Okay, fine. My prior post God is Great, God is Good brought a comment from Anonymous as follows:
"Anonymous said...
For the Lord is the one who shaped the mountains, stirs up the winds, and reveals his everythought. He turns the light of dawn into darkness and treads the mountains under his feet. The Lord God Almighty is his name! Amos 4:13
God's ways are as hard to discern as the pathwyas of the wind, and as mysterious as a tiny baby being formed in a mother's womb.Ecclesiastes 11:5
I think there are things we will not understand about God until we meet him, but I trust his plan is for the good."
Okay, even though I responded to this sad, sad comment on the post itself, I've got to expand a little. God, I've got to expand...
How wonderful it would be, how fucking wondeful it would be to just blithely go on about my merry way dismissing 125,000 or more dead and the possibility of just as many, if not more, dying from the effects (contaminated water supplies, filth, disease) of the South Asia disaster, as God's Plan, as God's fucking Plan and just sit back in my easy chair and wait for the 700 Club to flash on the tube with, undoubtedly the same fucking message: "The Lord works in mysterious ways."
Oh, man... Stay out of my way right now, 'cause if "...His plan is for the good," then I'm ready to bust some fucking Christian ass and send some fucking comfortable bible-thumping muthahfuckers to the emergency room.
Have a great New Year!
Friday, December 31, 2004
Anita Bryant - Good Christian Hate
Do you remember Anita Bryant?
Well, Dunner has given me an idea for a few posts which I don't know why I didn't think of myself. Before I decided to set aside my passion for writing in 1980 and envelop myself in the comfort of a career and the attendant security of that career as a public servant, my writings were fairly routinely published by Denver's gay rag -- which, incidentally, is still publishing quite successfully -- Out Front. And, after re-reading several of my published articles, I've got to say, as I've said before, the more things change, the more they stay the same. So, here goes:
Anita Bryant: Good Christian Hate (Published October, 1979)
Yes, now that I think about it, if it weren't Anita Bryant, it would be someone else. Indeed, it is someone else. Homophobes are a dime a dozen and most of them will tell you about it ... proclaiming their dislike of gays -- in no uncertain terms -- to anybody, anywhere, anytime.
Ms. Bryant, though, has applied a curious twist to this commonplace bigotry by suggesting that America's children are in great danger; that, unless the eradication of homophilia proceed forthwith, the innocent offspring of all God-fearing American parents are in for big trouble. Yes, indeed, what limp-wrested faggot or muscular bulldyke can resist the opportunity to "recruit" some blue-eyed, blond-haired child of eleven or twelve who happens to cross his/her path?
The humor of the situation is certainly grotesque. I'm gay and I love children, but I've yet to seduce one or walk door to door inquiring if the young man of the house would be interested in becoming gay. Of course, the molestation of young boys and girls is left to the psychotics (and Catholic priests, it seems), not happy, loving gay men and lesbians. If Ms. Bryant can't understand this, then her motives are not so much fed by bigotry than by some profound stupidity. But, then, what else is bigotry but stupidity wrapped in patriotism and religion?
One begins to recognize the difficulty Mr. Scopes must have had in trying to enlighten the people of Tennessee about the origins of the human species. No sir, no hot-shot teacher is gonna' convince God-fearin' Christians that science has more to say about life than the Bible.
Ever since I was in the Army and heard a story from a Master Sergeant who had played a clarinet in an Army Band where a certain citrus-selling singer was opening a state fair, I've had a fundamental dislike for that singer. It seems the singer was to perform with the band but, before she even appeared, her husband -- who also happened to be her manager -- instructed the officer in charge of the band that no enlisted men would be allowed to speak to her. She would, naturally, speak to and sign autographs for the officers, but she was off-limits to enlisted personnel.
No, it didn't matter then that most of the enlisted musicians were draftees who had had college and post-graduate training in music and could out-play and out-think the less than articulate career soldiers who happened to be officers. No, what was important, of course, was the matter of image. The singer certainly didn't want to be seen with mere enlisted men lest the orange juice buying public would get the wrong idea.
The point, of course, is that Ms. Bryant is taking a calculated risk in assuming a visible and vocal position atop the citadel of good Christian living. (Anything less than a lieutenant is surely closer to a dog than a pagan. And, what pain it would cause "good Christians" to associate with the base and sordid elements of this world.)
It seems Ms. Bryant must liken orange juice to those other "pure" attributes of middle America such as apple pie, motherhood and the flag. And, God knows, anybody who promotes orange juice must be as wholesome as the purest driven snow. The matter of image is foremost with Ms. Bryant. She is in the business of selling orange juice and what better way to do it than to set one's self up as God's champion on earth ... fighting the uncouth; the un-American; yes, and even the un-Godly. Indeed, I can hear it now. "C'mon, Martha, push that damned cart over to the orange juice section. Those goddamned fairies ain't gonna' push me around." And, somehow, a blow has been struck for democracy.
Some of us pursue more noble goals than selling orange juice and promoting stupidity. Some of us attempt -- in our own little ways -- to make our live and the live of those around us a little more loving; a little more sane. Some of us even try to understand the motivations of stupid people, which brings me to share the following thoughts.
