Proposition 8 was justifiably overturned last week in a ruling many people have been awaiting for months. National Organization for Marriage has begun what they've decided to call their Summer for Marriage Tour, driving around to preach to people about marriage being one man and one woman.
Perhaps in the majority of US states marriage is confined to one man and one woman, but as time slowly creeps on we find that equality keeps growing more than not. Outside of the US Mexico City is one of the more recent places to find that gay couples should be allowed to marry. Five US states and a growing handful of countries are realizing that equality benefits all families.
And that is one of the most hurtful things to come out of this culture war, this battle that need not even be fought. I am gay and have a family. I have children, and I'm most certainly not the only gay person with children. But to hear NOM talk about family you'd think that children only appear when a loving heterosexual couple marries with the intent to produce children and raise them in a loving home.
Families come about in a variety of ways and for a variety of reasons. Some people do in fact marry and make babies and stay together till death do them part. Sometimes a person's loved one dies leaving them alone with the children. Sometimes children find their birth parents gone and no longer part of their life for any number of reasons. Sometimes people are unable to have their own children and are willing to create a family through adoption to provide a family for children without parents. Sometimes families combine two pre-existing families to create a new family. And to pretend that only the first type of family I mentioned is the only kind of family that is real or that actually exists is to insult every single other type of family, to degrade them as worthless and not of value.
And that is what NOM does every single day and every minute of every day that they exist. They've spent untold millions of dollars fighting this culture war that need not exist, dollars that could do the thing their Bible actually tells them to do, help the weak and downtrodden, the hungry and the hurting.
But instead of doing that they are making a point of making sure more people are weak and downtrodden, increasing the number of hungry and hurting.
If you want to follow their evil trip to spread hurt then visit the Courage Campaign's Prop 8 Trial Tracker blog. They began earlier this year to make sure that anyone interested was able to keep abreast of the Prop 8 trial, and they've continued their work as we've waited for the verdict (great post about that HERE) and are now on the front lines documenting NOM's bus of animus tour.
Sunday, August 08, 2010
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
oh your poor feelings
After months of waiting for the verdict, people across the country who believe in equality and fairness were delighted today when Judge Vaughn Walker overturned California's Proposition 8 which made marriage inequality in California the law of the land. Prior to prop 8, for a very short time, gay couples in California were allowed to be equal citizens in terms of marriage rights, and a few thousand couples married the person they love. Prop 8 closed that like a closet door slamming shut.
A very few states in the US allow same sex couples to marry, and a very few allow same sex couples to attain something not entirely unlike marriage, often known as a domestic partnership. Like school segregation before Brown vs. Board of Education, gay people were, and in too many states still are, separate but not equal.
Some people who oppose marriage equality will self righteously and infuriatingly pretend that marriage is something a man and a woman do in order to then begin bearing children so that they can have a family. They see marriage as a holy and sacred thing that is the only way in which children are brought into the world, and they insist that the only good way for children to be conceived, born and raised is through this myth that they so want to be true.
Possibly the most infuriating argument now that prop 8 has been overturned is their decrying the "activist judge" who invalidated the votes of seven million Californians who wanted to maintain the charade that all children are born into loving families with parents of opposing genders and are raised in a quaint fifties style sort of perfection that never really ever existed.
And this argument is one that angers me so much because they conveniently ignore reality. Okay, so they consistently ignore reality. They ignore that children are in fact now and have been being raised by gay parents, by single parents and even are adopted and raised by parents with whom they share no actual genetic heritage beyond mere humanity.
So, back to that seven million now disenfranchised voters in California who have to deal with the idea, solely in their slow bigoted minds, that their democracy has failed them. What these anti equality people fail to realize, or what they so easily ignore because the light burns, is that the vote wasn't seven million to zero. The vote, according to this page at Wikipedia was more like 7,001,084 for taking away the right to marry the person you love to 6,401,482 who believe that marriage is a fundamental right that should be available to all.
Somehow the right to equality and the votes of 6.5 million people just don't happen to matter as much as fear mongering, deception and animus. And honestly, if you just don't like gay people have the fucking balls to say so. Quit hiding behind your Bible or your church or your platitudes. Own your bigotry. Quit pretending that you're going to be in any way effected. Quit shitting on all those kids who don't have the fortune to be married into a family that involves a couple lucky enough to have found "the one" the first time around. Quit fucking with other people's lives. Quit forcing us to fight you over and over again. Just fuck off!
A very few states in the US allow same sex couples to marry, and a very few allow same sex couples to attain something not entirely unlike marriage, often known as a domestic partnership. Like school segregation before Brown vs. Board of Education, gay people were, and in too many states still are, separate but not equal.
Some people who oppose marriage equality will self righteously and infuriatingly pretend that marriage is something a man and a woman do in order to then begin bearing children so that they can have a family. They see marriage as a holy and sacred thing that is the only way in which children are brought into the world, and they insist that the only good way for children to be conceived, born and raised is through this myth that they so want to be true.
Possibly the most infuriating argument now that prop 8 has been overturned is their decrying the "activist judge" who invalidated the votes of seven million Californians who wanted to maintain the charade that all children are born into loving families with parents of opposing genders and are raised in a quaint fifties style sort of perfection that never really ever existed.
And this argument is one that angers me so much because they conveniently ignore reality. Okay, so they consistently ignore reality. They ignore that children are in fact now and have been being raised by gay parents, by single parents and even are adopted and raised by parents with whom they share no actual genetic heritage beyond mere humanity.
So, back to that seven million now disenfranchised voters in California who have to deal with the idea, solely in their slow bigoted minds, that their democracy has failed them. What these anti equality people fail to realize, or what they so easily ignore because the light burns, is that the vote wasn't seven million to zero. The vote, according to this page at Wikipedia was more like 7,001,084 for taking away the right to marry the person you love to 6,401,482 who believe that marriage is a fundamental right that should be available to all.
Somehow the right to equality and the votes of 6.5 million people just don't happen to matter as much as fear mongering, deception and animus. And honestly, if you just don't like gay people have the fucking balls to say so. Quit hiding behind your Bible or your church or your platitudes. Own your bigotry. Quit pretending that you're going to be in any way effected. Quit shitting on all those kids who don't have the fortune to be married into a family that involves a couple lucky enough to have found "the one" the first time around. Quit fucking with other people's lives. Quit forcing us to fight you over and over again. Just fuck off!
from whence come I
Thanks to Christine for this one. I played with what it asked for as I suspect most people do. I didn't mean for it to be as negative seeming as it seems to seem, but maybe I'm just looking at it the way I tend. At the same time, if does come across as negative I have to remind myself that I didn't want to spend too much time with each line. I wanted this thing to come out of me in a way that I felt was being honest.
And then I remember and must accept that I over analyze everything, that I edit a lot, that I want to present things in a way that I'm at least okay, if not happy, with. I'm never altogether happy about it. But it's done, and that's all I can say for now.
And all that being said, I give you the thing below. It's called Where I'm From and is basically a set of writing prompts. It wasn't really fun, but if you want to play along go HERE.
I am from old toys from older brothers and out of style clothes.
I am from the white ranch style house where in the summer, if you would just lie still in bed you wouldn't be so hot and could get to sleep.
I am from the dogwood, the red clay, the pines and kudzu.
I am from setting the table and sitting down as a family for sandwiches and listening to Larry Munson on the radio while watching the game on tv with the sound turned down, from being one of many brothers so that we're all always and forever a Hullboy.
I am from the not really talking or being heard.
From because I said to.
I am from the same pew every single service, Sunday morning and night and Wednesday night, and missions conference and revival, men's prayer meeting.
I'm from South Dekalb and iced tea being the first thing I ever learned to make in the kitchen.
From only ever really knowing as family my parents and brothers, a couple of cousins and their parents, from a grandmother I never really remember liking as much as I liked that a night spent at her house meant a certain freedom.
I am from a random assortment of pictures at my parent's house as well as the new collections on the internet as the family I have moves into the twenty first century.
And then I remember and must accept that I over analyze everything, that I edit a lot, that I want to present things in a way that I'm at least okay, if not happy, with. I'm never altogether happy about it. But it's done, and that's all I can say for now.
And all that being said, I give you the thing below. It's called Where I'm From and is basically a set of writing prompts. It wasn't really fun, but if you want to play along go HERE.
I am from old toys from older brothers and out of style clothes.
I am from the white ranch style house where in the summer, if you would just lie still in bed you wouldn't be so hot and could get to sleep.
I am from the dogwood, the red clay, the pines and kudzu.
I am from setting the table and sitting down as a family for sandwiches and listening to Larry Munson on the radio while watching the game on tv with the sound turned down, from being one of many brothers so that we're all always and forever a Hullboy.
I am from the not really talking or being heard.
From because I said to.
I am from the same pew every single service, Sunday morning and night and Wednesday night, and missions conference and revival, men's prayer meeting.
I'm from South Dekalb and iced tea being the first thing I ever learned to make in the kitchen.
From only ever really knowing as family my parents and brothers, a couple of cousins and their parents, from a grandmother I never really remember liking as much as I liked that a night spent at her house meant a certain freedom.
I am from a random assortment of pictures at my parent's house as well as the new collections on the internet as the family I have moves into the twenty first century.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
here kitty
There's a smallish black cat behind the sofa, and two boys are sitting on the sofa discussing possible names.
