Unsaved at any Speed

I don't know how to approach this subject delicately, but I was reading an article in the Economist about religious defamation - in some countries this is a crime punishable by death and imprisonment - and the whole concept just seems like an oxymoron. The nature of belief, and the attendant behaviors that spontaneously occur among the faithful, well, they demand scrutiny, which immediately is seized upon by the believers as defamation, a completely closed loop of internally consistent logic based on unsupportable assumptions, because they are, after all, assumptions, and assumptions require neither evidence or factual basis, merely a fatuous, "I think...."

I got off track in that last paragraph. Today as I was driving down Viers Mill Road, I saw a car moving erratically. The car initially was moving much slower than the flow of traffic. It wandered about a bit. I noticed that the driver was staring at the seat. I was finally able to pull around the car, and I noticed a cell phone stuck in the driver's ear. An opened Bible was spread out above the dashboard, the gold leaf providing a halo effect in the auto's interior. The rear-view mirror was festooned with white and purple garlands. When the traffic stopped at a light, the driver picked up a book to read, and when the light changed she continued to read the book while she continued to drive. Obviously, God was her co-pilot. I got out of there as fast as I could.

In this instance, a little religion seems to be a dangerous thing.

Gays and Lesbians Getting Married? Haven't They Suffered Enough?

Michael Shaw really hit the nail on the head with his March 1, 2004 New Yorker Cartoon. The cartoon captures all of my ambivalence, confusion, fear, and outrage about gay marriage. Marriage hasn't worked all that well for straight couples, how will it work for the rest of us?

My ambivalence stems from how I feel about marriage. I firmly believe that if you and your sweetie want to get married that you should do it. I'm not convinced that marriage should be the norm among lesbian and gay couples. Ron and I have had a very settled existence for a couple of decades, but neither he nor I consider us married. Our relationship is not like most married relationships. Our commitment and faithfulness to each other doesn't depend on sexual fidelity. And yet, I'm quite sure that he and I are as settled and rooted in our relationship as any married couple. I believe that our relationship deserves equal respect too in our society. I also believe that Ron's and my relationship is an important part of the social fabric - we care for each other. We watch out for each other and for our chosen families. But I would not want to call us married, because marriage does not fit the kind of family, and the kind of relationships that I have.

Like the couple in the cartoon, I'm confused: why do gay people want to get married? Is it for the benefits? Is it for the respect? Is it for the shower gifts? What's behind the movement for same-sex marriage? Why is it so important that it has taken over the LGBT political agenda? Yes, the Defense of Marriage Act is an odious piece of legislation that needs to be repealed. Beyond that, many of the benefits of marriage can (and will) be granted by the states, and eventually the Federal government and the courts will follow suit. As for respect, you only get it by taking it. Respect is not a compelling reason to get married. That sentimental altar moment is not a compelling reason to get married, either. On the other hand, if the public commitment before the state is what you need to confirm your feelings for another human being, I guess you're going to have to get married.

I have fears about same-sex marriage, too. I think it strikes straight at some of the defining mores of our gay male culture. Will the brave new world of married gay male culture stigmatize men who do not seek out permanent relationships, but are quite happy with their sex buds and a circle of friends? This is a serious question because out gay male culture since Stonewall has celebrated not only gay sex, but a liberating notion about sexuality itself - that sex with others is a virtue, and that sex with many different partners is valuable. Yes, AIDS devastated our community, but we know now how to have sex that doesn't spread HIV or hepatitis or syphilus. We can enjoy sex without the constraints of marriage and outside our relationships - if that's what we want. We can enjoy being who we are and what we feel. I fear that same-sex marriage will so change our views of ourselves and others that we will lose an authentic value of what it means to be a gay male.

Finally, the arguments swirling around same-sex marriage are outrageous. The world as we know it won't end when everyone can tie the knot. Massachusetts hasn't been smitten by the rod of God. At last report, the seven plagues have not leveled the God-fearing people of Iowa or their highest court. Plainly, same-sex marriage has not undermined traditional marriage, no matter what the opponents to same-sex marriage would have you believe. People have legitimate fears about religious practice, and fears about the public sanctioning of homosexuality. But to use those reasons to oppose same-sex marriage is wrong. In the first instance, the First Amendment prohibits the government from forcing religious institutions to perform same-sex marriages, or for that matter, even letting homosexuals in the front doors of their churches. In the second instance, the state does not have a straight version of marriage and a gay version of marriage. It only has marriage.

So, I'll remain ambivalent on this issue.

The Problem of Homosexual Stigma

Yesterday, I was cruising around Facebook, and happened upon a group, Building connections to protect tradition (sic) marriage when the day comes again. Today, I notice when I went back to the group, that the post I was most interested in has been removed. Oh well. This site was started by a Brigham Young University alum, and has many Latter-day Saint members on it. Most of the posters appear to be deeply religious church members.

The removed post was part of a string, where one poster (who was not LDS) mentioned that some of the language and content of the other posters wasn't especially Christian or religious, i.e., the language was intemperate and could be characterized as being either bigoted or hateful. Another poster responded very quickly that the remark was a little hypocritical because, "Gays hate religion."

