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Guest post: stories like yours

This guest post was written by Cassidy Rae Proctor.

I recognized my reflection before I knew it was mine, in the pages of a beat up paperback on a library shelf.

As a child, I all but lived at the public library in my small town. I learned to read with Peter and Jane, watched borrowed VHS copies of Disney classics, and was a dedicated overachiever each year in the summer reading club. The moment I became a teen, anxious and looking for both a creative outlet and a sense of responsibility, I became an active and enthusiastic part of the library advisory group for young adults. And the week after I finished my final college exams, I began a career in public libraries that today has nearly reached the five year mark. My love for the library hasn’t changed over the years, but I have.

I first read Tamora Pierce’s Alanna: The First Adventure when I was around eleven years old. I had never found a character I identified as strongly with as Alanna of Trebond, a young girl disguising herself as a boy to become a knight. I had read books with fantastic female heroines before, but Alanna was different: as her story went on, it became clear to both me and her that she was a girl, but also kind of a boy, and also kind of both and neither. The idea of identity being personal and complicated, and that being yourself can be the thing that takes the greatest strength, resonated with me in a way I wouldn’t begin to understand for more than a decade.

My journey to discovering myself would be a winding one that I would do my best to ignore for many years to come, but in a small town library, on an old shelf labeled JUVENILE FICTION, a little kid caught a glimpse of themselves for the first time.

The world and I have both changed since I was a kid, but the power of a community space that enthusiastically welcomes everyone, and provides free access to stories that allow people of all ages and backgrounds to feel seen, encouraged, educated and validated has remained, and continues to make public libraries an essential space and resource for our community.

Guest post

Guest post: exploring your queer identity as a bisexual person

I first encountered biphobia before I was even out to myself and a woman at a gay bar in Montreal asked my sexual orientation. When I said I wasn’t sure, she scoffed and said women who “weren’t sure” always defaulted back to men. (Ma’am, who hurt you?) It bothered me at the time, but I didn’t know why.

Now I’m proudly bisexual. I’m also in a relationship with a cisgender man, and there’s been no revelation that I was straight all along. In fact, it’s made the need to connect to my queerness stronger–not to compensate or prove something, but to nurture parts of myself that are vital to who I am, regardless of my partner.

When I asked other friends in “straight-passing” relationships, they said the same thing. They want to express and explore their queer identity, but aren’t sure how. It can be a challenge for any 2SLGBTQ+ person, but especially for those who feel excluded by others in the queer community or erased by the world at large. So how can you engage with and cultivate your queerness? With some exploration, I’ve found ways to embrace, as bell hooks put it, “the self that is at odds with everything around it.”

Engage with queer art.

Nurture yourself with 2SLGBTQ+ culture. Read works written by queer folks about queer folks (fan fiction counts). Watch movies or shows where 2SLGBTQ+ people are realized characters who aren’t killed off for the drama. Listen to queer music artists. Hang queer art on your walls. You might even be inspired to create for yourself!

Learn about queer history.

Queer history is your history! Deepen your connection to yourself by reading up on 2SLGBTQ+ events and people from the past. Understanding queer history in Canada and globally can help you appreciate how far we’ve come—and understand where we need to go.

Volunteer for a cause.

If you have the privilege of time and energy, putting it to use helping an 2SLGBTQ+ cause is a worthy and warming use of it. There are lots of non-profits focused on a variety of queer causes, so find one that speaks to you and put yourself out there.

Find personalized community spaces.

My boyfriend, best friend, and I play video games together. One game we like allows you to add a Pride flag charm to your character’s outfit. When you see other players wearing the Pride charm, it’s customary to do a little dance by crouching to acknowledge each other. The tiny spark I feel as I tap the CTRL key—I see you!—is weird and special.

Participating in queer spaces can be affirming and validating when you find ones that suit you. Luckily, the recent Zoom boom (sorry), means events are becoming more accessible for all. Organizations like Spectrum have support groups online and off, and also host seminars and social events. So get out there and find your own video game Pride charm crouch dance!

Riley Wignall is a writer and a total nerd from Waterloo, currently being queer as h*ck in Hamilton, Ontario.