This summer I overheard a young man tell his girlfriend that the novel she was reading, which happend to be 1876 by Gore Vidal, was a good book and Vidal is a good writer, "but," the young man said, "Vidal is a homosexual which tends to color his writing. Rex Reed and Tennessee Williams are fags, too. And Truman Capote ... Jesus, what a screaming queen. See," the young man continued, "I had a drama teacher in high school who filled us in on all this stuff. The arts tend to attract queers like flies to sugar."
This incredible nonsense still persists. Children in American society are conditioned from the very beginning of their lives to fear and even to hate homosexuals who, if they listen to Ms. Bryant and others, are out to recruit them into a life lived exclusively in public toilets and dark X-rated movie houses; a life where sex is prusued to the exclusion of all things in life which have meaning: education, good jobs, mortgages, off-road vehicles, god, wives/husbands, kids, guns. And, even if a person who happens to be gay does make some contribution to humanity, that contribution is somehow "colored" by his/her deviation. Hmmmm.... Michelangelo's Pieta becomes less than exquisitely beautiful; Gertrude Stein becomes less than genius; Walt Whitman's Song of Myself becomes less than, what I believe to be, a profound insight into the meaning, the essence of existentialism by which my life is guided. Oh, yes, this incredible nonsense does persist. This incredible stupidity is espoused so brazenly that it is not so much sickening as it is sad. Yes, to borrow from Elton John, it's a sad, sad situation and it's getting more and more absurd.
Anita Bryant has quited down, but not without making her point. The young man's drama teacher, no doubt, continues to "color" the worth of gay artists with his revelations about their sexuality. And we, as gay people, continue to live our lives in the face of all this nonsense, reaching deep within ourselves and discovering the one consoling factor which negates the hate and fear directed at us to utter meaningless diatribe: we discover our capacity to love and to be loved which is of far reater importance and an infinitely more potent force than anything coming our way from the pitiful homophobes who disseminate good, Christian hate wrapped grandisouly in the stars and stripes.
Well, Dunner has given me an idea for a few posts which I don't know why I didn't think of myself. Before I decided to set aside my passion for writing in 1980 and envelop myself in the comfort of a career and the attendant security of that career as a public servant, my writings were fairly routinely published by Denver's gay rag -- which, incidentally, is still publishing quite successfully -- Out Front. And, after re-reading several of my published articles, I've got to say, as I've said before, the more things change, the more they stay the same. So, here goes:
Anita Bryant: Good Christian Hate (Published October, 1979)
Yes, now that I think about it, if it weren't Anita Bryant, it would be someone else. Indeed, it is someone else. Homophobes are a dime a dozen and most of them will tell you about it ... proclaiming their dislike of gays -- in no uncertain terms -- to anybody, anywhere, anytime.
Ms. Bryant, though, has applied a curious twist to this commonplace bigotry by suggesting that America's children are in great danger; that, unless the eradication of homophilia proceed forthwith, the innocent offspring of all God-fearing American parents are in for big trouble. Yes, indeed, what limp-wrested faggot or muscular bulldyke can resist the opportunity to "recruit" some blue-eyed, blond-haired child of eleven or twelve who happens to cross his/her path?
The humor of the situation is certainly grotesque. I'm gay and I love children, but I've yet to seduce one or walk door to door inquiring if the young man of the house would be interested in becoming gay. Of course, the molestation of young boys and girls is left to the psychotics (and Catholic priests, it seems), not happy, loving gay men and lesbians. If Ms. Bryant can't understand this, then her motives are not so much fed by bigotry than by some profound stupidity. But, then, what else is bigotry but stupidity wrapped in patriotism and religion?
One begins to recognize the difficulty Mr. Scopes must have had in trying to enlighten the people of Tennessee about the origins of the human species. No sir, no hot-shot teacher is gonna' convince God-fearin' Christians that science has more to say about life than the Bible.
Ever since I was in the Army and heard a story from a Master Sergeant who had played a clarinet in an Army Band where a certain citrus-selling singer was opening a state fair, I've had a fundamental dislike for that singer. It seems the singer was to perform with the band but, before she even appeared, her husband -- who also happened to be her manager -- instructed the officer in charge of the band that no enlisted men would be allowed to speak to her. She would, naturally, speak to and sign autographs for the officers, but she was off-limits to enlisted personnel.
No, it didn't matter then that most of the enlisted musicians were draftees who had had college and post-graduate training in music and could out-play and out-think the less than articulate career soldiers who happened to be officers. No, what was important, of course, was the matter of image. The singer certainly didn't want to be seen with mere enlisted men lest the orange juice buying public would get the wrong idea.
The point, of course, is that Ms. Bryant is taking a calculated risk in assuming a visible and vocal position atop the citadel of good Christian living. (Anything less than a lieutenant is surely closer to a dog than a pagan. And, what pain it would cause "good Christians" to associate with the base and sordid elements of this world.)
It seems Ms. Bryant must liken orange juice to those other "pure" attributes of middle America such as apple pie, motherhood and the flag. And, God knows, anybody who promotes orange juice must be as wholesome as the purest driven snow. The matter of image is foremost with Ms. Bryant. She is in the business of selling orange juice and what better way to do it than to set one's self up as God's champion on earth ... fighting the uncouth; the un-American; yes, and even the un-Godly. Indeed, I can hear it now. "C'mon, Martha, push that damned cart over to the orange juice section. Those goddamned fairies ain't gonna' push me around." And, somehow, a blow has been struck for democracy.
