O Spiderman of sticky web
How did you end up in my bed?
I dreamed of this, you know, quite wet
Revealing that you're not quite het.
No Mary Jane could turn your head:
instead a fag in spandex skin,
A circumstance I revel in,
A situation, queer, indeed.
I can't believe your hairless chest
is getting my attention best.
I dreamed of this, a spider's nest
of comfy love togetherness.
A tighty white across my pecs,
You, Spiderman, made quite a mess!
Elena Kagan is not a lesbian. Ruth Marcus, a columnist in the Washington Post, said so, and of all people, Ruth should know (evidently). Oh, and the White House also announced that Elena Kagan is not a lesbian. I needed to know this.
The Economist published an interesting editorial1 and article2 about America's sex offender laws, how those laws are unjust and misguided in their purpose.
The problem stems mainly from the sex offender registration and residence laws in each state. The laws vary from state to state, but often impose onerous requirements on offenders many of whom have served their prison terms and have paid their debt to society.
The problems with the current regulations are that they often do not have a nuanced approach to preventing future sex offenses and to returning the offender to society. Most sexual offenses are between consenting parties. Some offenders have been convicted for acts that are no longer offenses (e.g. sodomy). The vast majority of the offenders are not sexual predators or child molesters, yet often the registry and residence laws treat all sexual offenders in the same way, and do not make distinctions about the kind or severity of offenses.
Our politicians score cheap political points by passing oppressive laws that severely limit where registered offenders can live, where they can work, and with whom they can associate. The public clamors for information from the sex offender registries, not realizing that the registries make no distinction between sexual predators and high school kids who got caught sending indecent photos on their cellphones.
People who are on the registries are discriminated against in employment and housing. They are frequently harassed, and sometimes murdered. We don't paint other categories of crime with the same broad brush. Our society certainly shouldn't treat all 650,000 sexual offenders in the United States in the same way, either. Our states need sane registration and residence policies that target dangerous sexual predators, and leave everyone else alone.
I think it is interesting that the articles about the injustice being done to sexual offenders were published in the Economist, and not in an American publication. Sometimes the land of the free isn't so free. I guess this topic is just too hot to tackle in the United States.
1America's Unjust sex laws, p. 9, The Economist, Vol. 392 Number 8643, August 8 - 14, 2009.
2Unjust and ineffective, pp. 21 - 23, Ibid.
This is a picture that I took of Ron a couple of days ago. I fiddled with it, but am really pleased with the way it turned out. It's almost artistic!
The problem with having a blog is that it is a beast that always has to be fed. I sometimes don't do that too well. Part of it is that the daily detritus of my life doesn't always seem to merit any report. Part of it is general laziness.
For the record, I'm continuing to heal. Simone, one of the physical therapists, wasn't too thrilled to learn that I had been walking up the Wheaton Metro escalator, so I told her not to tell anyone. The knee is not swollen very much at all, and I'm now doing strengthening exercises. Last week's inflammation seemed to be caused by irritation to my right leg's iliotibial band, but exercises to stretch that seem to be working well.
Yep, in other medical news, I made it back to my urologist. He checked out my plumbing and ordered a CT IVP. He doesn't seem to think there is anything to worry about, but is a little mystified why my penis sometimes bleeds after oral sex. That makes at least two of us.
I did go square dancing on Thursday night. It was an ABC dance, and Ronnie and I, injured though we were, danced. I felt it on Friday, but not too bad, and I was careful. It's another activity that I'm not reporting to Gretchen, my physical therapist. We had five visitors. Kent and Brian were calling. We'll have other ABC dances in July and August.
Yesterday, I braised some country pork ribs. I haven't fixed them since I was a kid. They came out very tasty. Next, I want to successfully fix them barbequed (slow-cooked) on the grill. It presents some logistical difficulties, but I feel up to it.
Finally, Mark Sanford, you've made my week. Every time I hear your name, I can't help but giggle. The depth and breadth of your hypocrisy, deceit, and mis-government takes the cake for Republican scandals this week. But I'm sure the GOP can do one better next week.
I'm in the final throes of a sinus infection. All the crud is moving south. My head is stuffed with yellow-green gunk, and I cough, pathetically. We went to see the movie, Star Trek, and I needed a throat lozenge because my mucus was stealthier than the Romulans.
Ah, the movie. You should see it. Star Trek makes no sense, but doesn't need to. It's exactly what a summer movie should be: action packed where the good guys where Star Fleet uniforms, and the bad guys have lots of tattoos, the kind your mother worried about. Just be careful who you call, "Cupcake."
