DEATH PENALTY FOR GAY ACTS?

 

"Gay marriage," is easier for our high paid pundits to enunciate than "Leviticus 20:13."

But Leviticus 20:13 is the real issue regarding Rick Warren, not gay marriage.

Ok, pundits, say it three times, you'll get the knack:

Leviticus 20:13.

Leviticus 20:13.

Leviticus 20:13.

Serial glutton Rick Warren is a professional Bible preacher and Bible teacher.  It's how he makes his living. It's how he can afford all those Big Macs.

As such he ought to be able answer this question and begin his answer with a Yes or a No.

Question: Do you disavow Leviticus 20:13?

What is Leviticus  20:13?

This is from the King James version of the Bible, as obtained from this online source:

If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood [shall be] upon them.

The New American Bible is published by the US Conference of Catholic Bishops.  Their translation of Lev 20:13 is even harsher:

If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them shall be put to death for their abominable deed; they have forfeited their lives.

Here are season's greeting from the home page of the Catholic Bishops website:

It's like, "Merry Christmas to those we haven't killed yet."

Anyway, the Bible has no death penalty for gluttony so Pastor Rick will continue to consume his kajillion calories per day. It takes a lot of energy to save the world's starving babies.

----- o -----

IT'S NOT ABOUT PROP 8

It's about Matthew Shepard.

This morning we heard Mike Barnicle accuse gay people of being intolerant toward Rick Warren, Obama's choice for inaugural invocation giver.

Like the other highly paid apologists for the billionaires they work for, Barnicle says that gays object to Warren because he opposes gay marriage.

This an absurd lie.  Gays voted for Obama, and he opposes gay marriage.

Rick Warren supports the murder of gay people.

That's why we think he's unacceptable.

Matthew Shepard was killed because he was gay and cute.  Some local boys, for whom homosexuality is the scariest thing on earth, found themselves attracted to Matthew.  They actually had stirrings in the loins when they saw him.

This caused such them emotional consternation and psychological weirdness, they attacked Matthew Shepard and left him to die, alone, in the dark of night, here:

What does this have to do with Rick Warren?

Rick Warren directly and enthusiastically contributes to the emotional consternation and psychological weirdness that caused Matthew's death.

Bible study classes take place in the Plaza Room, which shares the little green building (near the center around two o'clock) with the Terrace Cafe.

These are the first eight results on the Saddleback Family website for the search term "homosexuality."

This might seem laughable until you consider that impressionable, sincere young boys are brought to Saddleback Church by their probably well meaning parents.  At least a few of them are and will be gay.

This is what they get in Bible study. [Snip from Skeptics Annotated Bible.]

The yokel kids who killed Matthew Shepard were simply following Leviticus 20-13.

The bible has all sorts of crazy rules that even contradict each other. Credible theologians disagree on many issues. Which rules a pastor chooses to emphasize tell us more about the pastor than about the will of God.

Rick Warren is attracted, for some weird reason, to the kill-gays part of the Bible.

Shame on you Mike Barnicle for defending this kind of hatred masked as religion, and shame on Barack Obama.

btw: Warren claims to have gay friends. I refuse to believe this until he produces at least two people who claim to be practicing homosexuals and claim that Rick Warren is their friend. And we're not talking about Ted Haggard!

----- o -----

GONG SHOW RETURNS

A Chinese New Year Spectacular is coming back to the Opera House in January.

Two years ago sfmike at Civic Center blog did an amusing post about the connection between a show at the Opera House and the Chinese movement called Falun Gong. We've heard about Falun Gong mostly because of the Chinese government's reported efforts to suppress it.

Included in Mike's post is one of the funniest photographs I've ever seen:

Strangely, the producers of the upcoming show are still not mentioning the connection.

Their two sites make no mention of Falun, neither Gong nor Dafa.

I think this comes from the contention that Falun Gong is a cultural/religious movement and has nothing to do with politics.

To this western eye, the whole exercise seems laughable.

From Divine Performances site:

The masterful choreography ranges from grand imperial processions to legions of thunderous drums, with gorgeously costumed dancers moving in stunning synchronized patterns.

From their SFShow.net site:

This culture renaissance centering on classical themes and Chinese traditions that define "beauty" and "compassion", is to restore the essence of authentic Chinese traditional "virtue" and "value" and bring its true spirit to magnificent life, free of any distortions from the Communist Party.

Most strangely, the sfshow site boasts about the show's increasing popularity... with a BAR CHART!

Any doubt regarding the connection between Falun Gong and the upcoming show can be dispelled by a visit to ClearWisdom.net: the snippet below is from the top left of their home page.

Call me culturally insensitive, but this all cracks me up.

sfmike did another excellent post in October about this (somewhat) stealthy propaganda operation.