Some of us pursue more noble goals than selling orange juice and promoting stupidity. Some of us attempt -- in our own little ways -- to make our live and the live of those around us a little more loving; a little more sane. Some of us even try to understand the motivations of stupid people, which brings me to share the following thoughts.
This summer I overheard a young man tell his girlfriend that the novel she was reading, which happend to be 1876 by Gore Vidal, was a good book and Vidal is a good writer, "but," the young man said, "Vidal is a homosexual which tends to color his writing. Rex Reed and Tennessee Williams are fags, too. And Truman Capote ... Jesus, what a screaming queen. See," the young man continued, "I had a drama teacher in high school who filled us in on all this stuff. The arts tend to attract queers like flies to sugar."
This incredible nonsense still persists. Children in American society are conditioned from the very beginning of their lives to fear and even to hate homosexuals who, if they listen to Ms. Bryant and others, are out to recruit them into a life lived exclusively in public toilets and dark X-rated movie houses; a life where sex is prusued to the exclusion of all things in life which have meaning: education, good jobs, mortgages, off-road vehicles, god, wives/husbands, kids, guns. And, even if a person who happens to be gay does make some contribution to humanity, that contribution is somehow "colored" by his/her deviation. Hmmmm.... Michelangelo's Pieta becomes less than exquisitely beautiful; Gertrude Stein becomes less than genius; Walt Whitman's Song of Myself becomes less than, what I believe to be, a profound insight into the meaning, the essence of existentialism by which my life is guided. Oh, yes, this incredible nonsense does persist. This incredible stupidity is espoused so brazenly that it is not so much sickening as it is sad. Yes, to borrow from Elton John, it's a sad, sad situation and it's getting more and more absurd.
Anita Bryant has quited down, but not without making her point. The young man's drama teacher, no doubt, continues to "color" the worth of gay artists with his revelations about their sexuality. And we, as gay people, continue to live our lives in the face of all this nonsense, reaching deep within ourselves and discovering the one consoling factor which negates the hate and fear directed at us to utter meaningless diatribe: we discover our capacity to love and to be loved which is of far reater importance and an infinitely more potent force than anything coming our way from the pitiful homophobes who disseminate good, Christian hate wrapped grandisouly in the stars and stripes.
"Equal Protection" in Montana
This from the New York Times is a good read with regard to a Montana State Supreme Court decision with regard to "equal protection" constitutional mandates compelling the Montana higher education system to provide domestic partner health benefits. It reads, in part:
"Sadly," Justice Nelson wrote, "many politicians and 'we the people' rarely pass up an opportunity to bash and condemn gays and lesbians despite the fact that these citizens are our neighbors and that they work, pay taxes, vote, hold public office, own businesses, provide professional services, worship, raise their families and serve their communities in the same manner as heterosexuals."
"Sadly," Justice Nelson wrote, "many politicians and 'we the people' rarely pass up an opportunity to bash and condemn gays and lesbians despite the fact that these citizens are our neighbors and that they work, pay taxes, vote, hold public office, own businesses, provide professional services, worship, raise their families and serve their communities in the same manner as heterosexuals."
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Letters From the Earth
The death toll is now up to over 100,000 as a result of the South Asian earthquake and tsunamis. My prior post wondered, in a way, how God could inflict such horror upon his children.
Mark Twain's Letters From The Earth wonders at the same thing:
"Many of these people [those who take the lessons of the Bible literally] have the reasoning faculty, but no one uses it in religious matters.
"The best minds will tell you that when a man has begotten a child he is morally bound to tenderly care for it, protect it from hurt, shield it from disease, clothe it, feed it, bear with its waywardness, lay no hand upon it save in kindness and for its own good, and never in any case inflict upon it a wanton cruelty. Gods' treatment of his earthly children, every day and every night, is the exact opposite of all that, yet those best minds warmly justify these crimes, condone them, excuse them, and indignantly refuse to regard them as crimes at all, when he commits them."
Earlier, Twain notes:
"One of his [the human being's] principal religions is called the Christian. A sketch of it will interest you. It is set forth in detail in a book containing two million words, called the Old and the New Testaments. Also it has another name -- The Word of God. For the Christian thinks every word of it was dictated by God...
"It is full of interest. It has noble poetry in it; and some clever fables; and some blood-drenched history; and some good morals; and a wealth of obscenity; and upwards of a thousand lies."
A thousand lies...
Mark Twain's Letters From The Earth wonders at the same thing:
"Many of these people [those who take the lessons of the Bible literally] have the reasoning faculty, but no one uses it in religious matters.
"The best minds will tell you that when a man has begotten a child he is morally bound to tenderly care for it, protect it from hurt, shield it from disease, clothe it, feed it, bear with its waywardness, lay no hand upon it save in kindness and for its own good, and never in any case inflict upon it a wanton cruelty. Gods' treatment of his earthly children, every day and every night, is the exact opposite of all that, yet those best minds warmly justify these crimes, condone them, excuse them, and indignantly refuse to regard them as crimes at all, when he commits them."
