I've never really understood the whole "gonna go to Starbucks, hang out and do...stuff" thing. Mostly because the "stuff" is generally school stuff, studying stuff, alone with your thoughts stuff, writing a novel stuff...the kind of stuff that one might easily be distracted from anytime the blender went off, or the barista shouted out someones order. PS, is that what coffee people like to be called? Baristas? I'm not sure that I've ever used that word until now. Probably because I'm currently sitting in a Starbucks and otherwise wouldn't have occasion to use that word. And do people actually say that? "Pardon me, barista, can you leave room for cream?" That word just smacks of a snotty attitude. *Author's note: my apologies to anyone who uses that word on the regular. Love you guys!* Anylatte, to me, Starbucks as a place to do "stuff" never made sense to me. Until now.
I'm sitting in a Starbucks right now, doing "stuff", that "stuff" being writing this boog and it just....it feels right. There's my pal Jess sitting across from me, people to watch, conversations to listen to, music that's boppin my head, delicious things for my nose to smell(unless a hobo comes in here and sits by me, then all bets are off. But who am I kidding, hobos can't afford Starbucks. Not even a River Forest hobo!) There's a lot of potential material here!
As I look around at my fellow Bucksers, I kind of want to make up scenarios about what their story is. Like the couple right outside the window, who happen to be facing me and who keep catching me staring at them. *Second author's note: In defense of my staring, I need y'all to know I am an out-the-window starer, I'm doglike in that respect. It's not my fault they positioned themselves directly in my line of vision!* But I wonder what their deal is, random shopping trip to the Men's Wearhouse, got thirsty for a Pike's Place Roast? Romantic stroll down Harlem, hey let's pop into Starbucks? Last stop on a first date? Oh shit, they just caught me staring at them kiss. And now they're leaving. I think it's safe to say they're now wondering what my perverted deal is. *Third author's note: I'm not really a pervert, I just play one in the movies.*
Okay, and the young man talking at his laptop...my guess is he's a college student from someplace international, someplace exotic, and he's Skyping with his family, telling them all about the thesis he's writing about something college-y and hard to pronounce. Or he loves "Just My Imagination" and is simply rockin out.
Hmmm...I'm really curious about the new group that just moved in consisting of 2 older couples and a younger gentleman, who have just said a prayer before snacking on bagels and coffee. And now they're talking about camping. The younger guy has pushed his chair away from the table a little, and is not participating in the camping discussion. What is happening? Oh my god, what if he was kidnapped by these people while they were all camping! Don't drink that coffee, fella! I think that you've been kidnapped and they are drugging your coffee! They're going to make you the pool boy in their weird religious summer camp for the elderly!!! Okay, now I'm letting my imagination run wild...
How about the man reading the newspaper with no coffee or any other sort of Starbucks product anywhere near him. I wonder if his power is out because he couldn't afford to pay the bill this month, you know, money has been tight ever since his son Jonesy got out of the slammer, and that no-goodnik hasn't gotten a job on account of his useless hand, thanks to a shiv-fight he got in that jacked up the tendon in his thumb. So this poor shlub has been workin two jobs to support him and his boy Jonesy, only he got laid of from the Port-a-Potty job for showing up drunk last week, but how else was he supposed to get through those long days of cleaning the filthiest of other people's filth? So when he lost the Port-a-Potty job, he had to make some decisions, some hard decisions, lights or booze...booze wins every time. And once the lights were shut off, he was feeling out of the loop, so he headed to a place where he knew there would be lights and an opportunity to catch up current events, so here he is.
Wow, I really got into that last one...I need a minute.
Point is, I get it, I get the whole going to Starbucks to do "stuff" thing. I mean, shit, if I hadn't come, I wouldn't be bopping along to Jackie Wilson, writing about nonsense, and I think I speak for all 2 of you who read this when I say thank you, Starbucks, thank you.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
You want a scene? I'll show you a scene...
I want to throw a tantrum, a balls-to-the-wall, throat shredding, fling-myself-onto-the-floor, scream-till-my-eyes-feel-like-they're-going-to-pop-out tantrum. I want to do this, and I only want to have to sheepishly say "I'm sorry" after I'm through, then fall asleep on my couch, because obviously I'll be plum-tuckered out from my tantrum. I don't want to have to worry about my wife wanting to talk about it, I don't want to worry about my friends defriending me or taking a break from me, I don't want to worry about explaining myself, or being made to feel crazy, or foolish...I just want to throw this tantrum, flip my shit, say sorry, and have that be it.
