Who cares if a faggot dies?

Today's LA Times has an interesting and certain to be controversial op-ed from Larry Kramer.

"I think your hate is evil."

What do we do to you that is so awful? Why do you feel compelled to come after us with such frightful energy? Does this somehow make you feel safer and legitimate? What possible harm comes to you if we marry, or are taxed just like you, or are protected from assault by laws that say it is morally wrong to assault people out of hatred? The reasons always offered are religious ones, but certainly they are not based on the love all religions proclaim.

Larry Kramer, the acclaimed author and activist leader*, is calling you straights to account for your hatred, your tolerance of hatred, your apathy. Do you have any answers for him?

*The Los Angeles Times described Kramer in the subheading as, "An aging 72-year-old gay man" who "isn't hopeful about the future." I think he deserves better than this. Unless he wrote the subheading himself.

Learning To Swim

Parents are deceitful bastards. Santa Claus. Easter Bunny. Tooth Fairy. But nothing is worse than the way they teach us to swim: they try to drown us. "Come here, swim to Mommy." As mom slowly walks backward, making me swim farther. What if I can't make it? Why does the "goal" keep moving.

That's how I feel right now. Things could be pretty easy right now, if other people would just stay still and let me reach them. I'm swimming hard. I want to be there, but they keep taking those steps backwards. Relationship. Career. Friends. They keep stepping back, thinking, hoping I'll eventually catch them.

What if I don't? What if I just stop and wait for them to come and pull me out of the water? My mom always came through in the end. Will they?

Sorry Rudy

This is why Rudy Guiliani will NEVER win the Republican nomination for President:

And now for something completely different.

Want to know what bugs me? People misinterpretting the Beach Boys' "California Girls." This morning, LAist.com, one of my favorite pro-LA sites reminded Cal State Long Beach students why they are fortunate to be living in Southern California rather than Knoxville Tennessee. (It's some sports thing. Read it yourself.) Number 5 on their list was: "The Beach Boys didn’t sing “I wish they all could be Tennessee girls” for a reason."

I've seen this mistake more times than I can count. The song is not saying that California girls are better than girls from other parts of the country. The song is saying that American girls kick ass -- girls from all over the country -- and since they, the Beach Boys, live in California they wish all of the girls lived here.

Thank you.

Controlling the Spin on Rent Control

I like to end my arguments with simple thoughts:

Against gay marriage or abortion? Don't have one.

Against gays serving openly in the military? Our allies, most of whom allow gays to serve, who fight side by side with us in most modern military excursions, meaning American troops are already serving with open gays.

Opposed to rent control because landlords can barely turn a profit? Than don't become a landlord.

I work for an organization that focuses on tenants rights and habitability. Our goal is to combat homelessness by keeping people in their homes and keeping those home livable. We don't get much recognition but today we did. The Los Angeles Times ran an article about Los Angeles' most prolific eviction attorney. Our agency was featured.

One of the major themes of the article is how the attorney, Dennis Block, is a crusader for the oppressed: property owners. It is true that a good number of property owners are small business people, many of whom are immigrants, trying to squeak out of living. But in Los Angeles, many properties are owned or managed by HUGE corporations. There are also many ethical, compassionate landlords that treat their tenants fairly and with dignity. There are also many that our blatant criminals who value profit over the health and safety of their tenants.

Rent control is often vilified by these property owners because of the limits it places on raising rents and how it allows tenants to maintain their housing below market rates. This is rare. It happens when a renter lives in a property for a very long time. Most renters, especially in an city of migrant labor like Los Angeles, are highly mobile. It's anectdotal but since 2000 I've lived in 7 places. In some cases, a tenant finds a place they like and stays there for extended periods of time. Unfortunately, the landlord loses out because as the market rate increases, he's limited by the imposed restrictions of rent control. Dennis Block feels his pain.

"I think my position is righteous," he said. "The average landlord is not a rich individual…. Under rent control, unlike any other business on planet Earth, a landlord is being ordered to support other individuals totally at his own costs. This is not fair."