Guest post

Guest Post: Living With Grief – A Gay Perspective

By Glenn Jamieson

As an older gay male, I was living a charmed life, was completely content, and woke up every day looking forward to whatever the day would bring. I was in a long term (almost 40 years) relationship with my best friend and soulmate, and while we weren’t openly gay, most people who knew us knew we were partners. We didn’t have a lot of gay friends, mostly acquaintances, but we were happy with the life we had created for ourselves.

That life came crashing down in July of 2018 when my partner suffered a heart attack and passed away.

Since that time I have learned more about grief than I’d ever thought possible. Over the years I’d lost aunts, uncles, grandparents, a parent, and coworkers, and while each was a terrible loss in it’s own right, I never really thought about what losing a life partner would be like.

Typically, I would attend the viewing, sometimes the funeral, and would offer up my condolences and support. Over the next few days I would think about the deceased and feel some sadness, but after about a week or so, depending on who it was, my life would continue on as it had previously.

What I never really thought about, nor could I have truly comprehended, was that for the surviving partner their life would never again be as it was. From that day forward, from the start of their day to the end of their day, every day, they are constantly reminded of who isn’t there anymore. There isn’t a day that goes by, and it’s almost four years now, that I don’t think of him.

There are times that I wish someone who’d been through a loss like mine would have warned me, or prepared me, for what it would be like. But I know that even if someone had, I still wouldn’t have been able to grasp the enormity of it.

I joined a local grief group, and while it was a help, I was the only gay person and there were aspects of our lives that I didn’t, or couldn’t, share with a group of heterosexual people who would have no idea of what growing up gay was like in the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s and beyond. My partner and I met at a time when gays were still reviled by mainstream society; we lived in the closet, and a few years later AIDS had started popping up in cities around the world. I think those circumstances made us value each other and our relationship more strongly, and in the end, because we were all that each other had, made the loss that much more intense.

I ended leaving the group after a couple of weeks and faced the loss on my own, reading books on grief, and a year later finding a gay grief group on Facebook. It was comforting to have found others who were experiencing the same type of loss I’d had, but unfortunately, none of them lived locally, and then with COVID, meeting others would not have been possible anyway. In grief, as in so many other situations, it’s beneficial to be able to sit down with likeminded individuals who are going through the same experiences as you are.

I’ve found that grief doesn’t end in six months, a year, two years, or four. The pain of the loss isn’t as intense as it was, but the loss is never ending. I can have great days, but at the end of the day there’s a sadness that’s ever present. I’ve spoken with others who have been widowed 10 years and more, and they’re still missing their soulmates. They don’t share much about it with non widows/widowers, but we can talk to each other, and we understand.

I guess my intent with this post is to make people aware of how fragile life is, and to let everyone know that gay people, still, in some cases, are not treated equally, not just in life, but also in death.

If you’re currently in a committed relationship, sit down with your significant other and tell them how much you love them, and how much they mean to you. Tell each other what you would wish for them moving forward if anything should happen to either of you.

Make sure you’ve got a will and a power of attorney for healthcare, and for finances, for each other. Make sure you’ve named each other as beneficiaries to your pension plans, and whether married or not, have legal papers drawn up showing you consider each other life partners. Don’t wait to do this, do it now!

There are some in the gay grief group who have not only lost their partners, but have been left with nothing because they didn’t have the proper legal protections drawn up, and the family of the deceased has come in and taken everything, including in some cases, their home. Love means protecting each other, and that includes in death.

One other thing I would recommend is to take pictures – lots and lots of pictures -and videos. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but a video is priceless! With a video you get their essence and their voice. A lot of widows/widowers miss hearing their loved ones voices and will save messages from their answering machines just so they can hear still hear them. Once we’re on our own all we are left with are the pictures, the videos, and the memories.

Life is shorter than one may think, and can change in a flash. Value those you love above all else, because in the end, they’re all that matters in this life.

Guest post

Guest post: the elusive queer bar

When I worked in renovations (I know, I know, a lesbian in Carhartt) there was a bar where trades people met after work. We would discuss the day’s problems over a cold pint, rant about customers, and make connections within the industry. It helped relieve the stress of a hard day, and garnered a sense of comradery. As a 40-year-old, single, non-binary lesbian, meeting other queers in the tri-city area has proved to be a kind of queer quest of the Holy Grail: awkward, elusive, and futile. I feel a similar need for a space to exist with like-minded folks – a gay bar to call our own.

