There's a reason teenagers and 20-somethings are snotty, cunty, little worthless sacks of human excrement these days. Well, there's a lot of reasons, but I'm going to focus on one: horrible examples on TV.
I don't watch The Hills. Thus, I didn't know who Heidi and Spencer were until recently. They're doing a media blitz right now after appearing on some retarded show called I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here and have turned up on The Today Show and The View (watch the clips, if you dare).
These two are painfully stupid, ridiculously self-obsessed, unabashed mediawhores. And yet... people watch their shows? Why?! Does their incredibly rude, self-centered behavior resonate with kids? And if so, maybe this should be a time when we realize that art is reflecting poorly on life and maybe responsible people should change the art.
I'm not suggesting we all turn on our transistor radios and listen to some nice Beethoven. But can we at least, as a society, stop paying attention to pathetic, evil creatures like this so that they'll go away (and, as a consequence, stop polluting the minds of kids who think they're hella-cool)? When did fame become an end rather than a means to a meaningful career in film, art, or music?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
But, Daddy, I Want An Oompa Loompa NOW!
Oh, sweet justice.
Miss Fake-Titties California, Carrie Prejean, is being fired by The Donald. It seems she wasn't showing up for appearances that she was contractually bound to attend under her Miss California contract. Donald Trump reportedly said, "To me she was the sweetest thing. Everyone else -- she treated like s**t." What? A sweet little Christian girl treating people like excrement? Say it ain't so!
Carrie cannot spell, think, or even understand why she's wrong when she says it's great that we live in America where people can choose regular marriage or "opposite marriage," because guess what, sugartits? People in 44 states cannot choose. She pricelessly had this to say in recent e-mail messages to pageant officials, you know, her bosses:
"You do not cooperate with me, and you pick and chose [sic] the the [sic] things YOU want me to do. That is not happening anymore. Stop speaking for me. I have MY own voice." And, "Also I was asked to fill in for a dj on a local radio show.. I'll be reading from a show biz script Monday. I am doing this."
Oh, dear sweet peroxide bimbo. It's called a contract. You signed it. They don't need your cooperation. They get to "pick and chose [sic]." They say, "Jump!" You ask, "How high?" Sit. Shake. Stay. Good dog!
I'm thrilled that the Christian Right has this wonderful example of a follower of Jesus to speak out against gay marriage. Our blonde prophet has fake tits (the Bible says: the body is a temple), cruel personality (the Bible says: do unto others as you'd have done unto you), and a wretched sense of entitlement (the Bible says: pride goeth before the fall) that would make Baby Jesus weep. Sounds like the perfect poster child for their asinine movement.
Miss Fake-Titties California, Carrie Prejean, is being fired by The Donald. It seems she wasn't showing up for appearances that she was contractually bound to attend under her Miss California contract. Donald Trump reportedly said, "To me she was the sweetest thing. Everyone else -- she treated like s**t." What? A sweet little Christian girl treating people like excrement? Say it ain't so!
Carrie cannot spell, think, or even understand why she's wrong when she says it's great that we live in America where people can choose regular marriage or "opposite marriage," because guess what, sugartits? People in 44 states cannot choose. She pricelessly had this to say in recent e-mail messages to pageant officials, you know, her bosses:
"You do not cooperate with me, and you pick and chose [sic] the the [sic] things YOU want me to do. That is not happening anymore. Stop speaking for me. I have MY own voice." And, "Also I was asked to fill in for a dj on a local radio show.. I'll be reading from a show biz script Monday. I am doing this."
Oh, dear sweet peroxide bimbo. It's called a contract. You signed it. They don't need your cooperation. They get to "pick and chose [sic]." They say, "Jump!" You ask, "How high?" Sit. Shake. Stay. Good dog!
I'm thrilled that the Christian Right has this wonderful example of a follower of Jesus to speak out against gay marriage. Our blonde prophet has fake tits (the Bible says: the body is a temple), cruel personality (the Bible says: do unto others as you'd have done unto you), and a wretched sense of entitlement (the Bible says: pride goeth before the fall) that would make Baby Jesus weep. Sounds like the perfect poster child for their asinine movement.
Friday, June 5, 2009
You Don't Know Your Bible!
