Pedestrian at a Crosswalk

you drove that big, blue, fuming truck up the circular drive. 
a limp cigarette was slung between your fingers
and i walked plainly across the road.

you hollered Speed it up, faggot! and then you coughed, flicking bits of ash out the open window.

i squared my shoulders and slowed my gait, singing
the mantra-song my mother taught
"I am a child of God."

i hope that in the time you waited while i sauntered and sang
i irritated the hell out of you.

Sister Dottie S Dixon's Hilarious Holiday Hullabaloo: A Reflection

I participated again this year in the Ogden OUTreach fundraiser put on by Sister Dottie S. Dixon at Weber State University.  I was the music director, as well as a talent scout, associate producer, radio personality and overall person whose fingers were involved with just about every aspect of the show.  I was even a contestant onon a radio competition associated with the fundraising project.  

I absolutely adore being the center of attention, but (believe it or not) I do try to be careful about what brings the attention.  I think I've been out and proud for the last four and a half years, but I've been somewhat selective about who I'm out and proud to; making the decision to sing "The Man Who Turned Out Gay" as a Sister Dottie S Dixon's Utah's Most Talented X-Factor Idol Contestant was a more challenging feat than I would have imagined it to be.  I assumed a portion of the 70,000 listeners who tune into X96 are people who know of me, but may not or do not need to know everything about me.  I assumed a portion of the listenership are people who know my parents and my brothers.  I assumed a portion of the large audience could be people from my hometown who have only ever seen the devout, faithful "Elder Maughan" part of me.  I admit, I was a little scared when I realized how big a public forum Radio from Hell is and I was terrified at the thought of presenting my orientation as a gay man in Utah to a much more expansive group of people. Some family members were quick to remind me that I would be "solidifying a reputation" if I did this, and that once I did, I would face much more difficulty when returning to the fold of the LDS faith (oh, how we hold so vehemently to our hopes!).

I considered using a pseudonym while I was on the radio Monday morning.  It would have been a way to appease family members and their concerns about reputation(s).  It would have been an easy way to appease my own concerns about reputation(s).  But it would have been cowardly.  I've always said that if I'm doing something I feel is right and important, it's important and right to attach my name to it without any apology.  So, I sang and I sang as Nic Maughan.  It was one of the truest moments of my life.  Whatever-GOD-is surrounded me with the truth that I was definitely doing the right thing at the right time in the right place with the right people.  I wasn't afraid of anything at all.  I knew I could be proud of our work and I didn't need anybody's approval but my own.

The show was a spectacular success by all accounts.  I am so pleased to have been a part of it again this year!    I think my favorite segment of the entire night was the Set'n'Visit with Sister Dottie and the OUTreach kids.  The entire portion was luminous, but I believe the moment with the most power has to be the audience's standing ovation at the end of the interviews.  I had the best seat in the house, sitting there at my piano.  I saw those kids bear witness to the affirmation the entire room was giving them.  I saw them begin to believe that their community valued them as the audience applauded.  I saw their confidence in themselves grow as they saw acceptance.  It was beyond powerful.

I've never felt like I've wanted to be an activist.  I've been happy with listening to individuals as they've come to me and asked me how I've managed the adjectives of gay and Mormon and faithful and reasonable.  I've been comfortable with quiet talks and small moments.  I've been content to let other people lend their voices to the cause of equality, but I think this week, this process of putting on the Hullabaloo has put a fire under my seat. It's taken five years of (in)decision, but I'm ready to add my voice to the chorus. If--as I've been reminded recently--I'm building a reputation, it will be as one who affirms the grace and dignity within all human beings; it will be as one who speaks against hatred and bigotry; it will be as one who proclaims that education becomes understanding and understanding grows into love and that love always casts out fear; it will be as one who fights to declare that every person can confidently claim the life that is theirs and find joy within that reclamation.

I'll build a reputation and I'll build it without apology.  God didn't make us to apologize. He made us to live as the Best Selves we can become, sharing in love and the fullness of honest living. He made us, really, to just live our lives and allow others the honor of doing the same.

Being a participant in Sister Dottie's Holiday Hullabaloo has helped to solidify and clarify my vision of what I need to do to help make the space in which I live a better place for everyone.  It's given me courage to have a healthier dialogue with my loved ones and with my self.

I'll always be grateful for the time and energy I spent with Sister Dottie.  It took a lot out of me, but it was ever-sa-worth it.  I am a better human being after having participated in such a cause as standing on the side of love.  I look forward to next year!

Who Would've Thought?

I grew up collecting My Little Ponies, playing Cinderella with my mom (who, at my behest, always played Prince Charming--God will bless her) and singing showtunes including "Think of Me" (which, by the way, I sang much, much better than What's-Her-Name Brightman) and anything recorded by Judy Garland, Julie Andrews or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

I watched the old, black and white Tarzan films with my father, inching closer to the t.v. to examine the intriguing yet unsettling bulge under Tarzan's loincloth.  I tended to gravitate toward friendships with girls rather than boys and preferred the swings, balance beams and gymnasts' bars to soccer, base- or foot- balls at recess.

