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Another mark against the “Obama is Jesus” crowd: our newest President really dislikes the filthy people that have the audacity to love others of the same gender.
Let’s count down the ways President-elect Obama has revealed that when he said, “I am a fierce advocate for equality for gay and lesbian Americans,” he was really just talking out his ass:
1. Both Obama and Biden are strongly against the idea of gay marriage. They have said nothing to imply otherwise and openly agreed with Palin’s conservative stance in debates on this issue.
2. Obama agreed to hold his first debate in a fiercely anti-gay evangelical church, where he engaged in enough moderate-conservative political posturing to destroy any idea that he’s at all into equality.
3. Obama never said anything about the looming specter of Prop 8 over the course of his long campaigning. And I partly hold his silence over the matter at fault for its passing.
4. Obama hired Donnie McClurkin, a fiercely anti-gay gospel singer, to lead his rallies in South Carolina
5. In response to the obvious uproar over #4, Obama then hired openly gay Rev. Andy Sidden. To apologize, he wrote this letter:
Pastor McClurkin believes and has stated things about sexual orientation that are deeply hurtful and offensive to many Americans, most especially to gay Americans. This cannot and should not be denied… At the same time, a great many African Americans share Pastor McClurkin’s beliefs. This also cannot be ignored.
Actually, Mr. President-Elect, I’m expecting you to ignore the opinions of bigots and other opponents to equality. So is every one else with their heads screwed on straight.
6. Obama has selected Rick Warren, who compares homosexuality to incest, to lead his inauguration prayer.
Let’s examine what’s wrong with #6. The fact that Obama needs an inauguration prayer says a hell of a lot about his “commitment” to change. The kicker is that that prayer will be offered by an anti-gay pastor says “hey, thanks for getting me elected liberals. Now I’m going to do just what every other conservative would do: ignore your bleeding-heart facts for the lovely bigotry inspired by this kind of religion.”
It’s a little early to be saying Not My President, but I’m not holding out much hope after similar slights against women’s rights and pro-choice sentiments by the President Elect were revealed in the course of his campaign.
Note to the wise: it’s not a good idea to mock the sentiments of the party that got you elected in the first moments of your presidency. We might just have to decide to hold a gay orgy on the White House lawn to shock and offend your bigot ass.
When I first fell in love, I didn’t know it. My world revolved around that person. We were attached at the hip. Everything they did was beautiful, even the bad things were just insights into their glorious humanity. Their looks were impressive, but came out faded like a watercolor painting compared to the splendor of their whole personality.
You’ve probably noticed by now that I’ve carefully used the only third-person gender-neutral pronoun in the common vernacular. That would, of course, be because the first person I fell in love with was a girl.
I did this quite often before: an intense attachment to one female friend. I would acknowledge the attractiveness of boys, and want to date them. But this wanting to date and spend time with boys was mixed in with all this hoopla about holding hands and dates and flowers. Besides, all the boys still thought I had cooties, being that I wore glasses and thought reading science fiction was the coolest fucking hobby ever. I had tons and tons of friends that happened to be boys, as long as I remembered to be myself and stop acting out the script of femininity.
However, my best friends were always female. I kind of look on those series of intense co-dependent friendships as a lead-in to falling in love with her, and the realization many years later that I was not straight.
To this day, I really regret not taking the chance at something right in front of me. Did I mention that the girl I fell in love with was openly bisexual? She was everything I once wanted to be: open, free, spontaneous, tall, intelligent, and intimidatingly feminine. I was, or so I thought, awkward, fat, and short. Those feelings of inadequacy were always banished around her, though, because compliments, sincere ones, would fall from her lips spontaneously. She probably had no idea how her little comments on my cute shirt and pretty eyes made my year. I was only really close with her for a semester or so, but I’ll never forget the way she made me feel.
It’s odd, come to think of it, how different love is from books and movies, and how much better. For one, it never just happened. I never knew, and didn’t until she was years out of my life. I got some sort of clue with how casual I am with most of my friendships but how seriously I’d take her. I’d dress up, just for her. I’d clean out my car, just for her. I’d make up stories about sleeping wrong just so she’d give me a neck massage. I’d stop myself from gushing about her intelligence, her hair–beautiful long or short–, her glorious operatic voice, her intensity, her drive, the way she drove most people mad with hate, and how it was completely unearned.
Most people really did not like her. Boys, for one, would rather date their sister than accept her invitation to dances. She never waited for them, she walked right up and asked. I never understood how anyone could dislike her; how anyone could think she was mean or petty or rude. To me, she was perfect. Even when she wasn’t perfect, she was still perfect.
I look back and think of all the hints. She openly flirted with me. Maybe it was youthful experimentation. Perhaps the reason we lost touch so quickly is becuase she was hurt by my dismissal. I berate myself, up and down, for not figuring out that I loved her sooner. Even today, four years after I fell in love, I wonder, “what if?” What if I had taken her up on those silly offers to make out for fun? What if I had spontaneously kissed her those thousand times I wished I had? What if I had, stupid as I am apt to be, figured out that I’m not straight, not at all, and as many times as I avowed I was (did I mention that she never, smart girl, believed me?) would didn’t change that?
I regret that I threw away my first kiss on some boy that I hate to this day for his callousness. I regret that I never figured out that I loved her until she was gone and engaged to someone else. I regret that I was not strong enough to love myself for just myself, not for a fake image of what I ought to be: straight. After all, what I loved in her was what I couldn’t face in myself.
But I never ever regret falling in love. Because I know that it’s possible, that even as fucked up as this world is, that it’s possible to find someone else that is perfect for you, even when you fight and hate each other and do stupid things. Because they’re them, and you’re you, and that’s perfect.
