Saturday, January 27, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Journey Home
As a kid, I sometimes felt embarrassed by my lack of exposure to church and religion. My adoptive parents were Methodists in name only, and neither one had stepped foot in a church, save for the occasional wedding, in at least 30 years. When a significant portion of my classmates were talking about catechisms and confirmations, I remember feeling afraid. Afraid to be exposed as the kid who didn’t go to church. It was just one more difference, one more wall, between me and “all the other kids.”
My friend Marla grew up in a fairly conservative Catholic family. Her parents and brother were devoted pro-lifers, and I can actually recall family dinner conversations about the pros and cons of killing abortionists. I took up an invite to attend Sunday mass, and got a crash course prepping from Marla. I sat, I kneeled, I stood. I kneeled some more. I pretended to pray on cue, and made sure not to follow everyone up front for a wafer. I looked around at all of the icons and representations of bloody suffering and wondered how these creep-o images filled the hearts of minds of the congregants with compassion and communion. It was like a weird B-movie to me. Did these people actually hear things that I didn’t hear? Did they see stuff that I didn’t see? Why would otherwise seemingly sane people suddenly behave so differently here? On Sunday? In this building?
I never felt embarrassed again about my lack of churchin’. I realized that I was actually saved – from glazy-eyed brainwashed indoctrination. Thank god I wasn’t seduced by the promise of not having to treat this life as if there was no other.
I suppose I wouldn’t have ever had to revisit religion, or more precisely religionists, except that I was a leader of a gay youth group in Pittsburgh. Our adult advisor was a minister of MCC – the gay church, and he provided us with a lot of support and a lot of counseling on how to handle the crazy fundamentalists who so venomously opposed the simple existence of our group. We had threats of lawsuits and allegations that we minors were corrupting our fellow minors.
But the real destruction that I saw done by the “Christians” was in the gay kids who were disowned by their Jesus-loving, gay-hating parents. One kid, Joel, was sent by his parents to ex-gay camp long before ex-gay camps were cool. I only saw him once after that, and the damage was depressingly obvious. Before Jesus camp, Joel was a witty and articulate young man. We all knew that he was suffering through his coming out, because of his ultra-conservative family, but it seemed like he was going to make it. He balanced being a member of Growing Alternative Youth with his position as president of the pro-life group on campus at Pitt. He went to gay clubs and got up early for church on Sunday. He dressed as Nancy Reagan for Halloween. After ex-gay camp, Joel moved to Washington DC, and became a writer for “Clinton Watch.” I hear that he married a woman and became a minister – as, of course, any self-loathing ex-gay would.
In ’92, I moved to San Francisco to become a part of the emerging rave scene. As I’ve mentioned before, the rave scene was a deeply spiritual experience for me. Sometimes with the aid of entheogens, and sometimes without, I came to understand the unlimited potential of 2,000 people transcending difference and creating a positive vibe on the dancefloor. The feeling of communion was strangely similar to the wonder and instinctive connectedness to Nature that I felt as a kid playing in the woods. I realized that my experience in the rave scene and my experience in the woods shared some kind of deep, organic truth about existence and consciousness.
Somewhere, shortly after, I lost my way. My mid-20s were a muddled stew of day-to-day existence, crystal meth addiction, isolation and self destruction. Only because of the unconditional love of friends, I was able to make the long, long trip back to me, and, to be honest, I was hardly recognizable to me when I got there. I moved to Miami Beach, and in ’97, I decided to take a class or two at Miami-Dade Community College, just to do something. I chose a literature class with a professor with a very literature-sounding name – Deena Blazejack. Professor Blazejack was a real-life Dead Poet’s style professor, and I sat mesmerized as I breathed in her passion for literature and life. Her classes were like sermons, and she once shared with us Carl Sagan’s proposition that as all of the particles and atoms that come together to make our bodies and minds were once a part of the stars, we are the Universe trying to understand itself. It was, and still is, the most profound idea I have ever experienced. Every thought I have had, since then, has been influenced by the idea that we aren’t a “we” exploring “it.” We are it. We are all that is and all that is, is us.
A little over a year ago, Tony invited me to the Unity on the Bay holiday concert. Here in Miami, Unity is pretty popular with the Gays, and crunchy New Age-y types, so, of course, I had heard of it before (not to mention that I live directly across the street). Tony had mentioned that he used to sing in the Unity choir, and I knew he really wanted to support his friends in the choir on their big night. I didn’t really know what to expect – I’d always imagined Unity as candlelit yoga and drumming circles. So, I put on my finest lesbian khakis and plaid shirt, and we headed across the street. We entered through the gift shop – which is filled with videos and books about candlelit yoga and drumming circles – and took front and center seats in the sanctuary.