"You don't know your Bible!" That's what my great-uncle hurled at my sister this week. I think some accusations about not being "Christian enough," oh, and "tearing the family apart" were sprinkled in.
You see, my family is a bit like something you'd see on Maury Povich--except that we throw Bibles at each other instead of chairs. Actually, come to think of it, it's a little more like that nutjob on Wife Swap.
What prompted this recent breakdown in "do unto others," you ask? Well, you see, my sister is getting married this month. And like most brides, she wants to invite people to her wedding that aren't, you know, as*holes. My one cousin's wife is, to put it mildly, a liar and a sh*t starter. She's been cruel to my sister, she's been cruel to my mom, she's been cruel to me, and she's spread lies about my dad. In a family of relatively nice people, she stands out like a black lesbian at a Republican convention. So, naturally, my sister didn't invite her to the wedding.
But that's not how an uber-Christian, puritan, sweep-it-all-under-the-rug-and-smile-for-the-camera kind of family rolls, you know. And so it begins.
Last Sunday, the cousin's wife accosted my mom in the church parking lot, which is kind of funny to begin with since there are about 10 people remaining in the "church" and they're all my family members. (Some might say this fits the definition of a "cult," but I digress.) She asked my mother why she wasn't invited to the wedding. So my mom told her. In detail. And one of the reasons cited was that she had insulted her son (that would be me) by calling him "Aunt Paul" behind his back. Now, personally, I could care less. You don't get out of Small Town America without developing a thick skin. But from the perspective of a mother who has fought long and hard for an understanding of her gay son and his place in the mess that is fundamental Christianity, it's just a shi*ty thing to say.
Then my cousin came up to defend his wife. He claimed she never said it. (She did. There were witnesses.) And then, he said the words. The. Words. "Well, you know, it's pretty clear what the Bible says about homosexuality." Whoa there, biblical scholar. Is it now? You just went from respected medical doctor to a homemade sign-wielding lunatic at a "Yes on Prop 8" rally. It's clear? Clear as mud, perhaps. That, of course, set off my mother. Because, let's face it, what kind of jerk off says that to the deeply religious mother of a gay son?
And then the phone calls began. Like a great wave of faux Christian concern rolling across the plains, the family started calling me. I'm not sure what fake pleasantries they wanted to extend because I haven't been picking up the phone. More importantly, they began calling each other. My sister isn't "Christian enough," "doesn't know her Bible," and is "tearing the family apart." (Funny, I always thought it was the jerks in a family who tore it apart, not the polite bride who just wanted nice people at her wedding. Oh, but we couldn't point out the evil lurking among us. That wouldn't be--wouldn't be--wouldn't be--well, it just wouldn't be Christian, for Pete's sake!)
So I started writing. You see, nobody talks to my mama like that. And since I've never discussed the gay issue with the family, I figured there was no time like the present. I'm now up to about page 20 in my manifesto. Single-spaced. With footnotes. I cover the psychological approaches toward homosexuality, some of the scientific research (genetic/twin research/birth order research/hormonal), I do my best to dissect their religious problems with homosexuality with a ton of help from Dr. Daniel Helminiak's What the Bible Really Says About Homosexuality, and then I write about some of the effects of treating gay people like Satan spawn: higher suicide rates, lack of the most basic civil rights, children torn from loving families because they're not legal "families"... and then add one of my favorite quotations, "Let us be a little humble; let us think that the truth may not perhaps be entirely with us," from Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India.
Out of respect for my sister, I promised not to send the letter until after the wedding. It's probably better that way. I mean, I wouldn't want them to actually have to think and pretend to be nice at the same time.
In the end, I doubt much will change. They'll continue to be distant, disapproving, crocodile-smiling relatives. Objectively, I realize this is better than burning me alive, as would happen in some cultures. But sometimes I crave sheer honesty: if you're going to hate someone, at least do it up all proper-like with rage and fire and public hangings. I suspect they'll want to talk about the letter, but I won't. That's one reason I'm trying to make it so comprehensive. I spent 18 years begin terrified of their God. I won't entertain another minute of their lunacy. They can have 20-some pages of well-crafted arguments, facts, and scholarly research. If they reject it, well, there's always the literal interpretation of the Good Book to fall back upon... right after they tend to their weekly witch burning.