The landlord is not being "ordered" to do anything. The landlord chose that field and must agree to the terms of it. I am a SCUBA instructor on weekends. I am a good, safe instructor, and I don't anticipate any of my students ever having an accident but the corrupt SCUBA industrial complex orders me to have liability insurance. Of course, if I don't want to incur the insurance cost, I guess I do have the freedom to not be a SCUBA instructor.

Block argues that the city's rent-stabilization laws keep him in business by creating conditions in which some landlords cannot make a profit, and in some cases can't even make their mortgage payments, unless they evict their tenants and replace them with people who can pay the market rate.

Apparently, landlords are the worst business people in the world! They can't even make their mortgage payments? Lord have mercy.

Let's put my Bachelor's degree in Business Administration to work here: I want to become a landlord. I will need to buy a building. I will most likely need to take out a mortgage. Before taking out the mortgage, I should look at who currently lives in the building. How much rent do they pay? How much do I think I will be bringing in each month? Now, let's make sure I can turn a profit. I can? Good, I'll take out the mortgage and buy the building. What's this? It seems I'll bring in $30,000 a month in rents, but I'll spend about $5,000 a month on some maintenance and utilities. And my mortgage is going to run $23,000 a mont. Wow, that's not much money for me. Maybe I'll become a baker. Or a shepard. (Forgive me, I just started reading the Alchemist.)

We needn't use the line that landlords can't feed their families any more. Dennis Block should change it to, "Landlords can't feed their families at Spago any more."

Rent control is not about lost money out of the pocket of the landlord, it's about the dissatisfaction with the opportunity lost to make more money. If I have a tenant who pays $500 each month, but the market rate in the neighborhood is $800 each month, then I am losing $300 in potential income. Not real income. Provided I wasn't an idiot when I bought the building, I knew I could make some money with the rents at the current level. Now with the housing market stretched so thin, without rent control I could make so much more. Unfortunately, these are the rules. I guess I won't make the $300, but don't be fooled into thinking that is money out of my pocket. It's not.

Rent control helps keep families in their homes; that's the reality. Without rent control, in a housing market like we currently have, it would be near impossible for many renters to budget properly and keep a roof over their head. The costs on our communities would be crippling. Parents would need to yank their kids in and out of schools, increasing the costs to taxpayers with poor results. Employers would struggle to keep good employees in their jobs and attract highly qualified candidates. Neighborhoods would be unstable, hindering quality of life and potential affecting problems like crime and gangs. Renters would have less money to spend on groceries, clothing, and, yes, even recreation. And only landlords and lawyers would be better off.

It's a cruel, cruel world...

What good is the Internet?

Taking Stock

I hear people benefit from sitting down, taking a personal inventory, and figuring out their lives. Why then when I do it, do I seem to walk away with a bigger mess than when I started?

The Writer on a Plane

Note: The following post was actually written on Sunday, on board a flight across country. This came in the Boston to Detroit leg. (Detroit sucks.)

The city of Boston: it’s f-ing cold. Please, why, more than 150 years after Americans began settling places like the Southwest, more than 250 years after we settled the Southeast, hell, even after we’ve settled the Pacific Northwest, why do people still choose to live in such cold-ass places?

Is the cold a metaphor for my two recent trips to the Bay state? Hell, no. It’s just friggin’ cold. Seriously. Really cold.

I am writing this on the plane home from Boston. It’s been a harrowing day which peaked with a dash through the B terminal of Logan International Airport. It was a day of significant milestones. Some I’ll share, one or two I’ll take to my grave.

I’ve never come close to missing a flight. Since my first trip aboard Eastern Airlines in 1984, a two-hour flight to Orlando when I was 5 years old, I’ve never missed a flight. Three weeks ago, I thought I was going to… intentionally.

I had traveled to Bean town to visit my best friend living in Cambridge and a fine gentleman my friend Ron introduced to me some time ago. In the weeks prior, I’d begun talking much more frequently with said gentleman, and I’d begun really looking forward to the conversations. It is a nightmarishly imperfect situation. Two people separated by distance, by uncertainty, and by cautious routine. For once, I did something truly impractical and boarded a plane, flew 3,000 miles, and spent a long weekend with a person I was just getting to know.