When you're a kid, you throw the tantrum because you don't understand something, or things haven't gone your way, and you don't get why. Can't that still happen to us as adults? I know for me, sometimes I simply don't know what's wrong. Sometimes what's wrong are feelings I don't understand, or a fear I have about things that can't be changed, or just a general irritation with my inability to not want to throw a tantrum.
Nowadays, us adults, we're expected to talk about it, try and figure out the root of our anger, bring up things from the past to get to bottom of the present. As much as I love that idea in theory, it doesn't always work. Tell me what the eff good talking about some of this stuff will do? Maybe I don't want to just suck it up and be an adult about it, I want to be a child about it. I think we're doing ourselves a disservice if we don't allow ourselves to occasionally experience the pure joy of anger. We allow ourselves to feel the pureness of every other emotion, so why not anger? Tantrums are the most natural and pure reaction to things that upset us, things that we don't understand, and so long as we're not throwing them at a rapid pace, I think tantrums should be considered gifts from God.
I know, I know, they're childish and immature, but you know what? I like being childish and immature. I love to swing, and play with Legos, and tease, and get tucked in, and have a Slurpee, and eat french toast cut into tiny pieces the way my mom used to cut it for me...I like things that remind me of being childish...tantrums included.
If I had an extra closet, I think I would pad it with gym mats and put a bunch of pillows in there, and stuff to kick. Then, whenever I felt like this, I would go into my tantrum closet and just lose my mind. And I know there are plenty of you out there who would be getting in line right behind me...
When you're a kid, you throw the tantrum because you don't understand something, or things haven't gone your way, and you don't get why. Can't that still happen to us as adults? I know for me, sometimes I simply don't know what's wrong. Sometimes what's wrong are feelings I don't understand, or a fear I have about things that can't be changed, or just a general irritation with my inability to not want to throw a tantrum.
Nowadays, us adults, we're expected to talk about it, try and figure out the root of our anger, bring up things from the past to get to bottom of the present. As much as I love that idea in theory, it doesn't always work. Tell me what the eff good talking about some of this stuff will do? Maybe I don't want to just suck it up and be an adult about it, I want to be a child about it. I think we're doing ourselves a disservice if we don't allow ourselves to occasionally experience the pure joy of anger. We allow ourselves to feel the pureness of every other emotion, so why not anger? Tantrums are the most natural and pure reaction to things that upset us, things that we don't understand, and so long as we're not throwing them at a rapid pace, I think tantrums should be considered gifts from God.
I know, I know, they're childish and immature, but you know what? I like being childish and immature. I love to swing, and play with Legos, and tease, and get tucked in, and have a Slurpee, and eat french toast cut into tiny pieces the way my mom used to cut it for me...I like things that remind me of being childish...tantrums included.
If I had an extra closet, I think I would pad it with gym mats and put a bunch of pillows in there, and stuff to kick. Then, whenever I felt like this, I would go into my tantrum closet and just lose my mind. And I know there are plenty of you out there who would be getting in line right behind me...
Friday, February 11, 2011
It's about gayin time...
So La Ga's new single, "Born This Way" dropped today. As many of you know, I am a HUGE La Ga fan, I'm totally a Little Monster, though I do need to work on putting up my claws and showing my teeth. I look a little silly doing it, probably because I'm not doing it with the reckless abandon that a Little Monster should. Regardless, I worship at the altar of La Ga, her concerts are my church, her message my religion, she is my higher power...I love everything about her.
I've been eagerly awaiting the new single, I've been reading all the articles about it, read the lyrics, read comment boards, read everything I could get my grubby monster claws on in anticipation of today. As I was driving this morning, my nipples pinged as the DJ announced it, and I heard it, I finally heard it...top to bottom heard it. My friends, I was not disappointed. As I listened to the music and the lyrics and bopped my head along, I heard this song, and I felt...validated. I felt so effing validated. At 34 years old and openly gay for 13 of those years, no, I do not NEED a song by the world's biggest pop star to validate me. But at 34 years old, knowing this song was about me and for me and full of love for me, shit, it felt good. And I felt validated. At 34 years old knowing that some of my younger cousins, or children of my friends would have this song as their anthem, have this song validate them, be about them, for them and full of love for them...shit, it felt good. This is the anthem.
