Devil Worshipers

This week, nearly 300 Yazidis, a Kurdish religious community, were blown up by Islamist insurgents, apparently because the Yazidis are "devil worshipers." Many small religious groups, like the Yazidis, face increasing persecution in Iraq, accused of being anti-Islamist, being government sympathizers or collaborating with foreign troos. Also, some of these communities just happen to be in the wrong place, in a part of the country into which insurgents are being pushed by the US troop surge. The killing and persecution of these religious minorities, though, is more about religious bigotry.

These communities are often insular and isolated. When it comes to religious freedom, an irony of the war in Iraq is that these communities have survived for thousands of years in a very dangerous place, but may not survive the American war, a war America took to Iraq to bring the Iraqi people democracy and freedom.

This Islamist ethnic genocide in Iraq is evil. The American attempt to impose our president's cultural and religious values on Iraq is evil. America has stepped on a hornets nest, and indeed we are being stung. But the pain, misery, and death that has been unleased against Iraq and its religious communities is much greater. It makes me wonder who are the real Devil Worshipers in Iraq.

My Summer Vacation, So Far

Trevor,

I hope things are going well for you. I'm having a summer that's just flying by. I got a buy-out offer at work, so I'll be retiring at the end of the year. Just your typical summer. Jesus and I haven't done much with each other, but I met a podiatrist who's interested in having a religious experience. I'll let you know how that turns out. The guy is a lot of fun, and I help take his mind off his medical practice. I feel like I'm making a valuable contribution to the medical establishment.

In July, Ron, and I went to the IMEN (International Men Enjoying Naturism) gathering. There were a heck of a lot of naked body parts. Quelle surpise! We stayed in cabins that were not air conditioned. The food was pretty basic camp food. On the other hand, it had a large swimming pool, and cocktails at 4:30 every afternoon. The gathering also had square dancing, very basic square dancing. Some of the guys have been coming to this gathering for 13 years to square dance, but the only time they square dance is at the gathering. Well, you get to know 16 basic calls VERY well. I danced because they needed a body to fill out a square. When they had enough dancers, I helped push other dancers around the floor. It was brutal.

The camp also had a "play" cabin, but every time I would go there, nothing was happening. I was beginning to think that I was wearing (probably up my butthole) a secret radio transmitter telling people, "Warning: Happy's heading for the play cabin." Finally, the last night of the gathering (this thing dragged on for a week...) I went to the cabin, and it was full of writhing, moaning, lubricated men. I immediately freaked, and walked out to the porch. I struck up a conversation with a cute little leather guy who turned out to be a germaphobe. He'd suck me if I wore a condom. He'd jerk me off, if he could wear a glove. I politely declined (although I was really tempted), and he and I had an interesting and engaging conversation about obsessive-compulsive disorder, which he abruptly ended by saying, "On your right...." I turned, and another camper kissed me, escorted me to another cabin, and well, we went off and had sex. A couple of times, we were part of a museum exhibit, and at one time another camper even tried to participate, but it did not dampen the white hot spark of the moment. The cat drug me in very late the next morning.

Oh, please don't think that my life is only one continuous sexual episode. I've even had time for culture. The Corcoran Gallery recently had an exhibit on Modernism. I was thinking that all those clean lines and sharp angles remind me of fascist/stalinist architecture. And sure enough one gallery of the exhibit was about fascist/stalinist architecture. Modernism is really about a radical romanticism that knows too much about what's good for you. It's a lot like chocolate: a nibble here and there is wonderful, but I wouldn't want to drive it to work. Of course, Tim and I went square dancing afterwards. I think he's taken it upon himself to provide a cultural context in my life. (I'm grateful.)

On the other hand, sometimes my life is one continuous sexual episode. On Friday, I went over to Tim's house, and basically f**ked his brains out, then we went downtown to the Hirschorn Gallery to hear one of the museum curators talk about the Wolfgang von Tillmans exhibit. If you get a chance to see one of his exibitions, by all means do so. The exhibit is photographs and photo papers, but that's telling you that the seashore is sand. part of the exhibit was a large gallery space of images of soldiers. In one part of the space is a series of three pictures of a soldier, his weapon, and the uniform he's either getting on or taking off. Another very small picture shows a torso of a hot guy wearing only some very neon blue briefs. Finally, the space has a very large picture of two women soldiers and next to them is a very large picture of two men in a very serious lip lock. So, the curator talks at some length about the formalism of the exhibit. She talks about the structure and the juxtapositions of pictures (and we're talking here about dozens of images). Finally, I can't take it anymore (and maybe it was just because I was so f**king horny), I ask her, "Can you talk about the sexual tension apparent here, and the homoeroticism that is so present in Tilmanns' work?"