You see, my family is a bit like something you'd see on Maury Povich--except that we throw Bibles at each other instead of chairs. Actually, come to think of it, it's a little more like that nutjob on Wife Swap.
What prompted this recent breakdown in "do unto others," you ask? Well, you see, my sister is getting married this month. And like most brides, she wants to invite people to her wedding that aren't, you know, as*holes. My one cousin's wife is, to put it mildly, a liar and a sh*t starter. She's been cruel to my sister, she's been cruel to my mom, she's been cruel to me, and she's spread lies about my dad. In a family of relatively nice people, she stands out like a black lesbian at a Republican convention. So, naturally, my sister didn't invite her to the wedding.
But that's not how an uber-Christian, puritan, sweep-it-all-under-the-rug-and-smile-for-the-camera kind of family rolls, you know. And so it begins.
Last Sunday, the cousin's wife accosted my mom in the church parking lot, which is kind of funny to begin with since there are about 10 people remaining in the "church" and they're all my family members. (Some might say this fits the definition of a "cult," but I digress.) She asked my mother why she wasn't invited to the wedding. So my mom told her. In detail. And one of the reasons cited was that she had insulted her son (that would be me) by calling him "Aunt Paul" behind his back. Now, personally, I could care less. You don't get out of Small Town America without developing a thick skin. But from the perspective of a mother who has fought long and hard for an understanding of her gay son and his place in the mess that is fundamental Christianity, it's just a shi*ty thing to say.
Then my cousin came up to defend his wife. He claimed she never said it. (She did. There were witnesses.) And then, he said the words. The. Words. "Well, you know, it's pretty clear what the Bible says about homosexuality." Whoa there, biblical scholar. Is it now? You just went from respected medical doctor to a homemade sign-wielding lunatic at a "Yes on Prop 8" rally. It's clear? Clear as mud, perhaps. That, of course, set off my mother. Because, let's face it, what kind of jerk off says that to the deeply religious mother of a gay son?
And then the phone calls began. Like a great wave of faux Christian concern rolling across the plains, the family started calling me. I'm not sure what fake pleasantries they wanted to extend because I haven't been picking up the phone. More importantly, they began calling each other. My sister isn't "Christian enough," "doesn't know her Bible," and is "tearing the family apart." (Funny, I always thought it was the jerks in a family who tore it apart, not the polite bride who just wanted nice people at her wedding. Oh, but we couldn't point out the evil lurking among us. That wouldn't be--wouldn't be--wouldn't be--well, it just wouldn't be Christian, for Pete's sake!)
So I started writing. You see, nobody talks to my mama like that. And since I've never discussed the gay issue with the family, I figured there was no time like the present. I'm now up to about page 20 in my manifesto. Single-spaced. With footnotes. I cover the psychological approaches toward homosexuality, some of the scientific research (genetic/twin research/birth order research/hormonal), I do my best to dissect their religious problems with homosexuality with a ton of help from Dr. Daniel Helminiak's What the Bible Really Says About Homosexuality, and then I write about some of the effects of treating gay people like Satan spawn: higher suicide rates, lack of the most basic civil rights, children torn from loving families because they're not legal "families"... and then add one of my favorite quotations, "Let us be a little humble; let us think that the truth may not perhaps be entirely with us," from Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India.
Out of respect for my sister, I promised not to send the letter until after the wedding. It's probably better that way. I mean, I wouldn't want them to actually have to think and pretend to be nice at the same time.
In the end, I doubt much will change. They'll continue to be distant, disapproving, crocodile-smiling relatives. Objectively, I realize this is better than burning me alive, as would happen in some cultures. But sometimes I crave sheer honesty: if you're going to hate someone, at least do it up all proper-like with rage and fire and public hangings. I suspect they'll want to talk about the letter, but I won't. That's one reason I'm trying to make it so comprehensive. I spent 18 years begin terrified of their God. I won't entertain another minute of their lunacy. They can have 20-some pages of well-crafted arguments, facts, and scholarly research. If they reject it, well, there's always the literal interpretation of the Good Book to fall back upon... right after they tend to their weekly witch burning.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Dr. Tiller the Babykiller
This weekend, Dr. Tiller, a man who performs abortions, including late-term abortions, was murdered while attending church.