To be fair, the page creator respectfully requests posters to be mindful of their speech and to be respectful of others. Here's his complete statement:

This group is just to fortify the social networks for when the time comes to do what is necessary in protecting traditional marriage, whether it be to write state officials or rally the vote. We need to be passive to not fuel the anger right now as it is a sensitive issue at this time. Remember we are to love all and respect even when we are not respected.
Thanks!

Just an aside, not all gay people hate religion, but for those who do, they have cause for their feelings. Most religious groups kick out gay people, when the groups find out a member is gay. Religious groups rob gay people of their religious life, the groups hijack gay people's spirituality, and many groups condemn gay people to an unhappy, life (and death) in hell. Furthermore, the speech that many religious groups use is deceptive, if you hate the sin, in the context of homosexuality, you are hating the sinner as well. The speech from the pulpit can be a huge burden to bear. It often incites other members to shun or to even commit spiritual, if not physical, violence on gay people. I know this from my own experience as a gay man. It has happened to me, and to many of my gay friends.

While being gay (or as many straight people say, "homosexual"), can indeed be a problem for gay people, it's also a problem for people who follow any creed that purports to believe "Love your neighbor as yourself." The Christian version of this commandment is

Jesus said unto him Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all they soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. Matthew 22:37-40, KJV

Most religious faiths have similar formulations of this: Do not do unto others as you would not have them do unto you, or the affirmative of the same.

I invite religious people who disagree with me about the nature of my sexual orientation (I am gay, I am homosexual) to put their feet in my shoes. Believe me, I've already put my feet in your shoes. I really have. How does it feel to have someone say to you that you hate them and what they believe. That's a foul charge smearing all gay people. Honestly, we don't hate religion or religious people. I do, however, get irritated by people who let their sometimes blind belief trump science, common sense, and the Holy Scriptures, and then proceed to carry on with intemperate speech about my sexual orientation.

The problem is stigma. It all started 5,000 years ago with, "If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them. Leviticus 20:13 KJV. That scripture and six other "clobber" scriptures pretty much have molded traditional Christian (and Jewish) thinking about homosexuality. These scriptures are almost always ripped out of their historical, religious, and cultural contexts, and applied willy-nilly to gay people. One of the underlying characteristics of bigotry is that the people engaging in it (from its gentlest to its most rabid manifestations) can rattle off justifications for their behavior (clobber verses), but often do not consider the context of the justifications. They do not have a deep understanding of their behavior, and over time, it becomes a part of their irrational belief.

[A personal confession, here - I also have irrational belief and engage in irrational behavior. I have my own prejudices which probably border on bigotry. Just because I disagree with most religions' views of homosexuality in no way exempts me from experiencing the human condition, part of which is to engage in irrational belief and irrational behavior.]

Many religious people let their irrational beliefs about homosexuality color their feelings about gay people. That coloring is called stigma. Your stigmatization of me effectively makes me less a person than you, and by inference less than your humanity. I'm not a real person in your eyes. I know these may be difficult words for you to read. And I know that you may feel offended, disgusted, saddened, or angry. I know that you may not believe my words. I also know, that you have felt stigma because of your religious beliefs and practices. You are marked and mocked by other people (like me) because of what you believe. I know that you have felt emotional pain, ostracism, and conflict with the outside world because of your beliefs. I know how much that hurts.

I invite you to examine some of the stigmatization that I live with, stuff that I hear and experience all the time. What follows isn't pretty, and may seem offensive, but again, I ask you to get into my shoes, and my skin, and be open to that experience. Please.

I am a homosexual who really deserves less than straight people. This stigma is stated in explicit terms with the phrase, Gays want special rights, not human rights. When a person utters this phrase, the first thing it does is rob gay people of their humanity, because the speaker is saying that gay people are not human. It implies that special rights are privileges, and privileges that "normal" (straight) people don't have. Here are the "human rights" that straight people regard as their own (any may not even think about): freedom from bullying and violence, non-discrimination in housing and employment, the freedom to love (and marry) someone, the right to speak out on public issues. Here are the "special privileges" to which homosexuals aspire: freedom from bullying and violence, non-discrimination in housing and employment, the freedom to love (and marry) someone, the right to speak out on public issues. I know this, because I am a gay man who aspires to these human rights.

Why do I feel stigmatized by this attitude of feeling less than straight people? Let me give you a few For Examples from my own life.

• Example 1. I listened to Fag Jokes at work for many years, afraid to speak up, because I felt that my co-workers would think less of me.
• Example 2. I couldn't be open with co-workers about my partner, or about my life outside of work. Where other people would come in and tell me about their weekend, all I could do was to say, "Fascinating!" I was mentally and socially constrained by my stigma.
• Example 3. When I finally did tell a colleague that I was gay, he promptly went to Employee Resources and claimed that I was offending him, and that he no longer wanted to work with me. (When he asked my about my weekend, I got up the courage to say that I had gone to a gay bar. That's it! He was totally disgusted) Needless to say, experiences like this confirmed the stigma.
• Example 4. I was fired from another job because I knew two other gay people at the company, who ratted on me to Human Resources/Legal. The two gay people were afraid that I'd tell other employees that they were gay. See how insidious this stigmatization grows? While I had no intention of telling anybody that anybody else was gay, another gay person ratted on me, and I got fired. That was difficult to take.