I’m imagining a place where we can freely discuss the topics affecting the LGBTQQIP2SAA community without always having to tip-toe or explain, which can happen in mainly straight spaces. A spot where queer haircuts are the norm and suspenders glisten, where everybody knows your pronouns (or politely ask if they don’t), and Sam the pansexual bartender is a retired women’s softball pitcher who flirts with genders across the spectrum. No womanizing here, folks! Sober peeps welcome! (Sam can make a great mocktail).

Of course, the queer world isn’t always a perfect utopia, and violence, misogyny, trans-hate, and bad drunks can be found under the rainbow, too – but, having spaces to connect with other queers can provide a safety net and help alleviate the stress that individuals experience. The baby gays, late-to-lesbians, and “queeretirees” (yes, I just coined that) need somewhere to have that first date, or the one they’ve been waiting for their whole lives.

I remember going to my first lesbian dance party in Toronto years ago, and dancing with a girl for the first time. She kissed me as I twirled her around the crowded bar, and we were safe to be ourselves. While I crave that kind of experience again, I also just want a place to grab a bite with friends, or somewhere to play trivia at. A place for the local drag queens and kings to showcase their talent, for the next generation of Tegan and Sara’s to play, or for local showings of Drag Race instead of having to drive to Toronto to find some semblance of queer fun and community.

And while I’d be happy with a gay bar in Kitchener, there’s an even greater need for lesbian bars at the moment. They tend to be more inclusive, especially for trans and non-binary folx, whereas “gay bars” cater mainly to cisgender gay men, and can be intimidating to other queer sexualities and identities. There are currently no lesbian bars in Canada, and only 21 in the States compared to around 200 in the 80s. This is not a COVID-19 problem. Head over to the big smoke and you can find Crews and Tangos, Woody’s, and a number of other male-centric establishments. The nearest lesbian bar is the Cubbyhole in New York City. I don’t want to have to dig out my passport every time I want to hang out with my people.

This guest post was written by Emily Gleeson.

Guest post

Guest post: Finding the sport that fit for me – the struggle as a POC Lesbian woman

This guest post is by Lakisha Hoover.

People often joke to me about how I navigate through the world as a triple threat: bi-racial, a woman and a lesbian. I never really thought of these things until I got older and realized the community I grew up in lacked resources and spaces that felt comfortable.

Attending Catholic schools all of my life, I knew I was always part of the minority – especially within sports. There was a clear lack of BIPOC and LGBTQ+ representation in my city’s sport leagues, and not many people were out. I never felt safe enough to engage in the conversations everyone else had about dating and who they found to be “hot”, which meant missing out on chances to connect to my teammates when we travelled together.

Eventually I lost my passion for basketball after playing for many years and I feeling I was never going to get anywhere with it as a woman. So I slowly disconnected myself from the sport I have always loved and began playing rugby.

Starting rugby, I was a bit worried about how I would be treated; I loved the chance it gave me to feel strong and empowered, but I was worried about how people would see me. I have heard people joke before in my small group of 2SLGBTQ+ friends that rugby is a “gay persons dream”. Though it was a joke, I was very worried my teammates would get the wrong idea if they knew I was a lesbian. I was already fearful of being labelled as the aggressive black girl. These fears meant I never felt comfortable or good enough, and I eventually disconnected from rugby as I had with basketball and stopped playing altogether.

Fast forward to 2021 when I found a rugby league in my city. Though it was coed and non-contact, I thought it could be a great way to build connections. However, I struggled with not knowing anyone. It was dominated by mainly men who were vocal about not wanting to play with women. Being one of three BIPOC there made me feel even more out of place. I attended a few sessions and eventually quit. I spent the rest of the summer looking into Leagues elsewhere that had a space that I could be myself.

Recently I have signed up for the JAM sport league for co-ed basketball. Typically, co-ed leagues require two women to be on the field at all times. However, in this league there are no minimum gender requirements when playing, which means people who aren’t men are put in the vulnerable position of potentially being benched.

Luckily, places such as Toronto offer great resources and spaces for BIPOC and the LGBTQ+ community. With the help of my amazing partner, I found an inclusive rugby club called The Rainbow Griffins. (More information can be found on Pride Toronto’s Instagram page.) And I am still

I am still hopeful for more small or medium sized cities to create the spaces bigger cities already have.