Late last night Momma and I were sitting on her back porch. She'd worked late, and I just didn't (yet again) go to bed at a reasonable time. We were not drinking too much, for what it's worth.
The dogs had been out and in and out and were back in as the older one was off her lead and kept wanting to sneakily dissappear around the house and into the darkness. Had any of the dogs been out it's likely the cat wouldn't have stopped by or would have gotten chased off before we realized.
But the dogs were inside, and the cat showed up. It's all black, and his/her (don't know yet) tail seems extra long. The poor thing had obviously not eaten recently but didn't seem in too bad a shape. Of course we didn't have any cat good, but I brought out a little dog food which was very quickly gobbled up. I worried that the cat would eat too quickly and end up throwing the food back up, but that didn't happen.
The dogs still don't quite know what to think of the cat. The older dog might remember her old cat friend who we all miss, but the two smaller dogs don't likely have a clue about the new person in their midst. Of the two small dogs only one is ours. The other is a friend's and will hopefully soon be leaving us. The friend needed her two dogs watched for the last month as she worked to find a new living situation.
So we may have a cat now. If we get a reason to believe someone has lost this cat and wants it back we'll do the right thing. But for now the right thing seems to be to give the cat a safe place and to feed it and get some meat on it's bones. And we also have to think of a name.
Late last night Momma and I were sitting on her back porch. She'd worked late, and I just didn't (yet again) go to bed at a reasonable time. We were not drinking too much, for what it's worth.
The dogs had been out and in and out and were back in as the older one was off her lead and kept wanting to sneakily dissappear around the house and into the darkness. Had any of the dogs been out it's likely the cat wouldn't have stopped by or would have gotten chased off before we realized.
But the dogs were inside, and the cat showed up. It's all black, and his/her (don't know yet) tail seems extra long. The poor thing had obviously not eaten recently but didn't seem in too bad a shape. Of course we didn't have any cat good, but I brought out a little dog food which was very quickly gobbled up. I worried that the cat would eat too quickly and end up throwing the food back up, but that didn't happen.
The dogs still don't quite know what to think of the cat. The older dog might remember her old cat friend who we all miss, but the two smaller dogs don't likely have a clue about the new person in their midst. Of the two small dogs only one is ours. The other is a friend's and will hopefully soon be leaving us. The friend needed her two dogs watched for the last month as she worked to find a new living situation.
So we may have a cat now. If we get a reason to believe someone has lost this cat and wants it back we'll do the right thing. But for now the right thing seems to be to give the cat a safe place and to feed it and get some meat on it's bones. And we also have to think of a name.
shouldn't oughta ate it
Liverwurst! Let's just get that out of the way. I hate it.
Maybe I've shared my childhood trauma with you, and maybe not. Either way, I'm not going into the long version right now. The quick version involves household rules requiring us to eat whatever our mouther cooked. She and I were the only two people out of the nine that did not like liver. Dinners that involved liver for us involved her eating something else and me getting the shaft.
Have you ever eaten something that so disgusted you that you would gag the entire time it was even in your mouth? Did you continue to eat it? Okay, I once voluntarily did, the first time I tried octopus. Momma makes sushi, though this particular time was the first either she or I had tried it, and she now realizes that the octopus we had that time was not prepared well and was cut too thick. The flavor wasn't the worst thing then but the fact that no amount of chewing seemed to effect the composition of the piece of octopus.
Liver has the effect on me that I gag while my body tries to relieve itself of this infernal organ and expell it far, far away. It's a memory that still sort of pisses me off, and too much dwelling on the subject can actually make me nauseous even today, and before today I haven't eaten liver in nearly twenty years.
I came home from work a bit later than usual today and immediately needed to visit the bathroom to take care of some business I'd been unable to transact throughout the day. I wouldn't mention this, but it did give a later start than I'd have liked to the taking-care-of-kids half of my day. Following the waste removal operation I fixed the cup of coffee that I also needed.
Somewhat off topic, I really can't stand the coffee at work. I've been drinking water in the morning lately, waiting for ten when the servers start coming in and someone finally makes tea. The coffee there sucks and comes from a machine that makes coffee from packs of some sort of coffee concentrate. It's a big red machine that I like to claim was stolen from the big local politician/business family's local chain store. After choosing your coffee you press the appropriate button while holding your cup under the appropriate nozzle.
And then I needed to relax with my coffee, check Facebook and my email. I needed also to keep the idea of supper in the back of my mind so that I could decide what to get at the store that I needed to soon visit. Eventually I realized the time and the fact that I needed to just move. I hustled the boys into shoes and found some myself.
There are four grocery stores within reasonable driving distance, though it's really a question of two stores represented twice each with a regular version close to the house and the slightly nicer versions being slightly farther away. I chose the nicest of the four because they have a better produce section, and my idea was to just grab some vegetables that the boys would eat while formulating a protein plan.
Though it hadn't occurred to me till we got there, another advantage of the nicer store is the number of samples strewn throughout the deli area. I'm not sure what all the boys ate, but I do know there was muenster cheese, cold cuts that looked like turkey and some sort of ham and that damn liverwurst.
I thought Big Brother would probably like the liverwurst because he likes a lot of stuff. I had no idea how The Boy would enjoy it or whether he would have a meltdown over this ghastly thing that was in contact with his person. They both enjoyed it, and knowing how time can effect our tastes I took a tiny nibble.
And this is where my entire being went into a whirlpool of despair. I suggested to the boys that they share a single piece thinking that they might not like it, and I ate a tiny piece, a piece roughly the size of my pinky fingernail. At first it wasn't bad, and then I suddenly, actually tasted it. And again within another short second I most certainly did taste it and was revolted. I forced it down as quickly as possible.
And then I almost had to wipe my tongue. I might have whined a little, and I certainly did almost reach for my shirt to wipe the gruesome off my tongue, and then I saw myself being the guy in the store licking his shirt, and that didn't seem like it could possibly make the situation better. I finally did what I do, sucked it up, shivered up my spine, felt my head do that thing where it cocks a little to the side.
We were finally moving away from the produce/deli area. The taste of the liverwurst was still in my mouth but hopefully fading, and as I walked that same old feeling started coming over me. Even as the taste of it grew weaker I felt I could still taste it on my breath. That horrid deep in the throat feeling, that rough stomach feeling was slipping up, and I was afraid that I was going to cough and throw up a little. And still I could taste that damn liverwurst on my breath.
I finally stopped and explained to the boys that I needed them to be extra cool, to move quickly with me. I quickly explained about my liver issues, that I shouldn't have eaten it and told them how I felt. We needed to continue the shopping, and thankfully I was forming more ideas for supper as we walked, but more than anything I wanted to figure out where the hell the damn water fountain was.
The taste slowly seemed to go away, and eventually, mercifully, I did find the water fountain. We were mostly done by this point, and though the taste seemed to have completely been taken care of I still had that same feeling, that same worry that I'd start gagging and coughing and lose control.
Fuck I hate liver!
Maybe I've shared my childhood trauma with you, and maybe not. Either way, I'm not going into the long version right now. The quick version involves household rules requiring us to eat whatever our mouther cooked. She and I were the only two people out of the nine that did not like liver. Dinners that involved liver for us involved her eating something else and me getting the shaft.
Have you ever eaten something that so disgusted you that you would gag the entire time it was even in your mouth? Did you continue to eat it? Okay, I once voluntarily did, the first time I tried octopus. Momma makes sushi, though this particular time was the first either she or I had tried it, and she now realizes that the octopus we had that time was not prepared well and was cut too thick. The flavor wasn't the worst thing then but the fact that no amount of chewing seemed to effect the composition of the piece of octopus.
Liver has the effect on me that I gag while my body tries to relieve itself of this infernal organ and expell it far, far away. It's a memory that still sort of pisses me off, and too much dwelling on the subject can actually make me nauseous even today, and before today I haven't eaten liver in nearly twenty years.
I came home from work a bit later than usual today and immediately needed to visit the bathroom to take care of some business I'd been unable to transact throughout the day. I wouldn't mention this, but it did give a later start than I'd have liked to the taking-care-of-kids half of my day. Following the waste removal operation I fixed the cup of coffee that I also needed.
Somewhat off topic, I really can't stand the coffee at work. I've been drinking water in the morning lately, waiting for ten when the servers start coming in and someone finally makes tea. The coffee there sucks and comes from a machine that makes coffee from packs of some sort of coffee concentrate. It's a big red machine that I like to claim was stolen from the big local politician/business family's local chain store. After choosing your coffee you press the appropriate button while holding your cup under the appropriate nozzle.
And then I needed to relax with my coffee, check Facebook and my email. I needed also to keep the idea of supper in the back of my mind so that I could decide what to get at the store that I needed to soon visit. Eventually I realized the time and the fact that I needed to just move. I hustled the boys into shoes and found some myself.
There are four grocery stores within reasonable driving distance, though it's really a question of two stores represented twice each with a regular version close to the house and the slightly nicer versions being slightly farther away. I chose the nicest of the four because they have a better produce section, and my idea was to just grab some vegetables that the boys would eat while formulating a protein plan.
Though it hadn't occurred to me till we got there, another advantage of the nicer store is the number of samples strewn throughout the deli area. I'm not sure what all the boys ate, but I do know there was muenster cheese, cold cuts that looked like turkey and some sort of ham and that damn liverwurst.
I thought Big Brother would probably like the liverwurst because he likes a lot of stuff. I had no idea how The Boy would enjoy it or whether he would have a meltdown over this ghastly thing that was in contact with his person. They both enjoyed it, and knowing how time can effect our tastes I took a tiny nibble.