I immediately noticed how un-religious the sanctuary seemed. There weren’t any fear-inducing depictions of a bloody savior nailed to a cross, or images of angels, or saints, or martyrs. There weren’t any secret rituals or fancy schmancy robes. It really looked more like a concert hall at a mid-sized university than a church. I was deeply impressed by the diversity of the audience – every color, ethnicity and sexual orientation. There wasn’t any self-segregation and everyone seemed genuinely comfortable and friendly. I could feel the hard work and heart that was put into the show, and the music reflected the diversity of the audience. We had a really nice time.
To make a long story slightly shorter than it could be…I’ve been going to Unity, fairly regularly since. I love the message – each and every life form is an individual expression of the whole…every life form is an individual attempt by the Universe to understand itself from a different perspective. Every bit of knowledge that we are able to discover, and every part of self that we explore, adds to a greater understanding. Unity on the Bay has allowed me to really explore my deepest, and most natural self. The self that intrinsically knows that, for me, the deep woods and deep house music are truth. The self that knows that sins and judgment days and holy wars have nothing to do with enlightenment. The self that knows that real beauty and the divine nature of the Universe can be found in the complexity of evolution, the sacred balance of an ecosystem, and the fortuity of the Big Bang. I feel so, so grateful to have found a home for the feelings and knowledge that I have always had. Now, pass the Kool-Aid please.
My friend Marla grew up in a fairly conservative Catholic family. Her parents and brother were devoted pro-lifers, and I can actually recall family dinner conversations about the pros and cons of killing abortionists. I took up an invite to attend Sunday mass, and got a crash course prepping from Marla. I sat, I kneeled, I stood. I kneeled some more. I pretended to pray on cue, and made sure not to follow everyone up front for a wafer. I looked around at all of the icons and representations of bloody suffering and wondered how these creep-o images filled the hearts of minds of the congregants with compassion and communion. It was like a weird B-movie to me. Did these people actually hear things that I didn’t hear? Did they see stuff that I didn’t see? Why would otherwise seemingly sane people suddenly behave so differently here? On Sunday? In this building?
I never felt embarrassed again about my lack of churchin’. I realized that I was actually saved – from glazy-eyed brainwashed indoctrination. Thank god I wasn’t seduced by the promise of not having to treat this life as if there was no other.
I suppose I wouldn’t have ever had to revisit religion, or more precisely religionists, except that I was a leader of a gay youth group in Pittsburgh. Our adult advisor was a minister of MCC – the gay church, and he provided us with a lot of support and a lot of counseling on how to handle the crazy fundamentalists who so venomously opposed the simple existence of our group. We had threats of lawsuits and allegations that we minors were corrupting our fellow minors.
But the real destruction that I saw done by the “Christians” was in the gay kids who were disowned by their Jesus-loving, gay-hating parents. One kid, Joel, was sent by his parents to ex-gay camp long before ex-gay camps were cool. I only saw him once after that, and the damage was depressingly obvious. Before Jesus camp, Joel was a witty and articulate young man. We all knew that he was suffering through his coming out, because of his ultra-conservative family, but it seemed like he was going to make it. He balanced being a member of Growing Alternative Youth with his position as president of the pro-life group on campus at Pitt. He went to gay clubs and got up early for church on Sunday. He dressed as Nancy Reagan for Halloween. After ex-gay camp, Joel moved to Washington DC, and became a writer for “Clinton Watch.” I hear that he married a woman and became a minister – as, of course, any self-loathing ex-gay would.
In ’92, I moved to San Francisco to become a part of the emerging rave scene. As I’ve mentioned before, the rave scene was a deeply spiritual experience for me. Sometimes with the aid of entheogens, and sometimes without, I came to understand the unlimited potential of 2,000 people transcending difference and creating a positive vibe on the dancefloor. The feeling of communion was strangely similar to the wonder and instinctive connectedness to Nature that I felt as a kid playing in the woods. I realized that my experience in the rave scene and my experience in the woods shared some kind of deep, organic truth about existence and consciousness.
Somewhere, shortly after, I lost my way. My mid-20s were a muddled stew of day-to-day existence, crystal meth addiction, isolation and self destruction. Only because of the unconditional love of friends, I was able to make the long, long trip back to me, and, to be honest, I was hardly recognizable to me when I got there. I moved to Miami Beach, and in ’97, I decided to take a class or two at Miami-Dade Community College, just to do something. I chose a literature class with a professor with a very literature-sounding name – Deena Blazejack. Professor Blazejack was a real-life Dead Poet’s style professor, and I sat mesmerized as I breathed in her passion for literature and life. Her classes were like sermons, and she once shared with us Carl Sagan’s proposition that as all of the particles and atoms that come together to make our bodies and minds were once a part of the stars, we are the Universe trying to understand itself. It was, and still is, the most profound idea I have ever experienced. Every thought I have had, since then, has been influenced by the idea that we aren’t a “we” exploring “it.” We are it. We are all that is and all that is, is us.