Earlier, Twain notes:
"One of his [the human being's] principal religions is called the Christian. A sketch of it will interest you. It is set forth in detail in a book containing two million words, called the Old and the New Testaments. Also it has another name -- The Word of God. For the Christian thinks every word of it was dictated by God...
"It is full of interest. It has noble poetry in it; and some clever fables; and some blood-drenched history; and some good morals; and a wealth of obscenity; and upwards of a thousand lies."
A thousand lies...
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
The Flu
Thank God for toilets.
And, no, I can't actually thank Thomas Crapper for the toilet because it appears he may not have invented the wonderful device, afterall.
It all started on Christmas day when David and I headed over to my nephew Drew's and his wife Shelley's beautiful new home. All the Denver nephews and nieces and great nephews and nieces as well as grandma and grandpa were there. David and I hadn't been there but maybe five minutes when it was announced by my nephew Pat's wife, Sarah, that they all -- she spread her arms in the air enveloping the entire family -- had been sick with the flu and were just now getting over it and, boy oh boy, the headache was the worst.
"Okay, we're outa' here," I said to David, jokingly, but knowing, really knowing that I would get it; I would share the misery of my family's recent affliction. It was just in the stars.
Two a.m. Monday morning I wake up with a dizzyingly intense throb right above my eyes; the kind of ache that whispers you might as well just go throw-up now, 'cause if you don't do it now, you're gonna be gettin' up later to do it. I didn't get up and I didn't throw-up. I think all the stomach and digestion related medications I take daily probably saved my ass -- ah, wrong word in this context -- saved my stomach from reversing course and well, you know...
So, I get up Monday morning with the Muther of all headaches, nauseous and rumbling in my intestines that we've all experienced and have come to understand will, without a doubt, evolve into something a little more sinister; a little more ... potent. And, indeed, it did. And, every bone and muscle in my body throbbed with the intensity of a fifteen-year-old's orgasm. (That's a good throb, though. Can't think of an appropriate bad throb right now. Give me a break. I've got the flu.)
Thank God for toilets.
I asked Shelley how long this little menace lasted for them all and she advised, "It hits hard. A good four or five days."
I'm into day three.
I haven't run since Sunday. But, after my visitation to the throne early each morning -- and before the next spasm occurs -- I've still loaded Melissa up into the Explorer and we've still made it to the park and circled the lake ... a brisk walk which passes several portable toilets situated around the lake's edge. It is small comfort the portable toilets are there. I mean, have you ever utilized a public, portable toilet? Ugh!
There was a great view of Mount Evans from the lake this morning that I really, really wanted to get a shot of. But, alas, those little rumblings in the lower abdomen suggested that Melissa and I had best be on our way.
I hope this is the flu. I didn't get a flu shot this year. I probably could have. I'm over fifty and do have asthma. But, with the shortage of vaccine and all (way to go Homeland Security!) I opted not to pursue it.
Why anyone would be interested in this post is beyond me.
But, it's occasionally fun to just post something quite inane which, in the great scheme, the great purpose of bloggerspace probably means absolutely nothing.
P.S. If you've got the flu, believe me, day three is the turning point. I do feel better.
And, no, I can't actually thank Thomas Crapper for the toilet because it appears he may not have invented the wonderful device, afterall.
It all started on Christmas day when David and I headed over to my nephew Drew's and his wife Shelley's beautiful new home. All the Denver nephews and nieces and great nephews and nieces as well as grandma and grandpa were there. David and I hadn't been there but maybe five minutes when it was announced by my nephew Pat's wife, Sarah, that they all -- she spread her arms in the air enveloping the entire family -- had been sick with the flu and were just now getting over it and, boy oh boy, the headache was the worst.
"Okay, we're outa' here," I said to David, jokingly, but knowing, really knowing that I would get it; I would share the misery of my family's recent affliction. It was just in the stars.
Two a.m. Monday morning I wake up with a dizzyingly intense throb right above my eyes; the kind of ache that whispers you might as well just go throw-up now, 'cause if you don't do it now, you're gonna be gettin' up later to do it. I didn't get up and I didn't throw-up. I think all the stomach and digestion related medications I take daily probably saved my ass -- ah, wrong word in this context -- saved my stomach from reversing course and well, you know...
So, I get up Monday morning with the Muther of all headaches, nauseous and rumbling in my intestines that we've all experienced and have come to understand will, without a doubt, evolve into something a little more sinister; a little more ... potent. And, indeed, it did. And, every bone and muscle in my body throbbed with the intensity of a fifteen-year-old's orgasm. (That's a good throb, though. Can't think of an appropriate bad throb right now. Give me a break. I've got the flu.)
Thank God for toilets.
I asked Shelley how long this little menace lasted for them all and she advised, "It hits hard. A good four or five days."
I'm into day three.
I haven't run since Sunday. But, after my visitation to the throne early each morning -- and before the next spasm occurs -- I've still loaded Melissa up into the Explorer and we've still made it to the park and circled the lake ... a brisk walk which passes several portable toilets situated around the lake's edge. It is small comfort the portable toilets are there. I mean, have you ever utilized a public, portable toilet? Ugh!
