Looking for your best of 2009? Probably not, considering how infrequently I post and how little commentary I've made about music of late. Go get Grizzly Bear and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, that's my advice about 2009. Or just watch Bad Romance over and over until you know all the words and all the moves and all the outfits by heart. Not that I've done that...
Anyway, what I do have for you is a decade-spanning compilation. One song per year, though not necessarily from that year--the songs are all from this decade, and they're matched up to something that happened in a particular year. But of course, in recognition of the fact that blogging is really just navel-gazing, the things that happened, well, they happened to me. So if it doesn't all make sense, you can be forgiven for just listening to 10 pretty good songs and not trying to figure it all out. Enjoy!
Tracklist:
Take Your Mama Out - Scissor Sisters (2000)
New York, New York - Ryan Adams (2001)
Minneapolis - Lucinda Williams (2002)
Optimistic - Radiohead (2003)
Fistful of Love - Antony and the Johnsons (2004)
In the Backseat - Arcade Fire (2005)
Someone Great - LCD Soundsystem (2006)
Even If It Kills Me - Motion City Soundtrack (2007)
Call It Off - Tegan and Sara (2008)
31 Today - Aimee Mann (2009)
Want it? Click here.
Showing posts with label too personal to post. Show all posts
Showing posts with label too personal to post. Show all posts
Friday, December 11, 2009
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Seize the Day!
Amazon.com: Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the Terror of Death: Irvin D. Yalom: Books
This is a tough book to get into. That's not a knock on Yalom, whose writing is engaging and warm throughout despite a chilly topic. But who really wants to ponder their own mortality for 300 pages?
But this is a book that, once you get into it, can change your life. I finished it two months ago, and I am reviewing it now because I've finally had time for it to sink in. I challenge you to read this book and not come away reconsidering your priorities, questioning whether the choices you have made in life are the right ones, wondering if you're letting your fears dominate your life.
So much of what we fear, Yalom argues, is really our fear of death, of the transitory nature of existence, of the one way flow of time. And only by facing up to these realities, and to the possibility that this is all there is, can we wake up, grasp what a gift it is to be alive, and seize the opportunity we have in whatever time we have left.
In short, this seemingly morbid little tome can wake you from your slumber and get you pursuing happiness again. Give it a shot.
This review has been posted on Amazon.com. Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the Terror of Death was provided for review as part of Amazon's Vine program.
This is a tough book to get into. That's not a knock on Yalom, whose writing is engaging and warm throughout despite a chilly topic. But who really wants to ponder their own mortality for 300 pages?
But this is a book that, once you get into it, can change your life. I finished it two months ago, and I am reviewing it now because I've finally had time for it to sink in. I challenge you to read this book and not come away reconsidering your priorities, questioning whether the choices you have made in life are the right ones, wondering if you're letting your fears dominate your life.
So much of what we fear, Yalom argues, is really our fear of death, of the transitory nature of existence, of the one way flow of time. And only by facing up to these realities, and to the possibility that this is all there is, can we wake up, grasp what a gift it is to be alive, and seize the opportunity we have in whatever time we have left.
In short, this seemingly morbid little tome can wake you from your slumber and get you pursuing happiness again. Give it a shot.
This review has been posted on Amazon.com. Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the Terror of Death was provided for review as part of Amazon's Vine program.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Juices Flowing
If you're not using an RSS reader yet and you've been checking around here occasionally expecting an update, my apologies. A man can only attend to so many things at once, and lately I've been busy at work, busy with school, and busy with my new obsession (see below).
Now, many of my old friends may be shocked and appalled to find me devoting so much time and energy to caring about a soap opera couple, taking up a role as an administrator on the Luke and Noah Wiki and posting thoughts on a fan site, VanHansis.net. Who am I, and what have I done with Richard?
Well, I've gotten him to write again, for one thing. The last time I wrote anything fictional I lived in a different state. But yesterday when I got out of the shower, I had a story fully formed in my mind. And today I wrote a second part to it.
The catch? These "stories" are actually screenplays for the Luke/Noah scenes for two episodes of As the World Turns. Inspired by a single line of spoiler for next week's shows that annoyed me, I built two days' worth of scenes that I think should happen next. Is this as creative as creating a tale out of whole cloth? No. I didn't have to invent characters or backstory or make people care--the people reading these scenes already care quite a bit.