The alleged shooter, who is now in custody, had this to say: "To call this a crime [in other words, killing the guy] is too simplistic. There is Christian scripture that would support this." In other words: it's OK to kill him because God said to.
Operation Rescue had this to say: "George Tiller was a mass murderer and we cannot stop saying that. He was an evil man -- his hands were covered with blood." In their minds, abortion is always wrong; therefore, this man deserved to die.
I don't know the answer to the question of when life begins. And it frightens me that people who probably aren't too terribly bright think it's OK to take the law into their own hands because they do unequivocally know. So maybe it's time to pose a few theories.
Some people think that life begins at conception: when sperm meets egg. Seems awfully early to call that a baby--especially since it couldn't possibly exist outside the womb, but it's not an invalid conclusion on its face.
Before modern technology, Catholics and old legal scholars used to think a fetus became a child when quickening occurred. Quickening is when the mother first feels the baby stir. With the advent of ultrasound and such, Catholics apparently moved up their idea of when life begins.
My mom takes a unique biblical take on the topic. She points to Genesis where God breathes "the breath of life into Adam." Under her take, abortion isn't murder because the baby hasn't exited the birth canal and breathed yet. Pretty interesting logic, if you ask me!
Then there is the Ramsey Theory. The Ramsey Theory of Death holds that you are not dead until your heart stop functioning, your lungs stop functioning, and your brain stops functioning. Thus, if the absence of these three characteristics signifies death, the presence of one of them could mean life. When does the embryo's heart start to beat? As early as two weeks. Under this theory, birth control and "the morning after pill" are always morally OK. But terminating the pregnancy after two weeks could be murdering a child.
Finally, there's what the U.S. courts currently say. The basic holding of Roe v. Wade is that a mother has a constitutionally protected privacy interest in terminating a pregnancy up until the point of viability. 410 U.S. 113, 154 (1973). Viability is defined as "potentially able to live outside the mother's womb, albeit with artificial aid." Id. at 160. Roe was decided in 1973. Since then, the point of viability will now come more quickly due to better technology. Why chose viability at the cut off point? Well, according to the Court, at that point the mother's right to choose becomes outweighed by the fetus's potential right to life. Id. at 164-65. Some legal thinkers have extrapolated the "point of viability" argument to conclude that arguments for abortion could also frighteningly be used for infanticide. After all, a baby isn't really viable until s/he is several years old. Before then, the baby depends on the care of an adult or s/he will die.
Needless to say, when life begins is not clear.
Even if you settle on a definition, once you get beyond the legal and moral questions, you may want to look at the social questions. Many women who seek abortions are young. They cannot afford a child. They cannot properly raise a child and give him or her even the most basic things a child needs and deserves.
It may seem crass to weigh what very well may be a potential human life in such economic terms, but... is it completely wrong to think that maybe some lives aren't worth living? Maybe terminating the pregnancy is better for all involved: impoverished mother and almost-certainly-doomed-to-failure child? Indeed, famed economist Steven Levitt argues in Freakonomics quite persuasively that the drop in crime in the 90s was a direct result of Roe v. Wade. The very children who would have grown up impoverished, without fathers, without proper guidance, who likely would have turned to drugs and violence were the ones who were often aborted instead.
It's dangerous to start weighing potential human lives in terms of social results. After all, it's not much different than the man who murdered Dr. Tiller: to him, the ends justified the means. But it's instructive, at least, to see how legal and moral policy can produce profound social results.
Finally there is the whole issue of "don't tell me what to do with my body." The jurisprudence of the Supreme Court shows a march toward greater freedom to do what one wants with one's body. First, the Court struck down a law which had prohibited married people from using contraceptives. Then, unmarried people. Over time, these decisions would be used to invalidate laws that prohibited consenting gay adults from having sex in the privacy of their own home under penalty of imprisonment (in 2003, no less)! At some point, do you not have to balance not only a woman's right to choose with the fetus's potential right to life but also a woman's right to do what she wants with her body without government interference with the government's vague right to protect the life of a fetus that may--or may not--be a person?
The point is simply this: No one can definitively say when life begins. Definitions have shifted over the centuries and even today we have answers that range from the precise moment of conception to the precise moment the baby takes his or her first breath of oxygen after birth.