There was a great view of Mount Evans from the lake this morning that I really, really wanted to get a shot of. But, alas, those little rumblings in the lower abdomen suggested that Melissa and I had best be on our way.
I hope this is the flu. I didn't get a flu shot this year. I probably could have. I'm over fifty and do have asthma. But, with the shortage of vaccine and all (way to go Homeland Security!) I opted not to pursue it.
Why anyone would be interested in this post is beyond me.
But, it's occasionally fun to just post something quite inane which, in the great scheme, the great purpose of bloggerspace probably means absolutely nothing.
P.S. If you've got the flu, believe me, day three is the turning point. I do feel better.
Monday, December 27, 2004
God is Great, God is Good
Listening to talk radio this morning -- (the topic, of course, being the horrible events in South Asia -- the 9.0 earthquake and the tsunamis) -- brought many, many fundamentalistic Christians to the phones to almost giddily proclaim the end days are here; that the truths contained within the Apocalypse of Saint John the Divine are barreling down that cosmic track and ain't nobody gonna escape the wrath of the Lord/God.
Question from the talk show host: "Okay. Then God caused this horrible event -- killing children, babies, the innocent -- because there's some kind of plan; some step-by-step plan that will bring the end of the world?"
Caller: "Of course."
Question from the talk show host: "Now, tell me: What happened to all those innocent children and babies that died? Did they all go to heaven? What happened to them?"
Caller: "Well, if they hadn't accepted Jesus Christ into their hearts as their lord and savior then, the Bible tells us, they went to hell."
Question from the talk show host: "But, see, we're talking about Muslims, Buddhists ... Of course these innocent children hadn't accepted Jesus Christ as their lord and savior."
Caller: "He is a harsh taskmaster."
Question from the talk show host: "Who is a harsh taskmaster."
Caller: "God."
And, so it went...
I guess what I find so disturbing about all of this is the ability of fundamentalistic Christians (and, come to think of it, fundamentalistic Muslims, too) to see great tragedy, immense death and destruction as divinely inspired; as something that confirms that God is Great, God is Good.
But, then, of course we know that God is Great and God is Good, don't we. He annointed Dubya to carry out His plan, didn't He.
So far, twenty-two thousand deaths. The island of Sri Lanka actually moved 100 feet to the Southwest. Five-hundred mile per hour waves hitting, drowning, killing the poorest of the poor.
Yeah, God is Great and God is Good. So good....
Question from the talk show host: "Okay. Then God caused this horrible event -- killing children, babies, the innocent -- because there's some kind of plan; some step-by-step plan that will bring the end of the world?"
Caller: "Of course."
Question from the talk show host: "Now, tell me: What happened to all those innocent children and babies that died? Did they all go to heaven? What happened to them?"
Caller: "Well, if they hadn't accepted Jesus Christ into their hearts as their lord and savior then, the Bible tells us, they went to hell."
Question from the talk show host: "But, see, we're talking about Muslims, Buddhists ... Of course these innocent children hadn't accepted Jesus Christ as their lord and savior."
Caller: "He is a harsh taskmaster."
Question from the talk show host: "Who is a harsh taskmaster."
Caller: "God."
And, so it went...
I guess what I find so disturbing about all of this is the ability of fundamentalistic Christians (and, come to think of it, fundamentalistic Muslims, too) to see great tragedy, immense death and destruction as divinely inspired; as something that confirms that God is Great, God is Good.
But, then, of course we know that God is Great and God is Good, don't we. He annointed Dubya to carry out His plan, didn't He.
So far, twenty-two thousand deaths. The island of Sri Lanka actually moved 100 feet to the Southwest. Five-hundred mile per hour waves hitting, drowning, killing the poorest of the poor.
Yeah, God is Great and God is Good. So good....
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Dan Bern & The Day After Christmas
Okay, it's the day after Christmas and the essential polemic must continue.
First of all this from the New York Times: "I certainly understand the need to balance the federal budget, but people need to remember that to balance the federal budget off the backs of the poorest people in the country is simply unacceptable. You don't pull feeding tubes from people. You don't pull the wheelchair out from under the child with muscular dystrophy."GOV. MIKE HUCKABEE, of Arkansas, on a bipartisan lobbying effort by governors to stave off federal cuts in Medicaid allotments.
Also, this morning's New York Times provided this (which also appeared in the Denver Post) with regard to the kind of democracy Ol' Dubya forsees for Iraq. The article suggests that even if the minority population of Sunnis in Iraq don't do well at the polls that they should be guaranteed positions in the government and even possibly seats in the parliament.
Sure sounds like wholsome democracy to me.
I've discovered Dan Bern.
Folks jogging, biking, walking 'round
When a couple of airplanes came around
Hit the big towers, knocked 'em down
Worst disaster on US soil ever!
Course, there's the Indians, a few million slaves ... Enron ... Anyway, it was
worse than Pearl Harbor!
First of all this from the New York Times: "I certainly understand the need to balance the federal budget, but people need to remember that to balance the federal budget off the backs of the poorest people in the country is simply unacceptable. You don't pull feeding tubes from people. You don't pull the wheelchair out from under the child with muscular dystrophy."GOV. MIKE HUCKABEE, of Arkansas, on a bipartisan lobbying effort by governors to stave off federal cuts in Medicaid allotments.