She sputtered a bit. I don't think it even dawned on her that the whole exhibition is dripping with a sexual subtext, and with an incredible homoerotic undercurrent. I mean, you really want to jerk off in the gallery, because you'd feel like you are creating art. I'm guessing that the curator is a heterosexual woman who doesn't see the sexual context of the exhibit. And the irony of it all is that she was the person from the Hirschorn who curated the exhibit with Tillmans. It's a giant joke that nobody gets. Very weird. So afterwards, we went back to Tim's house, and he basically f**ked my brains out. Culture is important, and I'm going to do everything I have to do to preserve it in its proper context.

Religion is important too. Like Jesus. And whatever you do with Jesus, it's always feet first.

Love,

Happy

Critic

I'm not a critic. I took a course in graduate school (Illinois State University, 1976) in communication criticism. I enjoyed the class as much as I feared the professor. He sought to give us the tools with which to think about communication and the media. It was a memorable class.

I learned an important principle in that course. Opinion is more than just, "because I think so." Professor Cragan sought to tease out our opinions, and to help us understand what they were and why we held them. In short, we're all critics; we just don't know it.

I don't like today's media circus. I can hardly stand to watch a talk show, or Bill O'Reilly, or any "news" show on Sunday. Talking heads have become shouting heads, and no one offers evidence anymore. Opinion has been reduced to the quick quip, the ad hominem attack, and the guilt by association stain. Reasoned analysis is pretty much gone from the news.

I'm frustrated by this trend. America faces important challenges in Iraq, the Middle East, and in its relationship with the European Union and Russia. We have a health delivery crisis at home with 43 million people with no medical insurance. Hunger and poverty are at home in our cities and in many rural areas. There is a wide gulf between our political institutions and the people they were meant to serve.

These problems are poisoned with a political rhetoric that separates people by religious belief and personal values. Such a belief-based rhetoric makes it impossible to find common ground on very pressing social issues because the necessary compromises that must take place can't. Coalition partners, experts, and politicians are all subject to religious and political litmus tests that prevent elected leaders from effectively working together.

I blame it on a biased media. I blame it on a populace that can't think critically about issues. I blame it on politicians who base their positions on poll results rather than coherent political and moral principles. I'm ready for some fundamental change, because the current direction is a dead end.

I'm Retiring

So, one of these days, I'll have to change the catchy text at the top of this blog, because I'll no longer be a product manager. Truth be told, I'm not doing that anymore, either.

Last Friday, Ron and I went to talk to the Glitter Twins, our finance guys. I thought the talk was going to be about whether I should accept my company's buyout offer. Wrong! Instead, JK had prepared a payout schedule, telling us how much we could spend in our golden years, beginning in 2008.

I obviously didn't get it. I asked him about the package, and he said, "Oh, we're way past that." And then, "These projections are based on Ron's porfolio, only." Hmmm, chump change here. Talk about feeling like the dependent wifey. All kinds of visions (some of them not very happy) flew through my head.

I'm getting over that, though. I'm thinking I'm very fortunate to be retiring relatively young and in good health. I have a man who loves me, and I love him. Our house is paid off. Maybe this retirement thing won't be so bad after all.

And then one of the other people in the office who also got the company package came by my desk yesterday, and offered me a job for when I retire. So now I have even more choices.

I'm in Hell

All I want to do is install Norton Internet Security 2007. That's all, nothing fancy, just install it. But I can't. So I'm now on a live chat with a technician somewhere in the Indian Sub-continent. I'm being escalated from analyst to analyst. I'm always answering the same questions. I probably brought this on myself. I never should have purchased a computer. I could be cooking dinner in my kitchen instead, but I'm here, waiting for Vijayaraja. He's telling me to run an uninstall program that I've already run. It will be the third time that I've tried to install the program. I'm more than mildly annoyed that Symantec and Norton would sell this kind of product, and punish the people that buy their software.