Because we do not--and cannot--know, we should be respectful of others' opinions. Oh, and we shouldn't kill abortion doctors.
The alleged shooter, who is now in custody, had this to say: "To call this a crime [in other words, killing the guy] is too simplistic. There is Christian scripture that would support this." In other words: it's OK to kill him because God said to.
Operation Rescue had this to say: "George Tiller was a mass murderer and we cannot stop saying that. He was an evil man -- his hands were covered with blood." In their minds, abortion is always wrong; therefore, this man deserved to die.
I don't know the answer to the question of when life begins. And it frightens me that people who probably aren't too terribly bright think it's OK to take the law into their own hands because they do unequivocally know. So maybe it's time to pose a few theories.
Some people think that life begins at conception: when sperm meets egg. Seems awfully early to call that a baby--especially since it couldn't possibly exist outside the womb, but it's not an invalid conclusion on its face.
Before modern technology, Catholics and old legal scholars used to think a fetus became a child when quickening occurred. Quickening is when the mother first feels the baby stir. With the advent of ultrasound and such, Catholics apparently moved up their idea of when life begins.
My mom takes a unique biblical take on the topic. She points to Genesis where God breathes "the breath of life into Adam." Under her take, abortion isn't murder because the baby hasn't exited the birth canal and breathed yet. Pretty interesting logic, if you ask me!
Then there is the Ramsey Theory. The Ramsey Theory of Death holds that you are not dead until your heart stop functioning, your lungs stop functioning, and your brain stops functioning. Thus, if the absence of these three characteristics signifies death, the presence of one of them could mean life. When does the embryo's heart start to beat? As early as two weeks. Under this theory, birth control and "the morning after pill" are always morally OK. But terminating the pregnancy after two weeks could be murdering a child.
Finally, there's what the U.S. courts currently say. The basic holding of Roe v. Wade is that a mother has a constitutionally protected privacy interest in terminating a pregnancy up until the point of viability. 410 U.S. 113, 154 (1973). Viability is defined as "potentially able to live outside the mother's womb, albeit with artificial aid." Id. at 160. Roe was decided in 1973. Since then, the point of viability will now come more quickly due to better technology. Why chose viability at the cut off point? Well, according to the Court, at that point the mother's right to choose becomes outweighed by the fetus's potential right to life. Id. at 164-65. Some legal thinkers have extrapolated the "point of viability" argument to conclude that arguments for abortion could also frighteningly be used for infanticide. After all, a baby isn't really viable until s/he is several years old. Before then, the baby depends on the care of an adult or s/he will die.
Needless to say, when life begins is not clear.
Even if you settle on a definition, once you get beyond the legal and moral questions, you may want to look at the social questions. Many women who seek abortions are young. They cannot afford a child. They cannot properly raise a child and give him or her even the most basic things a child needs and deserves.
It may seem crass to weigh what very well may be a potential human life in such economic terms, but... is it completely wrong to think that maybe some lives aren't worth living? Maybe terminating the pregnancy is better for all involved: impoverished mother and almost-certainly-doomed-to-failure child? Indeed, famed economist Steven Levitt argues in Freakonomics quite persuasively that the drop in crime in the 90s was a direct result of Roe v. Wade. The very children who would have grown up impoverished, without fathers, without proper guidance, who likely would have turned to drugs and violence were the ones who were often aborted instead.
It's dangerous to start weighing potential human lives in terms of social results. After all, it's not much different than the man who murdered Dr. Tiller: to him, the ends justified the means. But it's instructive, at least, to see how legal and moral policy can produce profound social results.
Finally there is the whole issue of "don't tell me what to do with my body." The jurisprudence of the Supreme Court shows a march toward greater freedom to do what one wants with one's body. First, the Court struck down a law which had prohibited married people from using contraceptives. Then, unmarried people. Over time, these decisions would be used to invalidate laws that prohibited consenting gay adults from having sex in the privacy of their own home under penalty of imprisonment (in 2003, no less)! At some point, do you not have to balance not only a woman's right to choose with the fetus's potential right to life but also a woman's right to do what she wants with her body without government interference with the government's vague right to protect the life of a fetus that may--or may not--be a person?