Also, this morning's New York Times provided this (which also appeared in the Denver Post) with regard to the kind of democracy Ol' Dubya forsees for Iraq. The article suggests that even if the minority population of Sunnis in Iraq don't do well at the polls that they should be guaranteed positions in the government and even possibly seats in the parliament.
Sure sounds like wholsome democracy to me.
I've discovered Dan Bern.
I think Bern is best described as a GenX Bob Dylan. You should check out the lyrics to some of his songs. Talkin' the Al Kida Blues begins:
It was a beautiful day in New York town
Folks jogging, biking, walking 'round
When a couple of airplanes came around
Hit the big towers, knocked 'em down
Worst disaster on US soil ever!
Course, there's the Indians, a few million slaves ... Enron ... Anyway, it was
worse than Pearl Harbor!
The tragedy of 911 is not diminished by any historical perspective. But, it is important to maintain that perspective as part of the polemic. David and I have flown the stars and bars from our front porch since the day after 911. But, we do not fly it for Dubya and his minions; James Dobson or Pat Robertson; the neocon goons. No, we fly it for the rest of us; that 49% who dare to believe there is something better for America and the world than what Dubya has provided. And, of course, we fly it for our brothers and sisters who Dubya has put in harm's way throughout the world.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Christmas Eve -- Just a P.S.
Shelley, Aidan's mom, and my nephew Drew are expecting ... as in pregnant. Now, let's see, counting the months it might be a late September LIBRA baby.
LIBRAs rule, by the way!
LIBRAs rule, by the way!
Christmas Eve - Thoughts and Nonsense
After two nights with temperatures in the single digits, Berkeley Lake (where Sweet Melissa and I run each morning) is frozen over. The geese and the ducks have left the lake. Only the gulls remain. I wonder where the geese and the ducks go?
David and I are having John and Fred and maybe Brian over for Christmas Eve dinner today. Brian, unfortunately, is babysitting three dogs -- one with special needs -- and may not be able to make it. David -- who becomes an eight-year-old child during Christmastime -- is already busily putting the meal together as I write this post. We're having ham and the fixin's. And, AND, David is making John's favorite desert, Key Lime pie. Kewl, huh!
Tomorrow, David and I will head over to my nephew and niece's new home for Christmas (presents, pictures, dinner) with my family. David's family is in Washington State (Yakima) and since he has gone back there twice already this year, he won't be with them on Christmas. His mom -- who beat breast cancer -- just had open heart surgery to replace a valve and perform a triple bypass. Perform? I guess that's the right word. Sounds like a tap dance or something.
Oh, by the way, congratulations to Dunner who got his LSAT (Law School Admission Test) score back. He reports that the score equals his weight ... sometimes. His reported weight is 165, which is a very, very good score.
Well, probably ought to help David downstairs in the kitchen. Just being within his space is infectious; his Christmas giddiness pervades all.
Lastly, God bless the men and women fighting Dubya's war(s) around the world. Let's bring them home.
In case you're wondering, I'm not really sure who or what God is. My very first post with regard to Dr. Laura provided this: "Yes, and when Dr. Laura gets to the Pearly Gates, perhaps God -- who is probably a three-hundred pound black dyke who doesn't shave her legs or armpits and just loves little skinny Jewish ladies; perhaps God will stare Dr. Laura right between the eyes and say: 'You've got a lot of explaining to do, young lady!!!'"
Okay. I'll end this here. Merry Christmas (Christian or not) and please pray (whatever it is you do at the end of the day, as you stare into the darkness just before sleep) for peace; food for the starving; comfort for the sick and hurting and (just between you and me) that Santa brings me a pony.
Merry Christmas!
David and I are having John and Fred and maybe Brian over for Christmas Eve dinner today. Brian, unfortunately, is babysitting three dogs -- one with special needs -- and may not be able to make it. David -- who becomes an eight-year-old child during Christmastime -- is already busily putting the meal together as I write this post. We're having ham and the fixin's. And, AND, David is making John's favorite desert, Key Lime pie. Kewl, huh!
Tomorrow, David and I will head over to my nephew and niece's new home for Christmas (presents, pictures, dinner) with my family. David's family is in Washington State (Yakima) and since he has gone back there twice already this year, he won't be with them on Christmas. His mom -- who beat breast cancer -- just had open heart surgery to replace a valve and perform a triple bypass. Perform? I guess that's the right word. Sounds like a tap dance or something.
Oh, by the way, congratulations to Dunner who got his LSAT (Law School Admission Test) score back. He reports that the score equals his weight ... sometimes. His reported weight is 165, which is a very, very good score.
Well, probably ought to help David downstairs in the kitchen. Just being within his space is infectious; his Christmas giddiness pervades all.
Lastly, God bless the men and women fighting Dubya's war(s) around the world. Let's bring them home.
In case you're wondering, I'm not really sure who or what God is. My very first post with regard to Dr. Laura provided this: "Yes, and when Dr. Laura gets to the Pearly Gates, perhaps God -- who is probably a three-hundred pound black dyke who doesn't shave her legs or armpits and just loves little skinny Jewish ladies; perhaps God will stare Dr. Laura right between the eyes and say: 'You've got a lot of explaining to do, young lady!!!'"