I'm on a Diet, Again

Like Oprah, I like food too much. She makes a lot of money and publicity off of her plight. I just suffer silently. Actually, I don't suffer at all. I just eat too much. I was discussing this with Tim, how I get OC about certain food "rituals." I know that I'm out of control, but am completely in the thrall of it, and I usually can't stop until the food is all gone. This is a little disturbing to me.

And like some other gay men that I know, I have body issues, too. I see myself as a fat guy. If you saw me, you'd probably laugh, because I'm not fat, but I can tell you where every little jiggle is on my body, and I feel fat. This usually is not a serious problem. I am immune to eating disorders because eating is my second most favorite activity. On the other hand, it makes dieting problematic.

So I'm cutting out sweets and starches, I'm ramping up the veggies, and I'm trying to be a little moderate at the dinner table. Tim's secret weakness is cashews. My secret weakness is food. I just have to learn to manage my mania.

All of my boyfriends know, you never want to interrupt me when I'm eating. It can get ugly.

Gay Camping

I just got back from a week at Camp Ramblewood, just outside of Havre de Grace, Maryland. My partner, Ron, and I attended the 13th IMEN Gathering. That's International Men Enjoying Naturism. Yes, we were in the buff, along with 170 other guys. So, you might ask, what do you do in the woods with 170 naked gay guys? The quick answer to that is that Ron gave a lot of massages, and I had a lot of heart-to-heart conversations with other guys.

Camp Ramblewood is a beautiful place to spend a week. We stayed in the Bates Motel, but that is no comment on the quality of the facilities. Food is definitely camp. It won't win any awards, but nobody got food poisoning, either.

The gathering featured lots of activities: lots of camper-lead discussions, heart circles, movies, massage, socializing around the swimming pool, cocktail parties, ice cream socials, disco, and (of course) square dancing.

For me, the wonderful thread that ran through the gathering was long, heartfelt conversations that I had with a number of men. They all had stories, and it confirms my sense that all of us have a unique vision, and a unique tale to tell. The wonderful part of it was that I heard their stories. Brokeback Mountain meets Birdcage.

Oh, there was sex, too. I wouldn't have wanted that any other way. It was pretty low-key. I met an older couple who acted like pubescent teenagers, and it gives me hope for my old age. I hope I can act like they did.

After Sex

After sex, for whatever reason, I feel very proud of myself, like, "Look, Mom, look what I did!" I don't know why I should feel this way. I mean, it's not like I've discovered Uranus or performed brain surgery. I'm not sure whether this feeling is mine alone, but after many years of having sex I still get the feeling, like, I'm the first person who's ever done this. I guess it's kind of like new parents thinking that their baby is special or something.

Meeting another guy in that intimate place of sex is the closest connection I ever make to another human being. It's a literal connection, a physical connection, and many times a loving and brotherly connection. I'm amazed every time it happens, and each time is a rediscovery of self with other. Maybe it's just hormones, but even in the wildest or nastiest sex, it has the potential to move me spiritually to a closer place with my partner. And most times, it does.

So maybe I should feel proud of myself, not because I discovered sex, but because I discovered its spiritual consequence after sex.

Looking Death in the Face

A friend of mine died in March, and I recently attended a memorial for him. Here is where the empiricist in me is at war with the believer. I see no evidence anywhere of life after death. But it was interesting, at the memorial, everyone claimed that my friend was present, and everyone noted how they felt my friend's presence. Even I felt it.

I'm pretty sure what I felt, though, is the familiar emotional tie that I had with my friend and that he had with the many people whose lives he had touched. We all wanted to believe that he was there with us, because we loved him so much, and because we miss him, too.

So what if life ends? What if nothing happens after death? Is that a problem for the person who died, or for those who are left behind? The older I get, the more convinced I am that death is not a problem for the person who died. I have enough aches and pains, and I have seen enough people die some pretty awful deaths that life certainly had nothing to offer them.

I went to their remembrances, too, and indeed, everyone present claimed that the deceased was present, too. Are we deceiving ourselves? Do the living need to believe that the dead are with them - alive, but not alive, and certainly not dead?