Three weeks later, I was doing it again. And today, four days after my arrival, it was time to end it again. These trips are like little relationships in that I have no idea what the future will bring. This is most likely my last trip to Boston – his school year (graduate school, not junior high) is coming to an end and the next few months on my part are unmanageable – and I don’t know today when I’ll see him again.

I’ve never missed a flight, until these trips to Boston. Three weeks ago, I came ridiculously close to purposefully missing my flight and extending my trip. Reason won out and I got on the plane and was home in time to get a full night’s sleep before returning to work. On this trip, I think fate played a role.

The connection between subway to bus that would take me to Logan resulted in nearly a 45 minute delay. I arrived at the ticket counter with just 20 minutes until the door to the plane would close. Like when in the most special moments of time, these moments lingered, time passing slowly. Huffing in the security check point line. “Of course I have no liquids, I know the rules. I’ve done this before.” It seemed few others in the line had done it before. A final, untied-shoe race through the terminal to, naturally, the last gate in the seemingly unending hall.

If I missed the plane, I’d have another 20 scarce hours with this person. During that minute or so run through a thin airport crowd, I had considered taking a turn and a 10 minute pit stop in the restroom at least 4 times. What would be the consequences?

That will have to wait for another trip. I don’t know how many more “good-byes” I have in me, but I will keep making the trips until I am completely tapped, or until I don’t have a host anymore.

Note: Detroit still sucks.

Great Achievements in Douchebaggery IV

Thank you, Terrence Howard, for setting something straight: You are douchebaggy sinner!

Do I agree with homosexuality? No, I'm a Bible-based young man. But I know the Bible also speaks about homosexuality with liars, adulterers, thieves. I've lied, I've cheated on my wife, I've stolen. So how can I judge somebody for something that's mentioned in the same exact scripture? I believe we're all sinners. We're all trying to make it but our hip-hop community are a bunch of hypocrites right now.

Whenever you are thinking of making one of those "We Are All Sinners" comments to show there compassion and sympathy for the gays, don't! Because I don't think I'm a sinner, at least not for the homosex. And I certainly don't think my relationships rank right up there with your "lies," "cheating," and "stealing."

Let's make it very clear: I may be gay, but I've don't steal. I may be gay, but I don't cheat. I may be gay, but I don't even tell significant lies. (Calling out sick and complimenting a friend's ugly outfit don't count!)

Terrence Howard, your Bible speaks of homosexuals among with liars, adulterers, and thieves? Well, then keep reading. Calling this shit out is "judging." If you want to make nice with us, why not skip the Bible altogether and recognize us for our human dignity. You needn't point out hypocrisy in scripture because you needn't involve scripture at all. There is right and wrong, with or without the influence of religion. Don't be a douchebag!

Previous "Great Achievements in Douchebaggery":

Rudy Guiliani
Mitt Romney
Tim Hardaway

Will you please...

...leave the crappy girl scout cookies at home?



Someone at work thinks they are doing a good deed by bringing in 12 -- count 'em, 12 -- boxes of crappy Girl Scout Cookies. Not a Thin Mint or Samoa among them. Please, keep your Trefoils and All-Abouts and Cafe Cookies at home. If I'm gonna waste calories on Girl Scout cookies, I want them to be good.

My Brother, My Hero

My oldest brother is seven years my senior. He graduated from high school before my family made the move to the West coast. He "stayed behind" to start college in Maryland. He served in the military, works as a pharmaceutical executive, and votes consistently Republican. One day, I hope to be like him.

Growing up, I suffered from a crippling case of hero-worship. My brother was the coolest guy in the world. When I was 9 and he was 16, he seemed to pocess the power of any great superhero, the wisdom of the greatest thinkers, and the charm and wit of Bea Arthur. (I may have been 9, but I was a very gay 9 years old!) I would follow him like a puppy and he seemed to encougage this action -- something about having a devastatingly adorable little brother on your heels apparently makes you more attractive to women, some sort of "babe magnet" if you will.