But still, the rush! The feeling! It's as if parts of me that were dead or withered are being rejuvenated. I wrote an article about tai chi and how it can improve immunity for grad school the other week. It was fine; I wouldn't have been ashamed to see it in the local paper. But right in the middle of it there was this lyrical passage describing a tai chi class I attended. For five minutes, typing it, I felt like a different person. I remembered the joy putting words together can bring. I've been so slammed at work of late that I had quite forgotten.
Does this mean more blogging? Hard to say. I have a couple of Amazon products coming for review through Vine, though I don't post those reviews here if they're not interesting. (Do you really care that I think the Homedics quad-roller massage cushion with heat is nothing special?) But in the meantime, here are links to the two stories:
The Day After Thanksgiving
The Day After, Part Two
Happy Thanksgiving!
Now, many of my old friends may be shocked and appalled to find me devoting so much time and energy to caring about a soap opera couple, taking up a role as an administrator on the Luke and Noah Wiki and posting thoughts on a fan site, VanHansis.net. Who am I, and what have I done with Richard?
Well, I've gotten him to write again, for one thing. The last time I wrote anything fictional I lived in a different state. But yesterday when I got out of the shower, I had a story fully formed in my mind. And today I wrote a second part to it.
The catch? These "stories" are actually screenplays for the Luke/Noah scenes for two episodes of As the World Turns. Inspired by a single line of spoiler for next week's shows that annoyed me, I built two days' worth of scenes that I think should happen next. Is this as creative as creating a tale out of whole cloth? No. I didn't have to invent characters or backstory or make people care--the people reading these scenes already care quite a bit.
But still, the rush! The feeling! It's as if parts of me that were dead or withered are being rejuvenated. I wrote an article about tai chi and how it can improve immunity for grad school the other week. It was fine; I wouldn't have been ashamed to see it in the local paper. But right in the middle of it there was this lyrical passage describing a tai chi class I attended. For five minutes, typing it, I felt like a different person. I remembered the joy putting words together can bring. I've been so slammed at work of late that I had quite forgotten.
Does this mean more blogging? Hard to say. I have a couple of Amazon products coming for review through Vine, though I don't post those reviews here if they're not interesting. (Do you really care that I think the Homedics quad-roller massage cushion with heat is nothing special?) But in the meantime, here are links to the two stories:
The Day After Thanksgiving
The Day After, Part Two
Happy Thanksgiving!
Friday, October 26, 2007
Dream Job
A Look Back at Jon Stewart's Greatest Gay Moments | AfterElton.com
The link above leads to a long article filled with clips from, as the headline says, the "greatest gay moments" on the Jon Stewart show. The banana episode is so funny even Stewart and then-correspondent Stephen Colbert can't control their laughter; I spent most of my time watching the collection in similar stitches.
The link also points to a larger theme of late. I've been realizing, while reading liveblogs of each new Nuke episode of As the World Turns, that AfterElton's team of writers and editors have one of my dream jobs.
I was contacted recently by the editor of a left-leaning publication, who said, "Saw your blog. I like the way you write. If you ever want to do anything for insert magazine here, give me a shout." Ever since, I've been pondering what I could write for this publication. But every topic I conceive is a better fit for AfterElton. Sure, I care about a lot of liberal causes--but I don't bring anything special to the table in writing about them.
But gays on television and in movies? Now that is something I know, something I care about. I've seen every Will & Grace, every Queer as Folk, every Six Feet Under, every Desperate Housewives, every Brothers & Sisters, every How I Met Your Mother (even before Neil Patrick Harris came out). I read The Advocate and Out. I have oodles of thoughts on what it means that Dumbledore is gay and the propriety of mentioning it after the books have all been published.
So, Michael Jensen, if you're reading, and you like what you see, give me a shout. Because you and your publication are living my dream.
UPDATE, 4:53: After I posted this, Michael went and posted something that sums up why I think the mission of his site is important (and thus why I would want to be a part of it):
The link above leads to a long article filled with clips from, as the headline says, the "greatest gay moments" on the Jon Stewart show. The banana episode is so funny even Stewart and then-correspondent Stephen Colbert can't control their laughter; I spent most of my time watching the collection in similar stitches.
The link also points to a larger theme of late. I've been realizing, while reading liveblogs of each new Nuke episode of As the World Turns, that AfterElton's team of writers and editors have one of my dream jobs.
I was contacted recently by the editor of a left-leaning publication, who said, "Saw your blog. I like the way you write. If you ever want to do anything for insert magazine here, give me a shout." Ever since, I've been pondering what I could write for this publication. But every topic I conceive is a better fit for AfterElton. Sure, I care about a lot of liberal causes--but I don't bring anything special to the table in writing about them.