No, I think the after life is for the living. I think death is for the dead, who are freed from their suffering, indeed freed from life, itself. The dead have no needs, no pains, no desires, no taxes.

As far as life after death, I've seen no evidence. No one can tell me what the soul is that survives death. No one can show me empirical evidence or proof of an after life. Certainly among religious practitioners, the after life comes in all shapes, sizes, colors, and flavors. It has little consistency across faiths, and an alarming inconsistency within different faith traditions. So I remain skeptical and unbelieving.

That doesn't mean that I don't want to believe in a meaningful existence after death. Maybe life goes on in a parallel universe. Maybe life continues in a sublime, magisterial place where souls plays harps endlessly, and their robes never get wrinkled. Maybe our post-existence is a meme virus that lives on among the living, long after we have decayed to dust from which we sprang.

Warren, What a Dance

I was at a square dance on Saturday night to remember our club's square dance caller, Warren Jaquith. Warren died last March of a massive stroke doing what he loved, teaching a square dance class.

Warren's loss is quite evident, from the hole it's made in the club's dance schedule to the moments on the dance floor when you think it's a "Warren moment," but Warren isn't there.

So on Saturday, almost a hundred people gathered in a school gym in Takoma Park, Maryland to remember Warren, but more importantly, to square dance and have a party, because that's exactly what Warren would expect us to do on the last Saturday night in June. So we did.

Warren's Dance Party, Downtown

We had a wonderful party, too. Barry coordinated the food. Nick took care of the door. Larry made sure that every last detail was set. Tom came with Warren's brother, cousins, and partners in tow, and several square dancers who knew Warren many, many years ago came to remember Warren's gentle humor, broad smile, and love of square dancing.

They all said, Warren, that you were there. Your cousin, or maybe it was Tom, mentioned that you were out in the hallway, somewhere, drinking a very dry gin martini. And I don't doubt that at all. Thanks for a wonderful evening. Thanks for everything. It was just like downtown.

My Mormon Roots

While at Pride Day, this year, I stopped by the Affirmation booth. Affirmation is a group for gay Mormons. Washington, DC, has a chapter, and I think I'll check it out. It isn't that I feel like I'm a Mormon, it's that it's very difficult to take the Mormon out of the boy, no matter that they've kicked the boy out of the Mormons.

PBS recently had a four-hour series about the Mormons, Frontline + The American Experience, the Mormons. If you are a Mormon, you probably will think it's slanted. And if you are a diehard anti-Mormon zealot, you'll probably think the program is a whitewash. I thought it was a fair, thematic, broad picture that showed the Mormons as they are in contemporary American society. I wasn't surprised by what I saw.

Tim had taped it for me, and we watched it together. We watched it in small doses, and talked about it. It's been almost twenty-five years since I was excommunicated, but I remember the court very well. Watching parts of the program, I realize I still have some "issues" with the Mormon church.

When you are living in the middle of a community, it seems ordinary. I suppose Jim Jones' followers in Guyana felt that way, probably up until they drank the Kool-Aid. My Mormon experience had a similar feel in that it is a "peculiar" experience that is completely self-contained, and completely out of the mainstream. It engages members in a whole lot of group-think. Individuality and intellectual inquiry are not prized in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The hive is so strong that families turn against and shun their own gay sons and daughters.

Beneath those smiles, fair looks, and friendliness lurks an ordinary, banal evil. I'm reminded of Jackson's The Lottery in that the tradition, the obedience, it's all unquestioned. Members, particularly gay or feminist members, question authority at their own peril. The church authorities threaten questioning members with spiritual annihilation, and in the case of gay men, sometimes accompany it with barbarous physical and mental torment under the guise of repairing the victim's homosexuality.

Yes, evil is commonplace. The church is a secretive institution that knows what's best for the faithful(and unfaithful, alike). I was once one of those faithful. Church leaders in the highest councils of the church (the Council of Seventy, and the First Presidency) counseled me to get married, that it "would solve your problem." Indeed, getting married did solve my problem. It confirmed to me, that I was as gay as a three-dollar bill. No amount of fasting, reading the scriptures, or praying was ever going to change that. I had that revelation, but was told that I was listening to false spirits and following Satan.