Guest post

Guest post: straight with a twist

This guest post was written by Marci Warhaft.

“Straight with a twist!”

That’s how I order my vodka and, coincidentally, how I used to describe my sexuality until very recently. While I stand by my drink order, it turns out that I was very wrong about the second part.

Who would have thought that at 50 years old I would realize that I was a lesbian? Certainly not the man I had been married to for 22 years or my children! Luckily, by the time I experienced my epiphany I was divorced and my kids were old enough to process it at their own paces.

Truth be told, until I was in my early 30s I considered myself 100% straight. That changed when during my marriage I developed a strong and surprising attraction for a female friend. The friendship became intimate. Our relationship was brief yet impactful. Despite a curiosity to explore what I was feeling, I didn’t believe it was the right time. Instead, I convinced myself that it was “just a phase” and stuck with that theory for fifteen more years. Even after my marriage ended, I still wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge who I was and continued to (unsuccessfully) date men.

“Maybe I’m just lousy at love”, I’d wonder every time I ended a potential relationship. “Or terrified of commitment.”

Last year as I was turning 50, I finally understood that neither was true. My inability to sustain a relationship didn’t mean I was incapable of love, just that I was looking for it in the wrong direction. I had reached a point in my life when I couldn’t fight my feelings any longer and more importantly, I didn’t want to. My decision was made: I was going to come out as a lesbian.

Coming out at 50 years old is tough; add a worldwide pandemic into the mix and it can feel virtually impossible! Meeting people in person wasn’t an option. I was basically starting my gay life in the privacy of my own apartment!

All I had was social media, so I used it. “Outing” myself felt important. I suppose I felt like I needed to make up for lost time. I joined LGBTQ+ social media groups and posted a noticeable amount of gay content. A lesbian friend agreed to be my “Sappho sensei” and has supported me along the way.

I am so grateful to be in this place of self -acceptance but did have some concerns that I know are common for women in this situation:

1.Will women I meet judge me for my experiences with men?

Some will, but those aren’t your people. You’ll find your community.

2. Is it too late?

Absolutely not. There is no expiry date on living your truth and finding happiness.

3. Will I know what do when it comes to physical intimacy?

Don’t worry, when the connection is real, nature takes over in the most enjoyable of ways.

Regardless of how long it took to get here, you’re here now, so enjoy every second!

Uncategorized

Guest Post: performing bisexuality for others

This month’s guest post was written by Julia Cowderoy.

When I was 19 I posted a status on Facebook that said “when people ask me about my sexuality, I’m just going to start saying my thirst knows no bounds’. While that’s obviously hilarious I understand now that I was using humour as a faux shield against any kind of scrutiny (real or imagined). During this time I felt I had to “prove” my bisexuality in order for it to be valid. The irony of writing an essay to prove that I don’t have to prove anything is not lost on me, but just bear with me.

I’ve realized that not feeling “queer enough” is a common theme within the bisexual community. Why is that? I’ve noticed that bisexual men are assumed to be gay, whereas bisexual women are painted with a broad brush as straight girls who drunkenly make-out with their friends for the enjoyment of their googly-eyed yokel boyfriends. In both instances, the attraction of men is the underlying motivation for expressions of sexuality.

While I can’t wholly speak to the experiences of bisexual men, I will say that I’ve had straight men view my sexuality as a performance for their pleasure. (“Performance” is a useful word because it implies we are actors and bisexuality needs to look a certain way in order for it to be valid.) While trying to come to terms with my own sexuality I was influenced more by external sources than I understood at the time.

I’ve had people in my life question my sexuality because I’ve never dated a woman, and recently my best friend even told me I was “90% into men”. She didn’t mean this maliciously; I’ve only dated men, so the judgement was based more on how I’ve presented than how I feel. The reality is that my attraction to people is more fluid rather than a rigid percentage. This interaction sent me into an anxiety spiral wondering if I was just cosplaying as a bisexual person this entire time.

When I volunteered with Big Brothers Big Sisters as a peer mentor, I encouraged conversations about gender and sexuality. I marvelled at how accepting much of this younger generation is of sexuality and how they realize it isn’t static and doesn’t need to appear a certain way to be real. When I was that age I thought sexuality was something predetermined and permanent, and as such I had a lot of confusion surrounding my attraction to women since I considered myself straight.

