Grossly Inappropriate

When injustice abounds, every moment is a moment of truth

2008-03-06T09:29:00.000-08:00

The problem with doing the right thing is that there is never a good time to do it.

During oral arguments before the California Supreme Court on March 5 in the case for gay marriage, Justice Kathryn Mickle Werdegar questioned one of the lawyers for the plaintiffs who argued that it was time for a ground-breaking ruling on GLBT rights. She asked: “Why is this the moment of truth, as opposed to 10 years from now?”

Justice Werdegar’s question raises an interesting point: if the public is more accepting of gay and lesbian Americans 10 years from now, does that make gay marriage more valid in 2018 than it is today? Just because it would probably be more politically palatable to wait a decade to advocate for full equality for GLBT Americans, does that mean discrimination today is more acceptable?

In fact, the United States has a long history of postponing doing the right thing in pursuit of political convenience. Women were certainly no less capable of making sound political decision – or running for president – in 1920, when the Nineteenth Amendment gave women the vote, than they had been in 1910 or would be in 1930. African American laborers were no less deserving of sharing the same counter as their White colleagues during a lunch break in 1954, when Brown v. Board of Education declared that separate facilities on the basis of race was unconstitutional, as they had been in 1944 or would be in 1964. In all of the great civil rights decisions in our nation’s history, it would have been easier to wait 10 years for the moment of truth, but postponing still could not alter the fundamental injustice that occurred before and after.

The great thing about civil rights activists is that they never stop trying, but unfortunately it always seems to take awhile before they succeed. 60 years before Brown v. Board of Education, the U.S. Supreme Court had a significant opportunity to get racial equality right the first time around when Plessy v. Ferguson came before the bench in 1896. Four years earlier, Homer A. Plessy boarded an East Louisiana Railroad train car that was reserved for use by White patrons only; Plessy, who was one-eighth Black, refused to leave the car and was arrested and jailed. His appeal to the Supreme Court against racial segregation of public facilities ended with what has become almost universally derided as one of the most misguided legal philosophies of American history: Justice Henry Billings Brown wrote that “separate but equal” public facilities did not violate the constitutional rights of African Americans. No doubt Justice Brown considered what must have appeared to have been a massive and immovable groundswell of public opinion against integration, and he thought to himself, “Maybe we can wait another 10 years before we do this.” In the process, Plessy v. Ferguson carried out racist institutions for another 60 years, ushering in the Jim Crow era and enabling countless deaths of innocent men and women.

Plessy v. Ferguson was a convenient decision, but it wasn’t the right decision. Thanks to the courage of people like Chief Justice Earl Warren and suffragette Susan B. Anthony, it’s easy to point out today that “separate but equal” was wrong and that women have always been as capable as men to be scientists, to own property, and to vote. But the thing with history is that what comes before tends to influence what happens after. When the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts legalized gay marriage in the Bay State in 2003, anti-gay protesters foretold the end of civilization. Five years later, however, Massachusetts has yet to sink into the Atlantic Ocean; what’s more, the state elected its first African American governor in 2006. If we are to strive for a better world tomorrow as Justice Werdegar seems to hope that we do, then we had better start today.

In California, we face another Plessy v. Ferguson moment in the GLBT rights movement. Again, as before, it would be easier to acquiesce to what is most politically expedient. We do live in a democracy, and popular opinion is important. But so is equality. And when the mood of the mob turns against the rights of the few, as it has for so long against gays and lesbians, it is everyone’s responsibility to raise the bulwark against intolerance. When it comes to the courts, this is not judicial activism; it is simply doing the right thing.

And there’s no better time to start than today, here, with the California Supreme Court.

2007-02-19T06:30:00.000-08:00

I regret that this is turning into an anti-Mitt Romney blog, only because there are so many other worthwhile things to rant about in the world and so many other injustices to expose.

But Mitt Romney is just too much of a tool to let alone.

Today, the Globe reported that Mitt had joined the NRA only six months ago, reversing gun control positions he'd held when he ran as a moderate Republican for the US Senate in 1994. Back then, the "good" Mitt supported registration waiting periods and a ban on assault weapons. The "lifetime membership" he bought is already raising eyebrows, as more long-standing gun advocates are questioning is motives for joining the movement only months before declaring his presidential ambitions, all the while pandering to other conservative causes as well.

I'm not sure where having AK-47s floating around neighborhood playgrounds counts in the "well regulated militia" part of the Second Amendment, but, if Mitt and his fellow gun crazies really want to play, maybe they should go hunting with Dick Cheney. Since the NRA seems to be doing such a bang-up job of educating people about how not to shoot other people in the face, the rest of us will just have to hope that they'll take each other out before long.

It's also quite funny (and loathsome) that Mitt Romney is so intent on making portraying himself as a leader capable of escaping the influence of the Mormon cult leadership that he seems to have forgotten Church teachings. When George Stephanopoulous asked Mitt what Muslims might think of the Mormon belief that Christ will return in the Second Coming to New Jerusalem (somewhere in Missouri) and reign for 1,000 years, Mitt replied defensively: "that doesn't happen to be a doctrine of my church."

Oh, really?

"Our belief is just as it says in the Bible, that the messiah will come to Jerusalem, stand on the Mount of Olives, and that the Mount of Olives will be the place for the great gathering and so forth," Mitt elaborated.

"..And so forth"?

Doctrine and Covenants 57:2 documents a revelation to Joseph Smith in Jackson County, Missouri, where God supposedly proclaimed that the city of Independence "is the land of promise, and the place for the city of Zion," Zion being the gathering place of the faithful Mormons after the Second Coming of Christ.

Looks like someone should stop reading NRA literature and read his own religious books instead.

The Beginning of the End

2007-02-13T11:24:00.000-08:00

If there's any candidacy I'm more virulently opposed to than Sam Brownback's, it's Mitt Romney's.

Alas, ending months of AGONIZING suspense, this lowlife has announced that he is jumping into the GOP field.

Of course, that's not really true. Romney's been planning his entry for a while (easily tracked by when he started saying nasty things about the Commonwealth of Massachusetts while being its governor). There was a Globe cartoon that I can't find now but that most succinctly described how disingenuous this man is as a leader: Mitt is at the podium on TV proclaiming something like "I will do for all Americans what I did for the people of Massachusetts." A man and a woman sit, unimpressed, watching his speech; one of them says: "What? You'll tell anti-American jokes?" Any level-headed CEO with that kind of attitude about the organization he or she is leading knows that publicly humiliating the employees and investors does nothing to motivate change but instead causes internal confusion, resentment, and anger. But Mitt was evidently uninterested in actually creating change. He was so disinvested in Massachusetts that he announced in Michigan, his supposed home state.

My friend Seth made a good point last November that Romney was sitting out the gubernatorial election in Massachusetts not because he wanted to concentrate his efforts on winning the presidency. He could have done both; many sitting governors have gone on to campaign for and win the presidency. No, Mitt was sitting out because he knew he would get trounced by Deval Patrick because the people of Massachusetts, spurned by Mitt time and again, have come to hate him almost as much as he hates them. Such a setback would have irrevocably hurt his presidential campaign. No one seems to be paying attention to that deft little trick, however, or the fact that under Mitt's leadership the Republican Governors Association lost its largest number of governor's offices for the first time in a long time. Again, way to pull through.

There is no critiquing Mitt's campaign style. He's a very well polished man, with years of PR experienced honed at Harvard's graduate schools, at Bain Capital, and as the public persona of the Salt Lake City Olympics. He's admittedly the most conventionally presidential-looking of everything vying for the White House from either party (with a full head of hair and a wholesome, blond wife). With this one, it's all about the substance, and I'm afraid the substance's pretty ugly.

One awkward stage moment at the announcement, though. I'm no marriage counselor, but I'm pretty sure Ann's trying to hug her husband with this kiss, while Mitt's body language seems stiff and reluctant. He treats his wife like he treats Massachusetts.

How will he treat America?

