "catnip"?

Racism By Any Other Name...

Part of my work at the Health Department is to do surveillance for new cases or outbreaks of certain diseases. One of those diseases is Legionnaires' Disease. To obtain information from all sources, I search around internet results for reports of "Legionnaires' Disease", and I came upon this article from the Southern Poverty Law Center...

http://www.splcenter.org/intel/intelreport/article.jsp?aid=965&printable=1

The article points out a number of falsehoods being spread by a fringe group of the American Legion. This group is very much anti-immigrant (and not just illegal immigrants, either). They make the KKK look like boyscouts with some of the poison they're spreading around:

"These spots revisit some of the nastiest claims in the report, portraying undocumented immigrants as sex offenders, gang members, terrorists and murderers. Remarkably, they are delivered by Richard Fatherly, Kansas City chapter media adviser for the Minuteman Civil Defense Corps — a group whose members President Bush once denounced as 'vigilantes.' "

I haven't written much about this, but, a couple of months ago, I found in my mailbox at the laboratory a print-out of an email where all this crap was printed. I don't know what were the intentions of the person (or people) who put it there, but it kind of made me think. "Are we really that bad? Am I really that bad?" See, the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt anyone directly or indirectly. I almost felt like going to get checked for all these diseases I allegedly brought to the US when I came here from Mexico.

Of course, I soon realized that it's all lies. And now I have research (some of it peer-reviewed) to hold on to when people (or persons) come at me with these lies. And now you do to.

¿So What If Yo No Hablo Ingles?

I remember the days of school when I didn't understand English. It was very trying for me to keep up with my classmates. Where it used to be that I got near-perfect scores on all subjects when I went to school in Mexico, I was barely getting by my first year in the States. But I was lucky... I was only seven years old, and I had a mother with enough wisdom to place me in an all-English class instead of the so-called "bilingual" classes. Back then, as it is now, bilingual meant all-Spanish.

You see, Mom knew that I had to learn English not only because parts of my brain would be stimulated more than ever but because she knew that English would get me far in this country. Unfortunately, not everyone shares that foresight. There are plenty of Hispanic parents who, for one reason or another, do not encourage their children to learn English. Some don't have the means, and some don't have the will.

Some parents who only speak Spanish themselves cannot afford daycare for their children, or any other sort of prescholar education. Others are fooled into the belief that bilingual classes are about two languages. And then there are others who think of Spanish as a matter of pride. They believe that, if their children don't want to speak Spanish, or wnat to learn English, it is out of some sort of shame.

Of course, it takes two to tango on the issue of language in the US. You have one extreme that is convinced that the world only speaks English. They protest against people who know more than one language and want to share that gift with others. And they ban any other language (and even culture) from their midst. The other extreme wants to unify the world by teaching children to be ashamed for only knowing English, or for being American. (Then again, what is "American" but a mixture of all sorts of cultures?) This leads to resentment and lack of willingness to learn another language.

I am of the belief that children first learn the language of the land where they live, and then they should learn the language of their parents. It's no surprise that my mom taught me this. While I wish I could speak Spanish every day, I know where I am, and what I need to do to get ahead. Speaking or writing English does not make me any less of a Mexican. If anything, speaking English has helped me explain and expand my culture to my friends and colleagues. The Girl is all about us Mexicans now. I would have gotten no where with her if I didn't speak English. (Of course, there is the language of love, but that's for another post.)

What we need to do is understand that the world is multilingual. Once we come to terms with the fact that there are other languages out there other than English AND that English happens to be the one most spoken in this country, we might move on with more important things. So, to those of you who want to keep people out of jobs, education, or even the LPGA because they don't know English as well as you would like them to, remember that people were once kept out of similar opportunities because they were not as light-skinned as you liked them to be. It didn't go over so well, did it? And to those of you who think you can get by without knowing English...

Aprender a hablar y escribir en Ingles no tiene nada que ver con quien eres en terminos de tu cultura. Solo te haces un favor a ti mismo, o tus hijos, en aprender otro lenguaje. Ingles en los Estados Unidos te abre las puertas como el Japones te abriria las puertas en Tokyo, o el Frances en el Sudan. No te limites por pretextos o percepciones de cultura o nacionalidad. Esta en ti hablar Ingles para asi llevar tu cultura a todas las personas que no hablan Español.

And that's as much as I have to say on this issue.