I’ve come a long way in understanding my sexuality, but there is still work to be done. I hope as a society we can come to a place of understanding that sexuality and gender are more complex than scientific definitions. And, like any sexuality, bisexuality isn’t some hypothesis that needs to be tested, experimented, cross-examined and held to rigorous scientific standards — it simply exists.

Guest post

Guest post: my most memorable magical day

The day started off frantically, waking up on what would normally have been an idyllic Sunday morning sipping coffee and grabbing brunch with friends. Instead, it was a mad rush to be up at 7am, showered and presentable by 8 am, to dare the journey East toward the glistening lights, endless traffic and colossal glass buildings of Downtown Toronto.

I once read a greeting card that said, “I love you enough to get on the 401 at 5pm for you”. Truer words of affection have never been written, and anyone who has had to endure that test of driving patience, will understand me when I say, that I was grateful that this was a Sunday and not Monday morning.

As we drove towards my Toronto destination, I felt excitement and uncertainty. I had been asked to teach a group of women and non-binary people from an LGBTQ2A+ meetup group a dance routine for fun during their 2-hour weekly picnic in the park. It would be my first time teaching people who weren’t trained dancers, . I had no idea how the day would turn out, especially since I had only learned the steps the night before. But I live my life as an adventure and so regardless of the outcome, I was up for the challenge.

The song the meetup organizer chose was the viral Jerusalema song; back in 2020 you would be hard pressed to open any social media platform and not see or hear a version of the song played at least once. I mean the song was everywhere, and for good reason. The Afro beats, the voice of the singer, the meaning behind the words – it was a masterpiece. To me, the Jerusalama song feels like I am tapping into my ancestral DNA, with the beats, rhythm, and melody touching the deepest part of longing in my soul. Jerusalema was also a movement, unifying the world and offering light during months of silence as we waited through the first waves of our world pandemic.

It was a perfect choice. If a song could have colour, this one would be a brilliant rainbow projecting many colours in one beautiful representation, much like the people who attended the picnic that day = who were of different nationalities, economic backgrounds, different genders, brought together by their need for connection and their desire to try something new.

And dance we did. Within 10 minutes we learned our routine and the true Magic of our day began. As the Jerusalema song played from our speaker on repeat, we laughed and moved, and danced, raising our collective energies until it felt like a ball of light was growing, moving over the park, filling it, and then reaching higher than a tower. I have never experienced anything like it.

Maybe it was the day, which was bright, sunny, and unusually warm for September. Maybe it was because we were all craving human connection. Maybe because it just felt so good to be outside, among our community. Or maybe it was all these things. But every moment was magical. Even now as I recall the day I feel a sense of euphoria and an understanding that this is what it feels like when we let go of all worry, fear, and differences and see each other for why we really are: beautiful souls who just want to dance, laugh, and feel love and connection.

It was a feeling that none of us wanted to let go of, so we continued the day by eating together at a nearby pub, having random photoshoots among the muralled side streets of the Toronto neighbourhood, and sharing more tales. And laughing, oh so much laughter, until we finally though reluctantly (covid be damned) hugged and said goodbye.

By the time I made the journey back to Waterloo my face was stretched wide from laughing, my heart overflowing with joy, and my camera filled with memories of the day. Later I compiled in a video from this footage to remind me and all who were there of this incredible experience. Our homemade Jerusalema video is a priceless treasure that I hold dear, because now whenever I need to feel connected to the Universe I play this video and know that Life will always surprise us with Magic if we allow ourselves the opportunity to be open to it.

Guest post by Tammie of Tea Time with Tammie; Jerusalema Video Link

Awareness, Guest post

Guest post: the importance of substitute decision makers

This guest column was written by Meghan Macmillan.

For many people it is uncomfortable thinking about mortality. What does it mean to grow old, to become ill or to die? These are not easy questions to wrestle with, but they are important for each of us to look at.

Being queer, trans, or any identity outside of the cis-hetero norms of our society makes this even more important. Our doctors, nurses, caregivers are starting to get more training in diversity and how not to make assumptions about the patients they treat, but anyone who is 2SLGBTQ+ has all seen bias (both conscious and unconscious) impact the healthcare experiences of ourselves or our loved ones.