This particular stigma has real consequences, affects real people, and stunts the lives of others. It is a very uncomfortable stigma with which to live.

Gay people deserve what happens to them, because they choose to live that way. This is a difficult stigma to shake, because deep down, many religious people appear to feel that homosexuality is such an immoral aberration that gay people couldn't possibly choose to live that way.

First of all, if you read the sacred texts with an open heart and a mind wanting to know the truth, and you study the historical, cultural, and religious context of those texts, you'll find that the assertion of immorality often made by religious people isn't nearly so cut and dried as many of those people assert it. So please, I pray, reread the "clobber verses" and study them with an inquiring mind wanting to know your Creator's will.

Secondly, so what if I did choose to live the homosexual life? Democrats choose to live the "Democrat" life. Baptists choose to live the "Baptist" life. I am guessing that part of the reason the stigma of choice remains so important to religious, straight people is because of their misunderstanding and demonization of gay sexual practices. Admittedly, some of those practices are pretty weird. But, you don't hear gay people talking about straight people choosing to be straight, and you don't usually find gay people critiquing straight sexual practices (Dan Savage, aside). Why? Because sexual practice is in the realm of private conduct, and it should stay there. Frankly, gay sex is very similar to straight sex, more than either gay or straight people want to think. Straight people have straight sex with other straight people all the time, and don't get accused that they are choosing to be straight.

Finally, choice is a curious word. Let's put it in the context of a gay person, "choosing" to be gay. Here's what that person is often choosing: opprobrium from family and former friends, bullying and physical violence, and social ostracism, to name a few things. Think about it: people don't choose to live a life like this. Instead, a life like this often finds gay people because we have an intrinsic and innate need to behave congruently with our feelings and our attractions, just as straight people have an intrinsic and innate need to behave congruently with their feelings and attractions. Gay people don't choose to be gay any more than straight people choose to be straight. Any other conclusion is unsupportable by scientific, cultural, and moral evidence.

Here's a couple of examples of the affect of this stigmatization in my own personal life:

• Example 5. Because I chose to be gay and deserved what I got, a man stopped his car in an intersection, accosted me in the crosswalk, started kicking and beating me, screamed that I was a f**king faggot, told me he was going to kill me, jammed me against the stanchion of a traffic signal, well, you get the point. The only thing that saved me was a straight couple who ran up the sidewalk after my assailant. He jumped in his car, and sped off. I ended up with black eyes, broken ribs, and multiple bruises. I'm convinced my assailant meant to murder me. I deserved all of that because I chose to be gay. And what was my gay choice that day? I was walking down the sidewalk in a gay neighborhood, wearing a leather jacket, on my way to buy a birthday card for my five-year old son.
• Example 6. I was in a Bible study at work. The leader of the Bible study asked me to leave the group, saying that because I was homosexual, it was very disturbing and disruptive to the other members of the group. But if I repented, and chose not to be gay (meaning, I guess, that I was choosing to be straight), that after a period of repentance and forgiveness, I could rejoin the group. The affect of this stigmatization on me was devastating. In effect, God was kicking me out. The leader, a well-meaning Christian was robbing me of a rich spiritual experience, and was trying to extort my soul. He was doing it out of his best intentions because he knew that homosexuality is a choice. Except that it isn't, and his behavior broke my heart.

I ended up with broken bones and a broken heart because I chose to be gay.

God Hates Fags! This particular stigmatization comes out of a certain mean-spirited fundamentalism masquerading as human kindness. Yes, I know that Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church are extreme caricatures of faith, but I don't see a lot of religious people, like you, protesting their hateful speech and vitriolic phlegm. Go to Fred's web site, and read and see gay stigmatization at its most reprehensible. It's disgusting. It's hateful. It's an Old Testament God (who wrote Leviticus) untempered by the life, acts, and teachings of his Son, Jesus Christ. What Would Jesus Do? It certainly would not be what Fred Phelps does.

One of the reasons I ended up with broken bones and a broken heart, (not to mention fired from my job), is because good religious people believe what Fred Phelps teaches. These good people believed that God Hates Fags, so they could do evil to me. And I believed, at one time in my life, that God Hates Fags, and I hated myself, too. Stigma hurts. It hurts those who practice stigma, and it hurts those who carry its burden. In fact stigma makes religious people less Godly, and it has the power to make gay people afraid, injured, friendless, and unemployed.

Thank you for spending some time in my shoes, well boots, actually. I'm grateful that you gave me the opportunity.

A Flurry of Activity!

The New Year has picked up its pace, although the old year never really slowed down that much, either. Perry and I went shopping on Friday morning. We first went to the Container Store, because he wanted some magnets. Neodymium magnets. Really strong magnets. These magnets have an exceedingly strong magnetic force. They can cause irreparable damage to floppy disks.

From the Container Store, we ventured to Borders in White Flint. Oh, I love the joys and sights of Rockville Pike! Perry was looking for a calendar. I picked up a "calendar" that contains a recipe for every day of the year. Ron is already thumbing through it.

Saturday night, I made one of those recipes, Spanish Tortilla, for the Montgomery County Gay Men's Community potluck. It was held at a friend of Ron's, so we decided to go. Well, the house was about 7500 square feet or more, and fitted by what appeared to be a decorator from hell. The theme upstairs was Victorian, and downstairs an American diner. Let's say it was over the top, and not one personal touch in any part of the house that I could see: prints, no originals. I guessed no one lived here, they were just part of the display.

