Update: Peter LaBarbera hasn’t said that the congregants at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church brought Sunday’s deadly shooting on themselves–not yet, anyway. However, LaBarbera has used the incident as fodder in his fight against hate crimes legislation:
“It proves our case” that hate crimes laws are not necessary, said Americans for Truth About Homosexuality president Peter LaBarbera. The media spotlight on Adkisson will “give more attention and better treatment to this case.”
“The fact is, this case will get the attention it deserves,” he continued, “and I believe this man could be given the death penalty, without any extra help from the Feds and any sort of hate crimes prosecution.”
Which would be a convenient argument for someone to make if they happened to take LaBarbera and a wiffleball bat miles from where anyone could hear him scream. Not that anyone has, but if they did….
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I cannot stand Mad Men.
There, I said it.
I’m sorry, Jonno. Sorry, Jocko. Sorry, most of America’s cable subscribers, but the show drives me crazy, and frankly, I have enough crazy-inducing stuff in my life without fictional characters adding to the mix.
I’ve tried to get into it–really tried. I was a huge fan of The Sopranos, so I’ve given Mad Men countless chances. But instead of the nuanced, engaging characters and stories we got on The Sopranos, Mad Men comes across as a flat, disaffected period piece full of clunky writing and a plot that can be summarized as follows:
It’s the 60s!
People smoke! A lot!
Also: they drink! A lot!
Women aren’t treated well!
Neither are black people! The ones we see anyway!
It’s the 60s!
And so on.
I mean, half of the drama comes from us, the viewers, saying to ourselves, “Did people really think like that? If these folks only knew what was coming! Ho ho!” A history lesson does not a TV series make.
It reminds me of that French and Saunders sketch, “The House of Idiot”–the one that pokes fun at films that are art directed to within an inch of their lives, but forget to offer any substance:
On the upside, Adult Swim is especially good on Sunday nights, so I’ll still get in some quality time on the sofa. Huzzah.
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While trolling the feeds for Fleshbot fodder, I came across this brilliant slip of the day:
“Hailing from Brazil, Felipe is finger-licking good. He’s sure to warm the cuckolds of your heart, so be sure to drop by and check him out.”
If you’re in a porn-friendly environment, you can check the totally NSFW link here, but trust me: the gaffe is better than the goods.
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First, there’s a “tropical disturbance” in the Gulf, which has turned the sky a color that falls halfway between “angry” and “Surrender Dorothy”. And now, of course, there’s this:
An alligator that somehow got into the eastbound left lane of Interstate 10 on the Bonne Carre Spillway has been hit by a vehicle and is slowing traffic to a crawl, state police said.
The alligator is still alive and a nuisance officer from St. Charles Parish has been dispatched to try and remove the animal, a Louisiana State Police spokesman said.
Like a lot of people, I read the news about yesterday’s tragic shooting at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in Knoxville. Unlike a lot of people, my second thought–right behind sorrow for the victims–involved a mental wager on how long it’ll be before some wingnut claims that the shooting was divine payback for the church’s open-armed acceptance of gays, lesbians, and musical theatre.
And my third thought was wondering whether the church had formally acquired the rights to Annie.
Clearly, I am a cynical, jaded, emotionless husk. Clearly, I am no longer human.
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Coleen Jennings, Bethany Mills The couple affirmed their partnership on Wednesday night at a commitment ceremony, which included a neo-pagan ritual called handfasting.
Of course it did.
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A WEEK OF REVELATIONS (AND TIME-WASTING)
I have come to accept the fact that the brain–at least my brain–functions in strange and mysterious ways. Lately, I’ve been suffering from two afflictions: (1) talking to myself in French (like I used to do in high school), and (2) blurting out random Google search phrases. Item #1 isn’t much of a problem–hell, it keeps me mildly fluent in a foreign tongue–but item #2 is annoying and potentially awkward. So far, it’s only been noticed by Jonno; he’ll ask me something innocuous like, “What do you want to do for dinner?”, and I’ll reply “vagina handbag Montessori”. Which is fine around him, but it might make my coworkers raise an eyebrow. Or two.
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The New York Times says that the Times-Picayune is reviewing New Orleans-area restaurants again, for the first time since the storm. Which is something I wouldn’t have ordinarily noticed, since I don’t subscribe to the Picayune and since its online version makes my eyes bleed. Still, you have to wonder: if the paper is going to relaunch its reviews, and if New Orleans has more restaurants now than before Katrina, why the hell would the Picayune wanna review an eatery that’s been around for decades–much less one as dull and snoozy as Mr. B’s? Srsly.