A little over a year ago, Tony invited me to the Unity on the Bay holiday concert. Here in Miami, Unity is pretty popular with the Gays, and crunchy New Age-y types, so, of course, I had heard of it before (not to mention that I live directly across the street). Tony had mentioned that he used to sing in the Unity choir, and I knew he really wanted to support his friends in the choir on their big night. I didn’t really know what to expect – I’d always imagined Unity as candlelit yoga and drumming circles. So, I put on my finest lesbian khakis and plaid shirt, and we headed across the street. We entered through the gift shop – which is filled with videos and books about candlelit yoga and drumming circles – and took front and center seats in the sanctuary.
I immediately noticed how un-religious the sanctuary seemed. There weren’t any fear-inducing depictions of a bloody savior nailed to a cross, or images of angels, or saints, or martyrs. There weren’t any secret rituals or fancy schmancy robes. It really looked more like a concert hall at a mid-sized university than a church. I was deeply impressed by the diversity of the audience – every color, ethnicity and sexual orientation. There wasn’t any self-segregation and everyone seemed genuinely comfortable and friendly. I could feel the hard work and heart that was put into the show, and the music reflected the diversity of the audience. We had a really nice time.
To make a long story slightly shorter than it could be…I’ve been going to Unity, fairly regularly since. I love the message – each and every life form is an individual expression of the whole…every life form is an individual attempt by the Universe to understand itself from a different perspective. Every bit of knowledge that we are able to discover, and every part of self that we explore, adds to a greater understanding. Unity on the Bay has allowed me to really explore my deepest, and most natural self. The self that intrinsically knows that, for me, the deep woods and deep house music are truth. The self that knows that sins and judgment days and holy wars have nothing to do with enlightenment. The self that knows that real beauty and the divine nature of the Universe can be found in the complexity of evolution, the sacred balance of an ecosystem, and the fortuity of the Big Bang. I feel so, so grateful to have found a home for the feelings and knowledge that I have always had. Now, pass the Kool-Aid please.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Monday, January 08, 2007
So Long 2006
I'm a bit late on the good-bye 2006 post...so...some quick highlights....
Tony, Olga, John and I spent a day at Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary.
In August, we went to St. Augustine and did the ghost tour thing.
I was really impressed with the art scene in Pittsburgh. The Mattress Factory was exceptionally cool.
In October, I breathed in the spirit of an old-growth cloud forest in Monteverde, Costa Rica.
And, Tony and I survived the zip-line canopy tour.
And, I dressed like a lesbian German tourist.
We roadtripped 19 hours to Nashville to visit Tony's brother's family for Thanksgiving. From left: Me, niece Julie, nephew Mike, Tony and niece Jenny. Good, good people.
Tony was extra cute in Key West.
We saw the Mayan ruins at Tulum, Mexico.
Mexico was quite lovely.
And, we considered just moving into this place near Playa Del Carmen.
Now, on to 2007...
Thursday, December 07, 2006
A Heap O' Imogen
I'm going on a cruise to Mexico today. If I die of a mysterious cruise ship illness, I leave you with this...
"Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap
Miami Urban Photo Safari
A lot of people consider San Francisco as the epicenter of different in America. It's stuffed full of established anti-establishment types, still tripping hippies and the Burning Man set. It seems like everyone in San Francisco is "alternative" in some way or another. I lived in San Francisco back in the early '90s and I can assure you that it is a weird place, full of weird people.
In 1994, I left the Left Coast and moved to Miami- South Beach to be exact. At first, I often felt sad that I wasn't a part of the progressive city any more, and it took me a while to feel at home here. And now, after 12 years, I've come to realize that San Francisco is weird - surfacely weird. Miami's weirdness is so much deeper. San Francisco is very, very conscious of its freak factor and loves to celebrate it, and display it, at every possible opportunity. Everyone in San Francisco wants to be weird. Miami thinks it's normal, and just goes about its daily business as if it were Colombus Ohio.
Back in the day - 2005 - me and my homey went on an urban photo safari in a couple of the more overlooked hoods in Miami, basically as an excuse to get out and explore the deep, hidden oddities of our city. Every couple of months, we pick a different neighborhood and try to capture it in 10 pictures, or less - and then research community history and publish it all at Okapi Visuals. The lastest expedition was in Little Haiti.
Monday, November 27, 2006
The Reason For The Season
The malls here in Miami began decking the halls 2 months ago, and had Santa's train installed just as the last back to school sales were ending. I know it's cliche at this point to feel nostalgic for the days when the holy season of giving gently revealed itself shortly after Thanksgiving. Today, a 5am scuffle in the line outside of Best Buy on Black Friday merely marks the halfway point in the season of stress and artifice.
This year, I'm committing to honoring the reason for the season - the winter solstice - and celebrating this beautiful time of year by spending quality time with the people that I love, and sharing meaningful gifts instead of spending time fighting the crowds so I can check people off my list with Ipod accessories.