Love and Devotion

I was going to write today all about our anniversary weekend, but I thought that some of you might get a bit of a headache with all the sweetness it contained. The take-home message is that The Girl and I have been together two years now, and the relationship has gotten stronger and stronger as the days have gone by... Expect some great news before long.

I want to write today about an event I saw this morning and how it relates to the human condition. Many of us find ourselves wondering, at times too often, if anyone loves us, or if anyone is out there for us. Others, who have convinced themselves that our existence is mere chance, are not worried about love because they believe in their hearts that love is just an emotion. At times irrational and most often incomprehensible, love is extremely confusing.

This morning, as I stepped out of Apartment G, I heard the coaxing of a woman as she tried to get her child down the stairs and out the door to the waiting bus. The boy, about eight years old and visibly developmentally disabled, pulled back. Like any other kid his age, he looked terrified at the thought of the first day of school. The mom, a rather large woman of about 30 years of age going on 50, was drenched in sweat from the effort. Nevertheless, she kept smiling. As she placed the child in the bus, she hugged and kissed him good-bye.

I have often wondered about the evolutionary advantage for humans to care for all the weak and disadvantaged among us. How and why did we become moral animals? Too often, however, I am reminded of our devolving morality as well... Millions celebrated the Olympic Games as thousands died for no good reason. Still, you have to wonder about love.

I have heard the explanations whereby humans care for the weak because a moral code tells them to. The moral code arose thousands of years ago when we started worshiping and/or fearing something greater than ourselves. And we are somehow "hard-wired" to worship because it brings us together and makes us work as families, then neighborhoods, then villages, etc. And I can see where these explanations are valid. But, still, it is almost a work of art, or even a miracle, that a single mother can get up pretty early in the morning, get the disabled child ready, send him or her off to school, and still love them with unequal devotion every day of that child's life.

That right there is awesome... hot dog awesome.

Even with such wonderful examples of how good we can be and how love can be found in all places, at all times, and under all circumstances, some still walk in a fog of emptiness. In their mind, there is no one, and nothing that will fill that void that eats at them from inside. To them, there is no God, no deity bigger than themselves, simply because there is no proof, no tangible evidence. They deny the existence of purpose because a mission statement is not posted in the sky. But yet the proof is in the pudding, in the details, in the love of a mother for a son or daughter who wasn't born but still means so much. You can see it in the dad who weeps for his wayward son.

In all my understanding, I cannot even begin to contemplate an explanation of "why?" for all the love and devotion in the world other than the existence of something bigger than all of us put together on this blue marble of a planet. And yet the "how?" still remains chemicals and hormones flowing through our veins. We are not an accident of random chance. No one is. And no one should be treated as such.

I Spul Purty Won Dai To

The dumbing down of America, brought to you by Kohl's.

Love Is

Tomorrow is our 2-year anniversary, and The Girl sent me a very nice arrangement of fruit. Believe me, it's delicious and nutritious. The way to my heart really is through my stomach.

One Of Those Things, I Reckon

I was just reading the story of Zach Sowers, a young man who was put into a coma from a brutal beating. He died last March after ten months fighting for his life. His case has garnered plenty of attention in Baltimore because it is the case of a white man killed by black youths. Some wanted to call it a case of "reverse lynching" or a hate crime. One or two local black leaders were overheard saying something to the effect that they were glad to see "the shoe is on the other foot."
I've noticed stark differences between Baltimore and other places where I have lived. I've lived in places that are pretty much homogeneous in their social, political, and racial make-up. El Paso is mostly middle-class, Democrat, and Hispanic. Waynesboro is mostly middle-class, Republican, and White. The same goes for Lexington. Baltimore, on the other hand, is lower and middle class, black and white, but still mostly Democrat. It is impressive to me that I have to drive just one or two blocks to see a beautiful mansion and a delapidated row house with a "house of ill repute" smack in the middle.
What gets me about the Sowers case is not only how and why it happened, but where. See, to get a better feel of Baltimore, I suggest you look at a Google Map of Baltimore. On the Southeast edge of the city is an area that is in much need of repair and revitalization. Highlandtown and Canton are there. Canton is doing much better, but places nearby are really overrun by crime, gangs, and everything that comes with them. Between Eastern Avenue and E. Baltimore Street is a park, Patterson Park. And it was there that I went to play soccer one night about a year ago. I parked the Jeep close the park and went to play. The game went on longer than I thought, and I found myself walking back to the Jeep in the middle of the night, around ten o'clock. The street was empty, with the exception of groups of young men on different corners. Their chatter turned quiet as I walked by... A big Mexican with soccer cleats on, an MP3 player in his pocket (with those bright white earphones), and an ADIDAS gym bag full of soccer gear. I was sweaty. I was tired. I reached the Jeep, and it was just sitting there, quiet. Last year it was a brand-new Jeep, mind you. Nothing was missing.
When I read about the Zach Sowers attack and eventual murder, I was perplexed to learn that I had parked the Jeep and walked not 1000 feet from where it all happened, on the same week that he was attacked! I guess it's just one of those things that I wasn't picked for murder that night. Then again, I didn't know. And I am six-feet tall, weighing in at around 235 pounds; hardly anyone wants to mess with me. But, still, I am now retrospectively "shatting" myself at what could have been. Just yesterday, The Girl was asking me to take care of myself when I'm in the city.
Now I don't know what to think. What other parts of Baltimore do I not know about? What else has happened?
There are a little over 200 murders in Baltimore each year. About 95% of them are drug or gang-related, and about 97% of the victims are black. My demographics and my lifestyle are not a statistical match for violence, but neither were Zach Sowers'. And that is scary. But...
Not being one to cower, I've decided to find a mentoring program in Baltimore to volunteer in. Perhaps, just perhaps, I can stop something bad in the future by instilling something good today.