But gays on television and in movies? Now that is something I know, something I care about. I've seen every Will & Grace, every Queer as Folk, every Six Feet Under, every Desperate Housewives, every Brothers & Sisters, every How I Met Your Mother (even before Neil Patrick Harris came out). I read The Advocate and Out. I have oodles of thoughts on what it means that Dumbledore is gay and the propriety of mentioning it after the books have all been published.
So, Michael Jensen, if you're reading, and you like what you see, give me a shout. Because you and your publication are living my dream.
UPDATE, 4:53: After I posted this, Michael went and posted something that sums up why I think the mission of his site is important (and thus why I would want to be a part of it):
BTW, Dennis Miller totally cracked me up when he commented, "I'm bored with people's sexuality. I don't care if Dumbledore is gay." Spoken like a straight man who can go to a movie any day and see straight people, can turn on the TV any night and see straight people, and can kiss his wife anywhere in the world without a second thought. Idiot.Exactly.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Drifting
Amazon.com: Homedics QRM-400H Therapist Select Quad-Roller Massaging Cushion with Heat: Health & Personal Care
When I got invited to the Amazon Vine program a few months ago, I imagined I would get a jump on all the exciting new books publishers wanted to get into the national consciousness ahead of their release dates. And the first month, that's what happened; the three books I reviewed are all coming out this month and it's been amusing to see interviews with the authors about a book that I, unlike almost anyone else, have already read.
But the second month in I didn't get any books, instead grabbing a British miniseries, an Australian band's third album, and clinical strength deodorant. (I've spared faithful blog readers my review of this last one; I doubt reading about me sweating does anything for anyone.)
And now things are completely off the rails. Amazon has limited Vine reviewers to a single item this month after being bombarded with complaints from people who were invited into the program but didn't get to review anything the first two months because most items ran out. (Obviously, I was part of the problem!) So, while I might have taken a book or two if I had multiple selections, given a single pick I chose the item linked above, a $150 massage cushion. (And grabbed it just in time; the supply ran out about four minutes after the new items became available for the month.) Perhaps this is for the best; I'm still plugging away at Doris Kearns Goodwin's doorstop about the Roosevelts during World War II and I start an intense seven-week course in less than two weeks.
In any case, I expected this program to expand my reading horizons. So far I've read three books I would have gotten around to anyway. But I don't think I'd ever have watched The Amazing Mrs Pritchard or listened to Augie March without Amazon Vine. And I'd probably never have bought myself the massager. Now I'm getting one for free! The quest for Amazon's top 1000 may be a bust (that link leads to the day I hit 2,990, and two years later I'm at 3,256), but something good has come of my obsession.
When I got invited to the Amazon Vine program a few months ago, I imagined I would get a jump on all the exciting new books publishers wanted to get into the national consciousness ahead of their release dates. And the first month, that's what happened; the three books I reviewed are all coming out this month and it's been amusing to see interviews with the authors about a book that I, unlike almost anyone else, have already read.
But the second month in I didn't get any books, instead grabbing a British miniseries, an Australian band's third album, and clinical strength deodorant. (I've spared faithful blog readers my review of this last one; I doubt reading about me sweating does anything for anyone.)
And now things are completely off the rails. Amazon has limited Vine reviewers to a single item this month after being bombarded with complaints from people who were invited into the program but didn't get to review anything the first two months because most items ran out. (Obviously, I was part of the problem!) So, while I might have taken a book or two if I had multiple selections, given a single pick I chose the item linked above, a $150 massage cushion. (And grabbed it just in time; the supply ran out about four minutes after the new items became available for the month.) Perhaps this is for the best; I'm still plugging away at Doris Kearns Goodwin's doorstop about the Roosevelts during World War II and I start an intense seven-week course in less than two weeks.
In any case, I expected this program to expand my reading horizons. So far I've read three books I would have gotten around to anyway. But I don't think I'd ever have watched The Amazing Mrs Pritchard or listened to Augie March without Amazon Vine. And I'd probably never have bought myself the massager. Now I'm getting one for free! The quest for Amazon's top 1000 may be a bust (that link leads to the day I hit 2,990, and two years later I'm at 3,256), but something good has come of my obsession.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Wanted: Trader Joe's in Schaumburg
A month or so ago, I filled out a little online suggestion form on the Trader Joe's Web site, asking the company to add a store in Schaumburg, Illinois. It occurs to me, though, that I may not be the only person who has had this thought. So I encourage anyone who has come across this site in his or her own quest to find out if Trader Joe's has plans to open a Schaumburg location to contact the company, as I did, and ask it to open one.