It's a Girl

2007-02-12T08:08:00.000-08:00

I'll take a brief breather from the political news to write on one of the biggest news breaks in higher education in a long time: Harvard has appointed Drew Gilpin Faust as its 28th president and the first woman in its long history to serve in that post.

As a follow-up, the Chronicle of Higher Education published an article discussing the American Council on Education's study of the lack of diversification in the president's office at U.S. colleges and universities (you can read the article here, if you have a password). That article, I think, misses the point (again).

Mostly, I was disappointed with its narrow definition of diversity among American college and university presidents. If the administration of American higher education is truly to diversify in the future, it will have to look beyond traditional paradigms of male-and-female and black-and-white.

Nowhere in the article was there mention of the rare achievements of administrators like Chang-Lin Tien and Henry Yang, both presidents of campuses in the University of California system. Tien, who was president of UC Berkeley, was the first Asian American to head a major U.S. research university. Since that breakthrough, however, news of other top appointments for Asian Americans has been scarce.

This trend is indicative of an obsession of the black-or-white racial paradigm in this country. Asian Americans lead higher education in the number of non-White students admitted, and they lead the ranks of non-White faculty members (at a measly six percent). However, when it comes to achieving the top rank at their respective colleges and universities, Asian Americans make up just 0.7 percent of presidents and chancellors in the U.S., compared to six percent for African American leaders. I am by no means arguing that "my people" deserve a larger section of the pie merely based on statistics and numbers. I am arguing that higher education has often been the leader for positive social change in this country, and that, to continue to do so, the pie must be enlarged to take advantage of the wide diversity of talent and skill in the country's pool of capable faculty and administrators.

I'm afraid that race has become something of a smokescreen in higher education administration, and to project an image of diversity colleges and universities tend to consider as the main option to a White candidate a Black candidate, even though there is no lack of other non-White candidates available. It will perhaps take a little stretch of the imagination and of institutional willingness to ensconce a non-traditional president, but imagination and courage is exactly what is needed if we intend American higher education to empower and lead our country.

Over six months ago, I wrote to the Chronicle to support the presidential candidacies of people like Denise Denton, whose tragic death reminded us all of the shortage of talented GLBT presidents and how their lonely situations make their jobs even more challenging. That letter, which was eventually picked up by the Advocate, fell on deaf ears. Drew Gilpin Faust's appointment as the president of Harvard University again brings the debate of presidential diversity to the fore.

When will we actually take the debate seriously?

As an aside, it also seems that someone who was actually attending the Obama rally has commented on my post. Which is wonderful, because I know no one who was at that rally, which means people other than my friends are reading this blog. So welcome. At the same time, I wonder how many interns have been dispatched by the campaigns across the blogosphere to search by keyword and "set the record straight." Nevertheless, I am encouraged by the debate and discourse this type of engagement will bring. Thanks for visiting; keep it comin'.

Obama's Sun Dawns

2007-02-10T14:16:00.000-08:00

Barack Obama is in.

He announced this morning in the birthplace of Abraham Lincoln and in front of the state capital where he launched his political career only ten years ago. The frigid Midwestern temperatures meant that we couldn't really get a peek at Barack's sartorial style (and, in warmer weather, his apparently stunning physique). Barack made the unfortunate decision of announcing in a massive black overcoat, which his opponents - most notably Hillary - had avoided by launching their candidacies online and in the comfort of a warmly decorated room. The open-air ambience is a nice touch, but I would have gone with a heavier wool suit and a lot of space heaters instead of the overcoat and the scarf, which give the air of Barack as stopping through only briefly and not even having enough time to shed his outerwear and have a serious conversation about the country's future.

There is one area of political style, however, in which Barack has clearly set himself apart: his logo is brilliant.
Eschewing the dead-horse stars-and-stripes theme that his co-candidates have all chosen, Barack decided to symbolize his candidacy with a circular logo that captures all of the elements of the flag. The red-and-white stripes recall the cornfields of the Midwest whence Barack comes and that hold the key to his electoral success. The blue is, obviously, translated into a bright and hopeful sky. In the background, a bright sun, with warming tones of yellow, rises over the land as what is unmistakably dawn; there is no debate this time - unlike when Benjamin Franklin was asked of his chair in Independence Hall - whether America is rising or declining. With Barack, America is rising to a new day.
The whole logo is encapsulated in a circle that resonates with the "O" that leads Barack's last name. There are no sharp edges and no sharp points. It is clean, clear, and wholesome. Kudos to whomever designed this little subtle but powerful thing. Absolutely brilliant.

By comparison, the losers in the category include:

What is this? The 1800s? Color made its debut 50 years ago. John McCain's campaign would do well to use it. And black... A funeral for America? Dour, depressing, and aged: that's what this logo tells me about John McCain and his candidacy.

Sam's logo looks like a seventh-grader made it for a middle-school art project. Someone accidentally left on the caps lock button while typing "Brownback," perhaps under some delusion that making EVERY WORD BIG evokes power. Actually, it evokes tacky.

Better. The streamer effect with the American flag is modern, and the waves look natural (unlike Brownback's American flag). The "Hillary" looks a tad muscular, which is probably what the first serious major-party woman candidate for president wants to project. I wonder, though, what those three stars stand for, since each star on the American flag symbolizes one of the fifty states. Someone needs to think through that symbolism.

Pelosi(gh)

2007-02-08T16:24:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted in a while, which means I've actually been productive. Shocking.

The latest flurry of chatter seems to be whether or not Nancy Pelosi deserves a big plane or an itty bitty little plane that terrorists will attack when she lands in Des Moines to refuel.

My suggestion: Don't get a big plane, Nancy. Just flap that little purple whatever-the-hell-it-is, and you'll fly away just fine.

In other news, Barack and Mitt will both probably announce in the next week. We'll catch up with their kick-off stylings then.

Cheers.

Executive Pay

2007-01-31T14:15:00.000-08:00

President Bush thinks that executive pay should be tied to performance.

The President of the United States makes $400,000 a year.

If President Bush's pay were tied to his performance, how much would he be paid?

- Say that 100% approval rating equals $400,000/year...

- Major polls from the last two weeks put his average approval rating at 33.91%...

Bush would be making $135,640 for his crappy executive performance.

And that's still too much, if you ask me.

First Up: How To Launch a Bland Campaign

2007-01-31T10:56:00.000-08:00

as you've probably heard by now, Sen. Joe Biden (D-DE) has announced that he's running for president. which is good, because his campaign launch gives me fresh fodder for critiquing fashion, image, and style in politics.

Joe Biden's candidacy is an interesting case from a stylistic perspective, because Joe Biden is not all that interesting as a candidate. he's one of those senators whom you hear about a lot ranting on this or that (along the lines of, say, Richard Lugar, his ranking member on Foreign Affairs, Chris Dodd, and others), but for whom a sharp mental picture doesn't appear right away in your head (unlike, say, Ted Kennedy and Joe Lieberman). the good news there is that the campaign has a lot of flexibility to work with in terms of the image, if most Americans don't already associate various things with Joe Biden when they hear his name. the bad news is the other side of that coin: Biden is bland.

let's start with Joe's website.

the first thing that strikes me is that there are WAY too many pictures of Joe Biden. and these aren't pictures of Joe Biden shaking hands, like on Obama's website. these are big pictures of Joe Biden staring at me like a deer caught in headlights, doing something with his mouth that might be called more a smirk than a smile. so already I'm thinking to myself a number of things:
1. this guy likes how he looks a little too much: vain and superficial
2. he's really wants to establish eye contact with me: desperate
3. why is he smirking? maybe he thinks his campaign is a joke, or that soldiers dying in Iraq is funny