I sported a New Kids on the Block backpack (I remember my cousin, McKenzie, sticking up for me while we waited in line for the school bus and some kid was making fun of me) and pink pajamas in first grade.

I was in love with The Little Mermaid (read: supah-crush on Prince Eric) and told my preschool teacher she needed a dress-up like this:

Needless to say, when I finally did come out about four years ago, nobody was surprised.

For a Boy I Remembered While Sitting in the Hospital with a Girl I Love

I hope this isn't too weird, but I was reminded of you tonight as I shared a hospital bed with a good friend of mine (hopefully, I've remembered it all correctly!). She is dying from liver failure due to years of intense alcoholism. I haven't seen her for quite a while and I was shocked at her condition. She doesn't look good, her eyes jaundiced and her skin fevered. She's experiencing a lot of pain. It was difficult to watch her and I, the healthy one, winced any time she moved. I wanted to do more, but I could only sit on the edge of her bed, talk, try to rub the ache out of her hands. I looped my fingers through hers, rubbed my index finger in the webs between her fingers, the ridges of her tight, hard knuckles, remembering how you did the same to mine one night in Ogunquit, ME.

Rubbing her palms, I told her that you were the first person I noticed that evening when I walked in the door of the Main Street Bar, that I thought you were exceptionally handsome, and that I didn't think I'd have ever get a chance to snag your attention. I told her how surprised I was when you appeared at my side to tell me you thought I had great hair and offer me a drink. She smiled when I explained that--caught so off guard by your flirting with me--I didn't know how to respond and fled. I bought my own drink, but I still watched you as you eyed the eye-candy and laughed with your friends.

I told her how later that night, accompanied by showtunes and power ballads, I saw you at the piano bar, uncertain about how I should respond to your attention. I shared with her the thoughts, the insecurities, the questions and the plans the prospect of you-in-that-night inspired. I told her you traced my hands with your fingers and said you thought I had beautiful eyes; I wasn't sure if I believed you, but I wanted to. I told her that while walking on the street to our friends' cars, you invited me to extend the evening at your place. I remember feeling flattered and happy and drunk and so goddamn inexperienced; I was a little scared about what you would've thought (or not thought) of my range of talent. Ever practical and responsible, I told you I didn't have a car and rehearsal would come bright and early the next morning.

She asked if I kissed you goodnight. I replied that although I really should have, I didn't. She asked if I saw you again. I told her we shared a few text messages, that I looked for you whenever I was in Ogunquit, that I have wished I could have seen you more often than not. She wanted to see a photo of you, so we looked you up on Facebook. I must admit, I agreed when she said she thought you were gorgeous. I told her that--still, how many months later?-- I regret the fact that I didn't go home with you. I wonder how, if I had, the paths on which we walk might be different. I told her that I wonder if you ever think of me and that I hope life is treating you well, bringing you some success and happiness.

And so, trying to avail her some bit of comfort, I rubbed my dying friend's hands and gave her something I find beautiful: the memories and dreams I made of you one summer night in Maine.

Halloween CaBOOret!

So, I sang at AAT's Gender Bender CaBOOret Friday night.  Dressed up as Audrey Hepburn and sang my own little version of Judy Garland's "The Man That Got Away" with the incomparable Maddie Tarbox at the piano.

Super fun!

With Shlebby

The Man Who Turned Out Gay

The night is bitter
And he's aglow in glitter
He's on the dance floor
Leaving you to sit and drink more
And all because he's the man who turned out gay

You'd like to feel his kiss
But he's loosened up his wrists
Those dreams you've dreamed have all gone astray

The man who stunned you
Has come out and undone you
Your great beginning
Won't ever see an inning
Don't know what happened
It's all a crazy game

It's only friends from here
But you get to shop with your queer
And never your wardrobe will be the same

You ask yourself why
You never saw the signs of "Gay Guy"
He worships Calvin Klein and Lady Gaga

You see him grinding
And now you're realizing
You won't romance him
Just find a way to get past him
Keep on drinking this goddamned Diet Coke

'Cuz ever since this world began
There's nothing sadder than
The Mormon girl praying for the man who turned out gay

The man who turned out gay

Have You Got the Curves?

Dear French Art Song,


Your feminine wiles and supple curves attract my most "sensitive" sensibilities.  Had you been a greater force in my life four years ago, I would have perhaps found in you a type of complicated answer to a lifelong prayer.  Today, you simply reaffirm that my highly cultivated sense of aesthetics is part of a fabulously snarky, happily limp-wristed birthright.  I suppose thanks are in order.

A Pianist in Awe

Rachmaninov: Prelude in D Flat Major, Op. 32, No. 13