Where? I suggested two spots. One, with high visibility, is the site of the recently closed Tower Records on Golf Road. It has lots of windows, which appear to be a TJ priority. The other will be available soon; CompUSA, right down the road, is also on its way out in a strip that includes a World Market. Seems like a perfect match, doesn't it?
Why Schaumburg? Because it's the center of a little economic unit with tons of traffic. Almost 100,000 people work within a few miles of the two locations I've proposed, and tens of thousands more live just beyond the businesses that employ them. On weekends Woodfield is a shopping magnet; on weekdays the store would be filled with lunch-break shoppers picking up a sandwich or soup for now and a bottle of wine or bag of chips for later. It'd be hopping after work, too, as folks on their way home would have a convenient stop-off.
Why Trader Joe's? Cheap, good wine. Three-layer hummus worth the bad breath it causes. Pita chips. Spicy soy and flaxseed chips. Sourdough bread with millet and flaxseed. Roasted red pepper and tomato soup. Smooth and Mellow coffee. Mango sauce. Karat cake. Organic peanut butter granola bars. Fresh salsa. Frozen meals that heat in seven minutes on the stove. Red curry sauce. Double Rainbow coffee ice cream. If you have one nearby and haven't ventured in, know that I go far out of my way to make a stop every week or two. But--a note to the Trader Joe's exec who finds this post someday--I'd visit more, and buy more, if you were down the street!
Where? I suggested two spots. One, with high visibility, is the site of the recently closed Tower Records on Golf Road. It has lots of windows, which appear to be a TJ priority. The other will be available soon; CompUSA, right down the road, is also on its way out in a strip that includes a World Market. Seems like a perfect match, doesn't it?
Why Schaumburg? Because it's the center of a little economic unit with tons of traffic. Almost 100,000 people work within a few miles of the two locations I've proposed, and tens of thousands more live just beyond the businesses that employ them. On weekends Woodfield is a shopping magnet; on weekdays the store would be filled with lunch-break shoppers picking up a sandwich or soup for now and a bottle of wine or bag of chips for later. It'd be hopping after work, too, as folks on their way home would have a convenient stop-off.
Why Trader Joe's? Cheap, good wine. Three-layer hummus worth the bad breath it causes. Pita chips. Spicy soy and flaxseed chips. Sourdough bread with millet and flaxseed. Roasted red pepper and tomato soup. Smooth and Mellow coffee. Mango sauce. Karat cake. Organic peanut butter granola bars. Fresh salsa. Frozen meals that heat in seven minutes on the stove. Red curry sauce. Double Rainbow coffee ice cream. If you have one nearby and haven't ventured in, know that I go far out of my way to make a stop every week or two. But--a note to the Trader Joe's exec who finds this post someday--I'd visit more, and buy more, if you were down the street!
Monday, June 04, 2007
Off the Hook
Some of you who have been reading the blog for a while may have deduced by now that going to Chicago Symphony Orchestra concerts is one of the few pre-planned events in the life of this happy gay couple. Mostly we operate out of habit or on the spur of the moment, which is sometimes frustrating for a planner like me but also leads to unexpected bliss from time to time.
Now I understand how my other half feels about being pestered to make plans, though. For two months or more, the CSO has been calling me, trying to get me to commit to a subscription package for 2007-2008. While there is a series we both think looks reasonably good (Saturday C, for those of you who are interested), we're not ready to pull the trigger--and may never be.
But telling the CSO rep that is nigh-on impossible. Believe me--I tried. She'd ask if she should call back in a week. "No, I don't think we'll have time to make a decision by then," I'd say. "Two weeks?" she'd brightly respond, but that question mark at the end was strictly for grammar--she'd be calling whether I wanted her to or not.
Through it all, what has annoyed me the most is that she persistently refers to my other half as "your wife." From the first time I said "We need time to discuss it," that's been her line: "Have you and your wife had a chance to decide which concerts you'd like to attend?" Tonight, finally, enough was too much. When she asked that question to open our call, I said, "First, my 'wife' is a man. Second, we still haven't had a chance to decide what to do; he works long hours." She was clearly a bit flummoxed, but give the gal credit; within two seconds she was asking--without any pause to apologize for her ongoing mis-assumption, mind you--"Should I call you back in a week?"