Okay. I'll end this here. Merry Christmas (Christian or not) and please pray (whatever it is you do at the end of the day, as you stare into the darkness just before sleep) for peace; food for the starving; comfort for the sick and hurting and (just between you and me) that Santa brings me a pony.
Merry Christmas!
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Friday, December 17, 2004
The Salvation Army
This is the Salvation Army's mission statement:
"The Salvation Army, an international movement, is an evangelical part of the universal Christian Church. Its message is based on the Bible. Its ministry is motivated by the love of God. Its mission is to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ and to meet human needs in His name without discrimination. --Salvation Army mission statement."
Now, I guess it's the without discrimination that bothers me just a little bit. What do you suppose the Salvation Army thinks of homa-sex-ya'lls? Well -- although I hate to do this because the site is ... well, you'll see, but the kid in the Boy Scout salute picture is really kinda' cute -- the Salvation Army is, as it's mission statement implies, evangelical, which, of course means anti-queer; which, of course, means we really do love ya'll, but really hate your sin.
No, we -- David and I -- do not drop coins into the Salvation Army bucket.
Interestingly, the Rocky Mountain News provided the following in yesterday's edition:
Drunken bell ringer arrested, jailed after fight
By Rocky Mountain NewsDecember 17, 2004
"A drunken Salvation Army bell ringer was arrested Thursday afternoon after getting into a fight with a Safeway employee inside a Denver store, police said.
"David Duncan, 46, was jailed on 11 outstanding warrants. Nine of them were for public consumption of alcohol and two for trespassing.
"Police were called to the store at 560 Corona St. about 2 p.m. after the fight broke out."
Okay, drunks and felonious interlopers are welcomed into the Salvation Army family. But queers? Nope. No way. No how.
As I said, David and I do not drop coins into the red bucket.
"The Salvation Army, an international movement, is an evangelical part of the universal Christian Church. Its message is based on the Bible. Its ministry is motivated by the love of God. Its mission is to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ and to meet human needs in His name without discrimination. --Salvation Army mission statement."
Now, I guess it's the without discrimination that bothers me just a little bit. What do you suppose the Salvation Army thinks of homa-sex-ya'lls? Well -- although I hate to do this because the site is ... well, you'll see, but the kid in the Boy Scout salute picture is really kinda' cute -- the Salvation Army is, as it's mission statement implies, evangelical, which, of course means anti-queer; which, of course, means we really do love ya'll, but really hate your sin.
No, we -- David and I -- do not drop coins into the Salvation Army bucket.
Interestingly, the Rocky Mountain News provided the following in yesterday's edition:
Drunken bell ringer arrested, jailed after fight
By Rocky Mountain NewsDecember 17, 2004
"A drunken Salvation Army bell ringer was arrested Thursday afternoon after getting into a fight with a Safeway employee inside a Denver store, police said.
"David Duncan, 46, was jailed on 11 outstanding warrants. Nine of them were for public consumption of alcohol and two for trespassing.
"Police were called to the store at 560 Corona St. about 2 p.m. after the fight broke out."
Okay, drunks and felonious interlopers are welcomed into the Salvation Army family. But queers? Nope. No way. No how.
As I said, David and I do not drop coins into the red bucket.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Good Soldiers
This "Quotation of the Day" from the New York Times: "People see the figure of 1,200 dead. Much more rarely do they see the number of seriously wounded. And almost never do they hear anything at all about the psychiatric casualties."DR. EVAN KANTER, a psychiatrist at a veterans' hospital in Seattle.
The above quote coupled with this, also from the New York Times, remains a pitiful but run-of-the-mill (if you will) commentary on the horrors of war, any war, that will continue to plague this country -- not to mention Iraq -- for generations to come.
I'll make this post short, with two quotes that seem ... well, appropriate:
"A good soldier has his heart and soul in it. When he receives any order, he gets a hard on, and when he sends his lance into the enemy's guts, he comes... He lets himself be torn to pieces for his superior officer, and as he lies dying he takes note that his corporal is nodding approval. That's reward enough for him. That's all he wants."
Bertolt Brecht -- The Caucasian Chalk Circle
"I am no longer a soldier. Soldiering, my dear madam, is the coward's art of attacking mercilessly when you are strong, and keeping out of harm's way when you are weak. That is the whole secret of successful fighting. Get you enemy at a disadvantage: and never, on any account, fight him on equal terms."
George Berhard Shaw -- Arms and the Man
As I revisit these quotes, I keep thinking of Dubya's "...bring 'em on..." jingoist, SPC (small penis complex) exhortation.
God, what a fucking mess this has turned out to be. But, then, God is on our side. Isn't he.
The above quote coupled with this, also from the New York Times, remains a pitiful but run-of-the-mill (if you will) commentary on the horrors of war, any war, that will continue to plague this country -- not to mention Iraq -- for generations to come.
I'll make this post short, with two quotes that seem ... well, appropriate:
"A good soldier has his heart and soul in it. When he receives any order, he gets a hard on, and when he sends his lance into the enemy's guts, he comes... He lets himself be torn to pieces for his superior officer, and as he lies dying he takes note that his corporal is nodding approval. That's reward enough for him. That's all he wants."