The point is simply this: No one can definitively say when life begins. Definitions have shifted over the centuries and even today we have answers that range from the precise moment of conception to the precise moment the baby takes his or her first breath of oxygen after birth.
Because we do not--and cannot--know, we should be respectful of others' opinions. Oh, and we shouldn't kill abortion doctors.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I'm old
I remember asking Mr. Deramo, my ninth grade American History teacher, how you know when you're old. He laughed, said that was an excellent question (which is probably why I remember this--stroke the ego! stroke the ego!), and told me that when he had daughters, he realized he didn't like their music. Hence: old. The world had changed and he was left in the dust.
I'm 29. If I had shacked up and spawned at 20, I'd have a 9 year-old girl by now. She'd probably be into the Jonas Brothers, which, let's be honest here, is really just a less talented New Kids On the Block.
But it's not just music. It's technology and fashion. I remember a time when I noticed all the nifty little trends. I may not have followed them, but I at least was aware they were around me. Yesterday, I got off the train and saw a bunch of kids with these technicolor sneakers. I looked in a store window: more technicolor sneakers. I kept looking as I walked down the street: more technicolor! Did this change overnight? Or was I asleep at the wheel?
And then there's Twitter. Dear God, for the life of me, I don't get Twitter. A friend of mine described it as "micro-blogging." But it's limited to 140 characters. Can anything important really be analyzed in 140 characters? Anything? I suppose I "get it" for little news snippets. But most people using it use it to update you on their mundane events: "I'm on the bus. Lady next 2 me smells like fish. Tee hee." Really? Is this what we've come to? Does anyone care? And if they do, shouldn't they find something better to spend their precious seconds of life caring about?
Twitter to me is sort of like the pretty blond girl with fake titties you all know--we'll call this hypothetical one "Miss California." She's dumb, she's fake, she's new cool kid on the block (aka Fox News guest host), but eventually people are going to realize she's as useless as the saline in her chest cavity. Of course, I could be entirely wrong and Twitter could be the new internal combustion engine. What would I know? I'm old. Oh, and get off my damn lawn, you kids!
I'm 29. If I had shacked up and spawned at 20, I'd have a 9 year-old girl by now. She'd probably be into the Jonas Brothers, which, let's be honest here, is really just a less talented New Kids On the Block.
But it's not just music. It's technology and fashion. I remember a time when I noticed all the nifty little trends. I may not have followed them, but I at least was aware they were around me. Yesterday, I got off the train and saw a bunch of kids with these technicolor sneakers. I looked in a store window: more technicolor sneakers. I kept looking as I walked down the street: more technicolor! Did this change overnight? Or was I asleep at the wheel?
And then there's Twitter. Dear God, for the life of me, I don't get Twitter. A friend of mine described it as "micro-blogging." But it's limited to 140 characters. Can anything important really be analyzed in 140 characters? Anything? I suppose I "get it" for little news snippets. But most people using it use it to update you on their mundane events: "I'm on the bus. Lady next 2 me smells like fish. Tee hee." Really? Is this what we've come to? Does anyone care? And if they do, shouldn't they find something better to spend their precious seconds of life caring about?
Twitter to me is sort of like the pretty blond girl with fake titties you all know--we'll call this hypothetical one "Miss California." She's dumb, she's fake, she's new cool kid on the block (aka Fox News guest host), but eventually people are going to realize she's as useless as the saline in her chest cavity. Of course, I could be entirely wrong and Twitter could be the new internal combustion engine. What would I know? I'm old. Oh, and get off my damn lawn, you kids!
Monday, May 18, 2009
I Want You To Like Me When I Lose Too!
This is just precious: http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2009/football/nfl/05/18/harrison-obama/index.html?cnn=yes
Oh, silly little football player. It's like Marilyn Manson sings, "They love you when you're on all the covers. When you're not, then they love another."
Oh, silly little football player. It's like Marilyn Manson sings, "They love you when you're on all the covers. When you're not, then they love another."