And this is where my entire being went into a whirlpool of despair. I suggested to the boys that they share a single piece thinking that they might not like it, and I ate a tiny piece, a piece roughly the size of my pinky fingernail. At first it wasn't bad, and then I suddenly, actually tasted it. And again within another short second I most certainly did taste it and was revolted. I forced it down as quickly as possible.
And then I almost had to wipe my tongue. I might have whined a little, and I certainly did almost reach for my shirt to wipe the gruesome off my tongue, and then I saw myself being the guy in the store licking his shirt, and that didn't seem like it could possibly make the situation better. I finally did what I do, sucked it up, shivered up my spine, felt my head do that thing where it cocks a little to the side.
We were finally moving away from the produce/deli area. The taste of the liverwurst was still in my mouth but hopefully fading, and as I walked that same old feeling started coming over me. Even as the taste of it grew weaker I felt I could still taste it on my breath. That horrid deep in the throat feeling, that rough stomach feeling was slipping up, and I was afraid that I was going to cough and throw up a little. And still I could taste that damn liverwurst on my breath.
I finally stopped and explained to the boys that I needed them to be extra cool, to move quickly with me. I quickly explained about my liver issues, that I shouldn't have eaten it and told them how I felt. We needed to continue the shopping, and thankfully I was forming more ideas for supper as we walked, but more than anything I wanted to figure out where the hell the damn water fountain was.
The taste slowly seemed to go away, and eventually, mercifully, I did find the water fountain. We were mostly done by this point, and though the taste seemed to have completely been taken care of I still had that same feeling, that same worry that I'd start gagging and coughing and lose control.
Fuck I hate liver!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
look at the hour
There's no good reason for me to still be up. I'm tired, and while I work an hour later than usual tomorrow it's still early enough for my night owl ass.
I'm not really a morning person, but once the hangover wears off and I get into the swing of my work day I'm usually okay. Or maybe once the vapors clear and the caffeine kicks in enough I'm usually okay.
But I've also learned that getting a decent night of sleep helps the most, so why don't I do it any more often than I do?
Is it the night owl thing? Am I just a dumb ass? or drunkard? Maybe I subconsciously hate my job and am sabotaging myself by being a dumb ass, drunkard night owl.
I'm not really a morning person, but once the hangover wears off and I get into the swing of my work day I'm usually okay. Or maybe once the vapors clear and the caffeine kicks in enough I'm usually okay.
But I've also learned that getting a decent night of sleep helps the most, so why don't I do it any more often than I do?
Is it the night owl thing? Am I just a dumb ass? or drunkard? Maybe I subconsciously hate my job and am sabotaging myself by being a dumb ass, drunkard night owl.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
owning up and not reviewing
Not so long ago I began a post, but for whatever reason I didn't finish or post it. In that post I discussed that Momma had a Dr. Phil book that I'd sorta been reading. And though I've ignored it for a couple of days, I've apparently started sorta reading it again.
I'm sure we're all familiar with Dr. Phil. He's Oprah's lovable oaf that got his own show drawling at people to tell them how they should live. Many people dislike him, and with good reason, while many people find his folksy, aw shucks sort of, get-in-the-game mentality to be exactly what they need.
I don't hate the guy, and I think I'm able to hear him and decide for myself whether the things he's saying at the moment has any actual value. And I think I'm able to weed out all the generalities that work for everyone if we'd all just somehow be exactly as we should and thought right thoughts and always acted in a way that made sense and was healthy.
The problem is that none of us ever always do those things we should, so hearing someone tell us to always do it as we should just isn't that big a help to most of us. If a calendar with daily affirmations and quirky advice about smiling and enjoying the rain gets you through the day then good for you.
But some of us just swallow the hearburn most of the time because the Tums don't work, and forcing a smile gives us a headache rather than makes our inner sunshine sparkle for all the world to see. And chances are there's something within eyesight that makes me feel hatred, and that's just how I am. I kinda hate to say but my daily affirmation calendar would involve pictures of people that I can feel better than.
I suppose my real issue with the book is that I approach it from my gay point of view, though it's a book about hetero women connecting with hetero men to form hetero relationships. I never figured any of that out in my years of research(aka being in the closet), and now that I'm finally out I can admit to all that. Before I would have had to defend the honor of men and damn him for comparing us all to fish. He actually suggests to some extent that getting a man is like catching a fish in that you have to know how he acts and where he feeds so that you can use the right lure to snag him out of the river.
And I'm really doing Dr. Phil a disservice. I'm measuring his book as a gay man, and really it's just not for me. It's kinda like reading a map for a city I'm not going to be visiting, or maybe it's like when Google maps gives you shitty directions.
For all that I'd really hate to imagine the gay version of this book. While straight men do fit a bunch of stereotypes, whether or not I said they do or don't earlier, it doesn't matter, because we gay men have and fit all of those and then some. We're everything from mind numbingly normal to glitter clad. I can swoon over Rufus and still squee when I touch something gross while rocking out to Motorhead. It's how it is.
Maybe my problem was in thinking that a Dr. Phil book would not eventually piss me off. I kinda want to watch his show now just so I can yell insults at the tv. But if you happen upon his book and find help in it then good for you. I haven't, though I have gotten depressed by the whole thing.
I'll never find a man, and if I did I wouldn't be able to marry him. Maybe I'll go drown my tears in a drunken cheezy poof and ramen orgy. Woe! woe is me!
I'm sure we're all familiar with Dr. Phil. He's Oprah's lovable oaf that got his own show drawling at people to tell them how they should live. Many people dislike him, and with good reason, while many people find his folksy, aw shucks sort of, get-in-the-game mentality to be exactly what they need.
I don't hate the guy, and I think I'm able to hear him and decide for myself whether the things he's saying at the moment has any actual value. And I think I'm able to weed out all the generalities that work for everyone if we'd all just somehow be exactly as we should and thought right thoughts and always acted in a way that made sense and was healthy.
The problem is that none of us ever always do those things we should, so hearing someone tell us to always do it as we should just isn't that big a help to most of us. If a calendar with daily affirmations and quirky advice about smiling and enjoying the rain gets you through the day then good for you.
But some of us just swallow the hearburn most of the time because the Tums don't work, and forcing a smile gives us a headache rather than makes our inner sunshine sparkle for all the world to see. And chances are there's something within eyesight that makes me feel hatred, and that's just how I am. I kinda hate to say but my daily affirmation calendar would involve pictures of people that I can feel better than.
I suppose my real issue with the book is that I approach it from my gay point of view, though it's a book about hetero women connecting with hetero men to form hetero relationships. I never figured any of that out in my years of research(aka being in the closet), and now that I'm finally out I can admit to all that. Before I would have had to defend the honor of men and damn him for comparing us all to fish. He actually suggests to some extent that getting a man is like catching a fish in that you have to know how he acts and where he feeds so that you can use the right lure to snag him out of the river.
And I'm really doing Dr. Phil a disservice. I'm measuring his book as a gay man, and really it's just not for me. It's kinda like reading a map for a city I'm not going to be visiting, or maybe it's like when Google maps gives you shitty directions.
For all that I'd really hate to imagine the gay version of this book. While straight men do fit a bunch of stereotypes, whether or not I said they do or don't earlier, it doesn't matter, because we gay men have and fit all of those and then some. We're everything from mind numbingly normal to glitter clad. I can swoon over Rufus and still squee when I touch something gross while rocking out to Motorhead. It's how it is.
Maybe my problem was in thinking that a Dr. Phil book would not eventually piss me off. I kinda want to watch his show now just so I can yell insults at the tv. But if you happen upon his book and find help in it then good for you. I haven't, though I have gotten depressed by the whole thing.
I'll never find a man, and if I did I wouldn't be able to marry him. Maybe I'll go drown my tears in a drunken cheezy poof and ramen orgy. Woe! woe is me!
Friday, July 23, 2010
did publicly admit
Go to Matt Algren's blog to read about Dan Choi being fired from the military for being gay, and HERE is a pdf of the actual discharge papers. There's something fucked up about actually seeing in writing that someone was relieved of duty for the sole fact that they told someone that they are gay.
Is surreal the right word? Or is it just fucked?
Is surreal the right word? Or is it just fucked?
it belongs in the pool
During the US team's attempt to make their way through the World Cup I thought I might have developed a new appreciation for Landon Donovan, striker for both the US mens national team and MLS team LA Galaxy.
I should point out that I've hated him for years. He has his moments, but so often his moments seem only to happen during those MLS games. I should also admit that I don't watch nearly as many MLS games as I would if I had more t.v. in my life to enrich my moments, so I'm sure I've missed whatever the hell else people see in him.
I should also admit that I don't want to imagine my US team as unable to win more games because we just aren't that good. I get that we don't have the history so much of the world has, and that lack of history means that we don't have the ingrown traditions of soccer. Our kids, till recently, didn't really grow up playing soccer, though for whatever reasons it does seem to be growing more popular.
I wonder sometimes if it's growing more popular because so many kids that would love to play something don't play football or baseball for whatever reasons. Perhaps the kids are finally realizing that football is kinda stupid, and baseball is soooo boooooring. Or maybe in the fall the kids' mommies don't want them hurting themselves playing football, and baseball is soooooo boooooring.
