Okay, I never liked George Bush to begin with, but I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He all but admitted he was mentally handicapped and surrounded himself with smart, experienced folks to compensate. Between September 11 and last Sunday, I was also impressed with his patience, his apparent level-headedness, his efforts to investigate, survey, plan.

Then bombs started dropping. I guess I knew they would–if for no other reason than that he had to save face in a dramatic, televisible way. It’s not ideal, but if he’d waited any longer, Afghanis would have begun returning to the cities, and it would have been an even greater PR nightmare. So again, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

But then I read articles like this, and I start thinking to myself, “Damn, that man must have a really small penis.”

Unfocused campaign. Too many fronts. Winter approaching. I smell Waterloo.

It’s also nice to be the son of a pharmacist.

All I’m sayin’ is that it’s nice to be a homo in the US of A–comparatively speaking. I mean, growing up as a boy-kisser in Mississippi wasn’t exactly fun and games, but it could have been considerably worse..

Ironic, isn’t it, that if I hadn’t been given up for adoption, I could have been in the same predicament.

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I haven’t been reading much lately. That may sound like an idle complaint, but trust me, it’s a very serious problem. As far as aesthetics are concerned, my desk and my half of the bedroom are a wreck, buried under delicately balanced towers of unread anthologies, plays, and the occasional periodical. Much more troubling, however, is the general effect on my productivity: I haven’t read or responded to emails for over two weeks. My apologies if you’re one of the unfortunate ones who’s foolishly chosen to write.

I have, however, taken time to read my boyfriend‘s always-amusing weblog. It may seem silly, but because of our divergent schedules–I like the sun, he likes the moon–it’s often the best way to keep up with one another. Ergo, since I have nothing else upon which to comment right now, I’ll respond to/expand on his blog:

1) Yes, boyfriend, I’m growing a little weary of CNN et al. myself. If you really wanna get your info-freak on, though, why not try a couple of sites I came across while searching for my biological father–notably TerraNet and Cyberia (especially this article)? It’s interesting to see what a vaguely Westernized Middle-Eastern state has to say about the matters at hand.

2) Of the many palindromes to be found in the English language, here are a few of my personal faves (via J-no’s linkage):

A slut nixes sex in Tulsa.

Go hang a salami, I’m a lasagna hog.

Kay, a red nude, peeped under a yak.

Lepers repel.

Llama mall.

Oh, cameras are macho.

P.S. I cut my hair again. Yikes. Pics to follow.

P.P.S. Funny how for a week or two after 9/11, all I could think/talk about was The Events. Now that we’re actually at war, things seem so distant… Am I the only one feeling this way?

Did I mention the fact that I finally spoke with mom before I left for the land of KY?

I am still alive, despite having been trapped for many long days at a conference in the Bluegrass State.

Not that I have a problem with bluegrass itself. In fact, some of the conference’s musical offerings were particularly good–much better than the other crap I was forced to endure–so the trip wasn’t a total loss. And the natives were generally nice, I guess. And it was good to have some face-to-face with colleagues…. But lemme tell ya’, darlin’: there’s nothing to do in Louisville and the food is Bel Ami-bland. Someone should introduce those folks to the wonders of salt. Apologies to any Kentuckians, but I don’t think I’ll be visiting your state again anytime soon. Thank goddess the conference moves back to Atlanta next year.

I am alive.

I am in Louisville, Kentucky.

Like tapioca, being alive in Louisville, Kentucky is neither good nor bad.

I don’t have access to email. That’s definitely bad.

This screen resolution is set to 800×600. Bad.

The food here is also–without exception–agressively bad. Like, working at it, you know.

I come home on Sunday. Which is most definitely good.

‘Till then.

Last week, I spent most of my evening hours lying in bed. With three concerts and the final performance of Hedwig approaching, I knew the weekend was going to be hellacious (P.S. I was right), so I guess I was trying to store up some energy. Or maybe I’m just getting old and fat and lazy. Who can say?

Anyway, lying there cuddled up with J-no and the hounds, I got to watch most of the PBS series Evolution. Eight hours later, I can truth fully say that the series didn’t live up to its trailer–but of course, how many features do? It was good, yes; great, nyet. It was all pitched a little low, I think. I’d heard most of that back in high school.

The one exception to this intellectual mediocrity was the segment devoted to faith and science. As a product of PBS, I’d have expected the series to come down pretty heavily on the “evolution” side of the argument. Interestingly enough, though, the bulk of the piece was devoted to Christians–particularly young, intelligent, devoutly Christian college students attempting to reconcile their studies in geology, biology, and anthropology with creationism and their own belief systems. The producers really seemed to identify with these academics, searching for a place to put their faith in a world filled with godless material facts.

Admittedly, this made me uneasy. Like a couple of you out there, I was raised Southern Baptist. Luckily, my family belonged to a pretty liberal congregation (no, that’s not a contradiction in terms), so I didn’t suffer quite as many scars as I could’ve, had I been raised in a church full of bible-thumpers. That’s not to say my relationship with Christianity was an easy one, though: to this day, the whole concept of organized religion makes me kinda queasy, and fundamentalists–with their literal interpretations of the King James Version of the bible, itself a translation many, many times over–drive me straight up the wall. So as I’m watching this segment of Evolution, these people filled with both scientific knowledge and blind faith, I notice my body tensing up: my fingers are curled into fists, my shoulders are flexed, my jaw is clenched. I like to think I can handle anything, but apparently, some things hit a little too close to home.

I like that, though. Although watching the piece made me uncomfortable, it was a pretty nifty experience–as I said, about the only one worth remembering. It put me on the defensive, made me think. In a good way.

So it was with interest that I clicked on a banner this morning, placed on the New York Times website. It read: A Critique of PBS’s Evolution. Little did I know, the sponsoring organization–The Discovery Institute–is in no way related to the much-revered, science-oriented Discovery Channel. No, the Institute is essentially a conservative Christian scientific think-tank (there’s your contradiction, Mary), and their criticisms, while technically grounded in science, belie a pronounced anxiety toward Darwin. Frankly, these folks can’t even acknowledge the rationale behind evolution–a sure sign that they’re fishing for a counter-theory that might or might not have any grounding in material fact.

Now, I’m sure lots of people–Christians and Hindus and atheists alike–had issues with the series. And although PBS is commonly seen as a media “good guy,” I know that like any corporate entity, it’s faulty. But these guys at the The Discovery Institute… They’re just plain creepy. Propaganda disguised as science.

Of course, that’s what the Christian Right says about evolutionism.

Lucky for us, there are more than a few folks out there ready to do battle with ’em.

I’m sorry, but this week’s edition of The Onion is awfully funny. And in quite a few places, it’s downright earnest. Funny, but earnest….

Could it be? Have we reached the end of irony, at least for a while?

All in all, a nice, quiet weekend: a great concert, a little serendipitous surfing, some quality time with the hounds, the penultimate performance of Hedwig, and a fair amount of beauty rest. But it’s better now that you-know-who‘s back.