Marriage in Maryland - It's Not Gay

Ron and John, Haven't They Suffered Enough?

The Maryland Court of Appeals recently decided that marriage is not gay in Maryland. It reminds me of the Michael Shaw New Yorker cartoon. The court admitted that marriage is a fundamental right, just not for gay people, yet. Like Michael Shaw, I'm of a mixed mind about marriage. I'm pretty sure that the relationship that Ron and I have is not what most straight married people have. I'm also sure that the legal relationship that Ron and I have constructed is not as complete or satisfactory as marriage, and in fact has to be enforced by the courts.

Two Maryland legislators have announced that they will be introducing legislation to permit same-sex couples to marry in Maryland. That probably won't get very far considering that the crazies are already announcing that they, too, will be introducing legislation to ban same-sex marriage.

It could get very nasty in Annapolis come January. I don't expect much to happen, though, because it is an election year, and legislators usually don't take risky positions while the voters are paying attention, at least while the straight voters are paying attention. Gays and lesbians getting married - haven't they suffered enough?

Do You Suppose We Could Get Married?

Taking Offense

President Ahmadinejad is speaking at Columbia University today. A member of Congress from New York said on the news that he was offended that the Iranian president was speaking at Columbia, and that the university was wrong for having invited him to speak.

I think the New York congressman's offense is wrongly placed. Columbia University is only doing what universities should do: encourage diversity of ideas and the freedom of thought so that well-informed citizens can make up their own minds about the issues.

Certainly, much of what President Ahmadinejad says is offensive to me and to many people, but I would rather hear his speech and be offended, then never hear his speech and remain ignorant. Furthermore, if we never meet our enemies we will never stop being enemies. We will never have the means to find (sometimes painful) accommodation with each other.

At least let me hear the President before I take offense. And letting him speak is about the most red-blooded American thing that can happen to this guy.

Roots

I come from a small town in Idaho. I live in a big city on the East Coast. Those two places are worlds apart. Recently, I've been trying to reconnect with classmates and family. I moved here in 1983 and left everything behind. I left my roots behind, too, and at this time in my life, I feel rootless. I have some existential angst. If I were not here, would it make any difference, and would anyone care?

So I spent a couple of hours today uploading photos to ClassMates.com. A lot of my classmates are on it, but most of them have a free membership, which means that getting in touch with them is difficult. I went ahead and purchased a membership so that my email would at least reach them. More than the email, though, I want them to know I'm thinking of life and experiences rooted in an Idaho town nearly 3000 miles away. Nostalgia? Sentimentality? You betcha.

Fixing up the House

Back in June, I saw my neighbor painting the trim on the front of his house. So I got a wild hair to get all the house projects out of the way that had been accumulating since 1989. This included painting the front door trim, repointing the steps, and hiring a home inspector to identify other things that needed to get fixed.

In July, I joined Angie's List. This is a great resource. It's a consumer-driven comment site that rates contractors for different kinds of home services. The front steps were in terrible shape, so I looked up masonry contractors, called a highly-rated one, and within a day had my estimate. The steps were fixed the following week.

Well, one thing lead to another. By now, windows and a back door are on order, and the roof has been replaced. Oh, and I had some concrete work done on the patio. The only flaw in my plan is that if the place gets fixed up too nicely, I won't want to leave it after retirement.

Name That Atheist Contest!

I'm sponsoring a "Name That Atheist" contest. I don't like the term, atheist, because it defines a person's belief on what it isn't rather than what it is. But if I tell people that I'm a rational humanist, or a human secularist, or a secular rationalist, they just don't understand. I need a short catchy phrase that tells the world what I am, and the telling shouldn't require a half-hour parenthetical conversation, either. An added bonus is if the new name doesn't cause certain groups to either pray for me, or inform me (sometimes politely, and sometimes not) that I'm going to Hell.

Here are the rules: send me your Name That Atheist entry in an email to: namethatatheist@happydoodle.net. Make your entry short, catchy, and comprehensible. I'll announce the winner when I get around to it. The winner will receive mention in this blog, and perhaps a request to write a guest entry here. Yeah, I know, I'm cheap.

Ron Had a Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday to You!

All of the boys took Ron out for his birthday last night. We went to Pizzeria Paradiso. It's great pizza, the best in Washington as far as I'm concerned. Ron had a great time, and a very happy birthday.