----- o -----

GAY BAND: PLEASE DON'T MARCH

Throughout the "Pastor" Rick Warren controversy defenders of Obama's position point out that for the first time a gay contingent, a marching band complete with male twirlers, will appear in the parade. As if that counterbalances something.

It's like, the straight white males will take care of the theology, gays can handle the entertainment.

Youngsters won't know what I'm talking about but I have this mental picture of Sammy Davis Jr doing a tapdance at a George Wallace rally

Anyway, I strongly suggest that the Lesbian and Gay Band Association withdraw from the inaugural parade.

Here's a first cut at a statement:

The controversy surrounding the participation of an openly anti-gay minister in the upcoming inauguration requires that the LGBA withdraw from participating in the inaugural parade.

The rights of gays and lesbians are not a matter of opinion over which we can have civilized disagreement. For us our rights are a matter of life and death.

Rick Warren's freely expressed views are not just wrongheaded and hateful, they are dangerous to gay and lesbian people everywhere. With smiles, Pastor Warren encourages other to act on their hate.

While we strongly wish to participate in this great national event, we cannot do so if it means associating ourselves, even remotely, with the hateful views of Rick Warren.

Regardless of what the national gay band group decides, I fully expect the San Francisco contingent to withdraw. For a San Francisco gay group to walk shoulder to shoulder with Rick Warren would signal the final death of anything like San Francisco values.

"San Francisco" becomes just another term-of-art in the real estate biz.

I know this would be a sacrifice but not the first sacrifice ever made to protect gay rights.

Back in 1969 there were gay people enjoying quiet cocktails in comfy if discreet lounges on the upper East Side, while down in the Village drag queens and hustlers were battling police outside the Stonewall Bar.

BTW: Never take behavioral advice from a fat man. He preaches that gay people should resist the need for sexual intimacy, a need near the core of our experience as humans. Whereas this fat fuck Warren can't resist a goddamn Big Mac.

----- o -----

SCREW YOU TOO, BARACK

Of all the ministers in America who could have been chosen to give the inaugural invocation, Obama chose someone who thinks that gay people should be put in jail.

This is unacceptable.

No self respecting democrat, let alone gay person, would appear on the same stage as Rick Warren.

This is not a matter of nuance.

Rick Warren's unretracted public position is that gay sex (we're not talking about marriage, or civil union, but simply two adults of the same sex getting intimate) is the moral equivalent of child molestation.

Would Barack reach out to a minister who preached that interacial sex is the equivalent of bestiality?

Sounds kind of harsh? It wasn't so long ago.

I was never enthusiastic about Obama.  My anger about the Rick Warren choice would be the same if it were McCain instead of Obama being inaugurated.

I can imagine the anger of a gay person who, say, contributed money to Rezko's buddy, soon to be President Cool-Breeze.

----- o -----

HEREDITARY

The last eight years, not to mention the sum total of human history, provide strong argument against hereditary power.

Our current George Bush would be completely unknown except for his dad, who would have been completely unknown had he not been the son of Nazi-loving* Senator Prescott Bush.

*According to wikipedia:

Bush was a member of the Board of Directors of Union Banking Corp, whose assets were seized under the Trading with the Enemy Act due to ownership by "enemy nationals".

So now Caroline Kennedy wants to be a senator. If appointed she would take office without having received even one vote in any election anywhere.

Apparently she doesn't much like the state she seeks to represent, per this SFGate story:

A Kennedy spokesman declined to tell the New York Times this week whether the Park Avenue resident had ever traveled to Buffalo, Syracuse or Rochester - at least before Wednesday, when she visited Syracuse.

Every little girl asks for a pony. Not many get one.

The rich are different from the rest of us.

They're able to give their kids ponies, and senate seats.

Because of her ability to raise funds, the pundits say, Caroline is very attractive to party bigwigs.

Ok, but hereditary journalism?

I, like most thinking cable news viewers, was appalled at the outpouring of accolades for the suddenly deceased Tim Russert, a mediocre hack who was so darned pleased to be a mediocre hack. Such high praise can be explained only as an irrational reaction to sudden loss, part of the grieving process.

But then, for NBC to inflict Russert's son, Luke, upon us is just too much. Luke Russert is less talented than his hack father, but he bring bangs, and a smirk.

Sfwillie understands that he is not an important demographic, but he wants MSNBC to know that he immediately switches the channel whenever Luke Russert's face appears.

If the family needs the income, that's one thing, but don't give the kid air time. Sheesh!

----- o -----

DIEGO RIVERA ADJACENT

Yesterday was the final exam, actually a recital, for my City College woodwinds class.

I had the usual nervousness about any performance.

I was performing in three pieces, a cute Mozart minuet duet with a bass clarinet, a flute trio, and a flute quartet.

Making me nervous was the fact that we had never actually played all the way through any of the pieces without stopping.