Yes, there have been songs before "Born This Way" that have had a similar message, one that embraces everyone and all, recently there was "Firework" by Katy Perry, and "F***in Perfect" by P!nk. Not as recently "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilara, and the song that "Born This Way" is being compared to, "Express Yourself", by Madonna. But they aren't "Born This Way".
Never has the message "we, all of us, are BORN THIS WAY" been more clear. It's for ALL of us, even though described as a "love letter to the gays", it's for ALL of us. Every single person on this planet was born this way, each of us came into the world the way we are. Sure, we can be shaped and molded as we go along, but we are born who we are. And yes, we are all a "Firework", we are all "F***in Perfect", most of us are "Beautiful" and you should absolutely "Express Yourself". But until today, no one but La Ga has ever made it a priority to nail the most important point on the head, that we were all, every one of us, "Born This Way". That is the message, that is the anthem.
For all of you who want to hate, and say it's just a new "Express Yourself", go ahead and hate. You'll hate no matter what I say to you because likely, you were born that way...and isn't that the message? Isn't that the anthem?
I've been eagerly awaiting the new single, I've been reading all the articles about it, read the lyrics, read comment boards, read everything I could get my grubby monster claws on in anticipation of today. As I was driving this morning, my nipples pinged as the DJ announced it, and I heard it, I finally heard it...top to bottom heard it. My friends, I was not disappointed. As I listened to the music and the lyrics and bopped my head along, I heard this song, and I felt...validated. I felt so effing validated. At 34 years old and openly gay for 13 of those years, no, I do not NEED a song by the world's biggest pop star to validate me. But at 34 years old, knowing this song was about me and for me and full of love for me, shit, it felt good. And I felt validated. At 34 years old knowing that some of my younger cousins, or children of my friends would have this song as their anthem, have this song validate them, be about them, for them and full of love for them...shit, it felt good. This is the anthem.
Yes, there have been songs before "Born This Way" that have had a similar message, one that embraces everyone and all, recently there was "Firework" by Katy Perry, and "F***in Perfect" by P!nk. Not as recently "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilara, and the song that "Born This Way" is being compared to, "Express Yourself", by Madonna. But they aren't "Born This Way".
Never has the message "we, all of us, are BORN THIS WAY" been more clear. It's for ALL of us, even though described as a "love letter to the gays", it's for ALL of us. Every single person on this planet was born this way, each of us came into the world the way we are. Sure, we can be shaped and molded as we go along, but we are born who we are. And yes, we are all a "Firework", we are all "F***in Perfect", most of us are "Beautiful" and you should absolutely "Express Yourself". But until today, no one but La Ga has ever made it a priority to nail the most important point on the head, that we were all, every one of us, "Born This Way". That is the message, that is the anthem.
For all of you who want to hate, and say it's just a new "Express Yourself", go ahead and hate. You'll hate no matter what I say to you because likely, you were born that way...and isn't that the message? Isn't that the anthem?
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Luck Starts Here...
Have you ever had a near-death experience? I don't think I have. I mean, I know I've been in situations that could have gone horribly wrong, but I don't consider those "near-death" experiences. I was in a car accident that could have gone wrong. I jaywalk a lot which can always go wrong. I've choked on a piece of steak. I've drunkenly slipped on ice and fallen like a sack 'o flour, which could have gone wrong. You won't hear me say that any of those were "near-death" experiences. But actually, shit, when we're being honest, aren't we all technically "near-death" at every moment? If things like jaywalking can go wrong, aren't we near-death every time we wake up? Anyreaper, though creepy and morbid, that's not what I want to be talking about here.
I've noticed that right after someone talks about their near-death experiences, the next thing out of their mouth is "I'm lucky to be alive". It happened on Oprah this morning, Wynonna was talking about her two near-death experiences and followed them up with "I'm lucky to be alive". Interesting. But not really. I've noticed that people tend to say the right things when faced w/ death and near-death..."This makes me realize how precious life is. I won't take things for granted. I'm so lucky to be alive". Well I don't know about the rest of you, but my luck started November 30th, 1976, when I was born healthy. My luck at being alive is 34 years old. I am lucky every. single. day. And not just on days when I'm jaywalking and cheating death. Luck is something every one of us is born with, simply because we were born.