Either way, it's growing, and as it does we'll begin to produce more of those players that would be good at any sport along with those kids that are only good at soccer or will only ever be good at soccer, and eventually we'll have a system that can overpay spoiled assholes to the point where the dual sport kid sees basketball as the sport to help him keep in shape for soccer while he awaits that lucrative pro deal. Then we'll win the World Cup.
But watching part of the game tonight reminded me that I used to hate Landon Donovan, and now it's back. Within twenty minutes of beginning to watch the game all the old animus rolled right back around. And I should now admit that I didn't even watch the first half. I only started watching somewhere in the vicinity of the fifty fifth minute.
I watched him dive twice and intentionally handle the ball once. And the moral purist in me that loves the beauty of the beautiful game just hates seeing that shit. Seriously? Diving? And this from the guy that's supposed to be our best hope? our best player?
A hand I can almost get. At least then it's . . . NO! Fuck that guy. It's part of the game that you don't touch the fucking ball with your hand. It's not even that it's against the rules so much as it's just fucking wrong, and fuck it being strategic and a good move, and there's nothing noble about taking the yellow to help your team. It's just not how it goes. I'd almost rather see a good dive.
But fuck a dive too! I get when you're running full speed that sometimes it really doesn't take a hard blow to send you spinning. I get a hard shot that just totally knocks you stupid that really was a fair tackle but you got the foul because maybe you rolled a tiny bit more than inertia might have really caused. And I don't even like those, because it's still kinda like a dive, and I hate diving. The thing is, you got beat, and instead of just dealing you're going to try and get a foul called by pretending you didn't get beat? Man up, motherfucker.
Maybe I still just want too much to be valiant and pure of heart and actually earn my wins. It's so infuriating to know that you didn't get beaten but lost to some bullshit. And when it happens you just have to suck it up or be the sour grapes guy bitching about what he knows happened.
Sometimes you get beat, and sometimes you beat yourselves, and sometimes you don't start fast enough and have to clean up your mess. But that should never mean that you handle the ball and fake fouls. Sometimes you just have to deal, to climb back on the horse, to pull yourself by your boot straps, to refuse to keep getting beaten. And maybe sometimes you just don't get to do those things. Sometimes you just aren't going to win, and sometimes the other team is going to be better.
But for fuck sake, we're Americans. We wear the white hats and save the day. We wipe the blood out of our eyes and rescue the maiden. And we don't go for the nut punch unless we're actually fighting some sort of demon creature that eats babies.
I should point out that I've hated him for years. He has his moments, but so often his moments seem only to happen during those MLS games. I should also admit that I don't watch nearly as many MLS games as I would if I had more t.v. in my life to enrich my moments, so I'm sure I've missed whatever the hell else people see in him.
I should also admit that I don't want to imagine my US team as unable to win more games because we just aren't that good. I get that we don't have the history so much of the world has, and that lack of history means that we don't have the ingrown traditions of soccer. Our kids, till recently, didn't really grow up playing soccer, though for whatever reasons it does seem to be growing more popular.
I wonder sometimes if it's growing more popular because so many kids that would love to play something don't play football or baseball for whatever reasons. Perhaps the kids are finally realizing that football is kinda stupid, and baseball is soooo boooooring. Or maybe in the fall the kids' mommies don't want them hurting themselves playing football, and baseball is soooooo boooooring.
Either way, it's growing, and as it does we'll begin to produce more of those players that would be good at any sport along with those kids that are only good at soccer or will only ever be good at soccer, and eventually we'll have a system that can overpay spoiled assholes to the point where the dual sport kid sees basketball as the sport to help him keep in shape for soccer while he awaits that lucrative pro deal. Then we'll win the World Cup.
But watching part of the game tonight reminded me that I used to hate Landon Donovan, and now it's back. Within twenty minutes of beginning to watch the game all the old animus rolled right back around. And I should now admit that I didn't even watch the first half. I only started watching somewhere in the vicinity of the fifty fifth minute.
I watched him dive twice and intentionally handle the ball once. And the moral purist in me that loves the beauty of the beautiful game just hates seeing that shit. Seriously? Diving? And this from the guy that's supposed to be our best hope? our best player?
A hand I can almost get. At least then it's . . . NO! Fuck that guy. It's part of the game that you don't touch the fucking ball with your hand. It's not even that it's against the rules so much as it's just fucking wrong, and fuck it being strategic and a good move, and there's nothing noble about taking the yellow to help your team. It's just not how it goes. I'd almost rather see a good dive.
But fuck a dive too! I get when you're running full speed that sometimes it really doesn't take a hard blow to send you spinning. I get a hard shot that just totally knocks you stupid that really was a fair tackle but you got the foul because maybe you rolled a tiny bit more than inertia might have really caused. And I don't even like those, because it's still kinda like a dive, and I hate diving. The thing is, you got beat, and instead of just dealing you're going to try and get a foul called by pretending you didn't get beat? Man up, motherfucker.
Maybe I still just want too much to be valiant and pure of heart and actually earn my wins. It's so infuriating to know that you didn't get beaten but lost to some bullshit. And when it happens you just have to suck it up or be the sour grapes guy bitching about what he knows happened.
Sometimes you get beat, and sometimes you beat yourselves, and sometimes you don't start fast enough and have to clean up your mess. But that should never mean that you handle the ball and fake fouls. Sometimes you just have to deal, to climb back on the horse, to pull yourself by your boot straps, to refuse to keep getting beaten. And maybe sometimes you just don't get to do those things. Sometimes you just aren't going to win, and sometimes the other team is going to be better.
But for fuck sake, we're Americans. We wear the white hats and save the day. We wipe the blood out of our eyes and rescue the maiden. And we don't go for the nut punch unless we're actually fighting some sort of demon creature that eats babies.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
he's talking about his . . .
It's time for one of my self concious in/out of the closet moments. It's not new to me, but I don't think I've quite shared with anyone else. Momma's probably seen and noticed it, but I haven't actually discussed it with her, so I can't be sure. But she is somewhat astute. She catches stuff sometimes.
And it has to do with my hair. I'm going to tell you about it.
You may not know, but not so many years ago I was the guy with the shaved head. I even have my own clippers. I was really good at buzzing it all off myself, though I did always ask nicely and would get Momma to run around the edges, because I always missed something.
The worst was around my ears. I always missed a nice long strand, and I would never notice it till a couple of weeks had passed and it was noticeable as it and the hair around it grew. And I don't know how I always missed that bit. Early on I noticed a pattern and paid extra special attention to that area.
Hair is damn fine insulator. It holds in much more heat than you might realize unless you're going bald or have been or are the shaved head guy. Depending on when I last shaved the noggin and depending on what time of the year it was I might reach needing-a-nother-swipe time in the colder months. Sometimes I'd let it go longer because I knew that I'd be that much colder for the next little bit after removing it, but I hated my hair and would also just want it gone.
If I didn't shave it it was unmanageable and sucked and was wispy and mousy and sucked, and I hated it.
And then somewhere around the time I came out and unrelated to my coming out I just didn't cut it one winter. I actually didn't cut it at the time because of the winter. I kept the insulation intending to shave it in early spring, and then I didn't do that either.
And then it was all kinds of looking like shit because it hadn't been cut into a style and was pretty much growing in as a horrible mullet like thing. I had a friend trim the sides and back enough to fix that situation, and eventually I went to a local chain salon and paid someone. For the first time in years someone else cut my hair with some concern as to making the cut something that added something of a style.
But by that point I was sorta on a mission to just let it grow. I was never allowed that luxury as a child. My haircuts were provided free of charge by my father when he decided that it was hair cut night. Each of my brothers and I took our turn in line to get a get little missionary style haircut. He did a great job, as far as I know, and only nicked me a couple of times over the years, but I never really had any option but the one cut we all got.
And though I'd never really thought that I wanted long hair I let it grow, and in the process I changed my attitude about my hair and stopped forcing the curl out.
I actually never realized my hair would curl the way it does. I'd always hated what my hair did and, when I actually had hair, I forced it to not curl. When I let go and let grow however I saw what it was actually capable of, though I'll admit that I have to control the curl to be sure that it doesn't go the wrong way.
And now I just hate the sides. I don't really hate them in general, but I do hate them now. My hair needs to be shortened, and when it gets as long as it is the sides go all sorts of stupid.
Am I in a better place with my hair? When I had none to concern myself with I was never really concerned with it. I buzzed the clippers around my head for a while, swept the floor after dusting myself and took a shower. There was a lot of craning my neck and trying to align a hand held mirror with the one on the medicine cabinet as well, but that's a given.
I should point out now that I've re-resorted to cutting my own hair, but this time I use scissors. I seem to at least be able to get my hair to a uniform not bad where it's all roughly the same length, but I still have to get Momma to come behind and fix what I can't see.
But I don't wanna. I want to pay someone who actually makes their living making hair look nice in a way that me, the bathroom, a wet comb and those damned scissors can't. There's a whole other part of this dream where boys run into things accidentally because they can't take their eyes off me as I walk by, but that's not part of this post. I'll write about that another day.
And it has to do with my hair. I'm going to tell you about it.
You may not know, but not so many years ago I was the guy with the shaved head. I even have my own clippers. I was really good at buzzing it all off myself, though I did always ask nicely and would get Momma to run around the edges, because I always missed something.
The worst was around my ears. I always missed a nice long strand, and I would never notice it till a couple of weeks had passed and it was noticeable as it and the hair around it grew. And I don't know how I always missed that bit. Early on I noticed a pattern and paid extra special attention to that area.