But the audience was supportive and we plowed through all three pieces, arriving at the last note together--most important, whatever's gone before-- and received hearty applause.

Included in the program were two pieces by the advanced "jazz ensemble," four students (three saxes, one flute), plus my teacher playing rhythm piano, plus two pros on electric bass and drums.

And the room, unlike our usual classroom was designed for acoustics and my flute sounded great.

When playing with others, even people with rudimentary skills will have moments when it sounds really good and the performers have stepped inside the composers world view.

I get full body tingle.

It's encouraging to know that one needn't be some pro virtuoso to experience musical full body tingle.

And the connection with the other musicians approaches nearly pure cooperation, like, we really do have the same intentions. A couple of times in my softball career I was the middle person in a successful relay throw from the outfield to home plate. The gave me the same feeling of connection

The music rooms are in a corner of the Arts building that's connected to the backstage area of the Diego Rivera Theater. In a courtyard between the two building is this large sculpture. Passing by, I say to myself, Bring me the head of Diego Rivera.

I enrolled in a class called Stage Band for next semester. I think their final concert is in Diego's theater. Moving on up.

----- o -----

FIRST BLAGO, THEN BILL GATES

So I'm sitting at my new Vista machine looking at the morning headlines on My Yahoo just the way a person is supposed to be able to do, and I see this AP thing: Explorer Security Hole Not Fixed: Microsoft.

So I'm thinking, I got this new machine because my old machine got it's wazoo trojanized:

Users of all current versions of MicrosoftCorp.'s Internet Explorer browser might be vulnerable to having their computers hijacked because of a serious security hole in the software that had yet to be fixed Monday.

So why the heck doesn't Bill Gates pay someone to fix the damn flaw.  Is it too much ask of the richest man in the world that he stop fucking up us poor folks' computers?

Apparently it IS too much to ask:

Microsoft said it is investigating the flaw and is considering fixing it through an emergency software patch outside of its normal monthly updates, but declined further comment. The company is telling users to employ a series of complicated workarounds to minimize the threat.

I think users should employ lawyers and class action suits to minimize the chance of this happening again.

And I'm thinking we should get that Prosecutor from Chicago on Bill Gates' case.

Many security experts, meanwhile, are urging Internet Explorer users to use another browser until a patch is released.

So I'm like, holy shitfuck, this is  Internet Explorer I'm using right now!

One hour later: I'm using Firefox and loving it. Bye-bye IE.  This doesn't mean I won't join the class action.

I'd almost forgotten what a prick Bill Gates is.

----- o -----

CORRUPTION

A few weeks ago, in a discussion about corruption, a highly educated Philippine-American challenged my schoolboy sense of morality.

When the Philippines were ruled by the Spanish (1565-1898), my friend explained, the laws and rules of the economy were simple:

In such a situation, he asked, is it really corruption for the native Philippinos to disobey the law and engage in shadow economics?

Especially when the straight and narrows leads to world-famous Smoky Mountain.

Sometimes I wonder about the legality of the backyard building projects on my block.

I know that this big white extension went through a permitting process, but all the other outbuildings?

Check out the piping. My naked eye saw it as electrical conduit, to power the outbuilding. Closer inspection shows it to be a downspout from the roof of the little extension emptying onto the roof of the outbuilding, which has it's own downspout on the other side.

Not that I'm complaining. The low density nature of this neighborhood couldn't persist through population growth and the real estate boom. Many of these houses were originally owned by city workers--firemen, policemen, my best friend's dad was a building inspector.

And each house was occupied by one nuclear family, with one car, parked overnight in the basement. The average number of occupants per house was maybe 4.

Our house was built with about 1100 sqft of living space, which ain't gonna cut it for a current buyer paying 50-60 times the original selling price.

Most owners built (non-permitted) in-law units in the otherwise empty basement. In recent decades some owners have turned their entire basements into living space, and some into apartments that they rent out, also non-permitted, with revenue, I imagine, unreported.

I can handle the increased density. What bugs me is that these backyard projects are ongoing and will be for the foreseeable future, which means that on any nice day, especially on weekends, when I open my windows wide to let in the beautiful ocean air, it's all hammers and buzz saws.

There's one guy, not in these pictures, who has a commercial (I assess) carpentry operation in a backyard lean-to. On nice days he likes to bring his sawtable outdoors.

It's like a tenement, sort of.

So, do I want to sic public officials on any of these people? Hell no!

I'm thinking Ed Jew isn't the only Ed Jew-type in city government.

BTW: According to wikipedia, Spanish explorer/culturefucker Ferdinand Magellan was killed by native Phillipine warriors led by Rajah Lapu-Lapu in the Battle of Mactan.

----- o -----

WET MORNING

Early morning court conditions can be iffy.

If it's pouring down rain I don't even get out of bed, but frequently I can't tell by looking out my window whether the courts in GGP might be playable.