With time, I developed as an individual and the seemingly perfect nature of my eldest brother became more suspect. It had very little to do with his own behavior, but rather than my blossoming self-identity. In college, as I became more comfortable in my skin and with sexuality, distance between hero and worshipper grew. The things I started to cherish -- drag queens, meth-fueled orgies, violent submissive sex, and a prolific sense of sarcasm and hyperbole -- seemed to put me at odds with the adulthood created by my brother, an officer in the Army, a married man and father-to-be, and an ambitious career man. My coming out process built a wall between us and the emptiness created was very difficult to sustain.

By 2002, I'd completed the "coming out" process with a much delayed outing to my oldest brother. He was the last to know. I think it hit him hard. I could only imagine. But with time, our relationship improved -- but it was much different.

We were now peers, both adults creating our own lives and our personality similarities became more striking as we moved into the same generation.

To my friends, my brother may seem like the ying to my yang. Sure, we look alike and sound alike, and maybe we even have freakishly similar personalities, but the contrasts are remarkable. He's the wealthy, successful Republican family man. And I'm the ultra-liberal, ultra-cool, bachelor uncle who travels the world and explores the oceans. I'm not wealthy. And I'm not a Republican.

While our relationship is not perfect, mostly because of his personality weaknesses and nothing to do with my own, I love and respect it. But this past weekend, I realized I still am stuck in the older-brother/little-brother hero-worship trap.

My brother, while not perfect, is pretty damn cool. He ran in the Los Angeles Marathon, finishing it despite an injury and inspiring me. I've made professional decisions that have me working in public interest and in 5 years have raised about $2 million for the organizations I've worked for, and yet I'm awed by the $3,000 he raised for the Leukemia-Lymphoma Society. I've given up countless hours, and burned gallons of gas, providing lunch for the homeless in Venice or delivering meals to chronically ill people with AIDS. I've coordinated a hundred volunteers for a service project or political outreach. But the 26.2 miles he ran last Sunday leaves me in awe. I still feel small standing next to him, but feel that much more important just knowing him. Despite now standing eye-to-eye, I remain that little man he used to call "shorty."

After the race, I was eager to carry his snacks and help him get back to the hotel, bouyed by the simple reminder of our resemblence that this man, this giant, is my older brother.

Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night

I am getting old. I mean, in a little over a year, Suzanne will be 30! What is happening to my world?

I do not like aging. I do not like "maturing," or at least I imagine I won't like it once I start. And more than these things, I hate realizing that I'm not 19 anymore.

Add in another stark reminder that I am slouching towards adulthood.*

The first was in November 2005 when I made my most recent move. Eighteen months prior, I moved from North Hollywood to a 3rd floor "servants quarters" apartment in Hancock Park. I was 24 years old at the time. I was greeted early in the morning by two friends who helped me load up the rented U-Haul. Upon our arrival at the new home, three more friends joined us and we had a regular moving party as we carryied everything up the crooked stair cases. The scene has been preformed about four other times in my life, as I moved from dorm to apartment to apartement. But November 2005 was different.

When I told my friends of my exciting move to a new part of town and into a great new house I got a lot of, "That's awesome. When's the housewarming?" My previous favorite, "Let me know if you need some help moving," didn't slip from anyone's lips. I was now 26. And I was on my own for the move. I had to hire a moving company. And pay them. I'm cheap. Getting old sucks.

Tonight I am leaving for another trip to Boston. I'm flying from LAX, which is preferred by me for a number of reasons, of which the biggest one is that I live about three miles from the airport. Three miles along quiet backroads on the less trafficked fringes of the airport. No freeways. Thank god it's close because the once frequent offer of rides to the airport have vanished. Once, a friend drove from her house in MidWilshire all the way to the aiport on the Westside, picked me up, and drove me home in Hancock Park... in the wee hours of the night! Now, my roommates won't take 15 minutes to drop me off and come home.

If this is getting old, I don't like it.

I realize that this is being part of an adult: being self-sustaining. It's difficult because if any of my friends asked for help moving, for an extra hand painting, or needed a ride to the airport, it's in my nature to volunteer. Quickly. But I understand that it isn't for most. Most people -- most adults -- recognize that you can pay movers, painters, or taxis to help you with these tasks and that often they are a bargain compared to the time and energy of busy friends.