I said no, by the way. We can order our tickets online. On our timetable.
Now I understand how my other half feels about being pestered to make plans, though. For two months or more, the CSO has been calling me, trying to get me to commit to a subscription package for 2007-2008. While there is a series we both think looks reasonably good (Saturday C, for those of you who are interested), we're not ready to pull the trigger--and may never be.
But telling the CSO rep that is nigh-on impossible. Believe me--I tried. She'd ask if she should call back in a week. "No, I don't think we'll have time to make a decision by then," I'd say. "Two weeks?" she'd brightly respond, but that question mark at the end was strictly for grammar--she'd be calling whether I wanted her to or not.
Through it all, what has annoyed me the most is that she persistently refers to my other half as "your wife." From the first time I said "We need time to discuss it," that's been her line: "Have you and your wife had a chance to decide which concerts you'd like to attend?" Tonight, finally, enough was too much. When she asked that question to open our call, I said, "First, my 'wife' is a man. Second, we still haven't had a chance to decide what to do; he works long hours." She was clearly a bit flummoxed, but give the gal credit; within two seconds she was asking--without any pause to apologize for her ongoing mis-assumption, mind you--"Should I call you back in a week?"
I said no, by the way. We can order our tickets online. On our timetable.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Sunday Weekend Wind Down
Seinfeld Lists - The Puerto Rican Day
Amid a very pleasant weekend, I had a revelation unrelated to the trip I took to Augustana, the book I'm reading (God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything), or the shows I watched last night: There are a great many ways to classify people, but Sunday evening says a lot about a person.
In the Seinfeld episode linked above, Elaine flips out at the prospect of missing her Sunday wind-down period because she's trapped at the Puerto Rican Day parade. Though the episode was dropped from the syndication schedule (due to a line from Kramer about Puerto Rico being a land of constant mayhem), Elaine's plight always stuck with me.
I feel the same way as Elaine about my Sunday evening, but I don't think people who don't share this need to be home on Sunday after about 6 or 7 can understand it. The notion of driving home at 10 or 11 on Sunday night and having to go to work in the morning strikes me as more distasteful than almost anything I can imagine. I can stomach the occasional weekday late evening outing, and while I am a homebody by nature I don't really bat an eye at a late night on Saturday. But Sunday, sacred to others in the morning, becomes inviolate to me around the time the sun sets, maybe sooner.
My apologies to those who this confuses or irritates. Other people have religious dictates to follow; I don't gamble or go out on Sunday nights. Does anyone else share the latter penchant for end-of-weekend rest?
Amid a very pleasant weekend, I had a revelation unrelated to the trip I took to Augustana, the book I'm reading (God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything), or the shows I watched last night: There are a great many ways to classify people, but Sunday evening says a lot about a person.
In the Seinfeld episode linked above, Elaine flips out at the prospect of missing her Sunday wind-down period because she's trapped at the Puerto Rican Day parade. Though the episode was dropped from the syndication schedule (due to a line from Kramer about Puerto Rico being a land of constant mayhem), Elaine's plight always stuck with me.
I feel the same way as Elaine about my Sunday evening, but I don't think people who don't share this need to be home on Sunday after about 6 or 7 can understand it. The notion of driving home at 10 or 11 on Sunday night and having to go to work in the morning strikes me as more distasteful than almost anything I can imagine. I can stomach the occasional weekday late evening outing, and while I am a homebody by nature I don't really bat an eye at a late night on Saturday. But Sunday, sacred to others in the morning, becomes inviolate to me around the time the sun sets, maybe sooner.
My apologies to those who this confuses or irritates. Other people have religious dictates to follow; I don't gamble or go out on Sunday nights. Does anyone else share the latter penchant for end-of-weekend rest?
Friday, May 04, 2007
Here They Come
May 22 sounds like the day for cicadas :: CHICAGO SUN-TIMES :: Metro & Tri-State
I live less than a mile from two very large forest preserves. The trees in both of them, one would assume, are precisely the sort of old-growth woods that harbor cicadas. And so, I am not exactly relishing this "exciting" rare event, which one researcher claims to have timed down to the day.
In an odd coincidence, the city will be repaving our street sometime this month. This will mean that we can't park on our street or access our driveway for some unknown, but allegedly short, period of time. How much do you want to bet that they get the blacktop up, have the street all ready to pave--and then the cicadas swarm and they're forced to either delay or pave a road filled with beady red eyes?