My Spel Purty Won Dae

The most impressive part is that this was a computer-generated sign.

More On Fears

I have written before about fear. It is a very powerful emotion that I try to explore and understand more than any other negative emotion. I think it's because fear drives so much of our daily lives, and maybe it even drives our development as a species.
Growing up, my fears were very tangible things. I was afraid of bugs, afraid of bullies, and afraid of heights. Of course, I was also afraid of the very tangible possibility that my Mom would spank me. (This kept me in line, for the most part.)
Now that I have grown older, my fears became intangible. I am now afraid of failure, ridicule, or, even more scary, afraid of my own stupidity. Like it was when I was a kid, I've seen others make enormous personal and professional mistakes; so I am afraid of making them as well.
The worst thing is that I know that these fears are not only intangible, but they are also unfounded. My Faith promises me that everything is going to be okay, and it has delivered so far. Many times I have fallen, and many times I've gotten up, either through the love and understanding of a parent, of a friend, of The Girl, of my siblings, or of God.
So why so serious? Why so afraid? I ask myself this when something triggers my adrenaline. When I see danger in the eye, or when I get an outrageous bill in the mail. It's all classical conditioning, I'm afraid... Pavlov's dog. I have seen others cowering in fear of the known and the unknown. I have cowered myself, and it has worked for me before. Then again, I have been brave and pounded my chest as my armor was being torn to shreds... But those times have been few.
So I am committed today to start being braver than before, to know that it's all going to work out, and to grabbing life by the horns more often than not. I know that I am made from what stars are made from... That I am of such intricate design that it allows for imperfections to make room to grow and be better than before, and to make mistakes in the sight of others so they don't make the same mistakes. For it is in falling and rising that we become legends and inspirations, not in being deities that always act as if they're on top.
Fear is just an emotion... Nothing less, but more important, nothing more.

Adventure in Atlanta: Part Three... Dammit, Burrito, I Cannot Quit You!

 

PART 1 | PART 2

I made it out to Turner Field, but, like I wrote, the game was called on account of rain. Everyone was leaving. I still managed to get my tickets as a souvenir of my trip to Atlanta. Right before me in line at the "will call" window, a man was asking the woman at the window if he could get a refund for the tickets. "No, but..." she didn't finish her answer by the time he walked away into the rain quite mad. "I was going to tell him that he could get a voucher to come to any game," she told me. I told her to forget about him.

"He'll walk it off in the rain," I told her. I got my tickets and walked off into the rain myself.

A few years back when I started blogging, I met several very interesting people who had blogs of their own. One of those people was a girl named Sophie. She blogged every now and again about her life in the suburbs of DC. Being that I was going to school in DC, we decided to get together for lunch one day. We even went out a couple of times to dinner and a movie, but the relationship never went beyond that. Let's just say that I wasn't her type, and she wasn't mine. Good friends, only. I heard she may or may not have a position at The Politico now.