I still don't like it.

Thank god I'll never actually turn 30. Like Suzanne.

*Slouching towards adulthood, fantastically stolen from the title of former Supreme Court Justice nominee Robert Bork's book Slouching Towards Gomorrah which was fantastically ripped off and parodied by America's favorite sex columnist Dan Savage in Skipping Towards Gomorrah.

Where to now, my sweet facist?

NOTE: This is not new. It is not a response to l' twat fantatique's recent homophobic slurs against a former United States Senator. It's still fun. And appropriate.

No Privacy for You!

From Taegan Goddard's Political Wire:

Giuliani Seeks Privacy
After his son's comments about his relationship with his father and stepmother, the Los Angeles Times says Rudy Giuliani requested privacy around his family issues:

"My wife Judith is a very loving and caring, good mother and... stepmother. She has done everything she can. The responsibility is mine and I believe that these problems with blended families are challenges, sometimes they are. And the challenges are best worked on in private. The more privacy I can have for my family, the better we are going to be able to deal with all these difficulties."

The Hotline: "It may be unfair, but almost nothing reflects personal character better than -- or more accurately than -- your family. We think: If Giuliani is disqualified by Republicans, it'll be because the sturdy statue of his character collapses, not because he is pro-choice."

Um... No! Sorry douchebag. All a lot of people want is privacy and that's why they don't run for President. But you, my douchey friend, are carrying water for a political party that wants to put itself in the middle of every personal decision of Americans. Nope. No privacy for you.

When you respect the private decisions of gays and lesbians and repudiate the Republican Party's push for a Federal Marriage Amendment and publicly support an individuals right to love whomever they so choose, then you, too, can have some privacy.

When you respect the privacy of women to make their own medical decisions and repudiate the Republican Party's assault on Roe v. Wade, then you, too, can have some privacy.

When you respect the privacy of American citizens placing phones calls, sending emails, or engaging in other free speech, then you, too, can have some privacy.

Or when you drop out of the Presidential race and return to a "private" life, then you, too, can have some privacy.

Not. One. Minute. Sooner.

Horse Dies in Car Accident, Found Further Beaten on Brian's Blog

I don't mean to harp on the subject but I read this on Christopher's blog and it sums up my opinion on Coulter-gate perfectly. Thank you Christopher, Aaron, and Derek Zoolander.

Aaron had a good point just now. They bleeped out the word "balls" on Comedy Central during Zoolander. However, the national news organizations didn't bleep out faggot. Imagine the scandal if Ann Coulter were talking about a faggot's balls. Hmmm....America the great...

America the great, indeedy.

Patentable Idea?

An online resource that documents illness trends going through your community so when you want to call out sick, you can pick something that other people around you might have, thus improving the believability of your lies.

Not that I would ever use such a thing. Just an idea.

UPDATED (Monday, 2:00 PM): I've found a few resources, but none as wonderful as my idea.

Sick Day Excuse Generator: This is particularly helpful for the less-creative types that need help in picking their illness. It also has standard reliable tips for calling out sick, like my favorite (and what I believe to be one of the most important rules).

Your sickness will appear more authentic if it is done midweek and for more than one day at a time.

The Sickday Excuse Generator suggested I call out with "irritable bowel syndrome" which just so happens to be the single largest contributor to absenteeism, or so I'm told by former sales executives with a drug that supposedly addresses IBS.

2006 Sick Day Calendar: I don't see one for 2007, but they did a good job pointing out the important annual milestones to consider when planning your sick days.

How to Call In Sick...: This guide is helpful but I think my staples are just as important and effective.

My simple rules that I've culled these past 14 years of employment:

1. Always call in early. This provides you with two benefits: 1) You'll most likely get the voicemail and 2) the benefits of raspy - I - just - woke - up - or - maybe - I - was- sick - all - night voice.

2. Plan for more than one sick day. When was the last time you were really sick and felt better in 24 hours. Inevitably, when you are really sick, it takes a few days to recover. Why not use that information to extend your little break from work.