Joe is wearing a dark navy blazer and a light blue shirt, with the top button undone. good choice on the unbuttoned shirt, although I can't say the same of the blazer. look at Barack. he has a crisp white shirt (with a tie on, unfortunately) with his sleeves rolled up and no jacket. the image Barack projects is much more working-candidate than patrician-candidate. Joe Biden doesn't need any more reminders that he's old and that he's probably running because this is the last open presidential field he'll see for a long time. the "I'm more comfortable with my jacket on, thank you" look screams inaction and inertia to me, rather than the energy and the momentum that I feel just looking at Barack's picture. at least he's not wearing a tie, unlike Duncan Hunter, Sam Brownback, and Bill Richardson. I don't even know who Duncan Hunter is pointing at on his home page, but it looks like the staff was aiming for "strong" but overshot and got "heavy-handed" and "scolding instead. Sam Brownback just looks like a douche. Bill Richardson is the only one who pulls off the suited look because of the way he's positioned: slightly contraposto to show the effort he's making to turn his attention to me (me!), thus alleviating the otherwise static and uncaring tone. Bill's suit, though, leaves something to be desired. you're big enough, buddy, without wearing a dark color that makes you look positively like a boulder; try a vertically striped shirt next time, and don't crop the picture so close that it squishes against your bulbous features.

the reason why women should get into politics (besides the fact that they obviously make up half of the country's population and should therefore be equally represented in the upper echelons of government) is because they bring so much more flexibility in fashion and image than men. if I didn't know any better, I'd say that Duncan Hunter and Sam Brownback were wearing the same suit. Hillary, on the other hand, gets to do all sorts of things with her wardrobe. in her current homepage, she's sporting an Al Gore-esque tan suit with a popped collar. the lighter shade contrasts well with the dark, bad, evil, deep tones of the men she's running against, although it's not quite as bold a statement as her crimson blazer for the "I'm In" announcement, which no man could ever pull off (or, if you're Sam Brownback, would ever dream of pulling off because it would look too ga-aa-ay). it's hard to see how the suit is cut, but what's nice about women's suits - especially military-looking ones with stiff upper collars - is that they can be sexually ambiguous, so they can flatter the woman's shape and bring out her feminine qualities (which voters I'm sure love because it doesn't threaten or belittle them) while giving an external image of toughness (which voters love because, well, we're American and enjoy feeling like we can beat down on other people if we wanted to). the only criticism for Ms. Clinton is that the suit looks out-of-place at a nursing home campaign stop, partly because it doesn't match what the other ladies are wearing but more because it crinkles while she bends this-way-and-that to shake hands. take a hint from Obama: shed the coat when you're on the trail and working. if you're going to really get to know America in the next two years, don't treat every room like a subcommittee hearing and don't treat everyone like a congressional staffer.

and, for goodness sakes, don't dress like it either.

A New Direction For Me (And For America)

2007-01-31T08:02:00.000-08:00

I've decided that I'm going to stop blogging about substantive political issues and actually get down to the important things in life: fashion, image, and style. my new goal is to be the Joan Crawford of politics.

why? because fashion, image, and style matter, unfortunately, even in a serious political system. in a culture of sound bites and 30-second TV ads, what you look like and how you are perceived are just as important as what you say and/or believe (for reasons that escape me, politicians don't often match up the two). there's no doubt that ideas matter, of course, as they should. but I'm just too lazy and tired form my day job to deal with them all the time.

so what will this new blog cover? well, fashion, of course. like Nancy Pelosi's olive-green suit at the 2007 State of the Union. it's always fascinating to analyze people's choices in projecting images of themselves. how do fashion, image, and style affect politics and the exchange of ideas? there's a whole semester's worth of discussion to be had right there. in addition to these conscious choices, however, there are also stylistic factors that are without our control. like our names, for example. why did Dukakis lose to Bush? it wasn't because his policies sucked any more than Bush's. in an intelligent debate of ideas, Dukakis should have drawn much closer to Bush than he did. I think it was the landslide that it turned out to be because of his last name. America was not ready for a president whose name sounded vaguely like a combination of intimate body parts and functions (doo-kahk-kis...you tell me). Which, of course, implies certain things about America's readiness for non-White-Anglo-Saxon-Protestant presidents, since it's more than likely that a non-WASP will have a last name other than Bush, Washington, Adams, or Smith (isn't it interesting that the closest we came to having a Smith was New York's Alfred in 1928, and he didn't win because he was too Catholic for the time?). thankfully, the times, they are a-changin'. you now have candidates like Bill Richardson who's half-Mexican but has a fully anglicized last name.

WHOA. curve ball.

these are interesting issues, and we'll be looking at them closely, starting with Joe Biden's presidential announcement.

but first, let me get back to my day job for a little bit.

If the Constitution Allows It, Will the Democrats Finally Grow Some Balls?

2007-01-30T12:52:00.000-08:00

a Reuters story today in the Boston Globe reported on the Senate Judiciary subcommittee meeting chair by Russ Feingold (D-MN) where several legal experts and former government lawyers testified that Congress did, in fact, have the constitutional authority to end the war if it so chose. Bradford Berenson, who was White House counsel under Bush from 2001 to 2003, said: "I think the constitutional scheme does give Congress broad authority to terminate a war."

so the question now is: what's next?

so far, I've operated under the cynical belief that the Democrats were secretly angling for President Bush to have come out as he did on their opposition, that there was nothing they could do to stop him from making all sorts of resource decisions about the war in Iraq. that way, they'd never actually have to make a decision or take a real stand with consequences. what these constitutional experts have said puts the Democratic majority in an awkward position of - imagine that! - actually doing something for once (with the exception of people like Feingold, who was going to propose a ban on Iraq funding in six months anyway).

so c'mon, Harry and Nancy. what are you waiting for? do it! pull the plug! and screw it if they tell you that you're sending a message of defeat to our troops in Iraq. our troops don't need pundits and politicians to tell them that they're losing to see that things have only gotten worse over the last four years. any butthead who thinks that there is still a remote chance of victory in Iraq doesn't understand the definition of the word. we can't "win" in Iraq; the Iraqis have to win in Iraq. if we win in Iraq, we stay in Iraq, and that's not happening. so how are you going to claim victory when you have no rightful place as the victor? hell, how do you claim to fight a war against terror when you replenish the enemy's ranks daily by merely existing?

I suppose this goes back to my embrace of the term "cut-and-run." yes. I'm cutting and running. I fully advocate fleeing the region as fast as we possibly can. the Iranians want to peddle their influence and start a branch of the Iranian National Bank in Baghdad? go for it. be my guest. let them have four years of getting their eyes gouged out and their teeth knocked in and their fathers and brothers and mothers and sisters carted off to unknowable places. then maybe they, too, will learn the lesson that you can't dictate another country's ideology or socio-political practices.

Happy Anniversary

2007-01-27T19:45:00.001-08:00

tonight I attended the 25th anniversary party of the Boston Gay Men's Chorus. under Jeff and Ken's persistent leadership (which they demonstrated throughout the course of the dinner in steadfastly wringing the best value for the Chorus as they could out of restaurant), the Membership Services Committee hosted the shindig at Maggiano's in the Back Bay. I was a little hesitant about attending even after I'd signed up because I wasn't sure how many "newbies" (I insist that technically I'm not new anymore since we auditioned and accepted a gaggle of freshmen in early January) would attend. having been around for 25 years, you can imagine that the Chorus has some well-established circles. there are some magnificently magnanimous people - like my good friend Jim McDonnell - who make sure to introduce themselves and to make new members feel right at home from the first rehearsal onward, but, understandably, it takes some time to break into the social network at the Chorus. anyway, I decided to go in the end and made it there just in time for dinner to be served (and thus avoiding any awkward pleasantries during the cocktail period).