Sometimes, since I'm up anyway, I'll take the trip, even though the chances of playing seem slim, just to get out of the house and get the day going.

One morning last week seemed impossible, but I went anyway, and there was my partner with undampened spirits.

Yukiko had a little cut above her lip that she wouldn't let me photograph.


We spent an hour volleying across the net, trying to keep the ball in the air. When we missed and the ball got too wet, we'd retire it and get a dry one.

We had the courts to ourselves. Only an occasional dog and owner would stroll by.


And the trees, of course, constant spectators.

----- o -----

MAR VISTA

One can’t expect perfection. At best one can avoid victimhood. With this mindset I suffered through twice- or thrice-daily autoupdates for McAfee’s security suite. While these updates are supposed to happen in the background, they made other programs so jerky that I’d just wait, and suffer till the updates completed.

Despite this I got infected with a couple of Trojans, which pop-ups told me McAfee had removed or quarantined. Not so.

The nice lady in India told me that an infection that had progressed as far as I described required the help of McAfee’s “virus removal team.”

To get with McAfee’s “team,” the nice lady told me, I’d have to purchase a “peen” for either $70 or $90. The peen gets me one-time virus removal: for $70 I do the keystrokes at their direction, for $90 the team does the keystrokes themselves.

So, finally, I had to ask the nice lady to spell the word that sounded to me like “peen.”

“P-I-N,” she said. She wanted to sell me a fucking pin number!

It became clear, and she confirmed: I pay McAfee for protection, and when McAfee fails to protect me, I pay McAfee even more.

My XP machine had worked ok for four years, about two years longer than I expected, so rather than spend $90 for a one-time fix, I spent $400 for a new, and much faster, Vista machine.

The Trojan, I guess this is what they do, took over my internet connection and blasted out email spam. The Trojan rendered my internet connection unusable, but it isn’t doing additional damage to my old computer, such as replicating files until the hard drive bursts, so I can access the information on it.

Rather than buy a new monitor to go along with my new computer, I figured I could get a splitter/switch to allow both my old (infected) computer and the new one to access the one monitor I already had. I know it’s stupid, but even that much contact between old and new made me paranoid.

So I checked my cheapo flat panel TV and found a socket labeled “PC” and “VGA” and used a $24 cable from Radioshack to hook up my old computer to my TV. Amazingly it works!

During this, I had to get my car smog-checked, for what I was told might be $90. We’ve all heard stories about unscrupulous stations that fail cars on purpose to get the repair work.

I guess I’m just a worrier.

So I asked around and was told to go to a particular test-only station in my neighborhood. The young guy, a number-one-son type, who wrote my service order was all smiley. First thing he asked was who had referred me, and was happy to hear my answer. $54.95 out-the-door, tout compris.

Frying crullers.

On the way home I stopped at the office of my insurance agent to meet him face to face after a seven year relationship, and to meet his assistant who had recently done some admin shuffles to get lower rates for me and my brother. Of course he acted glad to see me.

I paid the latest installment, so I’m good to drive for another six months.

I’d like to sell my car and get back on Muni where I can get some reading done, except for grocery shopping. I really enjoy having a car to get groceries home from the supermarket, which is more than a mile away. If there were reliable cab service I’d gladly pay six or seven dollars, or ten, for a ride home with my groceries. I’m talking about a gallon of milk, two half gallons of juice, and four two-liter bottles of Diet Coke, per trip. This is not something one does on Muni. And that’s just the beverages.

[Click on pic for source.]

I guess a true San Franciscan dines out and/or eats hand to mouth from the corner mom and pop.

At the big Safeway by the Mint on Market Street one used to see older Negro gentlemen in their full-size sedans parked by the exits waiting to take neighboorhood housewives home with their groceries. I wonder if they still do that.

Obama, smog certificate, new computer, if I score some socks and pjs for Christmas I’ll be all set for 2009. Best of all, economic trends will be providing me with plenty of company in my poverty and unemployment.

----- o -----

HOMO RUN

Here’s an illustration of why I’m glad I’m gay.

It was a collegiate women’s softball game maybe six months ago (or six years given my spongiform memory) that ended with a walk-off home run, or, at least the ball was hit over the fence.

But, fluke of flukes, the batter-baserunner tripped rounding first base and broke her leg—she was unable to continue rounding the bases as required to actually score the run.

The normal course would be that the injured player would be helped off the field and she would be called “out” and the run would not be scored. Within the rules there are only two ways she could score the run: by hobbling or crawling by herself and touching the bases, or, if there had been a runner on base ahead of her, that runner could have helped her around the bases.

The rules didn’t anticipate what actually happened: members of the opposing team carried the injured player around the bases so that her run would score.