So under the "inspired" counsel of my church leaders, I married my high school sweetheart. I can't say that the marriage was an unmitigated disaster, but it certainly was a failure. The inspired words of my leaders led directly to the destruction of my eternal family. My former wife willed me into non-existence. I have four children who do not know me and were kept from knowing me. I have sixteen grandchildren I have never seen.

I do not have an objective perspective on the Mormons or their church. I believe they are misled and deluded. They persist in their belief in face of scientific and historical evidence that refute many of the claims made by their founder Joseph Smith, and contained in their scriptures, Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and (especially) The Pearl of Great Price. But in my heart, I do understand, because for a time, I did believe. And I can understand the persistence of Mormon belief in face of just about everything.

The Mormon religion is a powerful growing religion, but it paints itself to its people (and I think the leadership believes it, too) as being persecuted and under siege - and not garden variety persecution, either, but that the forces of evil and hell are out to do it in. The church has circled up its wagons and handcarts from the very beginning of its history, and its leaders and members believe that its continued existence depends on the unwavering devotion of its members to its leaders and to its beliefs. It is a religion that has no heterodoxy, because the heretics are rooted out. It is a religion that has no history for its own people, because its history is constantly being revised.

It is not a religion that is kind to gay people. And gay people pay an awful price. This religion tears sons and daughters from the hearts of their families, leaves them suffering alone, and many die torn from the succor of their faith and the love of their kin. An icy, evil wind blows in the mountains of the west.

What Scares Me and Makes Me Happy

As I get older, I find myself getting a lot more conservative in what I consider to be appropriate and what I like and dislike. It's one of my banes, but I shoulder on (rolling of eyes). So what scares me about Gay Pride is the presentation that we make to each other (I'm not real concerned about what others think). But really, now, some of us do need makeovers, and I'm not saying you need to lose weight, get a haircut, or use some make up. I saw so many fashion offenses, and Capital offenses at that. And I don't think any irony was being displayed.

Several cross currents roil beneath the surface of Pride. First, there's consideration for the weather. You don't want to be overdressed (well, most of us) because you'll melt. Then there's the in-your-face aspect that LGBTQ types may want to display for the S-type (leather, t-shirts with suggestive slogans, subversive costuming). Unfortunately, the rest of us see it, too. Some of us are trying to cruise the event in our cum-hither outfits, and those can be pretty obnoxious (harnesses, holey underwear, "sexy" briefs). There are the assimilationists wearing the polo shirts and khaki shorts.

When I confront my closet with all these choices, sometimes, I just want to climb in it. I have a real unease at Pride, because it is a type of freak show; I feel on display; I walk through the festival and am solicited by corporations eager for the "Gay Buck." I think I am a walking example of cognitive dissonance.

Of course, the flip side is that a lot of people are taking one day to tell the world, "This is who I am." Most of us really are queer in every meaning of that word, and Pride Day lets us give full expression to that. So I'll let go of my hangups and simply be Happy. I enjoyed myself at the festival. I volunteered for a couple of organizations. I got some sun.

At the end of the day, I'm delighted that my LGBTQ (and S) friends had a day to be gay. Maybe the time will come when every day can be a Gay Day.

Capital Pride

The name of the festival says it all. This is a post-modern pride, one that doesn't even know its name. It's also a packaged pride, a corporate pride, an expensive pride. It's no longer a march through the streets. It no longer demands anything (except money). It has no anger, no fear, no innocence, no discovery, no shame.

A time was when we marched because we were angry. We walked because we were ashamed, and were going to do something about it. We walked for the joy and the discovery of other people like us. But that's probably not happening this year.

I'll be square dancing, of course, in the parade (a parade is different than a march). I guess I'd be more adjusted to Capital Pride if it were, instead, Inexpressible Happiness. That's the state that homosexuality leads to, and I'd like to celebrate that.

Run, Run like the Wind

Today, I ran (slowly) for the first time in almost twenty years. I was out on a walk, and a jogger past me. So I started to jog, and did so for about a mile. For me, it felt like quite an achievement.

I had to quit running because of arthritis. I may yet regret that I ran today, too, but it really brought me a rush of joy. I felt twenty years younger, which at my age, is welcome. I used to run all the time, forty or more miles a week. I have missed running, and it just felt good to be moving again.