I sat at a table with my best friends from the baritone section, Jim and Ethan, who were also with their respective husbands/companions. the menu was wonderful: fried ravioli, spinach and artichoke dip for starters; two salads; meat lasagna, fettucine alfredo, roast chicken, and eggplant parmesan (which, I'm sad to say, no one touched) for the main course; and profiteroles and apple fritters for dessert. there was also a delicious cake for the occasion, with champagne icing, nonetheless. the festivities for the evening included plenty of conversation but also some short speeches by the Chorus' luminaries: its three members who were part of the Chorus when it was first founded in 1982, among others. our delightful musical director, Reuben Reynolds, was asked to speak about the future of the BGMC, and he promptly admitted that he had no idea what the future held. wisely, however, he noted that the fights of the past have a nasty and unsurprising way of creeping back up in the future. he was referring to the gay marriage debate, which, with the reactionary voting that went on in the Massachusetts State House earlier this month, is slated to be debated again next fall and potentially advanced to statewide ballot in 2008. Reuben seemed to make a dire prediction: these issues will never die, and thus the work of the BGMC - as well as the myriad other social change organizations working to advance a more progressive view of society through music, art, or any other means - will never end.

Reuben's remarks made me think of the protests that MassResistance launched against the BGMC when those idiots caught wind of our concert through our advertising on WCRB. at the risk of giving them one more platform for their blatherings (I do, as a historian, believe in the value of reading primary sources, after all), you can read the protest on their blog here. in short, the group derided our holiday series as a "Sodomite Christmas Concert," where audience members would automatically and inevitably think about the chorus members' sexual proclivities instead of enjoying the spiritual and communal values in the music. setting aside the fact that these MassResistance must have almost next to no self control in their thoughts (nobody asked you to think about my sexual proclivity, and Jesus would likely disapprove of your mind being in the gutter), I looked around tonight at the anniversary party and tried to see if I could conjure up any vaguely sexual images about the musicians celebrating around me.

I couldn't do it. I did see old friends happy (but also sad) to have survived a devastating epidemic; happy to be busily engaged in a good cause through art; happy to be surrounded by friends and family. I saw couples who had been together for decades and only recently were allowed to officialize their love and gain the right to care for each other in sickness and in health. I saw professionals who've worked hard and dedicated their careers to challenging society's prejudices through song, and in so doing making the BGMC now the third largest arts organization in the Boston area and one of the best-loved gay choruses in the country. I saw older men teaching younger men about what it means to be aware and proud, passing on - along with some choice bits of gossip - a legacy built through decades of blood, sweat, and tears.

I saw, in short, people. slightly imperfect and majorly fabulous, perhaps, but everyone working towards a world where hate and name-calling would be a thing of the past. as Reuben points out, though, that might be an impossible goal, but it's mighty reassuring to have at least someone dedicated to building up rather than tearing down.

I figure that it's all in how you see people. tonight - and, I'm sure, for the next 25 years - I saw the good.

happy 25th anniversary to the Boston Gay Men's Chorus. here's to many more.

Iraq Obviousness

2007-01-24T08:34:00.000-08:00

General Petraeus made the brilliant observation in front of the Senate Armed Services Committee yesterday that the planned increase in troop levels and new tactics should enable American and Iraqi forces to provide security in Baghdad.

good thinking, David.

it makes sense, don't it? new tactics should enable us to provide security because our old ones didn't work. and more troops? well, at some point we just overrun the entire city with American presence and punch the lights out of anyone who dares besmirch America's great name.

as Susan Collins (R-ME) has pointed out, we've had four troop surges in Iraq since the beginning of hostilities, none of which has produced any significant results in terms of de-escalating the sectarian violence. from a strategic perspective, it seems rather clear that the logic at this point should not so much focus on how many more resources to put towards a cause that's imploding and exploding in every direction, but rather on how to wisely and carefully remove ourselves and cut our losses as quickly as possible.

I'm so glad Bush has found another military talking-head for his butthead policies.

State of the...Who Really Gives a Shit?

2007-01-24T08:15:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make. I didn't watch the State of the Union last night. not one bit. and I couldn't care less.

you know why? precisely because this morning, as I was walking into the T, I grabbed a copy of the Metro and read the large-print headline from Mr. Bush's address last night:

"America must not fail."

thank you, Buddha, for that little piece of wisdom. I wasn't planning on it.

of course, you might chalk it down to bad journalism and bad headline writing. but I think there's something simple and deliciously witty about the Metro directly regurgitating the idiocy that is Bush's futile efforts to be inspiring nowadays.

States of the Union are no longer interesting to watch. they are, as someone I read somewhere pointed out yesterday, more a reading of a laundry list than any kind of platform speech. the alternative fuels bit was nice, I concede, but, apart from that, there's really nothing new that we haven't seen. and I really don't feel compelled to sit glued to the TV for Dubya (not much to look at, or listen to), reacting to every little thing that comes out of his mouth like it's a real shock.

I'm much more interested in the little political shenanigans that people play on momentous occasions such as these, like the uncomfortable exchanges Hillary and Barack shared while doing post-address TV interviews, or the fact that Nancy Pelosi apparently changed from a beige suit to an olive-green one (a note, dear girl: beige may be too neutral, but olive green just plain looks bad against the rich brown leather of the Speaker's chair; try a deep crimson or burgundy suit next year).

respondents to the New York Times' Caucus blog seem at least semi-outraged by the fact that the paper is paying any attention at all to Pelosi's clothing rather than the fact that she's the new Speaker or her achievements or blah blah blah. take a chill pill. the Times didn't make her change. she changed herself, with obvious thinking to the implications of her dress. there's a story there, perhaps about how women must struggle against the glass ceiling within the confines of a male-centric society. but don't blame the Times for making it interesting.

and, last but not least, the lucky cabinet secretary who got to stay home last night was Jim Nicholson, of Veterans Affairs. it tickles me every year to see that our government pays so much morbid attention to details.

Diane Patrick

2007-01-20T07:05:00.000-08:00

the Boston Globe Magazine published today an interview with the new First Lady of Massachusetts, Diane Patrick. I truly admire this woman, since she stood so steadfastly by her husband and kept her head while the incompetent Kerry Healey campaign lobbed negative ad after negative ad at Deval. what really comes through in the interview is Diane's keen sense of public duty while at the same time being dedicated to protecting her family. I especially appreciate her answer to the question about her daughters dealing with the election, since we hear so much about this "keep-my-family-out-0f-politics" type of tirade. Diane and Deval seem to recognize the campaign and the next four years as an incredible adventure and journey that carries with it the responsibility of being open and visible. to some degree, the First Family becomes a sort of role model (sometimes, as with the Bush twins, as much for what not to do as vice versa). I like her candor, and I like her thinking about success over the next four years as anything but a foregone conclusion.

I have a special fascination with these "supporting actors and actresses" that accompany major political figures into the spotlight. Diane mentions Daniel Mulhern, who is the First Gentleman to Michigan governor Jennifer Granholm, who developed a youth mentorship matching program. It's precisely because these roles are so undefined that they have so much possibility for doing good. I'm encouraged that Diane already has a head start on thinking about the needs of the Commonwealth from her background and work experience in education and labor. I do hope to see some innovative ideas of substance come from her office in the next few years. personally, I'd like to see someone take a more practical approach to the leakage of young adults and young professionals from Massachusetts. and how about using public art to engage youth in their communities and increase their investment in a safe and viable neighborhood?

good luck, gal. let me know if I can help.

read the interview here.

Finally

2007-01-20T06:57:00.000-08:00

Hillary's announced.

big whoop. didn't see that coming at all. no siree.

and, apparently, she has no last name. "Hillary for President." Hillary who?

or maybe it's a campaign strategy to sell her candidacy as a 22-year old cocktail waitresses. "hi! my name is Candy! I totally wanna be, like, your president!"

c'mon. act like the former First Lady (of one of the most popular presidents in recent memories) and the U.S. Senator that you are.

Sucks When Your Own Hates You, Don't It?

2007-01-19T09:18:00.000-08:00

the House Dems have successfully concluded their Six for '06 campaign. and, to boot, in only 42 hours and 15 minutes.

the SF Chronicle reports that, on average, 63 House Republicans voted with the majority on the '06 package.

63 out of 202. that's an average defection rate of 31%.

then again, when the presented agenda is poll-tested and public-approved, why would you still vote against it? probably because your brain has swelled so much during your twelve years in the majority that you can't really think straight anymore.

welcome to the backseat, bitches!