Yesterday, I had a dinner party at my house. I invited all the boys, and proceeded to prepare some recipes that David Hagedorn had suggested last Wednesday in the Washington Post column, "Real Entertaining." This month's column was all about chicken, and I saw that roasted chicken on the front page of the food section, and I was hooked.
I had to have a dinner party. I had to cook a chicken. I had to read the recipes. They were seductively simple: full of promise. Chicken in a Pot, how homey! French Lentils, peppery, flavorful! Saffron Fennel, oh exotic! and Peach-Apricot Cobbler, simple, tasty, easy. I thought.
The challenge was not in the fine print. I suspect that Mr. Hagedorn presented his recipes with the very best intentions to his readers. I imagine his kitchen is more suited to food preparation than mine.
My biggest challenges were the bird and the cobbler. The chicken is first seared, then roasted for 50 minutes in a 250ºF oven. When I checked the chicken at 50 minutes, it was no where near the necessary internal temperature. I baked the chicken an additional 20 minutes, finally raising the oven temperature to 350ºF for the last 10 minutes or so. That did the trick, and the chicken had a wonderful flavor. You should check Chef Hagedorn's method for carving a chicken. It's easy!
On to the Peach-Apricot Cobbler. The recipe indicates that the cobbler should be baked in a medium cast-iron skillet. I didn't know how big medium is, and I guessed too small. The resulting cobbler didn't look very elegant, but none of my guests seemed to mind, and ate the whole thing. It's a very tasty comfort food recipe. I realized as soon as I added the batter to the (9") skillet that I was courting disaster. I stuck a baking sheet under the skillet, and it caught the overflow batter, which my guests also ate. Next time, I'll bake this cobbler in my largest (10-1/4") cast-iron skillet.
The party was a success. The food was fantastic. The guests were sent home fat and happy. I'll continue to read the Food Section. And I'll continue to have dinner parties.
I have a Facebook page, along with 175 million other people with too much time on their hands. I suppose if Facebook weren't around, the national productivity would improve by approximately 350 million person-hours per day. This works out to about 84 billion work hours per year, which doesn't include any weekends or vacation. Of course, some people, myself included, would consider the time spent on Facebook as time well spent. Right, Joe K.? Joe's also on Facebook, and one of my many friends, although I don't have nearly as many friends as Joe, which is kind of weird, because I'm retired and have all this time on my hands, and Joe isn't because he's managing my assets. I'm dressing in black these days, because it's slimming, just like my assets.
Joe and I have a mutual friend, Michael, who has 670 "friends." (You'll need to sign in to Facebook to see this link.) I'm not being ironic or scornful, I just think that Michael, a college student at St. Olaf, probably has too much time on his hands, too. For some reason, he "friended" me and I was quite taken up by the mystery of it all. When I mentioned it to Joe, he knew exactly who I was talking about. I'm thinking, Michael is awful busy.
Facebook is addictive for a couple of reasons: 1) So many people are now on it, that you can make connections that would otherwise be impossible to make. Because you can see the friends of your friends on Facebook, you can begin building a friend network, trawling all of your friends. Also, you can suggest other friends for the friends you already have, and this helps your friends make connections, too. My high school class of 1969 is having its 40th year reunion (which is about when Joe K. was born). I've been trying to connect up with my classmates, and it's been a wonderful and sometimes heartbreaking experience. I think all of us have matured, unfortunately, not all of us have survived. 2) You can peer into your friends lives in a small way, by looking at their walls, and reading their statuses. In fact little bits of their lives appears on your home page. It's a painless way to keep in touch, and a little mysterious, too. So I'll continue to tinker on Facebook. You should, too. Right, Joe?
Obviously (if you read my last post), I'm not the leader of the pack. By this time, about 48 billion other facebook users have also posted twenty-five random thoughts about themselves. Of course, Dan Zak penned a snarky piece in the Washington Post about all of us losers. I was so depressed!
Now that I have that behind me, I can say that it was an exercise that made me think. Granted, it may come across as narcissistic or WTMI1. I actually put some thought into it. I did some internal cringing, wondering what will my friends think, but most of them reported that this was not breaking news.
I like the creative(!) method. The method of listing x number of "random" items, then going back and fleshing them out was an effective way of getting something written down. When I write this blog, for example, I'm often stymied, intimidated by the empty screen and fearful that I have nothing to say (and maybe that's a fear to which I should pay more attention).
I keep at this blog because I believe that ordinary people have extraordinary stories. (My stories may be the exception.) I appreciated the experiment on facebook because it is another way for many people to tell their tales. I'm trying to walk that fine line between being self-aware and delusional. You're going to have to be the judge on that one. Just let me know before it's too late.