This was touted in the news as an example of extraordinary sportsmanship, actually, “sportswomanship,” because men would never have considered the possibility of assisting an opponent in that way.

In my opinion the coach of the team that assisted their opponent should have been summarily fired: he or she failed to teach the basic goal of the game—to win.

I would be happy to argue this issue with another man. If I failed to convince, I’d dismiss the other guy as a pussy*.

But arguing this with a woman would be way dicier. Whenever a man and a woman argue there’s a chance that both are right, that there’s a male point of view and a female point of view.

At least that’s what a man who wants peace (or its homonym) must pretend.

There’s a whole lot of male cognitive dissonance that’s required for a successful heterosexual marriage.

Many men prefer the company of other men, only the sex thing draws them to women. It’s common these days to hear straight men say they wish they were gay, but they’re just not attracted to men.

So, when gay men insinuate that their relationships are “equal” to heterosexual marriages, it’s like George Bush saying that his wearing the uniform of the Texas Air National Guard was “equal” to seasick, seasoaked, scaredshitless soldiers storming Normandy.

As far as I’m concerned heterosexual men are real heroes, especially those who hang around to support and raise the kids, which in many cases are the women’s idea, and to accept the screeching dissonances of living with a member of the opposite sex.

BTW: I reluctantly voted against Proposition 8. I’d prefer an amendment establishing marriage for heterosexuals and domestic partnerships for everyone else, including heterosexuals who don’t want to get married, AND an amendment declaring that no tangible benefit of either status be denied the other.

That way, penis-in-vagina sex remains the only type of sexual activity that is explicitly approved by society, while everything else (adult, consensual blah blah) is allowed.

I think it’s too much to expect society to explicitly approve anal intercourse as equivalent to the kind of sex that has the potential for making babies.

The passage of Prop 8 was viewed by some as a setback for Gavin Newsom’s political ambitions. Good.

* “pussy” short for “pusillanimous (person)”

----- o -----

UNIFIED FEEL THEORY

I’ve been reading the Greek tragedies. This is my second time. One Christmas vacation during college I determined to read the complete Greek tragedies, which is less formidable than it sounds.

There are only twenty-nine of them extant, and they average maybe 1300 lines. Back then I got bogged down in Euripides and left two or three of his unread. The same thing is happening this time.

I told myself I’d read everything else before doing the Oresteia and the Oedipus cycle, but I couldn’t hack it and am now in the middle of the Eumenides.

Anyway, I’m impressed this time with the centrality of emotion in all the plays. There is never a dearth of “alas, I am ruined,” “woe is me,” “life is nothing but pain.”

We must accept our fate, i.e., death, but we are definitely not happy about it. How we go about dealing with anger and frustration creates our life stories, but in the long run we aren’t much different than goats being led to the sacrifice: we bleat then we bleed.

So, a couple weeks ago I’m driving to the tennis courts in Golden Gate Park for my usual morning session (poor me!) and I’m totally steamed about the bailout news—like, this guy Paulson is fucking me and I never said yes and he ain’t even my type.

The usual bicyclists were annoying but there were a couple of egregious near-death encounters with spandexers whipping through stop signs out of a blinding rising sun. Readers here know how pathetic I find the bicycle movement as an expression of left wing politics.

Why do these guys (and gals) risk their lives pitting their flimsy frames against evil death machines?

[Click picture for source.]

Looking at my own boiling rage I understood their need for physical confrontation. Young people (more than old people) yearn for it. Warfare, gang warfare, and individualized violence are the undesired forms of confrontation. Political action (which is basically the threat of warfare) is the alternative, and physical confrontation is part of it.

Civil rights in the fifties and sixties wasn’t about constitutional law, or some Marxist theory. It was about fire hoses, and police dogs, and martyrdom. The white kids (and not-so-youngs) who went south for Freedom Summer were in the same kind of peril that soldiers experience.

Similarly, the bicycle activists are putting their own lives on the line.

The felt need to confront, and if necessary die, seems better than suffering in silence and feeling like one will explode.

The evil perps in this country who deserve to be confronted have so well insulated themselves that the enemy, for bicyclists, has become anyone who drives a car.

Meanwhile Pelosi and Newsom and the building trade unionists will be spending more than a billion dollars on a three-stop subway that was cooked up as a payoff to Rose Pak for her support in some pissant political race, long forgotten.

This time through, my favorite play is Philoctetes, which is about political conniving. In it, Neoptolemus (son of Achilles) responds to Odysseus’ advice to employ deceit against the blameless man:

Neoptolemus
…I would prefer even to fail with honor than win by cheating. …Do you not find it vile yourself, this lying?

Odysseus
Not if the lying brings our rescue with it.

Neoptolemus
How can a man not blush to say such things?

Odysseus
When one does something for gain, one need not blush.