Follow Meryl's Example

2007-01-19T08:47:00.000-08:00

it took a while for me to finally get around to the Golden Globes, but Meryl Streep's acceptance speech on Monday night is exactly what an acceptance speech should be. take note: young Hollywoodians.

1. you thank people. yadda yadda yadda.
2. you present a social message. lots of people seem to think that making your little statuette relevant to the world at large is a problem. "politics brings down the arts," they say.

that's a load of crap.

art isn't the representation of life. art is life; art must have a point of view. and to separate art from political, social, and economic conditions makes it moot. this year, Meryl's made the issue of cinematic release her topic of choice, gently chiding theater managers (and, really, Americans in general) for liking Sylvester Stallone's turd-of-a-Rocky-sequel to, say, Helen Mirren's The Queen. is that elitism? perhaps. but I would agree with Meryl that Americans need to learn a little less about how to punch someone and a little more about the responsibility of leadership, and about the bravery to admit your wrongs.

so you keep doin' what you're doin', Meryl. I look forward to next year's tirade. just make sure you find another designer. your Carolina Herrera looked like a done-up version of a Visigothic nightgown. otherwise, flawless as always.

Hillary's Low Blow: Part I

2007-01-19T08:18:00.000-08:00

a friend of mine passed on to me the World Tribune article about an investigation into Sen. Barack Obama's Muslim background by "political opponents in the Democratic Party." sources say that the background check was run by researched connected to the Clinton campaign. you can read the full article here, but, as far as I can tell, the two main issues that the Hillaryites seem most hopeful of raising are:
1) that Obama went to a Madrassa for 4 years that espouses Wahhabism, which may have been funded by the Saudi government and taught doctrine denying the rights of non-Muslims
2) that Obama willfully concealed his (deeper) connections with Islam in his two books

if Hillary did indeed order this fear-mongering background check, then shame on her. she's obviously capitalizing on the poll conducted last summer where 54% of Americans indicated that they would absolutely not vote for a Muslim presidential candidate (don't laugh so hard, Mitt, you're next highest on the list with 37%). read the LA Times article on the poll here. at that point, the Times concluded that: "With no likely Muslim candidate on the presidential horizon, the poll numbers present the greatest threat to a potential contender from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (as the Mormon Church is formally known)." I can just imagine a sniveling little Hillaryite sitting in a dark office somewhere reading that line and thinking: "hmmmm. 'with no likely Muslim candidate,' eh? we'll see what we can do about that!"

to those two issues:
1) who cares what that school taught and who funded it? even if it does turn out to have been an extremist Madrassa, it's not like Obama chose to go there. his parents - specifically, his father - made that educational decision for him, as we do believe, I hope, that all parents have the right to dictate their children's educational futures. and if the Hillaryites really want to make religious doctrines that deny the rights of others such an issue, then can we talk about Sam Brownback's religion saying that I am an inherently evil and seeking, I'm sure, to strip me of every civil right I have as a gay man? if you're going to fry that fish, babe, at least find a bigger one.

2) why should Obama be forthcoming about his religion if he doesn't feel that it's appropriate to mention? that's a personal decision that each candidate should make, and he's obviously acknowledge what he views as Islam's contribution to his thinking and life experiences. and yeah, if I had half a brain and knew how stupid and paranoid American voters tend to be (especially in that large, red swath across the middle of the country), I'd keep my Muslim upbringing to the wings, too. perhaps Hillary would like to tell us all of her deepest, darkest secrets that she thinks might ruin her chances at the presidency? what did happen with Vince Foster, anyway?

in the end, the only conclusion I can draw from this exercise is that, since it makes no sense in any way as a substantive political issue, Hillaryites who are behind the background check are desperate and fishing for fear to sell. it's as palatable a catch as Rep. Virgil Goode (R-VA) challenging Rep. Keith Ellison's (D-MN) right to be sworn in on the Koran rather than the Bible. which is to say, it makes me want to vomit.

Hillary, don't be a tool.

Handicapping the 2008 Presidential Race

2007-01-19T08:15:00.000-08:00

let's kick-off my renewed attempts at blogging by handicapping the GOP field of confirmed and potential candidates:

Duncan Hunter: is he still running? is he even alive? or did he fall into the black hole that swallows all former House reps?

Rep. Tommy Tancredo (R-CO): I'd rather listen to a Nickelback CD than a single-issue candidate; at least that record isn't broken.

Gov. Mike Huckabee (R-AR): dead in the water.

Rudy Giuliani: dead in the water.

Mitt Romney: dead in the water. and I bet you he's making up fundraising numbers. $6.5 million? you couldn't even pull that off if you campaigned illegally at the Mormon headquarters in Salt Lake City. oh wait, you already do.

Sen. Chuck Hagel (R-NE): people say he's positioning himself for a run by distancing himself from the escalation strategy. I say he's dead in the water.

Sen. John McCain (R-AZ): stomach-able. don't move to the right. please.

Sen. Sam Brownback (R-KS): this guy's a domestic version of Joe Biden, except with more hot gas than experience and in domestic rather than foreign affairs. dead in the water.

and the Democratic field?

Sen. Joe Biden (D-DE): be the best Joe Biden you can be, but it'll still unfortunately fall short. the problem when you position yourself as a foreign affairs expert is exactly that; you have no credibility when it comes to the "homeland."

Sen. Barack Obama (D-IL): the candidate I'm likeliest to get excited about so far. as for all of your haters who say he hasn't got enough experience, I encourage you to read the Metro's interview with former governor Doug Wilder (I'm trying to find it; check back later for a link).

Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton (D-NY): exciting in theory, at least if she stays on the left.

Jon Edwards: his progressive platform might make a difference if he could actually deliver the votes.

Gov. Bill Richardson (D-NM): kinduva pudgy, jolly fellow. if only he ran a state with real issues.

Tom Vilsack: like Richardson, just too bland of a candidate.

Sen. Chris Dodd (D-CT): I'm only putting him on here because it's funny that he's even thinking of running. go get your eyebrows trimmed instead.

Revival!

2006-11-14T07:10:00.000-08:00

It's a revival! Because I am just *that* bored.

To start: a short snippety thing that I wrote after reading Death by Pad Thai, edited by Douglas Bauer. In the book, writers like Amy Bloom and Claire Messud lend their pens to talking about their most memorable meals; it's not so much food-writing as it is food-memoir.

# # #

The end of the school year is never pretty, and that year was no exception.
In some strange stroke of delusion, I had signed up for two upper-level seminars, one in American studies and another in art history, both of which required major research papers at the end of the semester. The timing was especially tragic because it was spring semester, meaning that my production of these two projects would coincide with my moving out of my room. I don’t think I can sufficiently re-created the sense of panic I had about the situation, although, thinking back, I wasn’t really panicking until the very last hours of the whole ordeal, which serenity either resulted from my lack of sleep or, more unlikely, had been taught to me by my Mormon background in accepting all that God has foreordained. And if God did indeed foreordain the mad rush of these last few days of the semester, then he really is a sadistic sonufabitch.

The papers were easy enough. It all went by in a blur, and I’m still not quite sure how I managed to churn out fifty pages of academic writing in three days. Unlike my later days in college, when I learned to separate the research and writing phases of my projects and meticulously tabbed books and journal articles for my data, the writing process of these two seminar papers involved a jumping exercise between source and computer as I wrote one sentence and then dug through the piles of books I had to find some evidence – any evidence! – to support my claim. (Not to jeopardize Amherst College’s stellar reputation as an academic institution, but I feel it necessary to disclose that these two papers were two of my highest grades in my undergraduate career.) I loved writing the papers. I believed every word I put on the page and thought I had original and exciting research to contribute. I was just a little behind and inefficient in my presentation.

