Friday, August 31, 2012
I’ve been waiting for this. According to The Huffington Post, Christian weather experts are at it again.
Hurricane Isaac, like Hurricane Katrina seven years ago, is our fault. Defend & Proclaim The Faith’s Pastor John McTernan blogged, “The hurricane is scheduled to hit the New Orleans area on Wednesday, August 29 which is the beginning of an annual homosexual event in New Orleans called 'Southern Decadence.’”
McTernan wrote of his amazement that Isaac was due to hit seven years to the day after Katrina. Seven is a biblically significant number, after all. He averred, "The church, city and nation have not repented and the homosexual agenda is far worse than it was in 2005.”
I didn’t know our agenda had worsened. Why does nobody tell me these things?
“New Orleans is still hosting Southern Decadence with open homosexuality manifesting in the streets of the city. It could be that God is putting an end to this city and its wickedness. The timing of Hurricane Isaac with Southern Decadence is a sign that God’s patience with America’s sin is coming to an end."
Or else it’s a sign that the planners of Southern Decadence need to move it the hell out of hurricane season.
Americans must stop “wagging our fist in God’s face,” Wilson said. Or God will flatten American cities and turn us all into canisters of Morton table salt.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
The following, which The New York Times ran online yesterday, is not LGBT. But it's hysterical, timely, and I didn't know David Brooks had it in him.
The Real Romney
By David Brooks
The purpose of the Republican convention is to introduce America to the real Mitt Romney. Fortunately, I have spent hours researching this subject. I can provide you with the definitive biography and a unique look into the Byronic soul of the Republican nominee:
Mitt Romney was born on March 12, 1947, in Ohio, Florida, Michigan, Virginia and several other swing states. He emerged, hair first, believing in America, and especially its national parks. He was given the name Mitt, after the Roman god of mutual funds, and launched into the world with the lofty expectation that he would someday become the Arrow shirt man.
Romney was a precocious and gifted child. He uttered his first words (“I like to fire people”) at age 14 months, made his first gaffe at 15 months and purchased his first nursery school at 24 months. The school, highly leveraged, went under, but Romney made 24 million Jujubes on the deal.
Mitt grew up in a modest family. His father had an auto body shop called the American Motors Corporation, and his mother owned a small piece of land, Brazil. He had several boyhood friends, many of whom owned Nascar franchises, and excelled at school, where his fourth-grade project, “Inspiring Actuaries I Have Known,” was widely admired.
The Romneys had a special family tradition. The most cherished member got to spend road trips on the roof of the car. Mitt spent many happy hours up there, applying face lotion to combat windburn.
The teenage years were more turbulent. He was sent to a private school, where he was saddened to find there are people in America who summer where they winter. He developed a lifelong concern for the second homeless, and organized bake sales with proceeds going to the moderately rich.
Some people say he retreated into himself during these years. He had a pet rock, which ran away from home because it was starved of affection. He bought a mood ring, but it remained permanently transparent. His ability to turn wine into water detracted from his popularity at parties.
There was, frankly, a period of wandering. After hearing Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side,” Romney decided to leave Mormonism and become Amish. He left the Amish faith because of its ban on hair product, and bounced around before settling back in college. There, he majored in music, rendering Mozart’s entire oeuvre in PowerPoint.
His love affair with Ann Davies, the most impressive part of his life, restored his equilibrium. Always respectful, Mitt and Ann decided to elope with their parents. They went on a trip to Israel, where they tried and failed to introduce the concept of reticence. Romney also went on a mission to France. He spent two years knocking on doors, failing to win a single convert. This was a feat he would replicate during his 2008 presidential bid.
After his mission, he attended Harvard, studying business, law, classics and philosophy, though intellectually his first love was always tax avoidance. After Harvard, he took his jawline to Bain Consulting, a firm with very smart people with excessive personal hygiene. While at Bain, he helped rescue many outstanding companies, like Pan Am, Eastern Airlines, Atari and DeLorean.
Romney was extremely detail oriented in his business life. He once canceled a corporate retreat at which Abba had been hired to play, saying he found the band’s music “too angry.”
Romney is also a passionately devoted family man. After streamlining his wife’s pregnancies down to six months each, Mitt helped Ann raise five perfect sons — Bip, Chip, Rip, Skip and Dip — who married identically tanned wives. Some have said that Romney’s lifestyle is overly privileged, pointing to the fact that he has an elevator for his cars in the garage of his San Diego home. This is not entirely fair. Romney owns many homes without garage elevators and the cars have to take the stairs.
After a successful stint at Bain, Romney was lured away to run the Winter Olympics, the second most Caucasian institution on earth, after the G.O.P. He then decided to run for governor of Massachusetts. His campaign slogan, “Vote Romney: More Impressive Than You’ll Ever Be,” was not a hit, but Romney won the race anyway on an environmental platform, promising to make the state safe for steeplechase.