The food was good, although Ron and I disagree on how good. Ron's and my contributions were both finished by the boys. One of the hosts, John, made a meat and bean dish that was very tasty, and a cake from cornmeal that was very good, although Ron thought the icing was too sweet. Honey, I hate to break the news, but icing is supposed to be too sweet!

I also enjoyed the company. I had a nice conversation with Duane. I really need to be more social. I get shy (I know that's hard to believe) and stand around without talking to anyone. This time, I struck up a very "deep" conversation with Duane about the nature of belief. Duane wondered why one needs to believe anything. And my lame answer is because it provides a purpose-driven life. I'll have to think about that.

In the meantime, I've been working on my contact database throughout. It's not very exciting, but it contributes to my purpose-driven existence. Yeah, right!

On Sunday, January 4, Ron and I attended a party. It was a nudist event. Great food, and for once an occasion where I was not seeing iceberg-sized behemoths of jiggly flesh. Most of the men, while not gym-toned, had not gone completely to the dinner buffet for refills, year after year. What a relief for my sore eyes. I thoroughly enjoyed the company, and all that encompassed, as well as the buffet the host had set out.

Again, in this situation, I have to force my self to talk with the other guys. They proved very friendly. Two men from Alabama struck up a conversation with me, and I felt a lot like Scarlett O'Hara (even though, I know [rolling my eyes] that she's from Georgia). One of the guys roots for Auburn, and the other for University of Alabama. Seriously, gay men talking about football! Frankly, my geography gets mixed up anywhere South of the Mason-Dixon Line. I think I could grow to enjoy the company of some Southern Gentlemen.

So yesterday, I went to the doctor to clear up a nagging sinus infection that has dogged me since Portugal, and to figure out what's causing the really annoying pain in my right knee that has dogged me since Christmas. Some days have been miserable, and that's saying a lot from me.

I like my doctor. He's a DO who has been a very good doctor for me. His assistant cleaned the wax out of my ears. I've been very stuffed up, and my ears had clogged when I tried to clean them a week ago. I had been walking around in an echoey fog. The tinnitus is still pretty loud, but I can hear better; the fog is gone. She got a lot of gunk out! The doctor came in and gave me a pep talk. He's kind of hot with curly hair and a two-day growth with that lab coat! He told me to get off the Sudafed^® and start the Nasonex^®. He also prescribed some clarithromycin for the sinuses and meloxicam for the knee. Better living through chemistry, although NSAIDs do scare me.

In the afternoon, I went over to Tim's house. He had a plumbing emergency going on. I provided him with some plumber information, but I think he went with someone else. He had some lame, vague reason about wanting this plumber or that plumber. I hugely enjoy Tim's company, even if he is preoccupied with plumbing. (I'll do some plumbing!)

Last night, Ron and I enjoyed a PBS special about India. Like the nation, the special is a production, and will continue for many nights hence. I don't care much for the narrator (the story sometimes seems all about him), but the scope of the story and the images of a great and enduring nation are compelling.

At the end, I went to bed.

House Rules

I was still reading the Economist when Ron got home last night. He had been on a hot date with a new friend. I had gone to dinner with some friends. We spent a few minutes catching up with each other's day, and had an interesting conversation about gay relationships in general, and ours, in particular.

The guys at dinner asked me about my relationship with Ron. I always hate that question, because, inevitably, the word "open" comes up. Ron and I have a non-monogamous relationship, but we are committed to each other and to our relationship. So, yes, our relationship is open to the possibilities of us being involved in the lives of other men, but we have committed ourselves over the years to remain and thrive in a relationship with each other.

Gay men have many ways to fashion their lives with each other. I think most of us want to be in some kind of an important relationship with others, whether it be boyfriends, partners, fuckbuddies, or soulmates - with or without benefits and sexual access. That is, we are free to make the kind of relationships we want, but we still can get blindsided by jealousy, cultural prejudice, and fear.

Every relationship forges its own rules. On the basis of my own non-scientific and anecdotal polling, most relationships pay some lip service to monogamy. Some couples are monogamous, through and through.

Some Miscellaneous House Rules

• You can have sex only with me and no one else.
• You can have sex with other guys, but don't let me find out about it.
• You can have sex with other guys, but only once per guy.
• You can have sex with other guys, but only if you're out of town without me.
• You can have sex with other guys, but you can't fall in love with them.
• You can have sex with other guys, but only if it's in a three-way with me.
• You can have sex with other guys, but not in our home.
• You can have sex with other guys, but not in our bed.
• You can have sex with other guys, but not with anyone we both know.

You can probably add a few rules of your own. These rules all attempt to do two things: they try to limit long-term sexual contacts outside the relationship, and they try to reduce the risk of emotional connections outside the relationship. Of course, the peril of sex outside the relationship is that it promotes emotional connection.

The house rules have other purposes, too. They provide a cover of monogamy for a coupled relationship, because they provide plausible deniability about the persons in the relationship having sexual affairs outside. Culturally, it's easier to admit to gay monogamy than other kinds of relationships. I think that's what the clamor for same-sex marriage is all about among gay men. All of us want to be respectable, and respectable relationships don't openly engage in scandalous sexual affairs.