This also makes me think of all the times in my life when I've wished not to be alive, times as a child or as a teenager when I would say "I didn't ask to be born". What an asshole thing to think and an even more asshole thing to say. No, I didn't ask to be born, but someone sure done asked for me. My parents asked for me, they asked to be blessed(snerk) with a gift that ended up being me, something they may have decided against had they met teenage me first. No wonder they asked for another gift. But regardless, they asked for me. My sister and I, we are the miracles my parents asked for. We are miracles. I am a miracle. Someone asked for me. Someone asked for us all. How lucky I am. How lucky we are.
Luck. We're born with it, it's something we have, it's a part of us, it's ours every day because we're alive. Every day I am alive, I am lucky because I get to walk outside, I get to see a tree, a bird, a dog, I get to read words, be touched, feel my heart beat, pick a booger, smile, listen to a song, have a memory, miss someone, hear a voice, take a shower. Every day I get to be a daughter, a sister, a wife, and know love. Every day I get to be a friend, have a friend, share my life, and laugh like crazy. Every day I am alive, I am lucky.
And yes, every day I pick a booger.
I've noticed that right after someone talks about their near-death experiences, the next thing out of their mouth is "I'm lucky to be alive". It happened on Oprah this morning, Wynonna was talking about her two near-death experiences and followed them up with "I'm lucky to be alive". Interesting. But not really. I've noticed that people tend to say the right things when faced w/ death and near-death..."This makes me realize how precious life is. I won't take things for granted. I'm so lucky to be alive". Well I don't know about the rest of you, but my luck started November 30th, 1976, when I was born healthy. My luck at being alive is 34 years old. I am lucky every. single. day. And not just on days when I'm jaywalking and cheating death. Luck is something every one of us is born with, simply because we were born.
This also makes me think of all the times in my life when I've wished not to be alive, times as a child or as a teenager when I would say "I didn't ask to be born". What an asshole thing to think and an even more asshole thing to say. No, I didn't ask to be born, but someone sure done asked for me. My parents asked for me, they asked to be blessed(snerk) with a gift that ended up being me, something they may have decided against had they met teenage me first. No wonder they asked for another gift. But regardless, they asked for me. My sister and I, we are the miracles my parents asked for. We are miracles. I am a miracle. Someone asked for me. Someone asked for us all. How lucky I am. How lucky we are.
Luck. We're born with it, it's something we have, it's a part of us, it's ours every day because we're alive. Every day I am alive, I am lucky because I get to walk outside, I get to see a tree, a bird, a dog, I get to read words, be touched, feel my heart beat, pick a booger, smile, listen to a song, have a memory, miss someone, hear a voice, take a shower. Every day I get to be a daughter, a sister, a wife, and know love. Every day I get to be a friend, have a friend, share my life, and laugh like crazy. Every day I am alive, I am lucky.
And yes, every day I pick a booger.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Truths...
Recently, my friend's mom died. I'm overcome with sadness for her. I'm at a loss, I don't know what to do. I've known her for 21 years, and for the first time I have no idea what to say to her. All I wish I could do is fix her. I want my hug to be as comfortable as a mother's hug, since that's what she's missing now more than ever. I want to sit on the couch with her and rock her as she cries and have that be enough. But it's not.
I want to fix people when they are broken. I thought this was a good thing, a nice thing, but it's an unrealistic thing. I can't fix anyone. Nothing I can say to someone will fix them. Nothing I can do for someone will fix them. No joke I can tell will make someone laugh all their troubles away. I can't fix anyone.
I'm completely and utterly co-dependent in my relationships. I have a desperate need to be needed. It's quite possible that I am only attracted to people who appear to be in a place of need. I've always always thought that I was just a good person, a good friend, and that I had a desire to help people, to try and make their lives better. And I might be, all of that could very well be true...but the real story, the headline to this, is that I need to be needed to feel any sort of self-worth. It all comes from a good place, a good heart...I truly want to be something positive in the lives of the people I care about. I want to bring support, and laughter, and impressive dancing to every life that I'm blessed to be a part of. But I need to be needed. You've never seen someone as happy as I am when The Joyous One is sick, because she needs me. Someone as fiercely independent and responsible as The Joyous One needing someone like me, so irresponsible, so co-dependent...why wouldn't that bring me to happy? I need to be needed.