For the like minded:
ENVIRONMENT
World Wildlife Fund
GAY STUFF
ANTI DRUG WAR
PRO-PEACE / PRO-LIBERALISM / PRO-CIVIL RIGHTS / ANTI-IDIOCY
HIV / AIDS / BREAST CANCER
ANIMAL FRIENDS
ART AND MUSIC SAVE OUR LIVES
HOLIDAY CARDS AND ECO-DECORATING
Now go for a walk with someone you love.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
¡Pura Vida!
In a few hours I'll be on my way to the cloud forests in Costa Rica for some much needed adventure time with my hombre numero uno. This will be my fourth trip, but no other place I've ever been nourishes my soul like Costa Rica. Until I get back with some new photos...here are a few that I've taken in past excursions....
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Where Was The Outrage?
Thankfully, it looks like the Republicans may finally pushed it too far. The American masses are shocked and angry at, now former, Congressman Foley's stunningly inappropriate online conversations now known as the Foley Scandal. Even die-hard Repubs are looking squeamishly towards the mid-term elections, because they know that Dennis Hastert, among many other Republican leaders, has been covering up Mr. Foley's history of chicken hawk behavior.
Americans are outraged. Soccer moms are outraged. The Christians are outraged. Political independents are outraged. Bush is disgusted. Upper middle managers are outraged. CNN anchors are outraged. Country music fans are outraged. Democrats are outraged (and more than a little giddy). Senior citizens are outraged. Thanks to, what White House press secretary Tony Snow, referred to a just some naughty e-mails, it looks like the Republican reich is about to be hit hard in November.
I certainly agree that Mr. Foley's behavior was inappropriate, unacceptable and creepy at best. I am so happy to finally see something sticking to these Republican hypocrites. But I have to wonder where the fuck has America's outrage been for the last 5 years?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Bush adminstration squandered our opportunity to find Osama bin Laden by focusing attention on Sadaam's weapons of mass destruction?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Bush arrogantly defied nearly every nation in the world, and invaded Iraq on the premise that the Iraqi people would welcome us with open arms, the Iraqi oil supplies would fund rebuilding and weapons of mass destruction and ties to al-Qaeda would be found and eliminated?
Seriously, where the fuck was the outrage when all of the above turned out to be a calculated lie?
Where the fuck was the outrage when it became clear that tens of thousands of Iraqis have been killed since we began our occupation of their country?
Where the fuck was the outrage when he stood on the battleship well over 3 years ago and announced "mission accomplished?"
Where the fuck was the outrage when it became clear that we squandered our opportunity to work with allies to rebuild a Taliban-free Afghanistan and show the world the greatness of America?
Where the fuck was the outrage when it became clear that we have lost the respect of the entire world, because of the conservatives' need to beat others into submission, as opposed to leading by example?
Where the fuck was the outrage when the vice-president's former company, Halliburton, got handed billions of taxpayers dollars in no-bid contracts to "rebuild" Iraq?
Where the fuck was the outrage when our leaders used fear to pass the Patriot Act, twice, effectively taking whole pieces of the Constitution - ripping them up and throwing them away?
Where the fuck was the outrage when images of condoned sadistic abuses of prisoners in Abu Ghraib flashed across nightly news reports all over the world?
Where the fuck was the outrage when our entire government abandoned an entire class of people in a major American city - leaving them for dead?
Where the fuck was the outrage when 2 weeks ago, our leaders approved the Military Commissions Act, which allows the goverment to secretly detain and torture anyone that might be a subversive or a terrorist, and effectively took what was left of the Constitution after the Patriot Acts and held it up to the American public and set it on fire?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Karl Rove and Dick Cheney violated the Intelligence Identities Protection Act and "leaked" the name of CIA operative Valerie Plame to the press to get even with her and her husband for criticism of the administation?
Where the fuck was the outrage when "voting irregularities" surfaced AGAIN in 2004?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Republicans used American's fears of gay marriage to divert attention away from their war of terror?
Where the fuck was the outrage when the cost of the War on Iraq to taxpayers topped $332 BILLION?
Where the fuck was the outrage when we were told that we can't afford social security, universal health care or decent schools for the next generation, but we can afford $332,000,000,000 (and counting) on a pointless war?
Where the fuck was the outrage when the news media were banned from showing the coffins of dead men and women, draped with American flags, returning from the Middle East?
Where the fuck was the outrage when the number of Americans killed in Iraq topped the number of people killed in the September 11th attacks?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Bush and Congress approved yet more tax cuts - for the wealthy?
Where the fuck was the outrage when it was shown that the administration had ignored the Constitution again, and illegally wiretapped Americans phones and computers?
Where the fuck was the outrage over the past 6 years as Republicans so deliberately and so publicly, with the help of the media, destroyed so much of what made America great?
But, now, once again, America is outraged, and more than a little titillated by a sex scandal. Where the fuck are the priorities of the American people? Sometimes, I just feel like we've gotten what we deserve.