Friday, May 8, 2009
Hypocrisy
I had a sociology professor in college who wanted to take a novel approach to teaching us about homosexuality. He said, essentially, if you want to take verses out of context in the Bible and believe what you think they mean about gay people, fine. But you have to do it for everything. So right after you get to those good ole "abomination" verses, you had to read the other verses nearby. (Ignoring the fact that the Greek word for "abomination" that was used actually meant a ritual impurity that offended the Jewish Holiness Code--not a moral sin, which had its own Greek word if the Bible's original authors had intended for it to be a sin.) So... what else can't you do if you read those charming verses from Leviticus? Curse your mom or dad, screw a girl on her period, cut your hair on the sides (or your beard), eat pork, eat shellfish, and wear cotton/poly blend clothes. What can you do? Oh, that's right, buy slaves! The Bible is full of great ideas for 2009!
Besides Biblical cherry picking, several other things got me thinking about hypocrisy lately: Miss California, DC Councilman Marion Barry, and the new documentary outing gay politicians: Outrage.
Miss California is, as Perez Hilton put it, a dumb bitch. But she's not a dumb bitch because she's against gay marriage, nor is she a dumb bitch for telling a gay judge her beliefs and thereby possibly losing first place. She's a dumb bitch because she's a liar and a hypocrite. You see, Miss California had some professionally taken naughty pictures when she was a teen. Nothing wrong with that. Well, unless you lie and tell the Miss California officials that no such pictures exist. And when one trickles out, you lie again and say that it's "the only one," only for more to keep trickling out. Hmmmm. You see, that sort of violates your contract. I know you're blond, honey, so that's a big word, but what it means is this: you could lose your pretty little sash. You see, lying in a legal context can have consequences. That's one reason your God warns against it.
But Miss California didn't just lie, she also displayed one of the Bible's least favorite traits: hypocrisy. Even if you're not going to buy my schtick on what the Bible really says about homosexuality, you can sleep well at night knowing that the Bible says nothing about same-sex marriage. Nothing. Yet Miss California took it upon herself to become a crusader for keeping loving, consenting adults in legal limbo. Not very Christian, you see, especially when she violated the Bible's clear commandment about dressing like a hobag: "Likewise, I want women to adorn themselves with proper clothing, modestly and discreetly, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly garments." 1 Tim. 2:9. (Wonder if all those Southern Baptist ladies with their gaudy Sunday dresses have ever bothered to put down their mint juleps and read 1 Tim 2:9?)
To paraphrase the Book of Matthew: Those who throw Bibles at others should first pull the Bible out of their own ass... and read it. In Greek, preferably.
Then there's Marion Barry. Oh, Marion. You're too precious for words. Marion Barry is the former mayor of D.C. He is now the councilmember from the poorest district of D.C.: the Eighth Ward. Out of twelve D.C. city councilmembers, he was the only one to vote against an ordinance that would require the District to recognize same-sex marriages performed in other jurisdictions where they were legal. Then he gave a speech about how this is a moral issue and he was a "moral leader." However, as Jon Stewart rightly reminded us, this is the same Marion Barry who was caught in a hotel room--when he was the mayor--smoking crack with a prostitute. He famously said afterward, "Bitch set me up!"
I may not know much, but I do think that crackheads who cheat on their wives don't get to lecture the rest of us on what's moral or not. Oh well. Maybe he was high.
Finally, there's a new documentary coming out about those who do not... come out. It's about closeted gay politicians, but not just any closeted gay politicians. It's about the ones who vote against gay rights and then go back to their condos (or airport restrooms) and let it all hang out.
Since at least the dawn of the gay rights movement, there's been an ongoing debate about when--if ever--someone should be shoved out of the closet. On one hand, you have a right to personal privacy, and this is America, after all: the Land of Rugged Individualism. On the other hand, you have a duty to your community, to those like you, and perhaps most importantly to those who come after you, so that they do not have to endure the struggles you have endured.
There was a time when I thought people should be forcibly outed for "the good of the cause." But then I had friends in college who had lost everything when they came out: family, friends, and financial support. I know people who have lost inheritances. I know people who have been ex-communicated from their churches. Personally, I've suffered family fallout from fundamentalist family members who have forgotten the second greatest commandment is "thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." Matt 22:37-40. Coming out is a highly personal decision when you're a private figure. But when you're a public figure, things change.
Thus, it is with much thought that I subscribed to the Barney Frank theory of outing a few months ago: "I think there's a right to privacy. But the right to privacy should not be a right to hypocrisy. And people who want to demonize other people, shouldn't then be able to close the door and go home and do it themselves."