After his governorship, Romney suffered through a midlife crisis, during which he became a social conservative. This prepared the way for his presidential run. He barely won the 2012 Republican primaries after a grueling nine-month campaign, running unopposed. At the convention, where his Secret Service nickname is Mannequin, Romney will talk about his real-life record: successful business leader, superb family man, effective governor, devoted community leader and prudent decision-maker. If elected, he promises to bring all Americans together and make them feel inferior.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
If tropical storm Isaac hammers the Republican National Convention, does that mean God is mad at the GOP?
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Last night I picked up Arthur Cotterell’s “The Encyclopedia of Mythology.”
Now there’s a guarantee you won’t read any further.
On the chance you’re still with me, the very first entry in the book proved that what I learned about Greek mythology in school was not the whole story.
Achilles, considered the greatest Greek warrior, was also a moody fellow. Rather than join the other Greeks fighting the Trojans, he hung out in his tent. “But Achilles was roused to action,” writes Cotterell, “by the death of Patroclus, his squire and lover.”
News to me, by Zeus!
Hector, the Trojan who killed Achilles’ boyfriend, knew he was in trouble. He asked Achilles to treat his body with respect should he be killed. Achilles uttered the Greek equivalent of “No way Jose,” slew Hector with a spear and dragged his body around the tomb of Patroclus for twelve days.
Only Achilles’ mother, Thetis the sea nymph, could persuade him to stop mutilating the corpse. Heeding a sea nymph seems like a wise policy to me.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
My first audience . . . were gay people, because they have a great sense of humor. They love comedy and they love to laugh. How do you think they got the word gay put on them?
Phyllis Diller (1917-2012)
Monday, August 20, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Comedian D.L. Hughley penned this difficult farewell to his beloved purveyor of fried food.
You and I sure have had our share of good times. I fondly recall the first moment I ever met you: it was at the Atlanta airport. I'd always heard about you, and was a little nervous to approach. You were everything everyone said you were and more. It was truly love at first bite. I told you I'd come back, and I did -- time and time again. We met in various cities all over the country, each time better than the last, as if we'd never been apart. Isn't that what true love is, where it picks up right it left off?
You can imagine my excitement when I heard you were moving west to my city, Los Angeles. I'd be able to see you as much as I wanted, with no shame or recriminations. Our love would no longer have to be in secret. We could love out loud, for the entire world to see. I was in bliss, and for a time I was truly truly happy.
But baby, lately you've been doing me dirty. You've been speaking with a forked tongue, spewing hate instead of frying love. Who would have thought that a chicken sandwich would become a symbol for both free speech and intolerance at the same time? It brings a whole new meaning to the question, "Do you it want light or dark?"
I don't understand why you're jeopardizing what we have. You're forcing me to choose between my heart and my stomach. Your president has said that you believe that a marriage is only between a man and a woman. But if anyone keeps eating at your establishment, the only relationship that'll matter is between a man and his cardiologist. It's not like anyone, gay or straight, is getting married in your restaurant -- nor will any gay couple ever be serving fried food at their nuptials.
You say that gay marriage is a sin, like in Leviticus 19:22. But a preceding verse, Leviticus 17:14, says, "You must not eat the blood of any creature, because the life of every creature is its blood; anyone who eats it must be cut off." You don't cook your chicken in a kosher way. On what grounds are you picking and choosing which edicts to follow?
Is this all because your President, Dan Cathy, has both male and female names? I can see how that can lead to a confusion with one's gender identity. But whether he's transgendered, cisgendered, questioning, or in transition, he's still one of God's children deserving of empathy and compassion.
Don't get me wrong. I support Mr. Cathy's right to think what he wants and vote however he sees fit. But like the Good Book says, we need sanctuaries in this world, places where a man can go to escape his thoughts. That used to be you. Now I have to wonder if I'm doing the right thing when I step inside your doors, if I am subsidizing perspectives that I am vehemently opposed to. Ignorance is bliss, girl, especially in your industry. Do you really want your customers to start thinking when they step foot in your doors? They'd run out of there faster than -- and you'll pardon the expression -- a bat out of hell. They'll go looking to put something healthier into the God-given temple that is their body.
When have fast food and politics ever intermingled before? Arthur Treacher's has never impressed sailors into the British navy, not even once. Burger King didn't send his royal troops to support us in Iraq. Long John Silver has left his pirating days behind him, and now is a peaceful member of our community. Pizza Hut did not try to declare itself a Habitat for a Humanity. It's not the gay community that is freaky, outspoken and different. It's you, baby.
You say that that's a good thing, that you operate under your own rules. You point out that, unlike your rivals, you're closed on Sunday. Isn't it ironic that Sunday is the most socially segregated day of the week? We go to church, a place where everyone looks like us, talks like us and thinks like us. Not only is Chick-Fil-A closed on Sundays; but so are many hearts and minds. Apparently, you think this is a good thing.
So Chick-Fil-A, baby, I guess what I'm struggling to say, as I fight back the tears and wipe the grease from my fingers, is this. It's not that I don't love you; we both know that's not true. I know I'll never find another like you. But baby, we are growing in two different directions. I'm afraid I won't be able to see you anymore.