Don't misunderstand me, I'm not implying that I somehow wish for bad things to fall on the people in my life so I can be needed, so I can try to fix them. Like I said before, I can't fix anyone. I want my people to be happy, and I want to be a part of getting them there. I want to be the light that they see when everything is dark. I want to put a smile on their face. I want my invitation to hang out to be the thing that gets them out of the house. I want to be something utterly impossible. The biggest problem? Me saying "I WANT"...because it's not about me. That's selfish, and that's not me.
I need to change this. I need to stop trying so hard, because when I try too hard, I ruin it. When I try too hard, my natural compassion becomes unnatural...forced...not me. I need to flip the script here, and start hoping for things, instead of wanting, desiring. Hope is spiritual. Want is greedy.
I hope that when I hug my friend whose mom just died, she gets some comfort out of that. I hope that when we spend time together, it brings her some relief and takes her mind off things for a moment. I hope I am something positive in the lives of the people I care about. I hope I can bring support, and laughter, and impressive dancing to every life I'm blessed to be a part of. I hope that when The Joyous One is sick, I take care of her well.
I hope for my friends happiness. I hope I can add to that in their life. I hope that I can be something they see as a light, something they can go towards to get out of the dark. I hope I can bring a smile to their face. I hope my invitation to hang out is something they consider. I hope I can be something utterly possible.
I want to fix people when they are broken. I thought this was a good thing, a nice thing, but it's an unrealistic thing. I can't fix anyone. Nothing I can say to someone will fix them. Nothing I can do for someone will fix them. No joke I can tell will make someone laugh all their troubles away. I can't fix anyone.
I'm completely and utterly co-dependent in my relationships. I have a desperate need to be needed. It's quite possible that I am only attracted to people who appear to be in a place of need. I've always always thought that I was just a good person, a good friend, and that I had a desire to help people, to try and make their lives better. And I might be, all of that could very well be true...but the real story, the headline to this, is that I need to be needed to feel any sort of self-worth. It all comes from a good place, a good heart...I truly want to be something positive in the lives of the people I care about. I want to bring support, and laughter, and impressive dancing to every life that I'm blessed to be a part of. But I need to be needed. You've never seen someone as happy as I am when The Joyous One is sick, because she needs me. Someone as fiercely independent and responsible as The Joyous One needing someone like me, so irresponsible, so co-dependent...why wouldn't that bring me to happy? I need to be needed.
Don't misunderstand me, I'm not implying that I somehow wish for bad things to fall on the people in my life so I can be needed, so I can try to fix them. Like I said before, I can't fix anyone. I want my people to be happy, and I want to be a part of getting them there. I want to be the light that they see when everything is dark. I want to put a smile on their face. I want my invitation to hang out to be the thing that gets them out of the house. I want to be something utterly impossible. The biggest problem? Me saying "I WANT"...because it's not about me. That's selfish, and that's not me.
I need to change this. I need to stop trying so hard, because when I try too hard, I ruin it. When I try too hard, my natural compassion becomes unnatural...forced...not me. I need to flip the script here, and start hoping for things, instead of wanting, desiring. Hope is spiritual. Want is greedy.
I hope that when I hug my friend whose mom just died, she gets some comfort out of that. I hope that when we spend time together, it brings her some relief and takes her mind off things for a moment. I hope I am something positive in the lives of the people I care about. I hope I can bring support, and laughter, and impressive dancing to every life I'm blessed to be a part of. I hope that when The Joyous One is sick, I take care of her well.
I hope for my friends happiness. I hope I can add to that in their life. I hope that I can be something they see as a light, something they can go towards to get out of the dark. I hope I can bring a smile to their face. I hope my invitation to hang out is something they consider. I hope I can be something utterly possible.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Dan Savage Just Keeps Getting Better...
For those of you who don't know, Dan Savage is an author, journalist, and writer of an internationally syndicated advice column about sex and relationships. Recently, after the upswing in gay teenage suicides, Dan and his partner started the "It Gets Better Project", in which gay adults tell gay kids that yes, it will get better, just stay alive and you'll see that it does get better. I read Dan's column from time to time, it makes me laugh, makes me think, and every now and again makes me uncomfortable. The following column just made proud. In light of all the bullying that's been taking place which has led to the death of too many kids, I thought Dan's response to L.R. was right on target. He managed to put onto "paper" what a lot of us gays(and gay supporters) would like to say, but usually end up screwing up due to the foaming of the mouth caused by anger and ignorance...at least that's what happens to me. I hope you take the time to read this, and also to visit http://www.itgetsbetterproject.com/. Thank you,
Meta Kroker
Dan-
I heard an interview with you about your It Gets Better campaign. I was saddened and frustrated with your comments regarding people of faith and their perpetuation of bullying. As someone who loves the Lord and does not support gay marriage, I can honestly say I was heartbroken to hear about the young man who took his own life.