Americans are outraged. Soccer moms are outraged. The Christians are outraged. Political independents are outraged. Bush is disgusted. Upper middle managers are outraged. CNN anchors are outraged. Country music fans are outraged. Democrats are outraged (and more than a little giddy). Senior citizens are outraged. Thanks to, what White House press secretary Tony Snow, referred to a just some naughty e-mails, it looks like the Republican reich is about to be hit hard in November.
I certainly agree that Mr. Foley's behavior was inappropriate, unacceptable and creepy at best. I am so happy to finally see something sticking to these Republican hypocrites. But I have to wonder where the fuck has America's outrage been for the last 5 years?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Bush adminstration squandered our opportunity to find Osama bin Laden by focusing attention on Sadaam's weapons of mass destruction?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Bush arrogantly defied nearly every nation in the world, and invaded Iraq on the premise that the Iraqi people would welcome us with open arms, the Iraqi oil supplies would fund rebuilding and weapons of mass destruction and ties to al-Qaeda would be found and eliminated?
Seriously, where the fuck was the outrage when all of the above turned out to be a calculated lie?
Where the fuck was the outrage when it became clear that tens of thousands of Iraqis have been killed since we began our occupation of their country?
Where the fuck was the outrage when he stood on the battleship well over 3 years ago and announced "mission accomplished?"
Where the fuck was the outrage when it became clear that we squandered our opportunity to work with allies to rebuild a Taliban-free Afghanistan and show the world the greatness of America?
Where the fuck was the outrage when it became clear that we have lost the respect of the entire world, because of the conservatives' need to beat others into submission, as opposed to leading by example?
Where the fuck was the outrage when the vice-president's former company, Halliburton, got handed billions of taxpayers dollars in no-bid contracts to "rebuild" Iraq?
Where the fuck was the outrage when our leaders used fear to pass the Patriot Act, twice, effectively taking whole pieces of the Constitution - ripping them up and throwing them away?
Where the fuck was the outrage when images of condoned sadistic abuses of prisoners in Abu Ghraib flashed across nightly news reports all over the world?
Where the fuck was the outrage when our entire government abandoned an entire class of people in a major American city - leaving them for dead?
Where the fuck was the outrage when 2 weeks ago, our leaders approved the Military Commissions Act, which allows the goverment to secretly detain and torture anyone that might be a subversive or a terrorist, and effectively took what was left of the Constitution after the Patriot Acts and held it up to the American public and set it on fire?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Karl Rove and Dick Cheney violated the Intelligence Identities Protection Act and "leaked" the name of CIA operative Valerie Plame to the press to get even with her and her husband for criticism of the administation?
Where the fuck was the outrage when "voting irregularities" surfaced AGAIN in 2004?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Republicans used American's fears of gay marriage to divert attention away from their war of terror?
Where the fuck was the outrage when the cost of the War on Iraq to taxpayers topped $332 BILLION?
Where the fuck was the outrage when we were told that we can't afford social security, universal health care or decent schools for the next generation, but we can afford $332,000,000,000 (and counting) on a pointless war?
Where the fuck was the outrage when the news media were banned from showing the coffins of dead men and women, draped with American flags, returning from the Middle East?
Where the fuck was the outrage when the number of Americans killed in Iraq topped the number of people killed in the September 11th attacks?
Where the fuck was the outrage when Bush and Congress approved yet more tax cuts - for the wealthy?
Where the fuck was the outrage when it was shown that the administration had ignored the Constitution again, and illegally wiretapped Americans phones and computers?
Where the fuck was the outrage over the past 6 years as Republicans so deliberately and so publicly, with the help of the media, destroyed so much of what made America great?
But, now, once again, America is outraged, and more than a little titillated by a sex scandal. Where the fuck are the priorities of the American people? Sometimes, I just feel like we've gotten what we deserve.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Truth And Enlightenment
Performed by 21 young deaf members of China's Disabled Peoples Performing Art Troupe.
Pure. Wise. Perfect.
Friday, September 22, 2006
A Day In The Life Of Joe Republican
This has been circling the internet for a while...and it's just so true...
Joe gets up at 6 a.m. and fills his coffeepot with water to prepare his morning coffee. The water is clean and good because some tree-hugging liberal fought for minimum water-quality standards. With his first swallow of water, he takes his daily medication. His medications are safe to take because some stupid commie liberal fought to ensure their safety and that they work as advertised.
All but $10 of his medications are paid for by his employer’s medical plan because some liberal union workers fought their employers for paid medical insurance - now Joe gets it too.
He prepares his morning breakfast, bacon and eggs. Joe’s bacon is safe to eat because some girly- man liberal fought for laws to regulate the meat packing industry.
In the morning shower, Joe reaches for his shampoo. His bottle is properly labeled with each ingredient and its amount in the total contents because some crybaby liberal fought for his right to know what he was putting on his body and how much it contained.
Joe dresses, walks outside and takes a deep breath. The air he breathes is clean because some environmentalist wacko liberal fought for the laws to stop industries from polluting our air.