The papers were due on Friday, and I wrote feverishly to make the deadline. Through the night of Wednesday and the early morning of Thursday, I moved down the hall from my room to work in my then-boyfriend’s dorm room. Max had his own work to do, and we worked on opposite sides of the (seriously, against conventional knowledge of college residences) cavernous room. Like I said, I don’t remember much about that night, except that I looked up briefly, probably around 5 AM, to note to Max that I had never been up late enough to hear birds waking up in song in the morning. These delicate and cheering signs of life, I’d learned over my two years at Amherst, were luxuries in New England that had to be cherished in the two out of twelve months a year that the region is inhabitable, at least by reasonable human beings.

Working in Max’s room was a fairly risky move, actually. Max and I did not live on the same hall because we were classmates; I was his resident counselor (resident advisor, junior counselor, et cetera, et cetera). We began dating around Spring Break. The night before I left for home, Max had put his head on my shoulder while we lay on my bed watching TV (after watching The Passion of the Christ with my friend Pem, I thought, sandwiched safely between us). As my friend Matt reminds me, I had only two nights before confirmed that I would not let anything happen between Max and me; it was unprofessional, I declared. I still don’t know what changed. But Max put his head on my shoulder, and, later, I kissed him. We stayed up talking all night: about our families and his novel and my screenplay and what this budding relationship would mean. We began dating after we returned from Spring Break, and our relationship was as well kept a secret on campus as Mark Foley’s homosexuality was in Washington. Publicly, we disavowed any rumors that we were together, but people talked. Other resident counselors asked me in private, and I didn’t lie to them. More than once, another resident of Appleton Hall saw us as we were cuddling on my bed (I still maintain, by the way, that after knocking one should wait for a response instead of opening the door directly).

I don’t think we ever ate together during those two and a half ambiguous months when we were technically and officially not dating (but actually and emotionally very much so). A psychology professor once advised me that people aren’t ever paying as much attention to me as I think they are, but, of course, it never feels that way. The other reason we never ate together would be that our dining hall, named Valentine, is a decidedly unromantic venue, as all college cafeterias, I would venture, are. It’s a nice place to study and socialize, but dates are destined to crash and burn within its pastel-colored walls and giant deep-dish lights and black-and-white school-spirit photos. I’m not saying couples don’t eat in Valentine together; I’m saying you don’t do it when you’re starting out or when you’re trying to impress someone. The subliminal message is something like: “I offer these limp and soggy chicken chunks and this low-fat mocha frozen yogurt for your stunning beauty.” It just doesn’t work.
So Max and I waited for our first date, and it occurred to us that we could really make an occasion out of it. My contract as a resident counselor for the year technically ended at 8-o’clock on Friday, May 21, 2004. Everyone had to move out of the dorm by that time, and, at that point, Max and I would be just two regular students. Technically and officially allowed to date. The occasion called for a dinner. But first we had our papers to write, which brings us in a circular way back to the moment of the meal.

I turned in the second of the two projects on Thursday, in the afternoon. Walking out of Morgan Hall, where I’d dropped my behemoth of a paper in the mailbox of Professor Karen Sanchez-Eppler, I felt a brief moment of elation and relief before the dread of moving out moved in. College students are really just a more dignified version of street transients. Every year, we are forced out of the places we’ve grown to call home. We pack our lives’ possessions in boxes and shove them into dark and dingy basements and await the glorious fall day when we can begin anew the reconstruction of our young identities by tacking up sophomoric posters and icicle lights. My packing process was complicated by the fact that Max had moved his things into my small room in order to take advantage of my extension to stay one extra night in the dorm. The extra night was crucial for our plans to finally have our first date.

Thursday and Friday went by too quickly. I ran out of packing tape, as appropriate according to Murphy’s Law in these last-minute situations. To substitute, I taped shut my exploding plastic containers with reels and reels of scotch tape. Hold for the next three months of the summer, I prayed silently to the same God who had foreordained this mess in the first place. Plastic bags and crates and boxes spilt into the hallway. The afternoon came and went. Max sat at my desk, fiddling with the computer while I hurried to and fro. We looked up briefly and smiled at each other at 8-o’clock. The spell had been lifted. Then I went back to packing. 9-o’clock passed. Dinner was only a vague afterthought in my mind. Finally, around 10-o’clock, I finished. I was sweaty and gross and sticky and exhausted, but we grabbed our jackets and walked into town center.

This is perhaps the point when I tell you that everything was closed and that, for our first date, Max and I were forced to eat burritos on the steps of the Amherst town hall, and that because of the special-ness of the moment, even such pedestrian fare seemed to be magical. But that’s not what happened. Many of the restaurants in Amherst were closed already, indeed, but Pinocchio’s was still open. To our good fortune, Pinocchio’s was also the best restaurant in town. (Unfortunately, it burned down in the summer between my junior and senior years, the more cynical among us passing on rumors that the proprietors wanted the insurance money.) Pinocchio’s was where the College took its prospective hires for dinner after a grueling day of interviews. It was one of the two places in town students angled for their parents to take them when any combination of Mom(s) and/or Dad(s) was in town. Pinocchio’s was the exact opposite of Valentine: elegant, dimly-lit, warm, romantic, clean, non-institutional. Waiters in crisp shirts and ties drifted between tables with baskets of foccacia, placing them carefully with extra-virgin olive oil on starched white tablecloths. I had been to Pinocchio’s before but only ordered the medium-priced pastas; the proteins and the fresh fish seduced you until you saw their prices. It’s really too bad the place burned down.

Max and I walked in on a near-empty restaurant. There were a few odd couples left still eating or finishing dessert, but the hostess graciously and quickly sat us at a table for two. I can’t remember the details clearly, because I was exhausted from the intellectual unpacking of my brain over the course of the week and the physical packing of my room the two days before. I remember that we threw fiscal responsibility to the wind like Republicans at war. We had a multi-course meal. I forget what the appetizer was; probably something generic but well-executed like fried calamari. I ordered the Delmonico steak, the largest chop in the house, and seared to as rare as possible as I believed beef should be eaten. Max ordered, if I remember correctly, a pear salad with confit of duck leg.

The evening seemed to melt away over the course of a meal. The food was spectacular, but that was perhaps because the occasion was spectacular. I remember smiling a lot, grinning like a fool at my boyfriend over bites of tender steak. A boyfriend that I could finally introduce to my friends and my coworkers and my bosses and, eventually, my mother. I wish I’d remembered how happy I had been at that moment in Pinocchio’s when I made the fatal decision that would be the beginning of the end of our year-and-a-half-long relationship.

Life is about waiting. Hurrying up and waiting. Sometimes, if we’re lucky, the objects of our waiting actually match the ideas we inevitably construct of them during the wait. Food, I find, is very much that way (probably because in an efficient market no one wants to wait for bad food, except when diners sell out for a restaurant’s brand over its food, like the Hard Rock Café). So are relationships. And when the two are combined, a memorable meal is inevitably born.

Real Chinese Food

2006-07-17T23:37:00.000-07:00

I love real Chinese food.

Not that fake stuff you get from Panda Express. Or China Wonderful Palace. Or Exquisite Jade Pagoda. Or whatever restaurant with a name cobbled together from an adjective plus a Chinese-sounding adjective plus some vaguely Oriental structure.

I'm talking the stuff that's gooey and slimy and crunchy and pungent and spicy all in the same bite. Tonight we went to Restaurant Peony in Oakland's Chinatown, which is the formal Chinese restaurant that I basically grew up on. I haven't had a decent Chinese meal since, well, since I was in New York for Pride and went with my friend Margaret and her family to "the duck place" in Queens. I have yet to explore Boston's Chinese meal options since my roommates are such big fans of dining out, not to mention dining out on mysterious ingredients. But, coming home, I'm always assured of good Chinese food sometime, somewhere. Tonight's dinner included a spinach, carrot, and pork soup; sauteed watercress greens in fermented fish sauce and chili peppers; "white-chopped" chicken; salt-and-pepper sea bass; egg whites stir fried with fish bellies; and a platter of barbecued pork, roast pork, and jellyfish strips. You know a Chinese restaurant's authentic when people around you are shoveling rice into their mouths with their chopsticks; none of this fork-it-off-the-plate-in-clumps silliness.