Also, with rules in hand, persons in the relationship can tamp down jealousy, or at least keep it in check. As long as you keep your affairs out of my field of vision, I won't go looking for trouble. I won't ask, and you'd better not tell. I can't be jealous of the other guys you sleep with, because I know you won't see them again.

The rules also address the fear the couples may feel about the permanence and stability of their relationships. The rules make it difficult to have a significant friendship outside the primary relationship so that the men in the relationship feel closer together, more secure.

So how did Ron and I end up in our family? It became evident during our conversation that we have a very different set of house rules. Here's how we handle commitment.

Our House Rules

• Always love your man, whatever that means.
• Trust him, unconditionally.
• Respect his personal life.
• Tell him about the guys with whom you're involved, and expect him to do the same.
• Let him fall in love with someone else, even if it hurts.
• Assert your claim to his heart.
• Tell him, occasionally, that you need a hot sex date with him, just because you feel horny.

Ron and I have remained with each other because he let me be who I am. He let me love whomever I chose to love. He risks losing me, because that was the only way he could have me. Of course, now he can't get rid of me. Our relationship is still wide open. It's wide open to all kinds of possibilities, sex, risks, fulfillment, and love. It's also a committed relationship between Ron and me. That's our house rules.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I stood at the corner of Third and Washington Streets today, in Moscow, Idaho, waving my sign, "Invalidate H8." I was here at City Hall with about 60 or more other people demonstrating my anger over Proposition 8. A surprising number of cars honked as they drove past, and the occupants were giving us thumbs up. A couple of lone counter protesters were on the other corner of the intersection waving two signs, "Don't Target the Mormons" and "Don't Send Us Anthrax." At 11:00 a.m. we had a moment of silence, during which the two people across the street chanted slogans.

When Californians passed Proposition 8, I realized how tired I was about being constantly stigmatized, constantly demeaned. And it isn't that my friends and neighbors are treating me badly. It's bigger than that. A whole society is treating me and other lesbians and gay men badly. And I finally got exquisitely tired of that. I'm shocked that Californians could so blithely snatch away the rights of gay people. I'm shocked that gay people have put up with this crap for so long.

The reason that same-sex marriage is so important is not so that gay people can have certain property rights or tax deductions. Marriage is important to gay people because it strikes directly at the stigma attached to homosexuality. A society that grants me and my partner marriage respects our relationship officially and emphatically. This is no half measure or winking nod. It's none of this remarking that just because he and I have lived together for 25 years, we aren't really married; so somehow, our relationship doesn't count as much and by inference we don't count as much. No, our relationship has a protected and honored status, just like every other married person's relationship.

Stigma can't abide honor or respect. The stigma of homosexuality will only be overcome when our society decides that all of its citizens deserve honor and respect. If you don't respect my relationship, you don't respect me. The message is that simple.

I have a word for the Mormons and the other concerned religious people who are animated about this issue. All of us, you and me, want strong, loving families. Indeed, they are the bedrock of our society. I am angry that you attack the moral and legal substance of my family. Your stand for Proposition 8 is immoral and hypocritical, because it attacks other families just like yours. You should rethink your stance, especially if you believe that we are all God's children.

Driving Excitement in Porto, and Other Tales

Portuguese people are the nicest people in the world. We have had some wonderful conversations with people who come up to us on the street, and start talking to us, telling us where to go and what to see, and telling us how much they appreciate that we are in Portugal. Understand, of course, that we're decked out in cameras and travel guides, and heavily armed with maps. It's been a pleasant and wonderful surprise.

I say all that to preface what I'm about to say - these same people will get on your tail and drive right up your keester if you are behind the wheel of an automobile. Yesterday, on our drive up from Óbidos, drivers would get 10 feet on my rear end, and ride me for miles, and I was traveling at 75 miles an hour, and they weren't. Portugal has several road systems, one that's akin to our Interstates, and another that's a major secondary road, then we're talking about paved but unmarked, and finally cow trails up a hillside. Portuguese drivers drive the same speed on all of the different roads. Honest.

Well, not quite. We stopped enroute yesterday at Conimbriga, which is an old Roman town and archaeological site. It's quite an extensive excavation, and we walked around the city, then visited the museum, and then had lunch. We were on some secondary roads getting to Conimbriga, and the going was very slow, but after getting on the Autoestrada, we sailed into Porto. BUT IT TOOK US ONE HOUR TO FIND OUR HOTEL AND ANOTHER HOUR TO PARK!!!! Porto has too many cars, and way too few parking places. Plus, the streets are about half the width of American streets and people are driving twice as fast on the main drags. Needless to say, I had no clue about where I was going, but all the drivers behind me knew EXACTLY where they were going. I got fingered and the evil eye. More than once.

Our hotel, aptly named Hotel Malaposta, is on Rua Côceicão, or something like that. It's a one block street in the Cedafeita neighborhood. The hotel is also European quaint, with a sheen of modernity and hipness, overlaid the ancient roots of Porto, if you get my drift. However, the shower works, and the beds are firm. I have no complaints, and the partyers on the same floor did not keep us awake last night.