3. Set it up. Walk around in a haze 24 to 48 hours in advance. When someone asks, "How are you?" the day before your planned sick day, don't answer, "Awesome. Thanks for asking." (Although, "Thanks for asking" is always preferable to "...and you?" It protects you from having to listen to people for whom you don't care. I was taught this trick at my first job when I was 15 years old and use it regularly to this day. In fact, I've used it twice today.)

Who you calling a Faggot?

No doubt you've heard by now that Ann Coulter called a former United States Senator and Democratic candidate for president a "faggot." Classy. With a captial K.

Ann Coulter is a douchebag. That's a given. That she would stoop to the lowest levels in human nature, let alone political debate, is no surprise. She is scum. People who buy and read her books are pretty low, too. I'm not upset by what Ann Coulter said because she has upset me so many more time in that past.

I am, however, upset that yesterday afternoon, around 12:30, I was resting in a hotel room in Los Angeles with my parents, my sister-in-law and my two neices, ages 2 and 6, and had to watch the above clip... in its entirety.

I don't want to sound sanctimonious, but the word faggot has no place on midday telvision. Had she called Hillary Clinton a bitch, Joe Biden a cunt, Bill Richardson an asshole, or the more obvious, Barack Obama a nigger, you can bent your lunch money that the producers would have "bleeped" out the expletive.

I dread my neices asking their parents what a faggot is, especially when they are old enough to decipher that the wretched word in question describes their uncle. I don't think my parents, who have loved me and raised me, need to hear that word on the news, a word that describes their son in the most viscuous terms. It's not that the word faggot doesn't have a place in a political debate, its that the word should have no place in our society at large.

And we all know that there are other words -- one in particular -- that have been completing blacklisted from civilized language. Why does the word faggot not enlist the same disgust? Just a question...

UPDATED (Monday, 10:50 AM): Elizabeth Edwards, non-homosexual wife of John Edwards, responded on her husband's campaign web site to Ann Coulter. Here is what she had to say:

When Miss Coulter spoke about John at the conservative convention in Washington yesterday, she used a word that she intended as a nasty and derogatory suggestion. John and I have long ago shrugged off the vile words of this person. When she made a joke about the exact moment of death of Charlie Dean (Howard's brother and a schoolmate of mine), and when she attacked the courageous 9-11 widows, she told you all you need to know about what she is made of: her compassion -- or lack thereof. Now we need to find out about you.

Although her words did not hurt us, they may have hurt some in the gay community. We are all sick and tired of anyone supporting or applauding or introducing hate words into the national dialogue, tired of people thinking that words that cause others pain are fair game. And we are sick and tired of people like Miss Coulter thinking that her use of loaded words about the homosexual community in this country is remotely humorous or appropriate.

John gave a graduation speech at NC State several years ago, and in it he said that none of us can stand by when words of bigotry and division are used. It is only when the rest of us stand up and say that this is not acceptable that we drum out the hate-mongers from amongst us. The first reaction in the room at the conservative convention yesterday was a gasp -- a horrified gasp, even -- but it did not last. In a few seconds, those who were not horrified started clapping and drowned out the gasps.

Now it is our turn to drown out the hate. Find a way -- whether it is contribution here that sends a message to Miss Coulter and those who applauded her (which, of course, I prefer) or whether it is a statement on this blog or others or all of the above -- but please find a way not to sit silent in acceptance. It doesn't change until we say we will not be silent when this happens.

She said, "Although her words did not hurt us, they may have hurt some in the gay community." This is remarkable because it speaks to the power of language. Ann Coulter was not trying to insult John Edwards. Ann Coulter was throwing bigot-laden red meat to the conservatives gathered, that gays are a funny joke when not their political targets.

And Elizabeth and John are right. They shouldn't be hurt by Coulter because he wears her hate-filled label like a badge of honor. If she was calling him gay, which based on his wife's intimate knowledge he's not, he has nothing to be hurt. He has know shame being counted among the likes of yours truly. If she was attacking the gay community, he stands with us and will fight on our behalf, moving on unwounded by her attack.

By the way, right now, until Al Gore jumps in, John Edwards is my horse in this race.