Tonight also happened to be something of a talent show, because apparently the Yip/Wong Family Association of Oakland was hosting the Wong Family Association from Los Angeles. And, of course, at such banquets you must have karaoke. As luck would have it, they started singing as soon as we started eating. The sound is indescriable, in a terrifying and results-in-indigestion sort of way. My father and I couldn't help trading glances, and, at one point, a lady's Mandarin interpretation actually put such a look of simultaneous puzzlement, fright, and disgust on my father's face that my normally taciturn mother choked on her food in laughter.

In any case, I love Chinese restaurants.

Changes

2006-07-13T15:34:00.000-07:00

I just came back from dropping off a wedding present for my friend Michael, who recently got married in Salt Lake City to a beautiful girl named Lessa. Michael was my best friend in middle school and at Church through high school; he was the first person I came out to at the beginning of senior year. We drifted apart a bit over our respective college years: he went off to BYU in between a two-year mission for the LDS Church, and I went off to Amherst. With the help of the Internet and cell phone technology, we stayed in touch through the years. Now he's a married man. Alas, I can't go to his reception on Saturday because my brother is getting married in San Diego that same day, which is why I'm in California right now. Apparently it's marriage season.

I think I've harbored a lot of pent-up angst about my brother's wedding relative to marriage equality. While I'm here supporting his decision to marry the woman of his dreams, it irks me to think that my brother wouldn't vote for gay marriage so I could do the same with a man I want to spend the rest of my life with. Last night, on the way back from the airport, my mother and I had a long and intense discussion about my anger about this issue. The personal, I fervently believe, is political. It's not pleasant to think of my own Republican-voting family as political enemies, but that's what they are. It's not a game that I want to play: apocalyptic evangelicals are the ones who advance an us-versus-them mentality against gays and immigrants and career-oriented women and minorities. It's hard to be "at peace" and "happy" when someone is attacking your fundamental rights. The question, of course, is whether marriage is a fundamental and inalienable right. The most recent New York state decision says that it isn't, because the state has a vested interest in certain family environments for the protection of children. It seems an intuitive truth that marriage has accrued social meaning beyond its function as the start of a heterosexual family unit. That's why octogenarians and sterile people still get married: because it's an affirmation of their love for each other and because it provides larger and legal recognition of their commitment. Marriage evolves. I'm thinking of sneaking something subversive and ambiguous into my toast for my brother. Something like: "I hope that you two will always remember the commitment to each other and to God, and I hope that you will always work hard and take responsibility for the successes and failures of your marriage." In other words, don't blame gay people for what happens.

It's weird being back in Moraga. Some things - like the big pot of borsch that my mom makes whenever I come home - never change. Other things, like the giant Orchard Supply and Hardware, do. They're finally tearing down and rebuilding the old Moraga Barn building on School Street. It used to be an alcoholic establishment called the "Moraga Bar," Decades ago, the town made the proprietors change the name so that it wouldn't look so glaringly family-unfriendly. so the owners painted on an "N" and made it the "Moraga Barn." Funny how semantics matter.

Speaking of changing communities: The California State Supreme Court ruled today that local and regional bans against big-box stores (specifically) Wal-Mart, are completely legal and non-discriminatory. You can read about the decision here.

An Omelette Recipe and a Book Review

2006-07-07T03:35:00.000-07:00

So I made the most perfect omelettes I've ever made two days ago. Turns out what I've been missing all these years is a rubber spatula; you know, the kind with the flexible edge that you use to mix batters? That seems to be the only kind that's able to get under the set egg and clean it off the skillet. Here's my recipe and approximate directions for my perfect omelette:

(For 2)
5 eggs, beaten
A bunch of spinach
1 cup shaved parmesan
Half of a chorizo (substitute ham or other protein)
Salt and pepper to taste
1 clove garlic
Vegetable oil

Start the garlic in the vegetable oil and sauté (half) the spinach on medium. Add (half) the chorizo or whatever meat you have. Once both are cooked through, move the dry ingredients into a single circular layer in middle of the pan, and pour (half) the beaten egg into the skillet until everything is covered. Lower the heat, and let the egg cook for about seven to ten minutes. Poke constantly at the outer rim of the omelette with your rubber spatula, and turn the skillet to let whatever runny egg is still at the center of the omelette come to the edge. Sprinkle in the cheese and let it melt. After seven to ten minutes, the bottom of the omelette should be cooked and should come off pretty easily all the way around. Dig your rubber spatula into one side of the omelette and, using your finger (or an extra spatula), fold the omelette over. Flipping, if you can do it, would be pretty cool here.

That's a perfect omelette.

Oh, and I also finished Christopher Moore's Lamb, The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. It's a good summer read, although Moore might have done a better job of separating out the biblical stories of Christ's life to be a touch more authentic. The characterizations are zany, and the dialogue is zippy and laugh-out-loud. The premise of the story is fantastic, and it highlights why the modern evangelical movement (as well as any Christian denomination that has the gall to announce itself the one true church on Earth) is narrow-minded and pig-headed. It's not that Moore writes non-fiction; it's that the universal truths in all religions of the world show such a claim to be as archaic as thinking that we're the only intelligent life in the universe. The possibility is just too great for that to be truth. The other aspect of Lamb that I appreciated was the humanity that Moore brought to Christ the person. Sometimes, in the midst of all of the parables and the sermons and the miracles, we forget that Jesus also farted and burped and cursed and ate too much garlic and got dirty and laughed and rough-housed. That's what makes him so appealing as a leader: he was, as much as he was the eternal and glorious Firstborn, a real mortal with his own faults.

I started at the Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network (GLSEN) yesterday, but I won't be going back until mid-August when I return from vacation, so I'll post about that when I know more about it. I'm also (maybe) going to the "Americans in Paris" exhibit at the MFA tonight, so I'll post about that later.

Finally, the biggest news in the GLBTQ community is, of course, the latest ruling from New York's Supreme Court that the denial of gay marriage does not violate the state's constitution. I am still shocked that the majority would use the vocabulary of "procreation" to justify it as a POSSIBLE ground the Legislature might have considered. I believe Chief Justice Kaye was correct in saying that there was a fundamental consitutional right at issue: "The Court concludes, however, that same-sex marriage is not deeply rooted in tradition, and thus cannot implicate any fundamental liberty. But fundamental rights, once recognized, cannot be denied to articular groups on the ground that these groups have historically been denied those rights." The full decision can be read here, and Chief Justice Kaye's dissent begins on page 43.

Some Kind of Weird Double-Speak

2006-07-04T15:31:00.000-07:00

I'm warning you right now: there are going to be lots of posts addressing intersections of sexuality and Mormonism. Here's a second one.

While browsing the Church's website recently about the ABC Nightline story on the LDS Church and homosexuality on 7 June 2006, the Church's press arm insisted: "We believe the standard of morality is clearly defined and applies to all of God’s children. The Church teaches chastity before marriage and complete fidelity within a marriage. Marriage is also defined by God as the union of a man and woman, and we are not at liberty to change that definition." [More of the Church's delicious defensive crap can be read here.]

These three sentences encapsulate the impossible position that the LDS Church puts its gay members and other LGBTQ individuals. The statement was in response to a gay former member who stated that: "There is no place for me in the gospel as a person who never married." Clearly, there is no point to following the laws of chastity to "save yourself for marriage" when YOU CANNOT GET MARRIED. What really gets my goat, though, is the blatant hypocrisy of the statement that "we" are not at liberty to change the definition of marriage as set forth by God. If I'm not mistaken, the Church decided (of course, only with God's permission through "revelation") in 1890 to change the definition of marriage to the union of ONE man and ONE woman upon political pressure for the Territory of Utah to join the United States. So, apparently, God can change the definition of marriage from polygamy to monogamy to satisfy the Church's political and financial situation (actually, according to LDS doctrine, polygamy continues to be the Lord's preferred and endorsed mode of martial bliss in the hereafter), but only if his servants feel the arbitrary urge to proclaim it His will that it be so?

Who is leading this Church? And will they please get their heads out of their asses?