This is an exciting month for a lot of reasons: school's out tomorrow, we have concert tickets next weekend, and we're taking a weekend trip a few weeks from now. But I have a sinking suspicion the month will end with my car a few blocks from my house, my street torn up, and cicadas swarming everywhere. This thought does not make me happy!
I live less than a mile from two very large forest preserves. The trees in both of them, one would assume, are precisely the sort of old-growth woods that harbor cicadas. And so, I am not exactly relishing this "exciting" rare event, which one researcher claims to have timed down to the day.
In an odd coincidence, the city will be repaving our street sometime this month. This will mean that we can't park on our street or access our driveway for some unknown, but allegedly short, period of time. How much do you want to bet that they get the blacktop up, have the street all ready to pave--and then the cicadas swarm and they're forced to either delay or pave a road filled with beady red eyes?
This is an exciting month for a lot of reasons: school's out tomorrow, we have concert tickets next weekend, and we're taking a weekend trip a few weeks from now. But I have a sinking suspicion the month will end with my car a few blocks from my house, my street torn up, and cicadas swarming everywhere. This thought does not make me happy!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Quite an Honor
White House may veto hate crimes law - Politics - MSNBC.com
Just this week George Bush got around to vetoing only the second bill of his entire presidency. The tally so far: Refused to allow funding for stem-cell research and wouldn't accept a timetable for withdrawal from Iraq. I disagree with both of these stances, but at least they are based on something resembling a principle. (I know, the principle behind opposition to stem-cell research is a lie and the one behind Iraq is a dream, but let's be charitable.)
Now he's threatening his third veto. What's so important as to warrant this reaction? A bill that would add gender and sexual orientation to the hate crimes law already on the books in this country. Now, I get that Bush doesn't believe there should be a hate crimes law at all--in fact, strictly as a matter of law, it's hard to argue with him--but we have one. Why should it apply to hate crimes against some groups in the line of fire but not others?
Let me put it this way. If you're straight, you may not want to vacation in Alabama--but you could if you wanted to. But for a gay couple, the wide world of domestic travel is actually quite narrow. We're confined to all the blue islands amid the sea of red that is the United States. Sadly, much of the beauty of this country is hidden in the middle of all that red. And even if we get past the hotel clerk who's suspicious of two men checking in together, even if we get a room with two beds, and even if we remain as non-demonstrative as possible in public, the entire time we're in red America we have to be on guard. What kind of vacation is that? I can bite my tongue for a week, yes--but you never know when a word will pop out that you don't intend. When we moved in together, for example, the sliding rear door of the moving truck caught his finger and he shouted in pain. Having been in the same state for all of 24 hours, I already couldn't stop myself from exclaiming, "Honey, are you OK?"
"Honey." That one word could have gotten us killed if spoken at the wrong moment--even in the suburbs, but especially in the Deep South. And it popped out of my mouth one day into living together. What do you think would happen today?
Bush could sign this legislation and send a message to his own band of supporters, as they are exactly the people who need it: Even if you don't like the idea of homosexuality, violence against gays and lesbians simply for being who they are is absolutely unacceptable.
This legislation is symbolic, and not signing it is a symbol, too. A fist in the face of gays and lesbians, to be exact. You may not recognize it on your hands--Iraq may already have dyed them red, and the folks who will die because their conditions were not cured because you would not allow the research that could have saved them may have deepened the rouge--but the blood of the gays and lesbians who will suffer because of this veto is on your hands, too, Mr. President.
Just this week George Bush got around to vetoing only the second bill of his entire presidency. The tally so far: Refused to allow funding for stem-cell research and wouldn't accept a timetable for withdrawal from Iraq. I disagree with both of these stances, but at least they are based on something resembling a principle. (I know, the principle behind opposition to stem-cell research is a lie and the one behind Iraq is a dream, but let's be charitable.)
Now he's threatening his third veto. What's so important as to warrant this reaction? A bill that would add gender and sexual orientation to the hate crimes law already on the books in this country. Now, I get that Bush doesn't believe there should be a hate crimes law at all--in fact, strictly as a matter of law, it's hard to argue with him--but we have one. Why should it apply to hate crimes against some groups in the line of fire but not others?