Brian, Ron, and Perry

Perry and Tim

The Slippery Slope of Solicitation

If any senator were going to be "entrapped" in the solicitation laws, well, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy than Senator Craig. Having said that, I agree with Senator Craig. Indeed, I don't think he did anything inappropriate. He was merely practicing free speech, a right guaranteed to him by the United States Constitution.

If the person he solicited (an officer of the law, in this case) didn't want to have sex with Senator Craig, the officer simply should have said, "No thank-you." I'm sure that Senator Craig would have understood completely, and would have widened his stance on the other side of his stall.

The principle here isn't one of public morality or anything like that. The principle is that speech in a public place should be free, even if people find it annoying or immoral or offensive. Just because speech is offensive doesn't mean that people who engage in it should be arrested, booked, or jailed.

There's also the matter of the double standard that solicitation laws impose. They are only enforced against prostitutes and gay men. They are never used against men hitting on women. If they were, a lot more lawyers, construction workers, and rap artists would be behind bars.

Because solicitation laws prohibit consenting adults from publicly arranging sexual liaisons, you should probably be careful what you ask your girlfriend in the bar or on the dance floor. You may be a felon, and not even know it. Just for the record, Senator Craig has never solicited me.

Larry Craig

Senator Larry Craig (R-ID), what were you thinking? You knew that the Idaho Daily Statesman was investigating rumors about your sexuality. You knew that gay bloggers were trying to "out" you. What were you thinking in that men's room in the Minneapolis airport? And, what were you thinking when you plead guilty to a crime that you now claim you didn't commit?

I'm no proponent of public sex (although you were in a locked bathroom stall). Your explanation sounds contrived and deceitful that you were entrapped and that you had a "misunderstanding" with the undercover cop in the next stall. Your claim, "I'm NOT gay" sounds like a desperate, closeted homosexual. The whole affair smells tawdry and disgusting, although Mitt Romney used the term "disgusting" before I did.

At this point in your political career, I should be gleeful, but I'm not. Even though I disagree with just about everything you stand for, I'm sympathetic to your personal plight. Public humiliation isn't pleasant. I feel sorry for your wife and children, and their public shame that you dragged them through by your incredible lapse of judgment. I feel sorry for you, too, because I imagine that you feel some painful remorse, despite your tough I'm-not-GAY stance.

And I'm angry, angry at you, and angry at the Senate Republican leadership. I'm angry at you because you can't admit that you made a mistake and say that you're sorry for it. I'm angry at the leadership, because it acted like sharks circling in for the kill. The comments of Mitt Romney and Senator McConnell are just as disgusting as your behavior in Minneapolis. The family values of concern, sympathy, and understanding were noticeably absent in their discourse. The Christian values of forgiveness and compassion were forgotten. Romney's comments sounded positively Pharisee-like.

So I leave it like this: I hope you can repair your personal life, finding the honesty and dignity to care for the needs of your family. I think you've been politically shredded, but I hope the people of Idaho see through the hypocrisy of the Republican leadership. Of course, the people of Idaho should hold you to account for your own hypocrisy.

Links

Idaho Daily Statesman Invesitgation

The officer who arrested Senator Craig (he's hot...)

Transcript of man who claims to have had sex with Senator Craig Another men's room tale

Interviews: remember those page boys in 1982?

Short Bus is the Other School Bus

Short Bus really packed a wallop for me. Its frank sex is shocking on the screen, but only because you never see sex like this except if it's pornography. The film has a very clear message about people who are trapped in themselves, and about people who can't talk to the ones they love.

While the context of the movie is sex and sexual pleasure, I think the message is finding the right way to experience and express desire. Love means taking chances, giving up, being hurt, and feeling out of control. Love is a queer universe, naughty and chaste, naive and experienced. It's a scary destination. Short Bus examines the place in detail, and I squirmed a lot.

The movie gets it's name Short Bus for being the other yellow school bus, the one for kids with special abilities and needs. Short Bus is the name of a New York sex club where much of the story takes place. The people who inhabit this world are special, needy, a little off-kilter.

The other thematic context of the film is the animated cityscape that ties the various storylines together. It's childlike and inviting, and the soundtrack for the cityscape draws the viewer into the soul of the film.

I didn't know any of the cast members, but the performances were very strong and engaging. They seemed real, rather than acted. I was especially impressed by Paul Dawson as James, and Sook-Yin Lee as Sofia. Both of their storylines were compelling and mysterious. Finally, Justin Bond as Justin Bond is a fabulous performer.

I cried when I watched this film.

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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.