If your message is that we should not judge people based on their sexual preference, how do you justify judging entire groups of people for any other reason (including their faith)? There is no part of me that took any pleasure in what happened to that young man.
To that end, to imply that I would somehow encourage my children to mock, hurt, or intimidate another person for any reason is completely unfounded and offensive. Being a follower of Christ is, above all things, a recognition that we are all imperfect, fallible, and in desperate need of a savior. We cannot believe that we are better or more worthy than other people.
Please consider your viewpoint, and please be more careful with your words in the future.
L.R.
Dan's response:
I'm sorry your feelings were hurt by my comments.
No, wait. I'm not. Gay kids are dying. So let's try to keep things in perspective: Fuck your feelings.
A question: Do you "support" atheist marriage? Interfaith marriage? Divorce and remarriage? All are legal, all go against Christian and/or traditional ideas about marriage, and yet there's no "Christian" movement to deny marriage rights to atheists or people marrying outside their respective faiths or people divorcing and remarrying. Why the hell not?
Sorry, L.R., but so long as you support the denial of marriage rights to same-sex couples, it's clear that you do believe that some people—straight people—are "better or more worthy" than others.
And—sorry—but you are partly responsible for the bullying and physical violence being visited on vulnerable LGBT children. The kids of people who see gay people as sinful or damaged or disordered and unworthy of full civil equality—even if those people strive to express their bigotry in the politest possible way (at least when they happen to be addressing a gay person)—learn to see gay people as sinful, damaged, disordered, and unworthy. And while there may not be any gay adults or couples where you live, or at your church, or in your workplace, I promise you that there are gay and lesbian children in your schools. And while you can only attack gays and lesbians at the ballot box, nice and impersonally, your children have the option of attacking actual gays and lesbians, in person, in real time.
Real gay and lesbian children. Not political abstractions, not "sinners." Gay and lesbian children.
Try to keep up: The dehumanizing bigotries that fall from the lips of "faithful Christians," and the lies about us that vomit out from the pulpits of churches that "faithful Christians" drag their kids to on Sundays, give your children license to verbally abuse, humiliate, and condemn the gay children they encounter at school. And many of your children—having listened to Mom and Dad talk about how gay marriage is a threat to family and how gay sex makes their magic sky friend Jesus cry—feel justified in physically abusing the LGBT children they encounter in their schools. You don't have to explicitly "encourage [your] children to mock, hurt, or intimidate" queer kids. Your encouragement—along with your hatred and fear—is implicit.
It's here, it's clear, and we're seeing the fruits of it: dead children.
Oh, and those same dehumanizing bigotries that fill your straight children with hate? They fill your gay children with suicidal despair. And you have the nerve to ask me to be more careful with my words?
Did that hurt to hear? Good. But it couldn't have hurt nearly as much as what was said and done to Asher Brown and Justin Aaberg and Billy Lucas and Cody Barker and Seth Walsh—day in, day out for years—at schools filled with bigoted little monsters created not in the image of a loving God, but in the image of the hateful and false "followers of Christ" they call Mom and Dad.
READ MORE FROM DAN SAVAGE AT: www.TheStranger.com/SavageLove
Meta Kroker
Dan-
I heard an interview with you about your It Gets Better campaign. I was saddened and frustrated with your comments regarding people of faith and their perpetuation of bullying. As someone who loves the Lord and does not support gay marriage, I can honestly say I was heartbroken to hear about the young man who took his own life.
If your message is that we should not judge people based on their sexual preference, how do you justify judging entire groups of people for any other reason (including their faith)? There is no part of me that took any pleasure in what happened to that young man.
To that end, to imply that I would somehow encourage my children to mock, hurt, or intimidate another person for any reason is completely unfounded and offensive. Being a follower of Christ is, above all things, a recognition that we are all imperfect, fallible, and in desperate need of a savior. We cannot believe that we are better or more worthy than other people.