He walks on the government-provided sidewalk to the subway station for his government-subsidized ride to work. It saves him considerable money in parking and transportation costs because some fancy-pants liberal fought for affordable public transportation, which gives everyone the opportunity to be a contributor.
Joe begins his work day. He has a good job with excellent pay, medical benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacation because some lazy liberal union members fought and died for these working standards. Joe’s employer pays these standards because Joe’s employer doesn’t want his employees to call the union.
If Joe is hurt on the job or becomes unemployed, he’ll get a worker compensation or an unemployment check because some stupid liberal didn’t think he should lose his home because of his temporary misfortune.
It is noontime and Joe needs to make a bank deposit so he can pay some bills. Joe’s deposit is federally insured by the FSLIC because some godless liberal wanted to protect Joe’s money from unscrupulous bankers who ruined the banking system before the Great Depression.
Joe has to pay his Fannie Mae-underwritten mortgage and his below-market federal student loan because some elitist liberal decided that Joe and the country would be better off if he was educated and earned more money over his lifetime. Joe also forgets that his in addition to his federally subsidized student loans, he attended a state-funded university.
Joe is home from work. He plans to visit his father this evening at his farm home in the country. He gets in his car for the drive. His car is among the safest in the world because some America-hating liberal fought for car safety standards to go along with the tax- payer funded roads.
He arrives at his boyhood home. His was the third generation to live in the house financed by Farmers’ Home Administration because bankers didn’t want to make rural loans.
The house didn’t have electricity until some big- government liberal stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and demanded rural electrification.
He is happy to see his father, who is now retired. His father lives on Social Security and a union pension because some wine-drinking, cheese-eating liberals made sure Dad could take care of himself so Joe wouldn’t have to.
Joe gets back in his car for the ride home, and turns on a radio talk show. The radio host keeps saying that liberals are bad and conservatives are good. He doesn’t mention that the beloved Republicans have fought against every protection and benefit Joe enjoys throughout his day. Joe agrees: “We don’t need those big-government liberals ruining our lives! After all, I’m a self-made man who believes everyone should take care of himself, just like I have.”
Friday, September 15, 2006
Roadtrip To The Heartland
This past weekend, we packed up the car and hit the road for a much needed weekend getaway. Tony, Jody and I headed 5½ hours north to St. Augustine, in Northeast Florida. Having been founded by the Spanish in 1565, St. Augustine is the oldest European settlement in, what is now, the United States. It's a small town with cobblestone streets, Spanish Colonial and Southern Victorian architecture and a million antique shoppes. It has, what are some of the cheesiest "attractions" I've ever seen, including Ponce De Leon's Fountain of Youth. And just outside the downtown area, you can find beautiful beaches and kitschy mid-century motels. St. Augustine just drips with charm, ghost stories and Spanish moss. I love everything about it.
Except for one thing - the people. St. Augustine looks like it should be home to artists and poets and eccentric ladies with frizzy hair who live to feed homeless cats. You'd expect folk singers and hippies and older gay couples. It's easy to imagine literary geniuses sequestered in Victorian turrets, writing the world's next important work.
But, because north Florida is geographically and culturally very much a part of the Deep South, St. Augustine is awash in hateful rednecks and Bush-loving bible-thumpers. I haven't had to "not be gay" for a long time, and I forgot how unsafe it can feel to be surrounded by conservative straight, white Americans with monster trucks.
These are the folks who think it's a good idea to drop the bomb on the Middle East and exterminate all them A-rabs. They're the same people who won't allow the Coloreds into their church and pray to Jesus that them Mexicans will die in the desert before they can git here to steal our jobs. I actually saw a nice American family proudly wearing this nice t-shirt...
Except for one thing - the people. St. Augustine looks like it should be home to artists and poets and eccentric ladies with frizzy hair who live to feed homeless cats. You'd expect folk singers and hippies and older gay couples. It's easy to imagine literary geniuses sequestered in Victorian turrets, writing the world's next important work.
But, because north Florida is geographically and culturally very much a part of the Deep South, St. Augustine is awash in hateful rednecks and Bush-loving bible-thumpers. I haven't had to "not be gay" for a long time, and I forgot how unsafe it can feel to be surrounded by conservative straight, white Americans with monster trucks.
These are the folks who think it's a good idea to drop the bomb on the Middle East and exterminate all them A-rabs. They're the same people who won't allow the Coloreds into their church and pray to Jesus that them Mexicans will die in the desert before they can git here to steal our jobs. I actually saw a nice American family proudly wearing this nice t-shirt...
Um...yeah...it takes a minute...Malcolm X. I can't even imagine the extent of hatred in someone's heart to go so far out of their way to hurt other peoples' feelings. And these bumper stickers - produced by the 700 Club - are apparently the very latest in vehicle accessories...
Despite all the homeland hatred, we had a great time. We took in the sights, watched wild dolphins, toured the Castillo de San Marcos (built in 1695)and drank from the Fountain of Youth.