Talk About Security at Home

2006-07-04T12:37:00.000-07:00

If I had my way, the only crimes that would face capital punishment would be male-perpetrated domestic abuse and violence against women and children. Period. Why society lets abusive men get away with these atrocious crimes is beyond me. Even more appalling is the thought that one of these monsters might be an elected public official. Impossible? Think again.

My roommate is interning with Mass Alliance, a coalition of progressive groups in Massachusetts, and has been volunteering on Melissa Murgo's campaign for State Representative out in the sixteenth district (Worcester). Murgo is running against John Fresolo, who, according to various press and personal accounts, deserves to be locked up and slapped around for all of his stupid and violent antics against his family and his political opponents. Fresolo came to Beacon Hill in 1999 out of a four-way race on the local strength of his father's name. On his own, he wouldn't be qualified to pump gas at a full-service station. Since taking office, he's ripped off tax payers by requesting per diem money for travel beyond the number of days that the General Court is actually in session. His politics are outdated and out of synch with the changing demographics of Worcester and the state. Even his own party hates him: the Mass Scorecard gave him a C for his voting record with the platform of the Massachusetts Democratic Party (and it's not even on respectable issues like state spending, either; it's because he voted against fundamental rights like gay marriage and for giving corporations tax breaks).

Murgo, who graduated from BC and holds an MPA from Framingham State College, worked for Fresolo, and that experience actually made her want to run against him. Two years ago, she lost 54% to 46%. The campaign was a nightmare: Murgo's car was keyed (the assailant couldn't even spell "whore" right), shot at with paint balls, and almost run over by Fresolo himself. Murgo lost even after news had surfaced that Fresolo beat his wife. This time around, Murgo is giving it another go after the Worcester Telegram and Gazette revealed that Fresolo was under investigation for giving his thirteen-year old daughter a BLACK EYE. Basically, a stinking sack of shit could represent Worcester better, because at least a sack of shit wouldn't think that a good time is battering the most vulnerable members of our society (although, baffling enough, the conventional reaction around Worcester seems to be "hitting your wife is one thing, but hitting your kids is just crossing the line).

Murgo is giving Worcester one better; she is running on a progressive platform of investment in education and in Worcester's transportation infrastructure. Fresolo is in a much more vulnerable position: he can't call on the slimy Tom Finneran anymore for financial and political support, and many Worcester endorsers that supported him two years ago are staying out of the race.

How this twit has managed to stay in office this long is a mystery to me. Worcester apparently loves incumbents. But, this time around, even Helen Keller would tell you that Fresolo's pathetic ass needs to go. Initial polling suggests that Fresolo's approvals are hovering around fifty percent. To really kick him in the crotch, though, Murgo will need a lot of grassroots and financial help, especially since she only took out papers in April. Building on her impressive momentum from 2004, however, and with news of Fresolo's own criminal doings, Murgo has a real and significant shot in the sixteenth district.

To learn more about Melissa Murgo's campaign, visit her (unfortunately amateur) website. You can also donate to her campaign by sending checks to: The Committee to Elect Melissa Murgo, 179 Delmont Avenue, Worcester, MA 01604.

The Real Meaning of Pride on July Fourth

2006-07-04T08:58:00.000-07:00

I planned to submit this to the Advocate, but they don't print more than two pieces every two weeks from any single author. Which is too bad, because this was by the most fun of the three opinion pieces I've written. I sent it to a couple of other news outlets, but no one picked it up in time for July Fourth. So I'm putting it out there myself.

Happy Independence Day!

# # #

Barely one week after I cheered on the parade at the Heritage of Pride in New York, I’m getting ready for a different kind of pride march. At this march, however, there won’t be any sequined jumpsuits or outrageous wigs. Nor will there be a thumping beat or a catchy dance mix for me to hum along to. Instead, the marchers will wear dangerously out-of-date tri-corner hats and gaiters, and the fife-and-drum corps that toots and pounds its way across the historic town common in Lexington will just have to do. These sins against fashion and the goddess Madonna are understandable, I suppose. It is, after all, July 4, and it is the real meaning of this American holiday that gives me the reason, the right and, some might even say, the obligation to celebrate my pride as a gay American.

Each year on July 4, we Americans take special time to regale each other with the story of the founding of our country. The Boston Tea Party. The midnight ride of Paul Revere. The shot heard ‘round the world. Thomas Jefferson’s marathon writing of the Declaration of Independence. The miserable winter at Valley Forge. And, finally, the surrender at Yorktown that made the United States of America a reality. These were the stories that I learned by heart long before I even became a naturalized citizen of the United States; something about the boldness, self-sacrifice, and passion of the history makes it riveting and powerful. Sometimes, however, the fundamental philosophies and events of American history gets twisted just a little bit beyond the facts, with disastrous results.

“Traditional American values” – and its multiple variations – has become one of the most commonly used slogans to attack the GLBTQ community. Take, for example, the press release recently issued by Representative Steve King (R-IA) after the House passed his amendment gutting H.R. 5576 of funding for the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center. According to the LAGLC, its mission is to provide “free and low-cost health, mental health, HIV/AIDS medical care and HIV/STD testing and prevention,” as well as “legal, social, cultural, and educational services, with unique programs for seniors, families and youth, including a 24-bed transitional living program for homeless youth.” According to Representative King’s office, however, this mission constituted an offense “radically opposed to traditional values the overwhelming majority of Americans hold dear.”

What is so horribly un-American about the LAGLC? Several words from the Center’s mission statement jump out at first glance: “testing and prevention,” “educational services,” “transitional living.” By any measure, then, patrons of the LAGLC seem to be trying to lead conscientious, safe, enlightened, and self-sufficient lives. It is, no doubt, a difficult struggle for these brave souls to face down their worst demons. But the same bold spirit and passion that drove the American colonists in 1776 drive these gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender Americans today to make their own personal revolutions to become active members of society. I know of no endeavor more traditional, more moral, and more American than that. To Representative King, I say this: Find me a more worthwhile cause than aiding and celebrating those who are working hard for the American Dream of a brighter future, and you can have your money back. And take your bigotry, too.

The problem with the misappropriation of what is and what is not traditionally “American” goes beyond a question of morality. Dare I say it: despite the best efforts throughout history of delusional, self-proclaimed prophets like “Lemonade Lucy” Hayes, America has never been about moral values. Fortunately, the Founding Fathers were smart enough to realize that morality is a flimsy concept malleable to the corrupted touch of the powerful. So, instead of creating a nation around “who we are” or “what we believe in,” the Founding Fathers made America about how it is that we go about expressing our identities and our beliefs. You want to be an American? Then participate in republican democracy. Support equal protection under the law. Fight hard for equal opportunity, and take personal responsibility if you are lucky enough to have one (or even two). Respect your own and others’ life, liberty, and pursuits of happiness. Their aim was to create a set of guidelines that would enable everyone to contribute to the public good: whether singing in a church choir or in a drag show; whether wearing leather chaps for calf roping or for a night out; whether a family has one father or two or none at all. For one group to tell another that it is not and cannot be American is not only one of the most repetitive tragedies in the history of the United States, but also, not coincidentally, one of the most unpatriotic things an American can do.

When my mother took the immigrant naturalization test in 2001 to bring herself and me into the American family, she did not have to answer any questions about the proper name of the Christian god or the right number of people that constitute a family. The test checked that she was familiar with our political process and our shared history, and then it asked her to take an oath to the effect “that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same…” My political pride in being an American, in supporting and defending the Constitution, and in bearing true faith and allegiance to the United States is the same pride that tells me that I am valuable as a social and sexual being. Opposition to progressive GLBTQ rights and equality in the name of traditional American values is just one more in a long and historic list of misguided fits of moral self-righteousness. I have faith that this, too, shall pass, like the many failed reactionary campaigns before it. In the mean time, I’ll add to my red, white, and blue some extra touches of orange, yellow, green, and purple. And I’ll wave my flag high, proud to be gay because I am proud to be an American.