The Lesbians Probably Don't Like Notes on a Scandal

It's never said that Barbara Covett is a lesbian. In fact, Barbara would probably recoil at the thought. She is an evil character, and she's a baaaaad black widow. Annabell, watch out.

Judi Dench as Barbara Covett and Cate Blanchett as Sheba Hart suck you into this drama, until you are over your head. You sit and watch bad moral judgment come to a very bad end. The surface is so different from the rotten heart, and you see it all peeled back, layer by layer. But what a gem to watch!

The scandal at the heart of the tale is Sheba's affair with a fifteen-year-old pupil (Andrew Simpson as Steven Connolly) of hers. Connolly seduces her, and she falls in love with him. Barbara discovers the affair, and it unravels from there.

The film is full of marvelous actors, including Dench's and Blanchett's performances. Simpson also gives a very strong performance that captures exactly a teenager who thinks with his dick rather than his brain. He's no child victim.

Sheba's husband, Richard, played by Bill Nighy expressively demonstrates the pain of the cuckolded husband. You can feel his anger, hurt, and bafflement all rolled up into a shouting match with his wife.

This isn't a quiet English drama; it's a gritty, stunning moment of rotten loss served up by an incredible cast. See it, then catch your breath.

Gay Square Dance Conventions

It's true, square dancing has about taken over my life. This last week, Tim and I attended the International Association of Gay Square Dance Clubs (IAGSDC) 24th Annual Convention in Denver, Colorado. This is my sixth convention, and I'll be attending as many as I can. This year, my sister also attended, for the first time.

Basically, it's non-stop dancing for about four days, then several days of recovery. This year's convention was a little more challenging because of the altitude. But gay square dancers are nothing if not tough! In addition to the dancing, there are specialty tips (women, bears, redwoods, etc.). The most popular specialty tips are the leather and the "moonshine" tips.

I was going to the leather tip, but my sister walked in and was totally unprepared for the spectacle, which is okay - she's a 62 year-old straight grandmother. So we went to the Mainstream Hall and danced for an hour. I usually make it to the moonshine tip, as well. It's a naked tip, but I didn't go this year, because I was meeting a couple of friends for our own moonshine tip.

I've been going to these conventions long enough that I know a lot of people, and they know me. A lot of the fun is the camaraderie. And, well, I like the cute guys, and the cruising is always fun, too. I propositioned one guy, he said, "Yes," so I had to turn him down. Oh, well....

We had some great callers this year. Of course, I'd go just about anywhere to dance to John Marshall. Deborah Carroll-Jones was a big crowd pleaser. Tim Crawford cracked lots of jokes between calls. The Denver club caller, "Bear" also called quite a bit. I was mainly in the Advanced Hall, and had a great time there. Trevor from Gateway Squares livened up a couple of my squares. Also, Bill and Jim made me prance a little better.

Carr Manor

Sometimes you find a perfect place to spend the night. That's what happened to us at the Carr Manor in Cripple Creek, Colorado. Tim, Grace, and I attended a square dance convention in Denver, and now we're taking a few days, traveling around the Rocky Mountains in Colorado.

Cripple Creek is an old mining town and new gambling mecca, although the casino we were in last night looked pretty sad. The Carr Manor is an old high school converted into a boutique hotel. It's gorgeous. The rooms are beautiful, the atmosphere is friendly, and the couple who own it want you to have the time of your life. It's really a gem.

You should also take the train trip up the valley. The station is at the museum at the head of Main Street. When we went, it was chilly, so pack a jacket if the wind is blowing. If you are a railroader, you'll enjoy the experience.

Militant Atheism?

I read a review of Christopher Hitchen's new book, God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. The author was a little put off by the militancy of this era's atheists: Harris, Dawkins, and Hitchens were all mentioned by name. I'm almost convinced, though, that in today's climate, just being an atheist is considered militant.

I'm not a militant atheist. I consider myself a kinder, gentler atheist, something like Mother Theresa without the orphanage or the Roman catholic church, or Martin Luther King, Jr. without the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. By that, I mean I espouse worthy ideals, work for needed social change, but don't wrap it up in a religious blanket. I'm convinced we can be human without reflecting on the spiritual or religious failings of our fellow brothers and sisters.