BTW: It was Neoptolemus who eventually killed Priam, king of Troy. He also killed Astyanax, the infant son of Hector and subject of the “the most touching scene” in the Iliad.

----- o -----

HEALTHY DEPRESSION

Rudolpho Austria organizes tennis matches for old folks at Golden Gate Park every morning of the year. It’s referred to as “Rudy’s Group.” It’s strictly volunteer and there’s no money involved except standard court fees. [email me for more info on Rudy's Group.]

Rudy, or “Rudolpho,” as he prefers, performs a service that we might expect of a playground director. Such services are called “programs.”

I once asked a playground director about the “programs” he was required to run. He said,

“Willie, my boss at Park Lodge doesn’t care about programs. I could conduct a hundred programs, or zero… my boss doesn’t care.”

Anyway, the upcoming economic depression will put increasing stress on the public health system. Out-of-work people tend to get depressed and have more physical illnesses.

One cheap solution would be increased recreational programs at our public parks. Instead of staying home consuming pork rinds and Oprah, the out-of-work could get out of the house, get some health-promoting exercise, and socialize with people like themselves.

The only difference between the out-of-work and the folks in Rudy’s Group is that Rudy’s Groupers are unemployed voluntarily.

I think this would be a terrific use of City resources. But it ain’t gonna happen. Why?

Because the Rec and Park employees who would actually do the programs will all be laid off. The remaining Park-Lodgers mostly suffer from a work related partial disability—fat assedness—which renders them unable leave their deskchairs (except for breaks.)

It’s just like City road repair crews, if you’ve ever seen them “at work”: there’s one guy digging in the ground, two guys watching the one guy dig, and two supervisors, who haven’t had a callous in twenty years, watching it all, “supervising.”

So, with the City budget cuts, which member of the road crew gets laid off?

Answer: The guy who actually does the digging. Those remaining now have an official excuse for doing nothing—staffing shortage.

Happy depression!

----- o -----

THE GUPPIES ARE COMING!

Review: Island Song

Synopsis: A-Gay takes vay-cay to Hawaii, screws the flower of the big island’s youth (male), and turns some native shamanic mumbo jumbo into a worldwide pop-religion whose adherents pilgrimage to the source (and overrun the island).

Alan Chin's first novel, Island Song, (Zumaya Publications, 2008) is competently written, which puts it above Robert Ludlum and Cornell Woolrich junk. It seems a little too well written to fit in the (GLBT) trash-romance sub-genre where its publishers think it belongs. Here’s their blurb:

Two years after the death of his lover, Garrett Davidson sits in a Hawaiian beach shack, gazing out over the vast, empty Pacific. He has nothing left. Despair has robbed him of his elegant home, his lucrative job and his sanity. The single thread holding him to reality is the story he has come to this shack to write: Marc's story, the story of his lost love.

Then Songoree breezes into his life.

Songoree, a Hawaiian surfer and Garrett's new cook, is not gay, but he can't help being captivated by Garrett. He has always been attracted to broken things, like the crane with a broken wing he once mended and cared for. He is drawn to anything that reminds him of the broken image he has of himself. When he attempts to heal Garrett's spirit they become entwined in an extraordinary relationship.

The stakes are raised when Songoree's grandfather, a venerable Hawaiian kahuna, frees Garrett's mind from anguish by using ancient shamanic methods to induce altered states of awareness. Garrett and Songoree struggle to transcend their differences in age, race and life experiences. They soon discover that some of the islanders will stop at nothing to destroy their unique bond, while Songoree's grandfather is hell-bent on bringing them together to fulfill an ancient Polynesian prophesy. A clash of wills erupts between grandfather, grandson and hostile islanders, with Garrett caught in the middle fighting for his life and plunging headlong to a moment that will brutally test the boundaries of the human spirit.

Not that there’s anything beautiful about the writing. It’s all present tense. This gets annoying after awhile. Screenplays are written in all present tense, since they describe what’s happening on the screen. So, I figured, Island Song is a crypto-filmscript.

As a movie it makes total sense: attractive main characters, spectacular settings, shark attacks, frenzied luaus, fire walking (!), and plenty of mano-a-mano violence. Oh did I mention flashbacks to gay sex scenes.

So, what is 275-page Island Song after we subtract the 102-page screenplay? Description. Lots and lots of description. Lots of colors and smells e.g. there are many verbs specifying exactly how particular smells combine.

Lots of meal menus. Lots of physical sensations.

None of the description seems to have any purpose, no particular meaning. The description of sunlight sifting through green fronds is no more or less important than the description of the protagonist’s nervous system as he walks on burning coals.

Nothing makes the reader sympathize or identify with the main characters, Barrett Davidson, an ex-Navy Seal white gay guy from San Francisco, and Songeree (no last name) a Hawaiian youth who is heir to a fading shamanic tradition.