Miss California, Marion Barry, and all the gay closeted Republican politicians out there: chew on that for a bit. (Pssst... and Miss Cali, put some clothes on, you trashy tart! Jesus is watching!)
Besides Biblical cherry picking, several other things got me thinking about hypocrisy lately: Miss California, DC Councilman Marion Barry, and the new documentary outing gay politicians: Outrage.
Miss California is, as Perez Hilton put it, a dumb bitch. But she's not a dumb bitch because she's against gay marriage, nor is she a dumb bitch for telling a gay judge her beliefs and thereby possibly losing first place. She's a dumb bitch because she's a liar and a hypocrite. You see, Miss California had some professionally taken naughty pictures when she was a teen. Nothing wrong with that. Well, unless you lie and tell the Miss California officials that no such pictures exist. And when one trickles out, you lie again and say that it's "the only one," only for more to keep trickling out. Hmmmm. You see, that sort of violates your contract. I know you're blond, honey, so that's a big word, but what it means is this: you could lose your pretty little sash. You see, lying in a legal context can have consequences. That's one reason your God warns against it.
But Miss California didn't just lie, she also displayed one of the Bible's least favorite traits: hypocrisy. Even if you're not going to buy my schtick on what the Bible really says about homosexuality, you can sleep well at night knowing that the Bible says nothing about same-sex marriage. Nothing. Yet Miss California took it upon herself to become a crusader for keeping loving, consenting adults in legal limbo. Not very Christian, you see, especially when she violated the Bible's clear commandment about dressing like a hobag: "Likewise, I want women to adorn themselves with proper clothing, modestly and discreetly, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly garments." 1 Tim. 2:9. (Wonder if all those Southern Baptist ladies with their gaudy Sunday dresses have ever bothered to put down their mint juleps and read 1 Tim 2:9?)
To paraphrase the Book of Matthew: Those who throw Bibles at others should first pull the Bible out of their own ass... and read it. In Greek, preferably.
Then there's Marion Barry. Oh, Marion. You're too precious for words. Marion Barry is the former mayor of D.C. He is now the councilmember from the poorest district of D.C.: the Eighth Ward. Out of twelve D.C. city councilmembers, he was the only one to vote against an ordinance that would require the District to recognize same-sex marriages performed in other jurisdictions where they were legal. Then he gave a speech about how this is a moral issue and he was a "moral leader." However, as Jon Stewart rightly reminded us, this is the same Marion Barry who was caught in a hotel room--when he was the mayor--smoking crack with a prostitute. He famously said afterward, "Bitch set me up!"
I may not know much, but I do think that crackheads who cheat on their wives don't get to lecture the rest of us on what's moral or not. Oh well. Maybe he was high.
Finally, there's a new documentary coming out about those who do not... come out. It's about closeted gay politicians, but not just any closeted gay politicians. It's about the ones who vote against gay rights and then go back to their condos (or airport restrooms) and let it all hang out.
Since at least the dawn of the gay rights movement, there's been an ongoing debate about when--if ever--someone should be shoved out of the closet. On one hand, you have a right to personal privacy, and this is America, after all: the Land of Rugged Individualism. On the other hand, you have a duty to your community, to those like you, and perhaps most importantly to those who come after you, so that they do not have to endure the struggles you have endured.
There was a time when I thought people should be forcibly outed for "the good of the cause." But then I had friends in college who had lost everything when they came out: family, friends, and financial support. I know people who have lost inheritances. I know people who have been ex-communicated from their churches. Personally, I've suffered family fallout from fundamentalist family members who have forgotten the second greatest commandment is "thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." Matt 22:37-40. Coming out is a highly personal decision when you're a private figure. But when you're a public figure, things change.
Thus, it is with much thought that I subscribed to the Barney Frank theory of outing a few months ago: "I think there's a right to privacy. But the right to privacy should not be a right to hypocrisy. And people who want to demonize other people, shouldn't then be able to close the door and go home and do it themselves."
Miss California, Marion Barry, and all the gay closeted Republican politicians out there: chew on that for a bit. (Pssst... and Miss Cali, put some clothes on, you trashy tart! Jesus is watching!)
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