At any rate, one of the places that she introduced me to was "Chipotle", a restaurant chain where they make the best burritos. The burritos are really good. They claim to use organic, all-natural beef, chicken, and pork. And it tastes like it is (as if I or anyone can tell the difference). Well, as my adventure in Atlanta was ending, I found out that there was a Chipotle not one mile from my hotel. Time was of the essence, though. The place closed at ten, and it was already eight-thirty when I got back to the metro station.

I called The Girl as I walked in the rain toward Chipotle. We talked about our days, like we always do, and she asked me to please not get mugged. But the area where the Chipotle (oh, and my hotel) is is pretty quiet. So I walked with my new umbrella, nice and dry to the Chipotle. Now, here's the thing about these restaurants: they're all staffed by Mexicans. Okay, so they might not be Mexicans, but they're Hispanics. And it never fails that they ask me if I speak Spanish. All I have to do is roll the R in burrito for them to ask right away. They don't ask if I want the burrito with black of pinto beans, no. They ask if I speak Spanish. I love speaking Spanish, but there is something unnerving about resorting to Spanish when available in a country where English is the rule. But I do miss speaking Spanish, my native tongue, a lot.

I made it back to the hotel alright, burrito in hand. I settled in to watch some Olympics on TV and enjoy the burrito. Life is good... I'll return to Maryland tomorrow.

Adventure in Atlanta: Part Two... When It Rains, You Need A Big Umbrella

PART 1 | PART 3

As I said in part one, the rain ruined my chance to see the Atlanta Braves in action. But I got the chance to walk around Atlanta and get to see the many sights that I might see if I ever get a job with CDC. I particularly liked the skyline and the layout of Centennial Olympic Park. The humidity was killing me, though. I felt like I was breathing water. And the small umbrella, which The Girl had bought for me a while back, while very portable, was covering nothing. My legs were soaked, and I had to hold my phone and camera in my hands to keep them dry. But, oh, well... That's life.

I kept walking around downtown Atlanta, and I saw plenty of people with Braves and Cubs caps and shirts on. They were all walking away from the stadium. Seeing that I was wearing a cap, no one seemed to wonder if I was on the way to the stadium. No one told me that the game was rained out, which I already knew from an announcement on the metro. They all walked by me, complaining about the weather. One girl was letting her boyfriend have it because he forgot the umbrella, although they had been forecasting the rain all day.

The University of Georgia is in Atlanta. I did not know that until I walked by it. I knew the stadium was just south of there, so I kept walking due south. But it was hard to know where south was because it was cloudy. It's always hard to see your way when the day is dark and dreary. Isn't that a metaphor for life?! And it was in pondering my direction in the city that I came upon a man...

He looked a bit disheveled, and he carried a pretty big umbrella. I didn't catch his name. "The game's been canceled," he said. I replied to him that I knew, but I wanted to get the tickets anyway as a souvenir. "Where you from?" he asked. I told him I was from Maryland. "He looked at my tiny umbrella and asked for it. As I handed it to him, he handed me his. "Mine's the Georgia Dome of umbrellas," he said. It was. "You think you could spare a couple of bucks for it?" I pulled out a $10 from my wallet. "Nah, nah, man... I just need a couple of bucks." I told him the umbrella was well worth ten dollars. We sat down (more like leaned on the bridge) to have a quick chat. He's been homeless for about five years. He pulled out his pants pockets to show me he had nothing. "I don't have a cent to my name but that umbrella. And you look like you need it more than I do." He had been unable to hold a job because the voices in his head would come up and tell him to go back to the streets. "But it don't matter... I get by." He walked away into the rain with my tiny umbrella.

Just yesterday I had fretted a lot about the lack of cash for big purchases. (Public Health doesn't pay much. It's more a labor of love, really.) But this guy gave me his umbrella, asking for only two bucks. Sure, I gave him ten, and he might very well go spend it all on booze or drugs, but at least he didn't outright ask for a handout. He just asked for a fair trade. And now I had a rather large umbrella to keep me dry the rest of the way to the stadium. My journey was almost over... Or maybe it's just beginning?

But that's for part three...

Adventure in Atlanta: Part One... Georgia Is Not Just A State in America

PART 2 | PART 3

I came to Atlanta for a conference with the Council of State and Territorial Epidemiologists for a couple of days, and I decided to try to catch the Atlanta Braves game against the Chicago Cubs this evening. But a rare rain system (Georgia is in a bit of a rough drought) put a stop to all that. So I decided to still try to make it out to Turner Field and get my ticket, which was at the "will call" window, to take it home as a memento of my trip here. However, I headed to what I call the "Liberal News Mecca".