1I first heard the expression WTMI at a men's gathering around an intimate camp-fire where some alcohol-induced disclosures were turning a maudlin evening into an uncomfortable social encounter. I'm not a pop or gay culture critic, so I had not heard the expression, but it was not being tossed about lovingly in our community of brothers. I asked one of my camp mates what WTMI meant. He looked at me incredulously, and whispered, "Way too much information." I'm not sure whether he was responding to my question or making a comment about my lack of cultural knowledge. I did hear some extraordinary stories that night, even by gay standards.
Tuesday can be a historic moment. We can elect Barack Obama President of the United States.
I apologize to all of my regular readers, all four of you. I haven't been particularly faithful in my musings here for the last month or so. I'll try to do better in November.
I don't bite my nails, but if I did, I would be chewing between now and Wednesday morning. Every day, I go to RealClearPolitics.com and check out its electoral maps. Today, it's giving 311 electoral votes to Obama and 132 to McCain, with 95 tossups. I rework the numbers every day trying to figure out the combinations that Obama needs to win at the polls. It's still a cliffhanger in the College, a College that Maryland would like to change. Go Terps! or something like that.
I don't want the Presidential Electors of Ohio, Pennsylvania, or Florida to elect the President. I want the American people (no matter how deluded or stupid we may be) to elect the President. I'm really tired of this "Swing State" phenomenon, and think that all the states should be swing states. Maryland has a solution, and maybe within my lifetime, it will be working.
I'm holding my breath for Barack Obama. Although he's ahead in the polls and looks like he's headed for victory on Tuesday, the campaign isn't over yet. He is a transformational leader. John McCain is correct, Barack Obama will lead our country in a new direction - a change in economic policies, a change in health care policies, a change in international relations, a change in our war policies. America needs Barack Obama.
We stand at a crossroads. This election really is a choice. Do the American people continue with the failed policies of a bankrupt, neo-conservative philosophy that has taken us to war and wrecked our economy? Or do the American people vote for pragmatic policies that will restore our financial and economic soundness, provide universal health care coverage, and get us out of the Iraqi quagmire? McCain is not a maverick. He's a retread.
I'm also holding my breath about the outcome of Proposition 8 in California. All people should have the right to marriage. Shame on the backers of Proposition 8 for wanting to deny basic human rights to a class of people, and wanting to make that denial a constitutional ban. The campaign for the ban is mainly being financed by members of the Mormon Church. It appears that the church has been pressuring church members to contribute a lot of money (about $18 million or 77% of the total contributions) to the campaign. This campaign has the proponents spreading all kinds of lies about same-sex marriage, about education, about free speech, but very little about love, respect for human rights, or strengthening the family. Religious activists are attempting to force their views on the rest of us through deception and fear.
I'll continue to hold my breath until Tuesday.
By the way, the pumpkin carving party was fabulous. I now know the competition. These carvers are good! And scary! The Halloween Party afterwards, at the Lost River Grill was also a hoot. Ron and I went as Clark Kent and Wonder Woman - Over-the-Hill Superheroes. We looked good!
Michael Joseph Gross writes an interesting piece about Manhunt in the September issue of Out. Of course, my mention of all of this probably raises a couple of questions in your head: Is Happy writing another Manhunt blog entry (yes...), and why in the world is Happy reading Out?
Happy's reading Out because Ron used his airline miles to purchase a subscription from the same people who bring you the Advocate. Not to be snarky (okay, I'll be snarky) but the same banner ads run on the Out and Advocate web sites. Who knew? Yeah, I know you're shocked! And Ron subscribed to the Advocate, as well. So I guess I have plenty of reading material this winter, don't I?
Mr. Gross isn't a big fan of Manhunt, and he becomes less and less enamoured as the article unfolds (over many pages). His article describes in great detail (and Mr. Gross is a very competent columnist; I enjoyed reading this piece), how gay dating mores have evolved from the time of Stonewall until now. It used to be you would check out personal print ads in gay newspapers, and actually write letters, you'd correspond with some dude before hooking up. I remember those days well. I had some great ads going for me in those days:
Low Piscop begs indulgence seeks High Anglican for climactic Second Coming. No Anabaptists, Calvinists, Papists, Mormons, or Wesleyans. Will consider Greek Orthodox to heal schismatic tendencies. Send epistolary writ to....
The problem with that ad, and the others I wrote during those years, is that they didn't let me filter, weed, and block. Enter Manhunt.
No High Anglican ever responded to that ad, although some Papists and Calvinists did respond, and even a follower of the Mosaic Law. I got exactly seven responses, and got laid five times, which actually is better than my results with Manhunt.