More than anything, I miss that. All I can hope for is that next time I have the strength to fight for it and see it for what it is before it’s gone.
I am a lazy no-good navel-gazer. With the advent of the new semester my routine has transformed from sitting on my ass at home to paying thousands of dollars to sit on my ass on campus. Nevertheless, I have woefully neglected my blog and my loyal readership of three, maybe four, people that serve as my awesome echo-chamber of personal superiority. Or so I’ve been told.
Nevertheless, there is this nasty story about the federal government’s newest scheme to reassert dominance over the wayward uterus that I feel miserable about not covering when it was first brought to my attention. Scheduled to go into effect in late September, the proposal requires all agencies receiving aid from the Department of Health and Human Services to sign agreements stating that they understand that “discriminatory” actions taken against those who object to abortion on either moral or religious justifications will result in a loss of federal aid. Long story short, Bush and his godbag posse would like to make it illegal to “discriminate” against people that refuse to do their jobs, assuming that posing a significant barrier to someone’s full exercise of reproductive agency is protected by law, while the actual exercise of that reproductive agency itself is not.
Furthermore, the proposal seeks to redefine abortion as:
…any of the various procedures — including the prescription, dispensing and administration of any drug or the performance of any procedure or any other action — that results in the termination of the life of a human being in utero between conception and natural birth, whether before or after implantation.
Obviously, Washington has now decided that it knows a hell of a lot more about abortion and pregnancy than every credible gynecologist on the planet. Since 1965, the American Academy of Obstetrics and Gynecology (ACOG) has defined pregnancy as the advent of “conception… the implantation of a fertilized ovum”. The horseshit proposed above (pay attention to the emphasis added by moi) would classify things like hormonal birth control and Plan B as “abortion”, whereas the ACOG–a far more credible source–has defined such measures as plain-Jane birth control. If this measure goes into affect next month without challenge, millions of women across the nation could be denied access to simple birth control by the whims of people permitted to not do their jobs and still get paid.
Just to be clear, I do hate the focus on tits and ass at the Olympics. I think it’s incredibly demeaning that women are required to wear smaller and more revealing uniforms then the men on almost every event. Also, it doesn’t help that shitbags like Simon Barnes, without a shred of irony, are upset that the women’s swimming uniforms compress their breasts so he can’t ogle them at the same time he feels threatened enough by the male synchro divers to remark, “it all looks like a wonderfully elegant gay suicide pact.”
In short, he finds the lack of female breasts to drool over insulting at the same time that he feels that the perceived sexuality of the male divers (who must be gay, because semi-naked men are obscene and catering to other men by default, not women or, shockingly, no one) is worthy of denigration.
Nevertheless, I have to admit that the endless parade of shirtless male swimmers and scantily-clad sweaty and toned female volleyball players is enormously titillating. The athleticism and sportsmanship is way more attractive than any mock coquettishness in a sleazy pornographic film.
I’m fairly aware that half the reason the women volleyball players are supposed to wear as little as possible is for ratings. But, God help me, it’s working. I usually like watching gymnastics more than volleyball, but I simply cannot turn away from Misty May and Kerri Walsh’s beautiful and awe-inspiring sportsmanship. I’m also incredibly disappointed by the lack of coverage on female soccer, which is also one of my favorite events.
To be honest, I would really like to give men as a group the benefit of the doubt. However, headlines continue to damage my optimism with extensive coverage of the direct correlation between men, a position of power, and a total lack of respect for their wives.
You’ve no doubt, by now, heard of former Presidential hopeful Edward’s disgusting affair with a campaign worker while his wife was being treated for terminal cancer. Now, he admits to the affair, although he denies that he fathered an illegitimate child. Honestly, I cannot determine whether or not he is telling the truth about the nonexistence of his child at this point, because the only concrete fact I have to work with is that John Edwards is a lying sack of shit and a scumbag.
Regardless, my heart goes out to Elizabeth Edwards, and I hope that her recovery is not strained by the stress of her husband’s extramarital affair. It’s truly heartbreaking to see such strong political women brought low by their husbands.
The blogosphere has already kicked into high gear, most proclaiming that Edward’s affair shouldn’t affect his political career. I highly disagree.
Is someone’s character relevant to the job they do? Absolutely. I wouldn’t want a narcissist as my boss no matter how good he or she is for the company. Likewise, I do think that someone that talks about the definition of marriage and women’s issues should be someone that has respect for his wife, who has been nothing but supportive throughout his career, at least enough to have the decency to seek a divorce before moving onto younger “conquests”.
Does Edward’s cheating surprise me? Not really. I would like to say that I have a better opinion of men in power, but I don’t. The rules of the glass ceiling are: (1) you must be twice as smart and ambitious as a man to succeed and (2) you must be thrice as moral and likable. In short, men can be cheating douchebags and still run the world. Women can’t even secretly hate babies and expect to be elected to a city council position.
I will be away until Monday with several friends. We have rented an extremely tiny houseboat on Lake Powell (in southern Utah), and I’m leaving tomorrow at the ghastly hour of midnight. Lucky for me, some other poor sap volunteered to drive seven hours in the middle of the night, so I’ll probably pass out in a hapless friend’s lap as soon as we hit the interstate. I’ll be looking forward to three days of partying, swiming, and maybe jet skiing if I have the extra cash. The only thing that could make this weekend more exciting would be the ability to bring my cat.
On an impulse today while out with friends, I decided to get two 16ga helix piercings in my left ear for shits and giggles. I think they look stylin’ on me!
I really hope that my piercings will be mostly healed by the end of the month. I would not look forward to traveling with infected ears. Cartilage, why are you such a pain in the ass to heal?