Does the white guy have an interesting story? Not really. Does he ever have an interesting thought? If so, they’re not recorded in this novel. Does he have any interesting aspirations? No. Does he look good in a tuxedo in the flashback to his now dead boyfriend’s art opening? He looks great.

And so does Songeree. Besides being a dutiful student of his shaman-grandfather, Song is a pillar of his family. He’s a great hula dancer who loves to strip down to his loincloth and wriggle for an audience. Plus, he’s a surfer who hangs with his regular-guy small village contemporaries (who don’t like the idea that some rich haole foj wants to fuck their pretty-boy compadre).

Song is not only beautiful, and servile, he has (supposed) deep understanding which he shares with Garrett. There’s nothing particularly interesting about the mystical knowledge Song has inherited, at least not as reported in the novel, except it seems to be heavy on warrior-spirit stuff, Earnest Hemingway stuff, for instance the fire walking.

So, Chin gives us nothing in the religion to root for.

The eventual mating of Garrett and Song is opposed (violently – Chin’s writing comes alive in the Hollywood-perfect fistfight scenes) by the local youth-trash, so I guess we’re rooting for the gay guys.

The gay guys win. Plus, the book Garrett writes to promote Grandfather’s shamanic delusions (wisdom) becomes the hottest thing since Dianetics.

And they all live happily ever after, in their alternate versions of Architecture Digest and Gourmet magazine, all simple yet elegant.

Do we care? Not at all. And that seems to be the (extremely) subtle point. In a world devoid of meaning, does it really matter who is and isn’t successful? Do we care which Roman emperors were gay?

The satire is so deadpan it might be missed entirely. For instance, in the dénouement, Song and Garrett take a rich guy on a fishing daytrip (that’s their new business) and after the rich guy’s three hour aneurism-popping (almost) fight with a magnificent sailfish, Song cuts the fish loose. He explains to the irate rich guy that in the struggle he and the fish became one, that the rich guy actually experienced love with the fish.

This completely assuages the rich guy and seems to give him some deep insight or peace of mind or something. This crap supposedly exemplifies the religion that is taking the world, and the island, by storm: you can love a fish by making it fight for its life.

Alan Chin gives us only two little hints that he doesn’t necessarily endorse the happy ending.

The book begins with a quotation from Buddhist scripture about happiness and geography, cautioning against the thought that one place is happier than another.

Then, at the end of the fishing trip day, the book ends with Garrett writing in his journal:

But he has a nagging feeling there was something frightening about today. He searches his feeling the way Songoree taught him to do, but he can’t quite see it. He has the vague feeling it has to do with life being out of control, and he’s reminded of the poem Grandfather once quoted, the one about the falling leaf showing front then showing back.

The hell with it, he decides.

There is something frightening about every day. Sleep well and pick up the rhythm of your life in the morning, make love to your man again, go to town and pickup your son, and do what you can to make them as happy as they were today.

To summarize, Island Song is a subtle critique of materialism, taking on not the worst of it but, ostensibly, the best. It seems aimed at people who would never read “The Stranger,” yet it imparts the same sense of pervasive emptiness.

Coming soon (I predict) to a theater near you. It could even spark a spate of Gay-Buddhist-vigilante movies.

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ELECTION EMOTION

For me the most touching reports about Obama’s victorious campaign regard generational interactions. Who knows how true, but we heard many anecdotes of old folks voting for Obama because their kids were so adamant that they do.

As Chris Matthews said, “The parents and grandparents sacrifice to send their kids to college, so they must think a college education is important. So when their kids, who went, or are going to college, ask them to vote for Obama, the old folks listen.”

It makes sense, the kids will be paying the price for Obama’s decisions, the old folks have already enjoyed a standard of living that won’t be seen again for many generations.

In the 1960’s we heard a lot about “gaps.” Much of the 1960 presidential campaign concerned the “missile gap” between the US and USSR. Kennedy was the hawk. He contended that during the previous eight years of Eisenhower/Nixon, the Russians had deployed more ICBMs than had the US. This was total bullshit, and Nixon had the (secret) U2 photos to prove it, but Kennedy knew Nixon couldn’t reveal such.

Anyway, among the various gaps was the “generation gap,” between boomers and their parents, The parents had survived the Great Depression and World War II. The boomers were surviving, well, large class sizes.

My dad was 44 when I was born so he was 60 when I got my drivers license. My favorite toys, as a kid, were cars, I paid close attention to my dad’s driving and asked a lot of questions, so I was ready for my license years in advance. My 16th birthday fell on a Saturday, so I had to wait till Monday for my driving test, which I aced without question, having prepared my entire life for it.

[Click on image for source.]

Of course I was wild to drive, and I was surprised how much my dad let me. Things like going to the store, or church, or even longer family trips, my dad was happy to let me drive.