Today, we took a walking tour of Porto, and had a great time. We walked through the Ribeira neighborhood, which borders the Douro River. We are about a kilometer from where our tourbook has its walk begin. It said the walk would take approximately three hours. For the record, we easily completed it in eight hours. But in those eight hours, we walked through three churches, took pictures of the fabulous tiles in the railway stations, had a port wine tasting at the Wine Institute, and saw the birthplace of Henry the Navigator. We also walked along the Douro, and walked across one of the river bridges.

People were so kind. One woman was driving her car, beckoned us over and gave us directions. Then she parked her car, came looking for us, and gave us a detailed overview of what to see in the neighborhood. I can't imagine that happening in Washington, DC. The church of the Franciscan order is a must see. It's a truly over-the-top example of Baroque/Rococo decoration, and incredibly beautiful. Although after about a hundred sad virgins and bleeding Jesuses, it's a little depressing. Saint Sebastian is depicted everywhere. For some reason, he's a favorite saint, and he's always just about as badly mangled as Jesus. Those arrows of outrageous fortune, indeed!

At the Customs House, which is Henry the Navigator's birthplace, one of the docents took us aside, and we must have talked with him for at least a half hour. He told us about the discovery of a Roman house under the Custom House, and also about the archive that is now housed there. We talked, too, about the different perspectives that Americans and Europeans have about history. It was a very interesting conversation.

We walked along the river promenade, crossed the bridge, then came back for some ice cream, which is great for promenading. On our walk back (UPHILL) through the neighborhoods, we stopped by a pasteleria for some sweets and some coffee. Then back to our hotel, and I'm writing you all about it.

Love, Grace and JB

Tim and Socrates

It's never too late to learn. At least that's what Tim thinks when it comes to the Continuing Education of Happy. He and I are working on the Socratic Method. Socrates was the guy who invented modern medicine among the Greeks. Just kidding. Even I know that dude was Hippopotamus.

The Socratic Method is a means by which a fool and his interlocutor determine the random fallacious arguments made by the fool. The interlocutor asks the fool a question, the fool foolishly answers, and then the interlocutor rips the fool a new one, if you know what I mean.

Tim hasn't ripped me a new one, yet, although he does at times ask me very puzzling and difficult questions. Most of these have to do with odd cultural references or something about the iPhone, clearly stuff I don't need to know. For example, "Happy, how many angels can square dance on the head of a pin?" The answer, of course, is one. Consider, for a moment, that the head of a pin is on a point and is, in fact, a point in space. We know from physics (and by extension, in this particular case, metaphysics) that two angels cannot occupy the same point in space. Ergo at most only one angel can square dance on the head of a pin; however, how can only one angel square dance on the head of a pin? This is a difficult question, because it takes eight angels to square dance.

Consider, that at Tim's program in square dancing (Basic Challenge), that a single angel could be dancing with as many as seven phantoms (although it is more likely that the angel would only be dancing with two other phantoms). However, the angel in our illustration is constrained by a single point in space, and, therefore, must be dancing with seven phantoms in order to satisfactorily answer the question, "How many angels can square dance on the head of a pin?"

When Tim uses this method of elucidation on me, he tires of it very quickly. He will often just ask me a question, then let me carry on the rest of the Socratic interview with myself. I have to admit that this is easier than having him constantly interrupt me with logic and facts. Logic and facts should never get in the way of a good baseless argument.

Bitches in the Washington Blade

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.

Party Hardy in West Virginia

The Homolands of Hardy County

I mean to say "Party hearty in Hardy County West Virginia." Half of the Finance Guys and his husband and the girl upstairs decided to have a Cinco de Mayo and Schlüggënhäüsën party, or something like that, at their country estate in the West Virginia homolands in Hardy County. An incredible number of gay men (and lesbians) with gun racks live in the neighborhood. The woods are full of them! And they all like to decorate. The headquarters of the Gay American Yuppie Supremacists (GAYS) Movement is located exactly 3.4 miles from this spot (check your odometer, do not use your GPS) on SR 259. This is an exceedingly scary neighborhood, especially for straight-talking FBI agents.

Not a Bear Den

Here's an example of a well-appointed post-information economy home. It has Internet service, but no cell phone service! You can tell it's a gay household because of all the subtle earth-hued colors. These colors are no longer confined to the large lesbian community in Takoma Park, Maryland. Gay decorators have magnified this trend, and it is especially evident in the hollows of West Virginia occupied by post-urban weekend dandies. In fact, the Gay Supremacists are everywhere. Their homes blend in so well with the countryside flora, that it's difficult to tell what is a gay home, and what is a bear den. Sometimes, they are one and the same.

Negotiations Going Badly

All gay households have a dog (or a cat, or neither). This little dog is a schnaudle, not a poozer. He's a fierce little chappie. The Rhodesian Ridgeback wanted to be friendly with Mr. Schnaudle, but the affair ended quickly and badly. Mr. S has a territorial Napoleonic complex. Mr. Ridgeback, being a perfect guest, retreated. This is the first time that I've seen a Rhodesian Ridgeback. The dog, Ariel, is beautiful and friendly with a long sloppy tongue. The scrappy chappie is Winston. Winston likes to be cuddled, petted, and cooed over when he isn't protecting his patio from roving Ridgebacks.