I am vaguely obsessed with the politically incorrect, evil genius-style flash game Pandemic 2. Who knew spreading death and disease would be so complicated? The Old Testament makes it seem like a breeze.
* * * * *
There’s something about the McCain campaign’s new look that feels an awful lot like an ad for Shoney’s breakfast buffet. Or possibly an Andrews Sisters tribute show. In either case: ooooold. McCain might wanna get that bullet wound in his foot checked out.
* * * * *
Although I’m wary of McCain, that doesn’t mean I’m 100% ready to spread for Obama–at least, not without some cautious, probing foreplay. In fact, I find anti-Obama literature really interesting. He’s getting a lot of good coverage these days, and it’s nice to be reminded that he’s not a messiah, but a politician. Keeps things in check, I think.
* * * * *
Our house is no stranger to Lady Tyra von Fullofherself and the gloriously tragic America’s Next Top Model (which, for those keeping score, has produced no top models in America or elsewhere). However, I hope that Jonno and I stay mostly oblivious to the train-wrecky allure of Britain’s Missing Top Model, ’cause it’s, um, kinda dull and futup:
* * * * *
I’m cautiously optimistic about the potential repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”. Hell, even the National Review is hating on the policy–and not because they want to make the ban on GI homos stronger. It appears that they’ve finally come around to the notion that a devoted, smart, hard-working gay man or lesbian is probably a better asset to the military than a heterosexual, alimony-dodging felon. The wonders, they are not ceasing.
Changes California Constitution to eliminate right of same-sex couples to marry. Provides that only a marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.
Fiscal Impact: Over the next few years, potential revenue loss, mainly sales taxes, totaling in the several tens of millions of dollars, to state and local governments. In the long run, likely little fiscal impact to state and local governments.
Although I have some issues with that last fragmentary sentence (a PDF of the whole document can be found here), I’m gonna let it slide. Go Team Gay!
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MAYA ANGELOU READS CRAIGSLIST
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People–mostly my my family–used ask about my religious beliefs. Most of those people have not gotten the answer they’d wanted to hear.
Now, like a lot of fledgling fags, I started out pretty zealous. Unlike a lot of them, I got over it and fast, mostly because of my mom. (She’d blanch to hear that since she’s such a devout Baptist, but it’s true.) Whenever I’d poke fun at someone, mom would always stop and ask, “Well, Richard, how do you think they feel?” Mom taught me the importance of seeing people and issues from other perspectives, the value of walking a mile in someone else’s shoes–in short, the value of relativism. That relativism, in turn, made steadfast religious conviction nearly impossible for me. How could I possibly condemn someone else for her/his closely held beliefs when s/he could just as easily do the same to me?*
After that spiritual “awakening” (or “deadening”), I kinda assumed that most rational people would share my beliefs–which is the sad, naive way that everyone who thinks himself “rational” behaves. I was deep in the evangelical, Pentacostal heartland, and if any of my classmates or relatives or anyone else I knew was questioning religion, they weren’t doing it in their outside voice. All I saw was a lot of condemnation and negativity and belittling of anything that wasn’t normal.
To be fair, I don’t think it’s religious zeal per se that frightens me. Nor is it the fact of being staunchly opinionated. (I mean, hello, I’m a fag? Our demographic is one of the most opinionated on Planet Earth.) No, what grinds my gears, what really freaks me out, is faith: the ability that deeply religious people have to deny that the sky is blue, that water is wet, that George W. Bush is among the worst presidents we’ve ever endured. And they mean it. They aren’t afraid of a few pesky facts. They’re not daunted by a few Grand Canyon-sized leaps of logic and reasoning. They don’t care that the King James Version of the bible is a translation of a translation of a translation. If god said it–or if preacher said god said it–it must be true. Case closed.
Here’s a great example of that phenomenon in action. Grandpa makes two dollars and no sense:
See? Not only is it just plain stupid, it’s also…well, it’s just plain stupid. Maybe he’s happy with his blind belief, but I’m not.
*FYI, I don’t carry relativism to extremes. I do think there are some non-denominational moral codes by which we should all abide: Don’t hurt people. Be nice to others. That sort of thing. I’m not going much more specific than that, though.
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Ah, I love the smell of napalmdiesel in the morning. Also: the sight of storms in the Gulf and waterspouts in the lake. Up next: locusts, frogs, and maybe I’ll turn into a pillar of salt. Fasten your seatbelts–it’s only Wednesday.
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