Having reached 60 myself, I understand why. My dad glad to have a competent kid take over a task which for him had grown less and less fun. These days I’m always happy to let someone else drive.

So when a really competent young guy says he WANTS to govern, some of us are more than happy to let him have a try.

I had predicted a McCain victory that would follow an apocalyptic trajectory, the question being “Do we pay off our foreign debt, or do we go to war with our creditors?” I thought for sure Americans would opt for survival of the fittest.

By simple calculation, our ten trillion dollar debt divided by three hundred thirty million Americans equals $30,000.00 per person, $120,000.00 for a family of four.

McCain’s ilk could argue that much of America’s national debt was incurred in furtherance of our role as protector of international order since World War II, and that the rest of the free world should indemnify us, i.e, forgive us our debt.

It wouldn’t even be a forgiveness of debt. We could prepare invoices to other countries for their previously unbilled debt to us, and enter our borrowings from them as “payments on account.” While our foreign debt is only part of the overall, we can charge other countries for the whole ten trillion, because, whatever America was spending, it was all about protecting the world.

This has a kind of Hitlerian ring to it, which will sound better and better as we slog through years of depression.

It looks like, for the short term, Obama wants to borrow more, with no repayment plan except a belief in never ending growth. If America will eventually renege on our foreign debt, then we might as well max-out all our credit cards first. The change promised by Barack wasn't regarding direction, but rather a somewhat slower rate of acceleration toward World War III.

For me, the honeymoon is already over.

Even a slave labor camp, populated by innocent political prisoners, can have better or worse management. The inmates might indeed rejoice when a new commandant is installed. The old commandant was terrible, and the incoming commandant has promised to increase daily rations from "slow-starvation" to "slightly-slower-starvation."

An improvement?

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IN & OUT URGE

The little American boy asks the little French girl, “Would you like a ride in my new red wagon?”

“Oui, oui,” the little French girl responds enthusiastically.

“Not in my wagon you don’t,” the little boy says.

Speaking of which. What kind of toilet facilities are provided for voters who must wait in hours-long lines? This is a horrible scandal.

Polling officials cannot impose any additional requirements or tests for voting beyond those defined in state constitutions, and those cannot be discriminatory. Clearly, a four hour line imposes a test of physical stamina as a requirement for voting.

I have voted only in San Francisco, and only once in a precinct other than the one I grew up in and currently occupy. I always vote. Only once have I encountered any wait at all, and that was maybe five minutes tops.

Today was typical, with election workers outnumbering voters. It might be stereotyping, but they always put two young asian student types doing the sign-in paper work.

This amiable gentleman’s job was to help feed the marked ballot into the optical scanner.


This man seemed to be a supervisor, who dropped by to make sure everything was going ok.


The lady in the background was voting before I arrived (I pride myself on speed), and the lady with babe in arms was just signing in. Five poll workers (one not shown), three voters.


If San Francisco can do it, what’s Virginia’s problem? Or Ohio's?

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I'M VOTING FOR (Michelle) OBAMA

This morning Michelle Obama speaking to a crowd in Nevada issued the usual praise for the young volunteers with their tremendous enthusiasm.

Then she addressed at length the “not so young” volunteers, praising their focus and determination. And tenacity

Mrs Obama said she’s never felt a grip stronger than that of a ninety year old who won’t let go her arm until she gets their picture snapped. She was completely uninhibited in talking about old folks, none of that “eighty-years-young” crap.

Of all the people appearing on the tv screen in connection with the presidential campaign Michelle Obama has been the most appealing.

She’s very smart and she’s down to earth. Her kids seem pretty normal. What a great first lady she will make.

Michelle is obviously more gifted than is Sarah Palin in just about any regard, except maybe hair.

Michelle will do her damnedest to see that neither of her daughters gets knocked up prior to high school graduation.

Imagine a discussion, about almost anything, between Michelle Obama and Sarah Palin. Then imagine Sarah Palin talking to Vladimir Putin.

With a wife like Michelle, Barack can’t be all bad. So I guess I’ll vote for Obama.

I feel strongly that McCain will pull it out. Too many Americans have a “fuck it” attitude. They support McCain’s commitment, couched as a joke, to bomb Iran. It’s not the anti-black, it’s the anti-rational that survey-ees won’t admit to pollsters.

Sarah Palin, in her first few appearances used “American exceptionalism,” as a slogan. She thinks our country is exceptional. For instance, in her recent energy-policy speeches she mentions the great energy resources that God has given to the United States, as if indicating divine favor.

God, she failed to extrapolate, must really love Saudi Arabia, Iran, Iraq, Columbia, and of course, Russia.

It’s moronic and irrational. Exceptionalism is an example of magical thinking, the kind of thinking that said we’d be greeted as liberators. Or that maybe America could actually survive a nuclear war, with God’s protection. It could even be good for business.

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