Marie Claire, Carlos, and Joe know how to throw a party. It was complete with taquitos and piñatas, befitting a Cinco de Mayo theme. I never quite figured out what the Schnuggen Huggen was all about, but I'm retired, so I don't need to think anymore.

Cinco de Mayo Hosts: Marie Claire, Joey, and Carlos

These are the three main minds behind the GAYS Movement. They cleverly disguise their social agenda as a "Cinco de Mayo/Schnuggen Nuggen Party," but it's more than that. Look at the glee in their faces, the earnestness in their foreheads, and the intelligence writ upon their brows. This is fierce competition in the marketplace of ideas, indeed. From left to right, Marie Claire, Joey, and Carlos.

Happy Affirming His Sexual Identity Politics

So what did I learn from this social experiment in West Virginia? I learned how to stuff a piñata. I have dexterity that I never even knew about. It is a truism, that every day of retirement is a learning experience, full of opportunity for those willing to grasp it. Did you know that you stuff a bull piñata through his hind end? This is SO gay! This simple act affirmed my identity politics (every act is political) while I accomplished a social good. Gay parties really do enrich the cultural fabric of rural West Virginia. I don't think this is a matter to be taken lightly, either. Hardy County would be culturally, economically, and politically impoverished in some small, but not insignificant way, had I not taken the longer road, and driven in a "green" hybrid car along the back roads to this ultimately welcoming (after all, I did get lost a couple of times getting there) social enclave of other (so-called) dissolute people (not that there's anything wrong with that) like myself (hey, I hang out with people like me!) and stuck my finger up the rear of a bull piñata purchased at Target. The arrow has come full circle!

So hats off to you three, Marie Claire, Joe, and Carlos. Ron and I thoroughly enjoyed the party, as I'm sure the other guests did. We had a swell time!

Geometry at the Beach

Tim and I were in Rehoboth this last weekend, and had a hotel room that looked out over the ocean. We were talking about ships coming over the horizon, and how far out to sea one would be able to spot a ship. The more general question became, how far away is the horizon?

Tim put on his mathematics cap, and I got out my trusty pen and paper. Mind you, Tim did all of this without drawing any pretty pictures, which makes me think he keeps all of his geometry in his head.

Here's the fact I needed to know: the earth's radius is approximately 3950 miles. It's a little less at the poles, a little more at the equator. I was standing about 40 feet above the ground on the hotel balcony. I left the hotel maid a very cryptic scrap of paper:

horizon distance = (((r + h)^2) - (r^2))^(1/2)

Where:
r = the earth's radius: 3950 miles x 5280 ft/1 mile = 20,856,000 ft
h = observation height above the ground = 40 ft

I bet you didn't think that the handy distance formula you learned in high school geometry would ever have any use at the beach! Pythagorus didn't have Arabic numerals, and a handy calculator. I'll leave it up to the reader to do the math, but it comes out to about 7.74 miles, which is just about what I thought it was when I eyeballed it. I should have been a surveyor

Intellectual Eating

Ron and I had a wonderful meal with my nephew, Joe, and his wife, Karen, last night at Bistro D'Oc. They had spent a day of sightseeing and lots of walking through the Jefferson Memorial and the National Archives. Then we met at their hotel and walked to the restaurant.

Bisto D'Oc features wonderful French country food in a pleasant, simple atmosphere. We dined in the blue dining room upstairs. We had a very knowledgeable and helpful waiter who took us through the menu and the specials. One item on the appetizers particularly interested me, lamb brains in a lemon butter sauce with capers.

Okay, I know you are already rolling your eyes and fighting the gag reflex. When I was a kid, my mother would scramble pork brains with eggs and serve them as a special breakfast. I remember those meals, and really enjoyed those augmented scrambled eggs with disguised brains.

In a few minutes our appetizers emerged from the kitchen. Five lamb brains were arranged in a large soup bowl, and they looked, graphically, like brains - something you would see in a medical text book, only cooked in a lemon butter sauce with capers. Indeed, I did have a visceral reaction to my plate, and some second thoughts about my decision (thinking, brain, thinking, food, thinking hmmmm).

I admit to some aversion to foods like brains, hearts, kidneys, and livers, although, I've eaten all of the above and enjoy them. I don't eat them very often though, not because they are rich with fat or filters for an animal's toxic wastes, but because organ meats somehow get at the substance and soul of the beast. These parts are what make an animal what it is. Somehow this kind of eating is different than hamburger or chop if not in fact, then in my mental construction of what meat is.

The lamb brains were delicious, but I think I'll wait another couple of decades before having them again. If nothing else, eating them gave me real pause, food for thought about my eating habits.

Tea, Enemas, and Men on Film

Okay, we've had sex, we're sitting on his couch drinking tea, and having this random conversation about the prep work involved in getting ready for sex. The tea was very good - I had green and he had peppermint to take care of some subtle congestion, of which he was aware, and I was not. The tea brought a warmth and shine to the moment. I had this flash, that this conversation should be recorded and put up on YouTube, and a lot of perplexed straight people would be wondering exactly how we were sticking what up where to do this before that in order to be... prepared.

He laughed, and we started our bad impressions of In Living Color's Men on Film, which lead to an illuminating discussion about gay stereotyping and self-inflicted victimization. I am so happy I am a gay man!