Let me put it this way. If you're straight, you may not want to vacation in Alabama--but you could if you wanted to. But for a gay couple, the wide world of domestic travel is actually quite narrow. We're confined to all the blue islands amid the sea of red that is the United States. Sadly, much of the beauty of this country is hidden in the middle of all that red. And even if we get past the hotel clerk who's suspicious of two men checking in together, even if we get a room with two beds, and even if we remain as non-demonstrative as possible in public, the entire time we're in red America we have to be on guard. What kind of vacation is that? I can bite my tongue for a week, yes--but you never know when a word will pop out that you don't intend. When we moved in together, for example, the sliding rear door of the moving truck caught his finger and he shouted in pain. Having been in the same state for all of 24 hours, I already couldn't stop myself from exclaiming, "Honey, are you OK?"
"Honey." That one word could have gotten us killed if spoken at the wrong moment--even in the suburbs, but especially in the Deep South. And it popped out of my mouth one day into living together. What do you think would happen today?
Bush could sign this legislation and send a message to his own band of supporters, as they are exactly the people who need it: Even if you don't like the idea of homosexuality, violence against gays and lesbians simply for being who they are is absolutely unacceptable.
This legislation is symbolic, and not signing it is a symbol, too. A fist in the face of gays and lesbians, to be exact. You may not recognize it on your hands--Iraq may already have dyed them red, and the folks who will die because their conditions were not cured because you would not allow the research that could have saved them may have deepened the rouge--but the blood of the gays and lesbians who will suffer because of this veto is on your hands, too, Mr. President.
Friday, December 29, 2006
I've Been Tagged
Via quite a meandering chain, I've been tagged to tell you five things you may not know about me--and tag five others to do so as well. So, Paul, Jon, James, Michele, and Zaki--you're it!
1. My favorite morning beverage is coffee--but I do not drink it. Since August I've had terrible bouts of heartburn, and eventually I realized that under the circumstances drinking coffee in the morning is very much like starting the day with a column of burning acid in my chest. But I still love the smell of brewing coffee!
2. I have put up the same Christmas tree every year since I was a boy. I bought it at Osco for $20 of hard-earned paper route money, and I still decorate it with the same ornaments and bead garland I've been using for almost 15 years. The lights, alas, have been changed a few times.
3. Before I became a staunch Democrat, my nickname was "Richard the Republican." This was in sixth grade, when I was probably the only person who even knew what a Republican was. (Though at the time I did not know that they ate babies and killed the poor in their sleep.) This folly lasted long enough that I even had a "Speaker Newt" placard on the wall of my first dorm room in college.
4. Speaking of politics, I also had an odd habit as a child of naming houseplants. This was important because I named one of them George Bush in 1991, during the Gulf War, when everyone loved him. Some time later, my mother ripped George from his pot with the cord of the vacuum cleaner--pity the fool who stands between her and a clean house! Quite soon thereafter, Bill Clinton became president. (Yes, I considered naming another plant George Bush and killing it in 2004.)
5. My life is one big sing along. When I am alone in the house or the car, I sing along with whatever music I'm playing--and often dance as well. I may refuse to bust a move at a wedding, but I am a freak in my own home.
Happy New Year!
1. My favorite morning beverage is coffee--but I do not drink it. Since August I've had terrible bouts of heartburn, and eventually I realized that under the circumstances drinking coffee in the morning is very much like starting the day with a column of burning acid in my chest. But I still love the smell of brewing coffee!
2. I have put up the same Christmas tree every year since I was a boy. I bought it at Osco for $20 of hard-earned paper route money, and I still decorate it with the same ornaments and bead garland I've been using for almost 15 years. The lights, alas, have been changed a few times.
3. Before I became a staunch Democrat, my nickname was "Richard the Republican." This was in sixth grade, when I was probably the only person who even knew what a Republican was. (Though at the time I did not know that they ate babies and killed the poor in their sleep.) This folly lasted long enough that I even had a "Speaker Newt" placard on the wall of my first dorm room in college.
4. Speaking of politics, I also had an odd habit as a child of naming houseplants. This was important because I named one of them George Bush in 1991, during the Gulf War, when everyone loved him. Some time later, my mother ripped George from his pot with the cord of the vacuum cleaner--pity the fool who stands between her and a clean house! Quite soon thereafter, Bill Clinton became president. (Yes, I considered naming another plant George Bush and killing it in 2004.)
5. My life is one big sing along. When I am alone in the house or the car, I sing along with whatever music I'm playing--and often dance as well. I may refuse to bust a move at a wedding, but I am a freak in my own home.