Hair is damn fine insulator. It holds in much more heat than you might realize unless you're going bald or have been or are the shaved head guy. Depending on when I last shaved the noggin and depending on what time of the year it was I might reach needing-a-nother-swipe time in the colder months. Sometimes I'd let it go longer because I knew that I'd be that much colder for the next little bit after removing it, but I hated my hair and would also just want it gone.
If I didn't shave it it was unmanageable and sucked and was wispy and mousy and sucked, and I hated it.
And then somewhere around the time I came out and unrelated to my coming out I just didn't cut it one winter. I actually didn't cut it at the time because of the winter. I kept the insulation intending to shave it in early spring, and then I didn't do that either.
And then it was all kinds of looking like shit because it hadn't been cut into a style and was pretty much growing in as a horrible mullet like thing. I had a friend trim the sides and back enough to fix that situation, and eventually I went to a local chain salon and paid someone. For the first time in years someone else cut my hair with some concern as to making the cut something that added something of a style.
But by that point I was sorta on a mission to just let it grow. I was never allowed that luxury as a child. My haircuts were provided free of charge by my father when he decided that it was hair cut night. Each of my brothers and I took our turn in line to get a get little missionary style haircut. He did a great job, as far as I know, and only nicked me a couple of times over the years, but I never really had any option but the one cut we all got.
And though I'd never really thought that I wanted long hair I let it grow, and in the process I changed my attitude about my hair and stopped forcing the curl out.
I actually never realized my hair would curl the way it does. I'd always hated what my hair did and, when I actually had hair, I forced it to not curl. When I let go and let grow however I saw what it was actually capable of, though I'll admit that I have to control the curl to be sure that it doesn't go the wrong way.
And now I just hate the sides. I don't really hate them in general, but I do hate them now. My hair needs to be shortened, and when it gets as long as it is the sides go all sorts of stupid.
Am I in a better place with my hair? When I had none to concern myself with I was never really concerned with it. I buzzed the clippers around my head for a while, swept the floor after dusting myself and took a shower. There was a lot of craning my neck and trying to align a hand held mirror with the one on the medicine cabinet as well, but that's a given.
I should point out now that I've re-resorted to cutting my own hair, but this time I use scissors. I seem to at least be able to get my hair to a uniform not bad where it's all roughly the same length, but I still have to get Momma to come behind and fix what I can't see.
But I don't wanna. I want to pay someone who actually makes their living making hair look nice in a way that me, the bathroom, a wet comb and those damned scissors can't. There's a whole other part of this dream where boys run into things accidentally because they can't take their eyes off me as I walk by, but that's not part of this post. I'll write about that another day.
we'll see bout this
a) I can give every single child the same chances, choices, options
b) I can put your kid where I want them and train them to do that job so that we can win games
There's been a lot of soccer in my life lately, and currently the t.v. behind me is showing what I'm assuming is this year's ACC women's championship between the Tarheels and the Seminoles. I'm kind of assuming the game is being played in the spring.
And I'm loving it! This week I watched part of the men's version of the same ACC championship, UNC vs. UNV, and I watched the US women's national team tie at one with Sweden. Earlier tonight I watched Manchester United beat Celtic three to nothing, and last night was MLS action, DC United versus Seattle Sounders with Seattle getting that win.
While the kids' soccer sign ups usually sneak up on me I got an email this time around to confirm whether I planned to coach at the U12 level again. So it's been on my mind a bit. You might even say that I've been thinking about it.
I may not have shared anything about last season, and I hate to have to say it, but we had an entirely losing season in the spring. I had a great group of kids that I'd love to coach again, and I think that we could have a totally different season this time around, partly because they'd go in knowing each other.
That was one of my complaints, and it's a complaint I had with my U8's as well. I was given teams of kids that didn't even know each other for the most part, though a couple kids did know each other, and there were a couple of pairs of kids that were friends with each other. And I recognized larger groups of kids on other teams as having been those same large groups before. I feel that left my kids at a bit of a disadvantage going into the season, and due to that and other random nonsense toward the end of the season really messed with their heads. They never got the chance to see themselves as the team that I saw, and I remain proud of what they were able to do.
But I'm not here to bitch about that. I think that having heard from the coach coordinator is an attempt to address a problem that's been recognized by more people than me.
I do want a winning team, but more than that I recognize that these kids are ten and eleven years old. My goal has always been to help them develop a love for and understanding of the game, to help them learn skills that will make them better players and to give them access to different positions. I don't want for a kid to think he belongs in a position without his agreement.
The key is to find the balance between a and b from the beginning of this literary journey. I doubt I'll be coaching U8 as we're going to find something else for The Boy. Soccer is so not his thing, and the only time he really wants to play is before the season actually starts. Once he's out having to actually run and play soccer he changes his mind.
And that's fine.
I'm curious to attend the preseason coach meeting, to find what players I have from last season and to see them again at our first practice as well as to meet the new guys. I'm excited to start working with them, to try this thing about balance where I push them to greatness.
And now for something sort of along the same lines and not entirely something different, and I get that it's a pipe dream, but I love the idea. Read on.
I may have another trick up my sleeve in addition to balancing the whole things I said, and it gets to my goals as a coach, and it gets to a concern I have always had with how I think I assume the parents see me as a coach. I could totally be wrong about their opinions I assume for them.
See, we live in a football town. I know already that, come fall, our soccer Saturdays will be a sea of orange in support of the local college team. Some of the families only watch soccer when it's their kids, but they sure as hell are going to watch the sports they grew up with and know and understand.
They just don't get soccer . . . yet. I'm going to attempt to give the families homework, though I'm not sure it will work. I'm going to give them watching soccer homework, and I'm going to request that the parents and kids watch as many game as is reasonable for them, assuming we can still get some soccer on the t.v. I want them to get it, to know what's happening, to understand why it's beautiful and why people love it.
I have a few weeks before I really have to worry about any of this, but those weeks are going to go by quickly while I'm not really paying attention because it seems so far away still. And then suddenly it'll be time. I'm excited.
b) I can put your kid where I want them and train them to do that job so that we can win games
There's been a lot of soccer in my life lately, and currently the t.v. behind me is showing what I'm assuming is this year's ACC women's championship between the Tarheels and the Seminoles. I'm kind of assuming the game is being played in the spring.
And I'm loving it! This week I watched part of the men's version of the same ACC championship, UNC vs. UNV, and I watched the US women's national team tie at one with Sweden. Earlier tonight I watched Manchester United beat Celtic three to nothing, and last night was MLS action, DC United versus Seattle Sounders with Seattle getting that win.
While the kids' soccer sign ups usually sneak up on me I got an email this time around to confirm whether I planned to coach at the U12 level again. So it's been on my mind a bit. You might even say that I've been thinking about it.
I may not have shared anything about last season, and I hate to have to say it, but we had an entirely losing season in the spring. I had a great group of kids that I'd love to coach again, and I think that we could have a totally different season this time around, partly because they'd go in knowing each other.
That was one of my complaints, and it's a complaint I had with my U8's as well. I was given teams of kids that didn't even know each other for the most part, though a couple kids did know each other, and there were a couple of pairs of kids that were friends with each other. And I recognized larger groups of kids on other teams as having been those same large groups before. I feel that left my kids at a bit of a disadvantage going into the season, and due to that and other random nonsense toward the end of the season really messed with their heads. They never got the chance to see themselves as the team that I saw, and I remain proud of what they were able to do.
But I'm not here to bitch about that. I think that having heard from the coach coordinator is an attempt to address a problem that's been recognized by more people than me.
I do want a winning team, but more than that I recognize that these kids are ten and eleven years old. My goal has always been to help them develop a love for and understanding of the game, to help them learn skills that will make them better players and to give them access to different positions. I don't want for a kid to think he belongs in a position without his agreement.
The key is to find the balance between a and b from the beginning of this literary journey. I doubt I'll be coaching U8 as we're going to find something else for The Boy. Soccer is so not his thing, and the only time he really wants to play is before the season actually starts. Once he's out having to actually run and play soccer he changes his mind.
And that's fine.
I'm curious to attend the preseason coach meeting, to find what players I have from last season and to see them again at our first practice as well as to meet the new guys. I'm excited to start working with them, to try this thing about balance where I push them to greatness.
And now for something sort of along the same lines and not entirely something different, and I get that it's a pipe dream, but I love the idea. Read on.
I may have another trick up my sleeve in addition to balancing the whole things I said, and it gets to my goals as a coach, and it gets to a concern I have always had with how I think I assume the parents see me as a coach. I could totally be wrong about their opinions I assume for them.
See, we live in a football town. I know already that, come fall, our soccer Saturdays will be a sea of orange in support of the local college team. Some of the families only watch soccer when it's their kids, but they sure as hell are going to watch the sports they grew up with and know and understand.
They just don't get soccer . . . yet. I'm going to attempt to give the families homework, though I'm not sure it will work. I'm going to give them watching soccer homework, and I'm going to request that the parents and kids watch as many game as is reasonable for them, assuming we can still get some soccer on the t.v. I want them to get it, to know what's happening, to understand why it's beautiful and why people love it.
I have a few weeks before I really have to worry about any of this, but those weeks are going to go by quickly while I'm not really paying attention because it seems so far away still. And then suddenly it'll be time. I'm excited.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
example of thing I said
Did you read my last post? Go HERE and read the comments to see what I was talking about. It's at Advocate.com which is less like a news site and more like a typical newspaper. They cover all sorts of stuff and tend for the most part to feature news that has an obvious gay angle, but sometimes it's just not that way.