The CNN News Center is no sight to be seen. It's just a big building with a jumbo television outside. I guess the rain didn't make it stand out as much as I thought it would. By the way, The Girl hates it that I think there is Liberal bias at CNN. I'm just calling it like I see it, sweetheart. (And she points out the Conservative bias at Fox News, so it's all good.) I keep hearing Darth Vader in my head when I think of CNN for some reason.

Next, I turned my attention to Centennial Olympic Park across the street from the CNN News Center. It was there that I noticed a group of people with flags that looked like England's. Only thing is, the flags were somewhat different. So I walked across the street to take a closer look. They turned out to be a group of people protesting the Russian incursion into Georgia. For those of you who don't know...

Georgia is a country south of Russia in the Caucasus Mountains at the crossroads of Europe and Asia between the Black and Caspian seas. Within the political boundaries of Georgia is a region called South Ossetia which has been trying to split from Georgia for a long time. S. Ossetia is close to Chechnya, another volatile part of the region. Georgia, thinking that the Western Nations (like the US and Europe) would come to it's aid if Russia did anything, attacked the separatists in S. Ossetia. Well, Russia did something. Why? Because a lot of Russians live in S. Ossetia, and because Russia is not too happy to have an ally of the West on it's southern border. Russia responded by pounding the Georgian military into submission. Reports are still sketchy, but sources on the ground point to some abuses by the Russian troops against Georgians. So these people were protesting Russia's invasion of Georgian territory. War is not pretty, and it rarely is useful. I personally think that, not only is it a last resort, but war should only be used as a defensive measure, not even a preemptive one.

After a few more pictures of the Atlanta skyline, I made my way to Turner Field. It turned out to be a longer walk than I thought... I may or may not have gotten a bit lost. But all that is for part two...

Customer Service

Somewhere along the way, the concept of customer service was lost in the service industry. This has become more and more clear to me over the last few months as the US economy has slowed down. People in all kinds of stores, hotels, and at the airport have started to act like they're doing their customers a favor. No one seems to have informed them that they are serving their customers, not doing them any favors. And they certainly act like the customer is not the one paying their salaries. "If you don't like our service," one airline representative once told me, "you are more than welcomed to go to another airline." When I said I would, knowing that she would have to go through the process of refunding my money, she sighed and muttered under her breath, "I doubt anyone else will treat you any better." And she was right, to an extent.

I am always reminded of the work ethic of a lot of people I've known as I grow up. Starting with my grandfather, who would bend over backwards to serve his customers. It was good business practice in his day to treat the customer as king, within reason. People as early as a few years back knew that customers DO have a choice, and that even those few dollars might make or brake a business in the end. My first boss at the hospital used to say that he did not care if a unit of plasma was wasted if I thawed it and the patient didn't use it (when it seemed like the patient would use it). He said that the patient always came first, before the budget, before administrators, before anything.

That is something that I have carried with me as I have gone from working at the lab to working at the health department. Patients, and now the public in general, come first. This has been a bit more challenging at the health department because politics are permeate the entire process of investigating and intervening in disease investigation. You have to be mindful of what you say about something, or about your colleagues, or about the process. So I walk a thin line between being democratic and offering honest feedback on things we can change about where we work. For example, I am trying to bring all available web resources to bare so we can collect information faster and more accurately, and so we can communicate faster.

Mom always told me that I should lead by example, and, if the example was good enough, people would follow. So I try my hardest to give full attention to my customers and make them feel that I care, because I do. I take time to see the project followed through. The paycheck I get may be signed by the secretary of health, or even the governor, but the people paying for my salary are the taxpayers, the public. I don't have the misled privilege of blowing off people who seek my assistance. I can't tell them to go to another health department. Even if they did have a choice, it would be a matter of pride that they could possibly go somewhere else and get better service.

In my mind, no one can do my job better than I can.

Even if you hate your job, it's your job. You took it. No one pointed a gun to your head and told you to take it. Sure, economic stresses might give you no other option than to take the job. But, at least in the United States, I'm pretty sure it's not the only job you're qualified to do. Minimum wage or not, do the best that you can do at that job because it's worth it, because you'll move up... because it will give you experience for the next big job (with better pay, or better hours).

Off to "Hot-tlanta"

I'm off to Atlanta in the morning to participate in the influenza surveillance coordinator's conference. Expect some pictures and maybe a couple of posts. I'm also going to try to catch the Braves-Cubs game on Tuesday. The weather is supposed to be miserably hot. We'll see. Au revoir.