Which brings me to the point that the real focus should be on the social failings of a society that accepts flawed religious thinking and teachings about poverty, sexuality, disease, education, guns, sex, minorities, relationships, military security - in short about nearly every public and private part of our lives. We are not served well by these teachings, nor by the politicians who slavishly cultivate the religious right and the religious middle.

The Founding Fathers had a reason for separating church and state. The movement of the religious into the body politic is dangerous. These are the real militants. Secularism is not the threat; it is religiosity that threatens our Constitution and our state.

If you are a calvinist, maybe you believe that poor people are stuck in their situation. God put them there, and there isn't a whole lot that the poor, or you can do about it. It's God's will.

If you are a Southern Baptist, you're probably appalled by homosexuality or transsexuality, and believe that laws should be on the books prohibiting sodomy, or preventing transgendered people from being protected from hate crimes. (Such legislation only encourages transsexuality, and it might interfere with a Christian's "free speech.")

Jerry Falwell once said that AIDS was God's punishment on Gay people. Of course if that argument were extended logically, you could say that birth defects are God's punishment on parents, or some equally offensive, unproven claim.

Of course, if you attend school in Kansas or Dover, PA, you know all about intelligent design cum creationism. Religion does intrude into the classroom, as Judge John E. Jones, III noted in his opinion.

I could go on. But what about the really big issues? Shouldn't we, as a nation, be questioning the morality and the execution of our nation's war in Iraq? Should our nation be supporting Israel because it is a Jewish state, or because it serves some important military and strategic interest in the Middle East? (I hope our support doesn't hinge on the breeding of a red heiffer.) Isn't fixing a broken health insurance system at least as important as the religious right stomping on the marriage rights of millions of gay and lesbian couples? Maybe establishing national priorities that focus on the causes of poverty should have as much room in the national debate as abortion.

The mistake of the poltically religious is that they wish to impose a moral vision on the rest of us, whether we are part of that vision or not. By grabbing and focusing the national debate on moral issues that rightly are for each citizen to decide for himself or herself, the Christian politicos have hijacked the legislative discourse, and have imperiled the traditional separation of church and state.

Militant atheism sounds like a downright healthy alternative.

When Your Hometown Hits the National News

I was surfing across CNN this morning when I saw a news link that said, "Police Shot in Shootings." I clicked on it out of morbid curiosity, and the location at the top of the story read MOSCOW, Idaho (AP). That was pretty startling, because nothing ever happens in Moscow. It's a quiet university town in the rolling prairie of northern Idaho.

The story has since been updated, but the original was full of preliminary mystery. A shooter had gained entry into the Presbyterian Church, and was evidently firing a semi-automatic weapon into the county courthouse complex across the street. The shooter fired about 75 rounds over the course of two hours. Two policemen and a passerby were injured. From the accounts, the passerby was in surgery and all the injured were taken to the local (Gritman Memorial) medical center.

Later reports stated that two people had been killed in the church, and the police believe the shooter was one of them. SWAT teams entered the church about 6 a.m. local (Pacific Daylight) time. Neither of the two people in the church have been identified.

I'm reading all of this just before Ron and I take off for the Silver Diner to have breakfast. I'm living in the big city, and I worry about my hometown. I wonder about motive, identity, gun culture. And I wonder if my Mom's neighbor, who is a policeman, is okay. In the big city, I expect people to be a little crazy, and I'm not surprised by reports of muggings or street violence. In my hometown, I expect people to be friendly and caring, and I'm shocked to read about a shooter trying to ambush police from the belltower of the Presbyterian Church.

Infamous and Capote

I have all the <meta> information I need about In Cold Blood. Toby Jones in Infamous and Phillip Seymour Hoffman in Capote bring to the screen a compelling story of Truman Capote. While neither movie is slapstick, both have a sense of humor and a sharp edge on the Capote character. He isn't the kind of person that you would confide anything to that you wouldn't want printed in the New Yorker or the National Enquirer.

Both movies provide compelling narratives to the writing of In Cold Blood, and each has its own perspective. It's a lot like having two storytellers recounting the same history. Infamous is more about Capote, and Capote is more about In Cold Blood.

I think Capote is the better picture, but Infamous is a better portrait of an artist who ultimately loses his way, sells his soul, and is enormously successful along the way. He never published another important novel, but he certainly became America's Greatest Living Homosexual, which is not a bad thing.