And it's gay enough news for me. Enrique Iglesias promised to water ski naked in Biscayne Bay if his Spanish team won the World Cup, which they did. I'm gay and a soccer fan and willing to be a fan of Spain, though it's not a deep fandom as much as they have some pretty players, and the hot singer has agreed to keep his promise. Like I said, gay enough for me.
And it's gay enough news for me. Enrique Iglesias promised to water ski naked in Biscayne Bay if his Spanish team won the World Cup, which they did. I'm gay and a soccer fan and willing to be a fan of Spain, though it's not a deep fandom as much as they have some pretty players, and the hot singer has agreed to keep his promise. Like I said, gay enough for me.
torn
I don't know what to think in this story and have almost cried over it too many times since it first began.
A young boy who knew he was gay from a young age tried to just be.
He had to go to school and was mistreated from such an early age.
Eventually he fought back the only way he could.
And then he got shot in the head.
It was apparently a hate crime, but a fourteen year old boy shot a fifteen year old boy.
Is it right to try him as an adult?
And I'm going to cry over this story even more before it comes to an end, and I may never know how I feel.
Larry will never get another chance to anything, and Brandon, so young, may never anything worthwhile ever too.
And I don't know what to think or where to even start.
go HERE as a start
A young boy who knew he was gay from a young age tried to just be.
He had to go to school and was mistreated from such an early age.
Eventually he fought back the only way he could.
And then he got shot in the head.
It was apparently a hate crime, but a fourteen year old boy shot a fifteen year old boy.
Is it right to try him as an adult?
And I'm going to cry over this story even more before it comes to an end, and I may never know how I feel.
Larry will never get another chance to anything, and Brandon, so young, may never anything worthwhile ever too.
And I don't know what to think or where to even start.
go HERE as a start
they eat their own
It's a popular question found often in the comments at the three main gay news blogs that I read and likely any site that is mainly gay news oriented, and though it's basically the same question, it's often worded in one of two different ways. The commenter often will ask, "What is this doing on where-ever-it-is.com?" or they'll ask, "How is this gay news?"
Sometimes it's sort of understandable, especially when it's some sort of celebrity fluff bullshit. But that's usually at only one of the sites, and they tend toward just throwing anything out there. It's like a typical local news show where anything is considered news because it fills space and shows up in your reader and keeps you coming back. So while I understand the question and also don't really care about the celebrity fluff bullshit I also want to yell into the computer that gay boys tend to give a shit, and so this particular news outlet should be expected to sometimes include some things that aren't entirely gay specific.
But then there's that other time. The story was basically a link magazine site and a photo spread done for that magazine. The spread included top soccer players from various national teams wearing nothing but underwear based on their country's flag. This was all before the World Cup began and was leading up to the tournament and was in a magazine that has absolutely nothing to do with sports.
I usually don't comment on this site as I seldom have anything to add, but this time I had to. The person asked about the photo spread, "How is this gay news?" And while I wanted to point out the half naked hot dudes angle, I knew that this wasn't the right answer this time.
The photographer that had taken the pictures is a fairly well known person, but more than that, her pictures and images are popular to an unknowable number of people. She's one of those photographers that, no matter who you are, you've seen and are very familiar with any number of her pictures, and you may not even know her name.
She's also a lesbian, so that alone makes it gay news, which is the answer I went with. I even tried to be a bit snarky about it without being an asshole.
Of the other two sites that provide me with news about gay news I only make a point of reading the comments at one. This site has news but adds commentary along with the news. And no matter what the story is, there really always is a gay angle. They don't add the celebrity fluff bullshit and don't need to. They cover stories that have bearing on the community, and they add commentary that is actually well thought out, whether or not you agree with their opinion.
Here more than ever I have to wonder why commenters ask these questions as you often have to wonder if they really read the article. If you've read the article you should generally be able to keep up, but sometimes you need the back story, and too often people just don't. It's like they only read the headlines and have to fire off a comment.
And in the end it's just all about how the gays seem to be more judgmental of each other than straight people. We constantly have to worry about our own feelings based on all the outside noise that treats us like shit, but we then internalize it and feed on it. So we then turn around and give it back out. None of us are ever quite good enough, don't represent well or whatever.
I hate the question when I see it. It's so unnecessary, but I'm never surprised when I read it. I always want to yell at the person. I want to ask them how they have time to bother asking. I want to figure why it's so important to them that they only get news that is specifically and entirely gay when they visit these sites.
I want my gay to stay gay. I understand the need and desire to have a separation between gay and not gay, and this could easily be a whole other post, because at the same time I know that I'm normal and just like anyone and want to be treated as such. At the same time I get how I'm different.
Have I mentioned that I'm the only gay I know that loves Motorhead? Have I mentioned that I can check out girls without being a douche? Have I . . . ?
Maybe I'm currently at fault, doing the thing I'm bitching about. That's a conundrum I suppose.
Sometimes it's sort of understandable, especially when it's some sort of celebrity fluff bullshit. But that's usually at only one of the sites, and they tend toward just throwing anything out there. It's like a typical local news show where anything is considered news because it fills space and shows up in your reader and keeps you coming back. So while I understand the question and also don't really care about the celebrity fluff bullshit I also want to yell into the computer that gay boys tend to give a shit, and so this particular news outlet should be expected to sometimes include some things that aren't entirely gay specific.
But then there's that other time. The story was basically a link magazine site and a photo spread done for that magazine. The spread included top soccer players from various national teams wearing nothing but underwear based on their country's flag. This was all before the World Cup began and was leading up to the tournament and was in a magazine that has absolutely nothing to do with sports.
I usually don't comment on this site as I seldom have anything to add, but this time I had to. The person asked about the photo spread, "How is this gay news?" And while I wanted to point out the half naked hot dudes angle, I knew that this wasn't the right answer this time.
The photographer that had taken the pictures is a fairly well known person, but more than that, her pictures and images are popular to an unknowable number of people. She's one of those photographers that, no matter who you are, you've seen and are very familiar with any number of her pictures, and you may not even know her name.
She's also a lesbian, so that alone makes it gay news, which is the answer I went with. I even tried to be a bit snarky about it without being an asshole.
Of the other two sites that provide me with news about gay news I only make a point of reading the comments at one. This site has news but adds commentary along with the news. And no matter what the story is, there really always is a gay angle. They don't add the celebrity fluff bullshit and don't need to. They cover stories that have bearing on the community, and they add commentary that is actually well thought out, whether or not you agree with their opinion.
Here more than ever I have to wonder why commenters ask these questions as you often have to wonder if they really read the article. If you've read the article you should generally be able to keep up, but sometimes you need the back story, and too often people just don't. It's like they only read the headlines and have to fire off a comment.
And in the end it's just all about how the gays seem to be more judgmental of each other than straight people. We constantly have to worry about our own feelings based on all the outside noise that treats us like shit, but we then internalize it and feed on it. So we then turn around and give it back out. None of us are ever quite good enough, don't represent well or whatever.
I hate the question when I see it. It's so unnecessary, but I'm never surprised when I read it. I always want to yell at the person. I want to ask them how they have time to bother asking. I want to figure why it's so important to them that they only get news that is specifically and entirely gay when they visit these sites.
I want my gay to stay gay. I understand the need and desire to have a separation between gay and not gay, and this could easily be a whole other post, because at the same time I know that I'm normal and just like anyone and want to be treated as such. At the same time I get how I'm different.
Have I mentioned that I'm the only gay I know that loves Motorhead? Have I mentioned that I can check out girls without being a douche? Have I . . . ?
Maybe I'm currently at fault, doing the thing I'm bitching about. That's a conundrum I suppose.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
neither here or where
Remember back when I would post links to interesting things and would sometimes provide comentary? Yeah? I barely do, but let's see if we can do it again.
The article HERE at the soccer blog No Short Corners is about nationalism and soccer. Or is it about national identity and the fact that here in the Oh Ten nations are slowly beginning to look more and more like each other and even to act more and more like each other till eventually there isn't really that much that you can say makes the nations different?
Basically we are in the future. In the past there may or may not have been actual differences in different nations/states. I can see that, and I don't necessarily think we're necessarily past that point. In the battle between nature and nurture I see both of them having their own place, and I see the place you're from having some effect as well.
I have to admit to having never been outside the US, and what discussion I've had with non Americans is very limited. I did once ask a Scottish guy and and English guy who were in town for business about the drink we know as an Irish car bomb, and they said that they too have that drink, but they certainly don't refer to it as such. I'm not sure if that's true. Perhaps they were humoring the honky.
Either way the article is worth reading.
The article HERE at the soccer blog No Short Corners is about nationalism and soccer. Or is it about national identity and the fact that here in the Oh Ten nations are slowly beginning to look more and more like each other and even to act more and more like each other till eventually there isn't really that much that you can say makes the nations different?
Basically we are in the future. In the past there may or may not have been actual differences in different nations/states. I can see that, and I don't necessarily think we're necessarily past that point. In the battle between nature and nurture I see both of them having their own place, and I see the place you're from having some effect as well.
I have to admit to having never been outside the US, and what discussion I've had with non Americans is very limited. I did once ask a Scottish guy and and English guy who were in town for business about the drink we know as an Irish car bomb, and they said that they too have that drink, but they certainly don't refer to it as such. I'm not sure if that's true. Perhaps they were humoring the honky.