Death Comes Suddenly

Today's Washington Post carried a sad story of life, death, and chance rolled into tragedy and existential void. The story describes the chance meetings, phone calls, and conversations that put people on a road in Charles County at 3 a.m. A car smashed into bystanders watching a street race and eight people are dead. One moment the crowd is cheering. Impact. Pain. Silence. Then the air fills with screams and moans. Confusion. Body parts. Death everywhere. Death came out of nowhere. It chose its victims and swiftly departed.

I read the story, morbidly fascinated. Death just comes out of nowhere, a hammer blow that flattens thirteen people, and kills eight. It's a rend of our human web. Suddenly, unexpectedly, eight people with families, jobs, friends, connections, religion, purpose are blinked out of existence and violent tears run through the fabric of family, friends, and acquaintances. Unthinkable.

When my mother and my father died after long illnesses, the family was prepared in each case. We saw death walk up the steps to the front door, and when death came, we were grateful for it being there. But sometimes death comes through the window, uninvited, unwanted, a thief. And it departs taking loved ones. After reading the news story, I could hear the breaking of hearts.

Help the Homeless

Today, I walked in the Fannie Mae Foundation's Help the Homeless Walk. It's always held the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Some years are miserable. This year was chilly. I was glad I had a warm coat.

The purpose of the walk is to help end homelessness in the DC metro area. Each year, for 20 years, that has been the purpose of the walk. And each year we walk, vowing to end homelessness.

Sometimes, I think the walk is simply a gesture to make us feel like we're doing something to help the problem. In the midst of a Free Enterprise ideology that blames the poor for being poor, and the homeless for being homeless. I'm pretty sure that we'll be walking for a good many years. The ideology blinds our society to the problem's solutions.

I suggest the following solutions:

• Low-cost and affordable housing for the employed homeless. Keep the employed in the jobs, and in their homes.
• Substance abuse programs for whoever wants (and needs) them. De-criminalize substance abuse. Provide safe alternatives to the street scene. Fund needle exchanges.
• Adequate mental health facilities, treatment, and care for the homeless. Releasing mentally ill people on the streets is a recipe for homelessness.
• Active intervention programs for the chronic, homeless substance abusers - the ones that require the most emergency and police resources. Get them into apartments and into treatment.

While none of these programs would be cheap, in the long run, it's cheaper to seek solutions that will actually move people off of the streets into treatment and into housing. Over times, emergency medical care and policing should decrease. Of course, the real way to fight homelessness is to eliminate poverty. That's achievable, too, but only with a truly different ideology that is focused on the dignity and welfare of our fellows rather than the sanctity of our wallets.

Another Whack at Mortality

I got married nearly 34 years ago in Logan, Utah, and as a result acquired a mother-in-law of the first rank. Even though the marriage ended many years ago, she and I managed to stay in touch. She let me know that she loved me.

Pearl died earlier this month. I wanted to say here that she'll be missed, but all of us she touched will remember her for her warmth, her love, and for her spectacular quilts. It seems she was always working on the next quilt.

Writing about her death brings me up against my own mortality. Pearl went back to her Heavenly Father. Someone in the family composed a beautiful obituary. I don't think my own obituary is going to read anything like it. I'm not going back to Heavenly Father or the Celestial Kingdom.

Death is a reminder for those of us still living. Life here ends. Sometimes quickly, sometimes very slowly. Sometimes it's a mess. Sometimes death is a comfort and a relief. And sometimes death is unrelievedly sad. But life ends, and we go on without. And someday, my life and your life will end, and Pearl's death brought me up against that truth once again.

I loved Pearl, and I honor her memory, her life, and her death. She was and is a wonderful woman, and a life well-lived. She left behind a bustling, growing, family full of life and promise. She left a legacy that will continue for many generations.

I treasure my memories of this woman. I ponder the mystery of her death in the richness of her life.

Gay Ethics

I'd hazard a guess that some people would think gay ethics an oxymoron, or something similar. I've just finished the Very Short Introduction to Buddhist Ethics. It's a very interesting, and for me, thought-provoking book. I am concerned about my personal behavior. I am concerned about my actions in my world. I believe my intentions count and that my actions mean something, if not intrinsically, then intentionally.

In the course of the book, I discovered that I'm not utilitarian or deontological. I base my behavior on intentions and rules, not on results. At least the book gave labels to what I do, and it provided a framework in which to fit my values. I discovered that I'm not a Buddhist. This is probably to everyone's relief.

What was interesting in the book is to see how people with very different perspectives on ethics could end up taking similar positions on moral and ethical issues. The book was a good read. It will spur some more thinking on my part.

What Would Happen if Peace Should Accidentally Break Out?

War has no victory, no honor, no truth. It is a failure of reason, conscience, and respect. It's a failure of our humaneness and our humanity. War is our shame as a species, and death, and tears, and hate, and always more war.

Peace is a dove. War is a thunderbolt. We can't afford anymore thunderbolts.

Tidbits I've Heard

If the toolbox metaphor didn't exist, would we create it and put it in our toolboxes?

Users consider tasks to be obstacles in the way of achieving their goals.

This is it. Day One. I need to get on with my life, and you should get on with yours, too.