Bertolt Brecht -- The Caucasian Chalk Circle
"I am no longer a soldier. Soldiering, my dear madam, is the coward's art of attacking mercilessly when you are strong, and keeping out of harm's way when you are weak. That is the whole secret of successful fighting. Get you enemy at a disadvantage: and never, on any account, fight him on equal terms."
George Berhard Shaw -- Arms and the Man
As I revisit these quotes, I keep thinking of Dubya's "...bring 'em on..." jingoist, SPC (small penis complex) exhortation.
God, what a fucking mess this has turned out to be. But, then, God is on our side. Isn't he.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
J'accuse
The details are probably unimportant, but the lesson, the revelations are important.
Suffice it to say, I believed that a fellow blogger -- someone on my "Worth a Read" list -- had posted an inappropriate comment on one of my picture posts and, additionally, had provided a comment on one of my posts that was, well, absurd. My reaction: I removed the blogger from my "Worth a Read" list.
It's funny. I don't really mean funny, but probably instructive that, through consistently reading the posts of fellow bloggers, we get an idea, some little insight into the character, the essential core of the blogger. And, unfortunately, I didn't rely upon my gut in wrongly assuming that a fellow blogger had done me wrong.
I suppose the lesson I've learned is, unlike other resources on the web, bloggers do, indeed, provide the essential truths of themselves in their posts; that bloggers -- at least the ones I read -- are good and decent people who are just trying to find their way. Or, have found their way and are just reporting the joys of that discovery.
Anyway, I apologize to the blogger who I assumed was responsible for the inappropriate comments on two of my posts.
Blog on, good people.
Suffice it to say, I believed that a fellow blogger -- someone on my "Worth a Read" list -- had posted an inappropriate comment on one of my picture posts and, additionally, had provided a comment on one of my posts that was, well, absurd. My reaction: I removed the blogger from my "Worth a Read" list.
It's funny. I don't really mean funny, but probably instructive that, through consistently reading the posts of fellow bloggers, we get an idea, some little insight into the character, the essential core of the blogger. And, unfortunately, I didn't rely upon my gut in wrongly assuming that a fellow blogger had done me wrong.
I suppose the lesson I've learned is, unlike other resources on the web, bloggers do, indeed, provide the essential truths of themselves in their posts; that bloggers -- at least the ones I read -- are good and decent people who are just trying to find their way. Or, have found their way and are just reporting the joys of that discovery.
Anyway, I apologize to the blogger who I assumed was responsible for the inappropriate comments on two of my posts.
Blog on, good people.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
The Progessive Movement - Grassroots
Whatever you may think of Michael Moore, this piece reflects pretty much where I believe we ought to be heading these days. The good words -- included in this piece -- from Mel Giles, an abuse counselor, are prophetic, I believe. Those words read, in part:
"First, you must admit you are a victim. Then, you must declare the state of affairs unacceptable. Next, you must promise to protect yourself and everyone around you that is being victimized. You don't do this by responding to their [Dubya's minions] demands, or becoming more like them, or engaging in logical conversation, or trying to persuade them that you are right. You also don't do this by going catatonic and resigned, by closing up your ears and eyes and covering your head and submitting to the blows, figuring its over faster and hurts less if you don't resist and fight back.
"Instead, you walk away. You find other folks like yourself, 57 million of them, who are hurting, broken, and beating themselves up. You tell them what you've learned, and that you aren't going to take it anymore. You stand tall, with 57 million people at your side and behind you, and you look right into the eyes of the abuser and you tell him to go to hell. Then you walk out the door, taking the kids and gays and minorities with you, and you start a new life. The new life is hard. But it's better than the abuse.
"We have a mandate to be as radical and liberal and steadfast as we need to be. The progressive beliefs and social justice we stand for, our core, must not be altered. We are 57 million strong. We are building from the bottom up. We are meeting, on the net, in church basements, at work, in small groups, and right now, we are crying, because we are trying to break free and we don't know how."
We'll certainly figure out how to break free. Hopefully, before the 2006 elections.
Right On!
"First, you must admit you are a victim. Then, you must declare the state of affairs unacceptable. Next, you must promise to protect yourself and everyone around you that is being victimized. You don't do this by responding to their [Dubya's minions] demands, or becoming more like them, or engaging in logical conversation, or trying to persuade them that you are right. You also don't do this by going catatonic and resigned, by closing up your ears and eyes and covering your head and submitting to the blows, figuring its over faster and hurts less if you don't resist and fight back.
"Instead, you walk away. You find other folks like yourself, 57 million of them, who are hurting, broken, and beating themselves up. You tell them what you've learned, and that you aren't going to take it anymore. You stand tall, with 57 million people at your side and behind you, and you look right into the eyes of the abuser and you tell him to go to hell. Then you walk out the door, taking the kids and gays and minorities with you, and you start a new life. The new life is hard. But it's better than the abuse.
"We have a mandate to be as radical and liberal and steadfast as we need to be. The progressive beliefs and social justice we stand for, our core, must not be altered. We are 57 million strong. We are building from the bottom up. We are meeting, on the net, in church basements, at work, in small groups, and right now, we are crying, because we are trying to break free and we don't know how."
We'll certainly figure out how to break free. Hopefully, before the 2006 elections.
Right On!
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