As someone who works with those experiencing serious illness and end-of-life, I get to see the difference it makes to have these difficult conversations ahead of time. The end-of-life needs of the 2SLGBTQ+ community are similar to the general population in that it’s important to talk about what kind of care we want. However, because our community often does not fit neatly into the medical boxes of “family”, there are some additional decisions that need to be looked at to ensure our safety, dignity and comfort

When a person is incapacitated, the medical system looks to their “Substitute Decision Maker” or SDM to make decisions on their behalf. There is a legal standard that health providers go by in emergencies, unless a person has previously legally appointed someone to act for them. Depending on a person’s situation their SDM will be assumed to be their spouse, parent, child, sibling, or other relative (generally in that order). But this framework does not take into account that 2SLGBTQ+ people are often estranged from their families and may prefer that decisions be made by a friend or partners that are not legally recognized as a “spouse”.

There are many reasons that those in our community may not feel that their legal family will best represent their health decisions. Your SDM advocates for things including: medical decisions, who may visit you, who receives information about you, and the type of intimate care you receive. If you feel that a friend or chosen non-immediate family member may better represent you than the person the law assumes would care for you, then it is important to have these conversations with your chosen person and fill out the forms to legally make them your Power of Attorney. While this may sound intimidating, once your decisions are made it is not a difficult process to go through and the forms are free online.

Our health can change at any time, accidents and disease don’t recognize age. We all deserve to be surrounded by the people we love and care about in times of need. While this kind of conversation may feel uncomfortable it is definitely one worth having. Take this as the sign to add it to your “to do” list, get it done, and then congratulate yourself on some definite self care.

SPECTRUM News

The Grand River Rainbow Historical Project is collecting local coming out stories

Banner for the Grand River Rainbow Historical Project’s Coming Out Stories

As part of SPECTRUM’s Grand River Rainbow Historical Project, we are collecting local coming out stories! We believe oral history is extremely important so we are calling for anyone whose coming out story took place in Waterloo Region to create a short video that will live on the Grand River Rainbow Historical Project website.

Our goal is to collect at least one coming out story for every year, going back as far as we can. These stories will catalogue the wide variety of experiences that 2SLGBTQ+ people have had over the decades. Some of them will inspire, others will be cautionary tales, but they all help to make up the fabric of our community and they are all a valuable part of our history.

We plan to launch our Coming Out Stories page on October 11, 2021 — Coming Out Day. First celebrated in 1988, October 11th is National Coming Out Day, a day to celebrate our coming out stories, and also a day to advocate for a world where everyone feels safe and free to live their authentic lives.

If you would like to be part of this project here are the details:

Record a short video (1-5 minutes) wherein you share:

Your name (not necessarily your full name)
Your identity (for example, I am a trans, non-binary person)
The year you came out
And any details you’d like to share about your story

Send an email to scott@ourspectrum.com that includes your video as an attachment, or that includes a link to download your video from a Dropbox, Google Drive, or similar.
Your email must also include an attached video waiver form completed and signed by you.

Before you agree to participate here are some things to consider:

Coming out is always an extremely personal and individual process. 2SLGBTQ+ people frequently come out many times over the course of their lives, sometimes even daily.

You are the only person who really knows if and when it’s the right time to come out, how, and to whom. By sharing your coming out story on video and allowing it to be part of this project you will be forever out to the world. Anyone might potentially see or share your story.

Be sure to consider your personal safety and well-being before agreeing to be part of this project. If you are dependant on someone for housing or financial support, how will that person react to your coming out story? How would your employer react?

SPECTRUM encourages anyone who wants to come out to do so, but to do so in their own time and way. This project may not be for everyone.

If thinking about your coming out story or the process of making a video about it is difficult, you should consider talking about it with a safe person you know or perhaps a counsellor. You could connect with the OK2BME program at KW Counselling Services to find a counsellor.

Tips for Making Your Video

If you are ready to be part of the project, great! Here are some tips to consider when making your video.

Do so in a quiet place, preferably indoors. The sounds of people talking in the background or outdoor nature noises might distract from your story.
Do so in good quality lighting.
Consider what can be seen in your background. Is there anything that you would not like people to see or that might reveal your location?
Please record your video in a horizontal format. If you’re using a smartphone, simply flip it horizontally.

Examples of don’t (record vertically) versus do (record horizontally)

If you have any questions about the project please contact scott@ourspectrum.com.

Download the video waiver form here.

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