What's Your Kryptonite?

How many times have you found yourself having to deal with a mountain (or island) of a problem? Do you run (or fly) away from it? Or do you dive right in, lift it over your shoulders, and then launch that mother into outer space?

The trouble with problems is that, as was the case with Superman, many times, everyone is watching you as you deal with them. The whole world feels like it's looking at you, wondering if you'll succeed. Most people will cheer you on and hope that you do succeed. Sadly, there will be those who will actually hope and pray that you fail.

And there will be those times when, once you're rid of your problem, you feel so worn out and tired that you fall back to Earth half-dead, or ready to die.

Still... Give it all you've got. Do your best. Fight the good fight. And don't mind your Kryptonite... What doesn't kill you truly makes you stronger.

That Olympic Spirit

The first Olympic Games that I remember watching on television were the 1984 Olympic Games in Los Angeles. I remember watching the opening ceremony on TV with my parents. The most particular thing that I remember is an astronaut-looking performer, and maybe there were some UFO's. (I'll have to wikipedia-check it.) At any rate, ever since, I've been catching some of the games on television and on the Internet.

Many people are commenting this year about the social and political undertones of the games in China. Will China ease its restrictions on its citizens? Will China do something about the genocide in the Sudan or the nukes that Iran wants to build? And how will the US look if it ends up being in second place on the medal count? Who cares? A lot of people do. And you can bet that they will be more glued to the television than I ever was, or will be.

You see, I watch the Olympics for the sport. That's all. If politicians and pundits want to go read the tea leaves with regards to stuff that goes on off the pitch (or field of play, or track), that's up to them. That is THEIR problem. Unfortunately, they're going to intrude on my ability to enjoy the games with idiotic questions and analysis like, "What will the China-USA basketball game on Sunday mean to East-West relations?"

If the future of the world pivots on what happens on a basketball court or during the marathon event, may God help us all. And may God help all who get all swollen with some sort of national pride during the Olympics, especially if that pride is absent when the games are not on. Nothing annoys me more than people who think that their national origin is determinant on their ability to perform in a sporting event. Well, perhaps left and right-wing wackos trying to make some political point out of anything annoy me more. It's really disappointing to see people waving their country's flag and not have the same effervescence to defend it.

I'm in a bit of a privileged spot when it comes to national pride because I have several horses running in these races, no pun intended. But that is for another post at a later time... The men's soccer tournament continues this morning, and I have to get ready for it.

My Friend Joey

I met Joey when I first started working at the Health Dept. He seemed like an odd fellow, but I didn't think much of it since most of the people I worked with at the lab were odd themselves. Little by little, I got to know and befriend Joey. As I befriended his cubicle neighbor, Rakhee, all three of us became buddies in the office. Joey was the portal through which Rakhee and I, both of whom had just been hired, got to know other people in the office.

Joey has taught me a little bit about myself. You see, I grew up in a culture that was very misunderstanding and intolerant of anyone else who didn't behave, think, or believe like we did. Foreigners, while welcomed as tourists, were not welcomed to stay. And many times I heard my father's friends make fun of someone because of his or her looks or behavior. It seemed totally acceptable, and maybe appropriate, to point out the differences in others and make a judgment of right versus wrong.

The only other gay friend I ever had was a high school classmate. He acted strange, compared to the rest of us, but, being a football player and avid athlete, no one ever suspected his homosexuality. It wasn't until I was in college and ran into him at a restaurant that I found out about his orientation. He was there with his boyfriend. (Probably the most troubling part of seeing them was the fact that they sat on the same side in a booth, which I think is just uncomfortable whatever the context.) Back in high school, I never felt uncomfortable chatting with him.

I don't feel uncomfortable going to lunch or hanging out with Joey. It's just like hanging out with one of the guys. It IS hanging out with one of the guys. Only thing is that this guy likes other guys... Just like I like girls. So he has made societal misperceptions disperse, at least when it comes to me. And I wish it was that way with everyone.

Joey is chasing his love out to Kansas, and he will be sorely missed in the office. Lots and lots of his colleagues and co-workers really like his odd self and even odder sense of humor. He kept things interesting at meetings and gives some of the most interactive presentations I've seen. The health department is losing someone. ¡Vaya con Dios, muchacho!

Keep up with joey at his blog.