Our Accomodations. Yes. The Bunnies Jump!
The Castillo De San Marcos
Downtown St. Augustine
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
The World Famous *BOB*
Many years ago, early on a foggy San Francisco Sunday morning at the End Up, I met a vision named *BOB*. She was like a candy-flipping Mae West meets Las Vegas showgirl from an outer galaxy. She was twirling around the outdoor dancefloor in a glittery space frock with a huge blonde wig and platformed go-go boots. Erik, *BOB* and I quickly became friends, and I was amazed when I discovered that underneath all the plastic bustiers and 6-inch sparkly eyelashes was a true heart of gold.
In the early '90s, when the San Francisco club scene imploded, I lost track of nearly all of my friends, including *BOB*. Over the years, I have been saddened too, too many times by news of what happened to all of my old aquaintances from that era of my journey. About 5 years ago, I found out that *BOB* had not only made it through all the chaos, but she followed her dreams to New York and was busy entertaining and helping to create a new burlesque scene in the Village. I have seen her a couple of times since, and I was lucky enough to catch one of her shows at the Slipper Lounge in New York, but unfortunately, it is hard to keep in touch.
I've really been too fortunate to have known so many outrageously creative and unique characters in my life, and well, if you're in New York any Friday this month....get your ass over to Avenue A.
Bitches.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Double Feature Night
Last night was Tivo double feature night at Jody’s.
Feature #1…..Python vs. Alligator. Complete with forensic scientists armed with digital x-rays and seriously gruesome pictures, National Geographic succeeded in bringing out my inner 8 year old barbarian who screams neat-o at the sight of a 15 foot Burmese python that “mysteriously” exploded after eating a 6 foot alligator. Like an episode of CSI Everglades, a group of biologists pieced together the mystery of exactly what went down when an introduced python was introduced to a native alligator. The conclusion seemed to be that while the python was digesting the alligator, a second alligator attacked and ripped open the snake. The local ecosystem has been taking a beating for years from aggressive introduced species. Australian pines, Brazilian pepper and meleleucas have overtaken thousands of square miles that used to be dominated by a diversity of native trees. Tilapias, cichlids and oscars ate most of the native freshwater fish. Huge poisonous cane toads from South America are killing native animals as well as backyard dogs and cats. And now, thanks to the irresponsible exotic pet trade, we have to contend with wild Burmese pythons and water monitors – which are slightly smaller cousins of the Komodo dragon and are apparently reproducing like crazy in the suburbs of Miami. When the piranhas and spitting cobras set up shop, I’m done.
Feature #2…..30 Days. What a cool show. Created by the “Supersize Me” guy, Morgan Spurlock, 30 days delves into contemporary social issues by arranging and documenting the experience of someone from one side of an issue living with a family on the other side of said issue. Kind of like a political foreign exchange program. A nice follow up to Python vs. Alligator, the episode we watched examined religion and tolerance by having a born-again Christian family from Texas host a suburban Atheist mom from Lawrence Kansas for 30 days. Non-believing mom attended church services and bible study, and calmly defended her ability to live morally and ethically without fear of retribution from the supernatural world. The faithful family reached out of their comfort zone to have dinner with a group of Atheists and hear a perspective that they had never encountered before. This show was thoughtfully done – not at all based on shock-value and with neither side being a caricature. Next week’s episode looks at the abortion issue.
Feature #1…..Python vs. Alligator. Complete with forensic scientists armed with digital x-rays and seriously gruesome pictures, National Geographic succeeded in bringing out my inner 8 year old barbarian who screams neat-o at the sight of a 15 foot Burmese python that “mysteriously” exploded after eating a 6 foot alligator. Like an episode of CSI Everglades, a group of biologists pieced together the mystery of exactly what went down when an introduced python was introduced to a native alligator. The conclusion seemed to be that while the python was digesting the alligator, a second alligator attacked and ripped open the snake. The local ecosystem has been taking a beating for years from aggressive introduced species. Australian pines, Brazilian pepper and meleleucas have overtaken thousands of square miles that used to be dominated by a diversity of native trees. Tilapias, cichlids and oscars ate most of the native freshwater fish. Huge poisonous cane toads from South America are killing native animals as well as backyard dogs and cats. And now, thanks to the irresponsible exotic pet trade, we have to contend with wild Burmese pythons and water monitors – which are slightly smaller cousins of the Komodo dragon and are apparently reproducing like crazy in the suburbs of Miami. When the piranhas and spitting cobras set up shop, I’m done.