Happy New Year!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
'Tis the Season...to Doubt
Gay and Evangelical, Seeking Paths of Acceptance
I feel bad for the subjects of this article. And, as we're in the thick of a season that has long been my favorite, maybe it's time to say why.
Most people who know me now know me as a very, well, agnostic person. I seeth at the notion of organized religion, and I think it's a bit arrogant to claim knowledge of an entity on the basis of an old book while simultaneously claiming the entity to be beyond all human comprehension in his majesty and glory.
See? There I go again.
And yet, folks who've known me a bit longer know that there was a time when being a good churchgoing boy was very important to me. I went every week as a child and all the way through high school, even as I chafed at the idea of being confirmed a Catholic. (I went through with it, though; technically speaking, in the eyes of the church, I'm one of them.) Even when I went off to college, I trudged off to Mass, held on Saturday nights so as not to conflict with the Sunday morning Lutheran service. I knew all the hymns by heart and could have been a reader during Mass without more than glancing at the page. Anyone who suffered through CCD will know that this was above and beyond the requirements. I loved being Catholic.
But all through this time I knew something was amiss. As it began to dawn on me what that something was, it got harder and harder to go to church. I started crying during Mass. At first it was simply tears at the beauty of the story--that the holiest of holies would give up his only son to make recompense for my wicked ways--but eventually the tears turned bitter, as I realized I was losing the stories, and the church, and everything I had known. And my wicked ways, in the eyes of the church, were partly, though not entirely, to blame
It's been at least eight years now since I was a regular churchgoer, and I don't miss the hassle of it. Meet the Press on Sunday mornings fills in nicely, though it does remove one way I might meet more friends who live close by. But I do miss the songs, the stories, and the feeling of inner certainty I once had. I've been thinking about it a lot, lately, wondering if it wouldn't be easier to just give in to the crowd and make myself believe.
I won't, of course. But that doesn't mean I don't occasionally look at the Christmas tree I've set up in the front window, surrounded by a little holiday village and stacks of carefully wrapped gifts, and wish it all meant the same thing to me that it does to others. Or that I don't look at the manger scene atop one of our bookshelves and think about what a beautiful story it represents. The holiday cannot help but permeate the season. And that brings me great joy--but it cannot help but be permeated by a tinge of sadness.
I feel bad for the subjects of this article. And, as we're in the thick of a season that has long been my favorite, maybe it's time to say why.
Most people who know me now know me as a very, well, agnostic person. I seeth at the notion of organized religion, and I think it's a bit arrogant to claim knowledge of an entity on the basis of an old book while simultaneously claiming the entity to be beyond all human comprehension in his majesty and glory.
See? There I go again.
And yet, folks who've known me a bit longer know that there was a time when being a good churchgoing boy was very important to me. I went every week as a child and all the way through high school, even as I chafed at the idea of being confirmed a Catholic. (I went through with it, though; technically speaking, in the eyes of the church, I'm one of them.) Even when I went off to college, I trudged off to Mass, held on Saturday nights so as not to conflict with the Sunday morning Lutheran service. I knew all the hymns by heart and could have been a reader during Mass without more than glancing at the page. Anyone who suffered through CCD will know that this was above and beyond the requirements. I loved being Catholic.
But all through this time I knew something was amiss. As it began to dawn on me what that something was, it got harder and harder to go to church. I started crying during Mass. At first it was simply tears at the beauty of the story--that the holiest of holies would give up his only son to make recompense for my wicked ways--but eventually the tears turned bitter, as I realized I was losing the stories, and the church, and everything I had known. And my wicked ways, in the eyes of the church, were partly, though not entirely, to blame
It's been at least eight years now since I was a regular churchgoer, and I don't miss the hassle of it. Meet the Press on Sunday mornings fills in nicely, though it does remove one way I might meet more friends who live close by. But I do miss the songs, the stories, and the feeling of inner certainty I once had. I've been thinking about it a lot, lately, wondering if it wouldn't be easier to just give in to the crowd and make myself believe.
I won't, of course. But that doesn't mean I don't occasionally look at the Christmas tree I've set up in the front window, surrounded by a little holiday village and stacks of carefully wrapped gifts, and wish it all meant the same thing to me that it does to others. Or that I don't look at the manger scene atop one of our bookshelves and think about what a beautiful story it represents. The holiday cannot help but permeate the season. And that brings me great joy--but it cannot help but be permeated by a tinge of sadness.
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