May God bless and keep you,
D. L. Hughley
PS I would have written this on one of your fine napkins, but it was just too painful a reminder of the way we were.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Here’s the historic part of the story: Florida has its first openly gay lawmaker. Yesterday voters in Miami Beach chose David Richardson over three other Democratic primary candidates, and since Richardson has no Republican opponent in the general election, the seat in the Florida House looks to be his.
Here’s the giggle-rich part of the story: the district he’ll represent used to be home to Anita Bryant.
So raise a glass of orange juice to Florida’s first out legislator, because orange juice, after all, “isn’t just for breakfast anymore!”
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
I don't know what I am, darling, I've tried several varieties of sex. The conventional position makes me claustrophobic. And the others give me either stiff neck or lockjaw.
Source: The Book of Gay & Lesbian Quotations
Source: The Book of Gay & Lesbian Quotations
Monday, August 13, 2012
Did you see that letter from a father disowning his gay son? John Kinnear did. The letter moved Kinnear to write his own letter to the son he and his wife are expecting. Here's the missive, pilfered from The Huffington Post.
Dear hypothetically gay son,
You're gay. Obviously you already know that, because you told us at the dinner table last night. I apologize for the awkward silence afterwards, but I was chewing. It was like when we're at a restaurant and the waiter comes up mid-bite and asks how the meal is, only in this metaphor you are the waiter, and instead of asking me about my meal, you said you were gay. I don't know why I needed to explain that. I think I needed to find a funny way to repeat the fact that you're gay... because that is what it sounds like in my head right now: "My son is gay. My son is gay. My son is gay."
Let me be perfectly clear: I love you. I will always love you. Since being gay is part of who you are, I love that you're gay. I'm just trying to wrap my head around the idea. If you sensed any sadness in my silence last night, it was because I was surprised that I was surprised. Ideally, I would have already known. Since you were an embryo, my intent has always been to really know you for who you are and not who I expect you to be. And yet, I was taken by surprise at last night's dinner. Have I said "surprise" enough in this paragraph? One more time: Surprise!
OK. Let's get a few things straight about how things are going to be.
That's enough for now. Feel free to view this letter as a contract. If I ever fail to meet any of the commitments made herein, pull it out and hold me to account. I'll end with this: You are not broken. You are whole, and beautiful. You are capable and compassionate. You and your sister are the best things I have ever done with my life, and I couldn't be prouder of the people you've become.
- Our home is a place of safety and love. The world has dealt you a difficult card. While LGBT people are becoming more accepted, it is still a difficult path to walk. You're going to experience hate and anger and misunderstandings about who you are out in the world. That will not happen here. You need to know with every fiber of who you are that when you walk in the front door of your home, you are safe, and you are loved. Your mother is in complete agreement with me on this.
- I am still, as always, your biggest defender. Just because you're gay doesn't mean you're any less capable of taking care of and defending yourself. That said, if you need me to stand next to you or in front of you, write letters, sign petitions, advocate, or anything else, I am here. I would go to war for you.
- If you're going to have boys over, you now need to leave your bedroom door open. Sorry, kiddo. Them's the breaks. I couldn't have girls in my room with the door shut, so you don't get to have boys.
- You and I are going to revisit that talk we had about safe sex. I know it's going to be awkward for both of us, but it is important. I need to do some research first, so let's give it a few weeks. If you have questions or concerns before then, let me know.
P.S. Thanks to a few key Supreme Court decisions and the Marriage Equality Act of 2020, you're legally able to get married. When I was your age, that was just an idea. Pretty cool, huh?
Friday, August 10, 2012
Anne’s six-year-old-niece just stayed with us for a week so she could attend a summer day camp at the Seattle Aquarium. Emma had never spent more than one night in our house before, so this was new and different.
Little did we know how new and different. On the first day, from my office, I heard Anne tell Emma of our intention to marry. My stomach tightened as Emma said she didn’t know why “two girls” would get married.
The fire alarm might as well have gone off, because in our heads Anne and I heard, “Emergency! Emergency!”
Anne did what any sane and reasonable lesbian would in the situation—she went to the library. From our local branch she plucked three picture books about the variety of families in the world.
I don’t know whether she actually read them to Emma, but at least having them around made us feel better.
You better believe that earlier this week when we voted on whether to raise our property tax in order to better fund city libraries, both Anne and I voted yes. Now that I think about it, a thank-you card and a box of chocolate for the local children’s librarian might be in order as well.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Even though neither is funny, here are two things you just have to see. Apparently I’m feeling bossy today.
Click here to see pictures from a weekend Pride event in Uganda. That’s right, Uganda, the country that for years has toyed with the idea of executing homosexuals. Not really a climate that shrieks “Let’s party!” but these brave lesbians and gays turned out, out, out.
The other item I’m foisting upon you is a letter I first saw yesterday when PFLAG posted it. In this missive a father disowns his son, precisely the reaction we fear most when we come out to family. I can only hope the father comes to regret his words.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
An anti-gay protester gets more fire than he bargained for. Unless someone tells me otherwise, I'm going to assume this fiasco is real. And that this fella was never a Boy Scout.