Please consider your viewpoint, and please be more careful with your words in the future.
L.R.
Dan's response:
I'm sorry your feelings were hurt by my comments.
No, wait. I'm not. Gay kids are dying. So let's try to keep things in perspective: Fuck your feelings.
A question: Do you "support" atheist marriage? Interfaith marriage? Divorce and remarriage? All are legal, all go against Christian and/or traditional ideas about marriage, and yet there's no "Christian" movement to deny marriage rights to atheists or people marrying outside their respective faiths or people divorcing and remarrying. Why the hell not?
Sorry, L.R., but so long as you support the denial of marriage rights to same-sex couples, it's clear that you do believe that some people—straight people—are "better or more worthy" than others.
And—sorry—but you are partly responsible for the bullying and physical violence being visited on vulnerable LGBT children. The kids of people who see gay people as sinful or damaged or disordered and unworthy of full civil equality—even if those people strive to express their bigotry in the politest possible way (at least when they happen to be addressing a gay person)—learn to see gay people as sinful, damaged, disordered, and unworthy. And while there may not be any gay adults or couples where you live, or at your church, or in your workplace, I promise you that there are gay and lesbian children in your schools. And while you can only attack gays and lesbians at the ballot box, nice and impersonally, your children have the option of attacking actual gays and lesbians, in person, in real time.
Real gay and lesbian children. Not political abstractions, not "sinners." Gay and lesbian children.
Try to keep up: The dehumanizing bigotries that fall from the lips of "faithful Christians," and the lies about us that vomit out from the pulpits of churches that "faithful Christians" drag their kids to on Sundays, give your children license to verbally abuse, humiliate, and condemn the gay children they encounter at school. And many of your children—having listened to Mom and Dad talk about how gay marriage is a threat to family and how gay sex makes their magic sky friend Jesus cry—feel justified in physically abusing the LGBT children they encounter in their schools. You don't have to explicitly "encourage [your] children to mock, hurt, or intimidate" queer kids. Your encouragement—along with your hatred and fear—is implicit.
It's here, it's clear, and we're seeing the fruits of it: dead children.
Oh, and those same dehumanizing bigotries that fill your straight children with hate? They fill your gay children with suicidal despair. And you have the nerve to ask me to be more careful with my words?
Did that hurt to hear? Good. But it couldn't have hurt nearly as much as what was said and done to Asher Brown and Justin Aaberg and Billy Lucas and Cody Barker and Seth Walsh—day in, day out for years—at schools filled with bigoted little monsters created not in the image of a loving God, but in the image of the hateful and false "followers of Christ" they call Mom and Dad.
READ MORE FROM DAN SAVAGE AT: www.TheStranger.com/SavageLove
I just love Dan Savage, and I'm so glad he's on my side...
Friday, July 23, 2010
Huh, maybe it was a hate crime...
Yesterday after work, I was making the grocery store rounds to buy up supplies for my famous tuna melts. And no, that's not a euphemism for anything, you pigs, I truly was buying vegetables and tuna and english muffins. You see, my seriously pregnant friend Annie was coming over for dinner, and she loves tuna melts and I make a truly outstanding tuna melt. The more I write "tuna melt", the more disgusting and euphemism-y it starts to sound. Anyfishy, I had just finished hitting the Jewel for the muffins(heh), the cheese, etc and was fixing to hit the Whole Foods for the tuna.
Off topic(and I've already forgotten what the topic is, but I'm sure I'll get back to it in roundabout fashion), as I pulled into the parking lot, there was a couple playing the most vigorous public game of tonsil hockey that I have ever seen, leaned up against a parked car. I think they were playing for the Suckley Cup. Seriously, faces mashing, over-the-clothes fondling, the voyuer/porn director in me wanted to walk right up to them and be like "Now, grab his ass. Caress her boob...circular-like, uh huh. Okay tilt your head to the right a little, let him bite your neck. Yeah, that's nice. Do you mind if I take some snaps?"...but I refrained. I can just imagine my mother reading this last part and saying to my dad "Your daughter's a real pig, you know that right?" Or just going right to the source and calling me..."I read your blog. You're a real pig, you know that?"...this pig's for you, Momma! Wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Whole Foods...