Feature #2…..30 Days. What a cool show. Created by the “Supersize Me” guy, Morgan Spurlock, 30 days delves into contemporary social issues by arranging and documenting the experience of someone from one side of an issue living with a family on the other side of said issue. Kind of like a political foreign exchange program. A nice follow up to Python vs. Alligator, the episode we watched examined religion and tolerance by having a born-again Christian family from Texas host a suburban Atheist mom from Lawrence Kansas for 30 days. Non-believing mom attended church services and bible study, and calmly defended her ability to live morally and ethically without fear of retribution from the supernatural world. The faithful family reached out of their comfort zone to have dinner with a group of Atheists and hear a perspective that they had never encountered before. This show was thoughtfully done – not at all based on shock-value and with neither side being a caricature. Next week’s episode looks at the abortion issue.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Miami Heat
Here's a surprising bit of trivia: Miami is the only major city in the contiguous portion of the United States to have never reached 100 degrees. Sure, it's 96 for months on end...but, nope, never 100.
Betcha didn't know that!
Monday, July 31, 2006
The Boob Squad
How nice. The god-fearers are saving America from women's breasts, again. The Janet Jackson Squad is up in arms over this month's cover of Baby Talk Magazine, that features a baby nursing au natural, and actually shows less breast than any TRL music video.
One mother who didn't like the cover explains she was concerned about her 13-year-old son seeing it. "I shredded it," said Gayle Ash, of Belton, Texas, in a telephone interview. "A breast is a breast — it's a sexual thing. He didn't need to see that."
It's a sexual thing. Now can we give Texas back to Mexico? Please?
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
An Icelandic Fable Of Love And Art
With the state of the world today, it's comforting just to know that Bjork exists...
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Left To My Own Devices - Part Two
In 1988, a small group of disenfranchised, but glamourously resourceful teenagers, myself included, formed a Gay youth group – Pittsburgh’s Growing Alternative Youth. Our mission was to welcome, educate and empower the next generation of Steel City queers, as well as to greatly expand our social circle and dating possibilities. We took up a campaign of guerilla marketing – infiltrating high school libraries and stuffing any medical or psychology book with an index reference to “homosexuality” with flyers for the group. We networked at Gay cruising spots and outside Gay bars. We posted flyers in the womyn’s bookstore and the universities’ student unions. We grew from meetings of 4 or 5 to a weekly attendance of over 60 in just a few months.
A local Gay minister and activist, Lou, helped us get organized and encouraged us to take on the world. We had weekly speakers, presenting a range of topics. Herman, a charming, elderly African-American gentleman came to tell us what Gay life was like for him in the 1940s. Kathy, a licensed counselor, came to speak to us about ways to improve self-esteem, and Don, in a 2-part workshop, “Eroticizing Safer Sex,” taught us how to protect ourselves in a newly dangerous world. We watched “Torch Song Trilogy” and “Desert Hearts” and planned monthly under 21 parties at local Gay bars.
In 1990, Chris, my roommate, and a member of the youth group with a long history of depression and self-esteem issues, ended his own life. I think many of us felt that we had failed him – failed to be a good enough family when his family wanted nothing to do with him. We failed to take him seriously when he joked about suicide and when he made theatrical attempts that we thought were “just for attention.” Jason and I were the leaders of the group, and after Chris’ death we lost interest, and the group fell apart (some time after it was reincarnated into a less educational, more social entity).
But, I look back now, and I don’t see failure anymore. I often meet Gay people in their 30s and 40s who are struggling with issues that we were able to address in our teens. Through Growing Alternative Youth and with Lou’s help, we learned more about Gay history and culture before we could legally enter a Gay bar, than many middle-aged Queers know. We had opportunities to grow at a time when, unfortunately, many Gay people are stifled by internalized homophobia.
I realize now that we didn’t fail Chris. We more likely succeeded in keeping a lot of other Gay kids from following in his footsteps.
A local Gay minister and activist, Lou, helped us get organized and encouraged us to take on the world. We had weekly speakers, presenting a range of topics. Herman, a charming, elderly African-American gentleman came to tell us what Gay life was like for him in the 1940s. Kathy, a licensed counselor, came to speak to us about ways to improve self-esteem, and Don, in a 2-part workshop, “Eroticizing Safer Sex,” taught us how to protect ourselves in a newly dangerous world. We watched “Torch Song Trilogy” and “Desert Hearts” and planned monthly under 21 parties at local Gay bars.
In 1990, Chris, my roommate, and a member of the youth group with a long history of depression and self-esteem issues, ended his own life. I think many of us felt that we had failed him – failed to be a good enough family when his family wanted nothing to do with him. We failed to take him seriously when he joked about suicide and when he made theatrical attempts that we thought were “just for attention.” Jason and I were the leaders of the group, and after Chris’ death we lost interest, and the group fell apart (some time after it was reincarnated into a less educational, more social entity).
But, I look back now, and I don’t see failure anymore. I often meet Gay people in their 30s and 40s who are struggling with issues that we were able to address in our teens. Through Growing Alternative Youth and with Lou’s help, we learned more about Gay history and culture before we could legally enter a Gay bar, than many middle-aged Queers know. We had opportunities to grow at a time when, unfortunately, many Gay people are stifled by internalized homophobia.
I realize now that we didn’t fail Chris. We more likely succeeded in keeping a lot of other Gay kids from following in his footsteps.
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