Either way the article is worth reading.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
thing I'm trying to think I might do
I read a line recently that may have been about food, but I feel it contains a truth that I'd like to incorporate more fully into my life in general. It just seems like a great way to go about living.
The line is near the end of the following paragraph which I borrowed from a blog post by David Lebovitz. If you don't read his blog you should. He talks about cooking and eating and traveling, and he's an American living in France. Some of his more amusing posts are about dealing with the French mentality from an American point of view. Read the post HERE and the excerpt below.
I was astouonded. I too love to own books, and many of the ones I own are books I've read and loved. Others are books I will read at some point. I don't understand owning a book that I haven't read, don't plan to read or read and didn't enjoy. I'm sure I actually have books that fall into any one or all of those categories, so maybe I shouldn't talk, but then that's what I do.
You don't need to own it, just enjoy it. Of the many things I've heard/read, that's one I want to embrace and to implement more fully. I'm not against owning, but maybe sometimes just to not care and to let myself enjoy is more important.
I do enjoy books, by the way. I love old books, and one of my pleasures is to bury my nose in an old book and breathe in that old book smell. Hell, I might just go and smell some books right now.
The line is near the end of the following paragraph which I borrowed from a blog post by David Lebovitz. If you don't read his blog you should. He talks about cooking and eating and traveling, and he's an American living in France. Some of his more amusing posts are about dealing with the French mentality from an American point of view. Read the post HERE and the excerpt below.
One thing I've learned about traveling is that you should just enjoy what you have right then and there, and not worry about buying more, stocking up, bringing some home, or whatever. Just eat it there. As my friend Susan Loomis says, "You don't need to own it, just enjoy it." And I agree.We often want to own, and I'm reminded of a story I heard on NPR recently that included an interview of a book collecter. He was discussing a book he wanted and was asked about his collection at which point he mentioned that he wasn't much of a reader but loved to own books.
I was astouonded. I too love to own books, and many of the ones I own are books I've read and loved. Others are books I will read at some point. I don't understand owning a book that I haven't read, don't plan to read or read and didn't enjoy. I'm sure I actually have books that fall into any one or all of those categories, so maybe I shouldn't talk, but then that's what I do.
You don't need to own it, just enjoy it. Of the many things I've heard/read, that's one I want to embrace and to implement more fully. I'm not against owning, but maybe sometimes just to not care and to let myself enjoy is more important.
I do enjoy books, by the way. I love old books, and one of my pleasures is to bury my nose in an old book and breathe in that old book smell. Hell, I might just go and smell some books right now.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
and another thing
At some point I stopped commenting on blogs as much as I had. I'm going to fix that as well. My ridiculously rapier sharp wit has been missing from the internets for far too long. I'd like to say I'm back, but I'll probably forget by sometime tomorrow.
Vive la sarcasm!
Vive la sarcasm!
should just deal
Was I more outspoken a blogger about gay issues when I was in the closet? I sometimes think so. I'm not sure why, but I have some possible reasons.
Admittedly one can never know who is reading when they throw things out into the blogosphere. I certainly never meant to open myself to family reading, but I did accidentally. And at first that wasn't a problem because I was still hiding.
But soon after that I wasn't in the closet anymore, and the whatever I said about teh gay was somewhat about me. Even if what I said wasn't about me, if it was gay, it was just because.
So I began to censor myself a bit. Of course I've said some outrageous things in the past both pre and post closet. I thought about those things, but I was likely at least a little bit tipsy, so at the moment my fingers told you those things I didn't care. I don't often go back and reread what I've posted, though I have a couple of times, and one post in particular stands out, though I'm not revisiting or searching to link to it. I just don't care that much.
And now I really want to pull that censor back out of the mix, but I've let him have his say so often that it's become a habit. I'm bad about developing bad habits that I stick with out of not wanting to deal. I do or don't do too many things out of a desire to not have to deal, and that's a habit I should really work on breaking, smashing into tiny little pieces that I can sweep up and toss aside.
That doesn't mean I'm going to write something crazy right now, because I'm not. But I am going to try harder.
Admittedly one can never know who is reading when they throw things out into the blogosphere. I certainly never meant to open myself to family reading, but I did accidentally. And at first that wasn't a problem because I was still hiding.
But soon after that I wasn't in the closet anymore, and the whatever I said about teh gay was somewhat about me. Even if what I said wasn't about me, if it was gay, it was just because.
So I began to censor myself a bit. Of course I've said some outrageous things in the past both pre and post closet. I thought about those things, but I was likely at least a little bit tipsy, so at the moment my fingers told you those things I didn't care. I don't often go back and reread what I've posted, though I have a couple of times, and one post in particular stands out, though I'm not revisiting or searching to link to it. I just don't care that much.
And now I really want to pull that censor back out of the mix, but I've let him have his say so often that it's become a habit. I'm bad about developing bad habits that I stick with out of not wanting to deal. I do or don't do too many things out of a desire to not have to deal, and that's a habit I should really work on breaking, smashing into tiny little pieces that I can sweep up and toss aside.
That doesn't mean I'm going to write something crazy right now, because I'm not. But I am going to try harder.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
impasse
The idea of having my own place is nice, and the actual having of a place is not entirely horrible, but the actuality of the place I have is somewhat problematic.
There are various reasons I rushed into getting the place that I have. The landlord didn't require a deposit, which was nice as I had no money for such. He didn't require much at all other than money, and a tiny red flag went up as I handed him that first check and he asked if I didn't have cash.
Other red flags had gone up previous to this, but they were tiny and I ignored them. I wanted this place, and I wanted the location. I'm still not as unhappy as I could be with the general location, this area known as The Fort and my location just a mile from downtown. That first time that I walked from the apartment to downtown and I realized it had only taken me twenty easy minutes were nice.
But as the two months between then and now have passed I've realized how bad a decision I made, and some of those tiny red flags have become the problems I overlooked. I won't even mention that no one around here seems to understand why/that there is a city law requiring them to clean up their dog's shits.
One problem is the tiny-ness of the unit and the fact that there is no real room for the boys when they are there. I hate even to bring them over. The layout of the unit and the single wall unit air conditioner combine to make a place that, coupled with the Tennessee summer and humidity, make it nearly impossible for them to get a decent night sleep. Add in that it's a block from two different hospitals and then imagine being serenaded nightly, several times a night, by the ambulances screaming past about fifty feet away, and that adds to the issue. Adding on even more is that outside of the inside of the unit there is nowhere for the boys to play, and there's no room inside either.
The swimming pool was supposed to be an amenity, but I still haven't gotten a key to the gate. The landlord assumes the maintenance guy has it, while the maintenance guy suggests that the owners of the units should have them to give to their tenants.
That last paragraph probably needs some clarification. The building was built in the '60's as a hotel. At some point in the ensuing years it became apartments, but there is no single owner of the units which are owned by various landlords. I have a friend four two floors above me, and we have different landlords.
While I was working and then watching soccer this past Saturday there was an open house in my building. My unit was one of those up for sale, and my landlord did some work, painting, caulking, steam cleaning, to prepare the building. In the process he moved all my stuff around, understandable, and he also broke a clipboard and a cd tower, not understandable. I haven't discussed this with him. I could also mention that his painting job absolutely sucks, and he doesn't know how to smooth caulk. I could then mention that he leaves dried chunks of caulk in the sinks and that the kitchen sink was clogged last I looked. I could go even farther and mention that I can't visually see that the carpet has even been vacuumed, much less cleaned, but perhaps that's just piling on.
Back to the pool, I've now decided that I'd prefer my kids to not swim in it, so it's no longer an amenity, and I'm not sure that I want to explain to them why I don't want them in it. Any number of mornings that I've left the building via the stairs that overlook the pool I've seen beer cans and chairs floating in the water. I've known a few people who've admitted to having been in the pool as it seems that nearly everyone in this town knows or has known someone that lives/lived in this building, and apparently the majority of late night pool partiers are swimming, as we say in the south, butt ass nekkid. As if all that weren't bad enough I left the building one day in time to see the maintenance guy having to close the pool because there was broken glass in the area.
And in the end I just can't afford the place. I'm spending nearly half my measly monthly income on the place, and it's not a place I like or that I want to be. I had to move a fair amount of stuff out of the unit for the open house because, as the landlord said, we don't want anything walking out and then have to deal with he-said-she-said. I haven't actually been back in a couple days. Saturday night saw us ending our pride festivities at a friends house, swimming till late at night. Several of us just crashed and then began our Sunday with more swimming. Sunday night I was with the kids at Momma's, and then Monday night ended the same. Some of that was wanting to get up early so that the family (minus The Boy who just doesn't care) could watch the World Cup together. Some of the crashing here might have been more staying up late and some drinking of beer. Momma and I are still really good at being friends and hanging out and sitting up late.
My financial situation could be a whole 'nother post, so in the interest of not boring you THAT much I'll not include that bitch fest here. I just needed to rant for a minute. And now that that's out of the way, I need to figure out where to go from here. I can barely afford to pay half this month's rent now and hand over the other half when I get paid in a week and a half. I did this last month and promised profusely that it wouldn't happen again.
I hate going back on my word. I had the best intentions, but I didn't realize then that, because of a normal summer time lull in business where I work that our labor would take a cut over the next two weeks as we saw some amount of business fall off, and I couldn't have foreseen how much smaller this check was going to be than the last.