So, I head into Whole Foods, make a beeline for the tuna, grab what I need and head to the register. I'm standing there, entranced by some new juice they were displaying nearby, my mind roaming with thoughts of reusable grocery bags and should I buy yet another one, when all of the sudden I feel something bang into my rear bumper. No, not of my car dummies, I'm talkin bout my ass. Startled, I looked around to see what has just rammed me in ba-donk-a-donk and I see a cart rolling away from me, looking suspicious. It appeared that my solid rear bumper was no real match for the shopping cart, cuz that sucka was nearly at the entrance of the chip aisle. Big ups to my big butt. Slightly embarrassed, I said "Well alright then. That was...interesting." A lady the next aisle over who saw the whole thing started giggling a little, which only contributed to my embarrassment. Then she told me that some guy had been pushing the cart, let go of it and ran out of the store. She suggested that maybe he had an emergency and didn't realize the cart was still rolling. I jokingly said "Or maybe it's someone who doesn't like me very much and rammed me with their cart...hahahahahahehe..hmmmm" Joking had turned into "what if..", and I started to really think that maybe this was some man who didn't care for me and flung his cart recklessly in my general direction, hoping to clip my Achilles or trip me or something. I racked my brain, thinking of who could it be, wondering who had I wronged in the past, or who might have a vendetta against me. Sure, I'm in the Geh Mafia, married to the Gehdmuddah, but I thought that was joke between me and my gehs.
I was still thinking about who attacked me as I left the Whole Foods, my ears were at full attention, listening for the sound of a revving motor as I crossed the street. My eyes were alert, scanning the people in the parking, hoping to catch some questionable activity. As I scanned, my eyes picked up the Parking Lot Porn stars, still locked in a full embrace. I tilted my head, said "Wow. Good for them" and all hate crime was forgotten as I started to sing "Parking Lot Makeout"
Off topic(and I've already forgotten what the topic is, but I'm sure I'll get back to it in roundabout fashion), as I pulled into the parking lot, there was a couple playing the most vigorous public game of tonsil hockey that I have ever seen, leaned up against a parked car. I think they were playing for the Suckley Cup. Seriously, faces mashing, over-the-clothes fondling, the voyuer/porn director in me wanted to walk right up to them and be like "Now, grab his ass. Caress her boob...circular-like, uh huh. Okay tilt your head to the right a little, let him bite your neck. Yeah, that's nice. Do you mind if I take some snaps?"...but I refrained. I can just imagine my mother reading this last part and saying to my dad "Your daughter's a real pig, you know that right?" Or just going right to the source and calling me..."I read your blog. You're a real pig, you know that?"...this pig's for you, Momma! Wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Whole Foods...
So, I head into Whole Foods, make a beeline for the tuna, grab what I need and head to the register. I'm standing there, entranced by some new juice they were displaying nearby, my mind roaming with thoughts of reusable grocery bags and should I buy yet another one, when all of the sudden I feel something bang into my rear bumper. No, not of my car dummies, I'm talkin bout my ass. Startled, I looked around to see what has just rammed me in ba-donk-a-donk and I see a cart rolling away from me, looking suspicious. It appeared that my solid rear bumper was no real match for the shopping cart, cuz that sucka was nearly at the entrance of the chip aisle. Big ups to my big butt. Slightly embarrassed, I said "Well alright then. That was...interesting." A lady the next aisle over who saw the whole thing started giggling a little, which only contributed to my embarrassment. Then she told me that some guy had been pushing the cart, let go of it and ran out of the store. She suggested that maybe he had an emergency and didn't realize the cart was still rolling. I jokingly said "Or maybe it's someone who doesn't like me very much and rammed me with their cart...hahahahahahehe..hmmmm" Joking had turned into "what if..", and I started to really think that maybe this was some man who didn't care for me and flung his cart recklessly in my general direction, hoping to clip my Achilles or trip me or something. I racked my brain, thinking of who could it be, wondering who had I wronged in the past, or who might have a vendetta against me. Sure, I'm in the Geh Mafia, married to the Gehdmuddah, but I thought that was joke between me and my gehs.
I was still thinking about who attacked me as I left the Whole Foods, my ears were at full attention, listening for the sound of a revving motor as I crossed the street. My eyes were alert, scanning the people in the parking, hoping to catch some questionable activity. As I scanned, my eyes picked up the Parking Lot Porn stars, still locked in a full embrace. I tilted my head, said "Wow. Good for them" and all hate crime was forgotten as I started to sing "Parking Lot Makeout"
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