Gross is worried about how socialization is short-circuited with Manhunt. He's worried that gay men are devaluing themselves, and objectifying who they are and what they are.
....When we started cruising online, neither I nor any of my friends would have dreamed we'd post naked pictures of ourselves for strangers to see. Now almost all of us have done it. When we crossed that line most of us felt we were violating ourselves. But it got us laid. We took more pictures - better ones - because the hotter our pictures, the more we got laid. When we questioned our choices, we reminded out selves, We're gay, this is our culture, Manhunt is the 21st-century gay bar, and you can't stop progress. Besides, every fuck, we rationalized, was another chance to find a boyfriend. Yet, the more we did this, the fainter grew the hope of finding something more meaningful than a hookup. As our hopes faded, we learned to see one another, and finally even ourselves, as things.
I'm not quite as pessimistic as Mr. Gross. I've had many hookups from Manhunt. Some of those have progressed to friendship. I'm always open to letting hookups be more than hookups. Having said that, I respond viscerally to where Gross's line of thinking goes, that we're objects seeking objects. Sometimes, all I want is a quick fuck and a big dick. I pause, now, and ask myself, can that progress to friendship?
Can I experience profound intimacy from the longings I have when I log into Manhunt, wanting to get laid. Of course, my heart wants that, and I wonder how out-of-sync my head is. Am I thinking with my dick, or am I hoping with my heart?
I don't think that intimacy is dead. And I'm quite sure that we're not rock-like objects appraising girth and length at the expense of truly human interaction (well, I would make a plea for height/weight proportionate, but that's probably too much to ask). Frankly, I like the hunt. I get off on the tension of opening the front door. Is he what he says he is, or is he a fraud? Am I going to give him the ride of his life, or is this going to be ho-hum? Sex, at least male-on-male sex really is, initially, about objectifying the prey, deciding who's on top, and taking charge, desiring a rut, making a score. That is exciting sex, and it doesn't always lead to Mr. Right, and happily ever after in the suburbs. But man, it's hot! No getting around it. It's hot!
What Mr. Gross doesn't discuss, but I know it happens: a day or so after that incredible sex, one of the guys logs on to Manhunt and sends a message to the other,
"Man, that was soooo hot! Thanks. Any time you want to get together let me know."
I know from personal experience that at that moment, intimacy has a real chance in the lives of these men, and Manhunt made it possible. I'm not logging off of Manhunt anytime soon. See ya there. Check out wheaton_guy.
By bitches, I mean the ranting, whining, complaining kind that Phil Gramm talked about when he was being honest, rather than political.
The Bitches column in the Blade is a type of reality genre. It provides a guilty kind of pleasure for the reader, and a certain notoriety for the writers. Some of the quips/observations/idiocy rises to ironic, shallow entertainment. A lot of it is puerile crap, but even that has a morbid fascination value. Many of the writers appear obsessed with youth, looks, fashion, sex, and terribly failed relationships. Lesbians also come in for a fair amount of unfavorable comment, but not nearly the abuse older men (apparently, any guy over the age of 27) receive.
I point all of this out because I confess that I read this column every time I pick up the Blade. I catch myself chuckling at some of the lamebrain observations of what passes for gay in Washington, DC. For the most part, I don't see my gay friends, or gay me in it, and I often think of some nifty rejoinder that would probably get me bitch-slapped by a screaming 22-year old wearing some gay male version of a Jimmy Choo.
The column is offensive, but any public airing of artless prose ends up being offensive. Most of the writers appear to have the intellectual depth of a Jerry Springer reject. I suppose even they need a public forum. I am bothered by the amount of racism and misogyny that, on occasion, gets slathered on thickly in the column. While the George Bush Center for Intelligence out in McLean could be fooled into believing that the expressions in the column represent all gay opinion, don't you - gentle reader - carry the same misconception. Some of us airheads don't need to be published to prove our wit.
Dr. Bonecrusher's office provides many print media opportunities. Today, while waiting for my scheduled pummeling, I picked up Cosmopolitan. Girls, do you actually buy this mag in the supermarket checkout? What kind of boyfriends do you have?
Reading Cosmo makes me happy I'm gay. This magazine walks a fine line between "Fearless Female" and skank. What demographic is this Hearst Communications, Inc. targeting? I thought sexy was different from skanky.
I'm not surprised to see a mag in which women are displayed as sex kittens with claws, and their guys are basically dicks with brains. I just expected more from the 21st Century. And ya, my brain has a dick, but I don't write about it in Cosmopolitan.