All I can do now is explain to the landlord my situation and let him know that I'm planning to be gone in thirty days. I feel like a douche, but I tend to feel like that more often than is really necessary. Now to figure out where I'm going to be in thirty days and how the fuck I plan to swing it.
There are various reasons I rushed into getting the place that I have. The landlord didn't require a deposit, which was nice as I had no money for such. He didn't require much at all other than money, and a tiny red flag went up as I handed him that first check and he asked if I didn't have cash.
Other red flags had gone up previous to this, but they were tiny and I ignored them. I wanted this place, and I wanted the location. I'm still not as unhappy as I could be with the general location, this area known as The Fort and my location just a mile from downtown. That first time that I walked from the apartment to downtown and I realized it had only taken me twenty easy minutes were nice.
But as the two months between then and now have passed I've realized how bad a decision I made, and some of those tiny red flags have become the problems I overlooked. I won't even mention that no one around here seems to understand why/that there is a city law requiring them to clean up their dog's shits.
One problem is the tiny-ness of the unit and the fact that there is no real room for the boys when they are there. I hate even to bring them over. The layout of the unit and the single wall unit air conditioner combine to make a place that, coupled with the Tennessee summer and humidity, make it nearly impossible for them to get a decent night sleep. Add in that it's a block from two different hospitals and then imagine being serenaded nightly, several times a night, by the ambulances screaming past about fifty feet away, and that adds to the issue. Adding on even more is that outside of the inside of the unit there is nowhere for the boys to play, and there's no room inside either.
The swimming pool was supposed to be an amenity, but I still haven't gotten a key to the gate. The landlord assumes the maintenance guy has it, while the maintenance guy suggests that the owners of the units should have them to give to their tenants.
That last paragraph probably needs some clarification. The building was built in the '60's as a hotel. At some point in the ensuing years it became apartments, but there is no single owner of the units which are owned by various landlords. I have a friend four two floors above me, and we have different landlords.
While I was working and then watching soccer this past Saturday there was an open house in my building. My unit was one of those up for sale, and my landlord did some work, painting, caulking, steam cleaning, to prepare the building. In the process he moved all my stuff around, understandable, and he also broke a clipboard and a cd tower, not understandable. I haven't discussed this with him. I could also mention that his painting job absolutely sucks, and he doesn't know how to smooth caulk. I could then mention that he leaves dried chunks of caulk in the sinks and that the kitchen sink was clogged last I looked. I could go even farther and mention that I can't visually see that the carpet has even been vacuumed, much less cleaned, but perhaps that's just piling on.
Back to the pool, I've now decided that I'd prefer my kids to not swim in it, so it's no longer an amenity, and I'm not sure that I want to explain to them why I don't want them in it. Any number of mornings that I've left the building via the stairs that overlook the pool I've seen beer cans and chairs floating in the water. I've known a few people who've admitted to having been in the pool as it seems that nearly everyone in this town knows or has known someone that lives/lived in this building, and apparently the majority of late night pool partiers are swimming, as we say in the south, butt ass nekkid. As if all that weren't bad enough I left the building one day in time to see the maintenance guy having to close the pool because there was broken glass in the area.
And in the end I just can't afford the place. I'm spending nearly half my measly monthly income on the place, and it's not a place I like or that I want to be. I had to move a fair amount of stuff out of the unit for the open house because, as the landlord said, we don't want anything walking out and then have to deal with he-said-she-said. I haven't actually been back in a couple days. Saturday night saw us ending our pride festivities at a friends house, swimming till late at night. Several of us just crashed and then began our Sunday with more swimming. Sunday night I was with the kids at Momma's, and then Monday night ended the same. Some of that was wanting to get up early so that the family (minus The Boy who just doesn't care) could watch the World Cup together. Some of the crashing here might have been more staying up late and some drinking of beer. Momma and I are still really good at being friends and hanging out and sitting up late.
My financial situation could be a whole 'nother post, so in the interest of not boring you THAT much I'll not include that bitch fest here. I just needed to rant for a minute. And now that that's out of the way, I need to figure out where to go from here. I can barely afford to pay half this month's rent now and hand over the other half when I get paid in a week and a half. I did this last month and promised profusely that it wouldn't happen again.
I hate going back on my word. I had the best intentions, but I didn't realize then that, because of a normal summer time lull in business where I work that our labor would take a cut over the next two weeks as we saw some amount of business fall off, and I couldn't have foreseen how much smaller this check was going to be than the last.
All I can do now is explain to the landlord my situation and let him know that I'm planning to be gone in thirty days. I feel like a douche, but I tend to feel like that more often than is really necessary. Now to figure out where I'm going to be in thirty days and how the fuck I plan to swing it.
Monday, June 28, 2010
technology vs. human face
If you've watched any of the action in the currently occurring World Cup and if you also know anything about soccer then you've no doubt seen at least one missed call by a referee. If you haven't seen a bad call then you haven't been watching.
I'll accept that my US team didn't play nearly as well as Ghana in the game we lost that sent us home. The US couldn't hold onto a ball, couldn't seem to get on the end of passes, and looked frightened at the speed with which Ghana ran at whoever had the ball. I saw what looked like a lot of panicking and getting rid of the ball with far too many passes going to a man in red as opposed to a teammate.
It's arguable that the US was tired, having only two days between games, though Ghana only had half a day more of rest than did the US. It's also worth noting that in each of the previous three games the US played our guys were cheated out of a goal and possibly the win. Why does this matter?
In soccer the team that scores first certainly puts themselves at an advantage. In a sense all you need to do is keep the ball for your side the rest of the game while your opponents need not only to score to tie the game but score a second time to get the win.
So given that that the US had pivotal goals disallowed they found themselves having to work that much harder than they should have. They had an uphill battle over and over that they should not have faced, and it's worth noting because this tiredness from having to work harder than they should have certainly set them up for a rough game against Ghana.
I hope none of this seems like sour grapes because it's also worth noting that our guys gave up an early goal in each game and set themselves up for the uphill battle. Couple that with FIFA hiring degenerates to ref games and the fact that the assistant refs apparently just don't know their job, and you get a recipe that cooks up a big pot of US out in the first stage of the knock out round.
And having all this to ruminate, I still think that there's no room for replays in soccer. I don't want to see the game ruined by constantly stopping to check a ref's call. I don't want my beloved soccer to turn into Americanized crap in which the sponsors rule the field by stopping the game for commercials every few minutes. I love soccer because a ninety minute game takes slightly more than ninety minutes versus American football in which a sixty minute time clock takes between two and three hours to actually tick all the way to zero.
One of my greatest fears regarding replays in soccer is the insidious nature of advertising. All it takes is fifteen seconds to cut away for a quick reminder that Buick sells cars or that Coca Cola may be a refreshing beverage. And once you allow that first little ad to sneak in you've set yourself up for soccer played in quarters because some dink thinks you should be reminded about how easy it is to gamble on Ameritrade and has the money to convince the powers that be that they too could line their pockets if only.
And for the record I also hate that American football players sometimes don't even play the last few minutes versus soccer teams who are losing and know that they can't overcome the goal deficit yet continue to fight till the very last blast of the whistle.
I'll accept that my US team didn't play nearly as well as Ghana in the game we lost that sent us home. The US couldn't hold onto a ball, couldn't seem to get on the end of passes, and looked frightened at the speed with which Ghana ran at whoever had the ball. I saw what looked like a lot of panicking and getting rid of the ball with far too many passes going to a man in red as opposed to a teammate.
It's arguable that the US was tired, having only two days between games, though Ghana only had half a day more of rest than did the US. It's also worth noting that in each of the previous three games the US played our guys were cheated out of a goal and possibly the win. Why does this matter?
In soccer the team that scores first certainly puts themselves at an advantage. In a sense all you need to do is keep the ball for your side the rest of the game while your opponents need not only to score to tie the game but score a second time to get the win.
So given that that the US had pivotal goals disallowed they found themselves having to work that much harder than they should have. They had an uphill battle over and over that they should not have faced, and it's worth noting because this tiredness from having to work harder than they should have certainly set them up for a rough game against Ghana.
I hope none of this seems like sour grapes because it's also worth noting that our guys gave up an early goal in each game and set themselves up for the uphill battle. Couple that with FIFA hiring degenerates to ref games and the fact that the assistant refs apparently just don't know their job, and you get a recipe that cooks up a big pot of US out in the first stage of the knock out round.
And having all this to ruminate, I still think that there's no room for replays in soccer. I don't want to see the game ruined by constantly stopping to check a ref's call. I don't want my beloved soccer to turn into Americanized crap in which the sponsors rule the field by stopping the game for commercials every few minutes. I love soccer because a ninety minute game takes slightly more than ninety minutes versus American football in which a sixty minute time clock takes between two and three hours to actually tick all the way to zero.
One of my greatest fears regarding replays in soccer is the insidious nature of advertising. All it takes is fifteen seconds to cut away for a quick reminder that Buick sells cars or that Coca Cola may be a refreshing beverage. And once you allow that first little ad to sneak in you've set yourself up for soccer played in quarters because some dink thinks you should be reminded about how easy it is to gamble on Ameritrade and has the money to convince the powers that be that they too could line their pockets if only.
And for the record I also hate that American football players sometimes don't even play the last few minutes versus soccer teams who are losing and know that they can't overcome the goal deficit yet continue to fight till the very last blast of the whistle.
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