UPDATED (Monday, 11:00 AM): World Famous Editorial Cartoonist Rob Torneo stopped by today in the comments. Welcome Rob! His pencil has left something on the matter, so I thought I'd add it to this post.



Also, I really like this cartoon of his I found while checking out his site. (I love editorial cartoons, so if anyone else wants to send me some, I'll give you a shout out!)

Secrets

I was reading a post on a new blog today and I realized that I don't have many secrets.

This blog has ruined the few that I have, but my tendecy to "spill the beans" long pre-dates November 16, 2005. Two weeks ago I made a visit to Boston to see a boy and my best friend Suzanne. I managed to keep that trip a secret from her. (Even though I just spilled the beans on the boy, which I really wasn't planning on doing yet.) Eventually I told her, when we joined her and her husband at breakfast in Cambridge. That was a good secret.

I only have a few things in my head. One I know I've only told one other person. Two of them I've never let out.

Maybe one day I'll trust someone again with these secrets. Maybe not. (Fingers crossed in Boston, though.)

How Sweet It Is!

"The only one I wouldn't support is McCain. I don't agree with him on hardly any issues. I don't think he has the temperament and leadership ability to move the country in the right direction."

-- Former Sen. Rick Santorum (R-PA), in an interview with
The Politico, on the 2008 Republican presidential field.

I can hear it over and over again, but it'll never be enough: Former Sen. Rick Santorum (R-PA)! Former Senator. Former Senator Rick Santorum. Former Senator Santorum. It's almost better than if he'd never been a senator at all. Naturally, in the anals (pun intended) of history, someone is going to ask, "How did he become a former senator?" and some brilliant high school history teacher is going to have the pleasure of answering, "By being a giant douchebag. Next question?"

Former Senator Rick Santorum
Former Senator Rick Santorum
Former Senator Rick Santorum
Former Senator Rick Santorum
Former Senator Rick Santorum
Former Senator Rick Santorum
Former Senator Rick Santorum

I just can't hear it enough.



I am crying with you, girlie!

*Thanks Rafi for the photo suggestion.

A Disclaimer of Sorts

"References to evolution delays Ventura vote on science textbook."

It would seem that a single member of the five-member Board of Education is concerned that a science text book needing approval states "evolution as a fact" and does not offer alternative explanations -- like Creationism. Of course, he's a conservative, Republican evangelical Christian. Of course he would oppose big government when they are keeping your air and water clean, your streets safe, and your jobs fair, but he has little concern for the encroaching power of government in the bedroom or the church.

Ron Matthews (the Board member in question) is an intellectual giant. When considering approval of charter school within the district, Mr. Matthews seemed to have laser-like focus on how tax dollars should be spent: "I only have 2 questions, can they pray and can they carry bibles?"

I believe that Mr. Matthews is only looking out for the children. Therefore, I believe the science textbook should be approved, but with the following disclaimer.

Dearest Student who was created/evolved in the loving/unloving image of a powerful/powerless God/Goddess/gods/spirit/power of science:

This textbook includes controversial and unproven information, such as the molecular structure of water, the force of gravity, and, of course, evolutionary theory. The all-wise, all-powerful thinkers at the Board of Education want to protect you from the violent tyranny of scientific education and intellectual vigor. Please proceed from this point with caution, trusting nothing written on bound pages unless they were written by God Almighty thousands of years ago... with no witnesses.

Please do not trust your parents -- whether they are a normal, Godly heterosexual couple who has honored their earthly covenant of marriage, or if they have succumbed to the evils of Satan and have accepted the destructive, worldly invention of divorce, or if they are hedonistic homosexuals who love only themsevles and cock -- as they clearly lack the intellectual capacity to rear you and guide you into adulthood. While traditionally the role of the classroom was for the distribution of knowledge and the challenge to think, tools which would be used to sculpt your life experience and create your intelligent self, this must be usurped as the classroom is one of the last places for the government to save your soul from your parents, the wages of sin, and the suffering of Hell. Do not believe what you will read in this book as science. Take copious notes and then consult your local evagelical minister -- with his Associates Degree in Pop Christianity from the Pat Robertson Junior Bible College -- so that he can explain what science really is: a guise used to distract you while the Jews steal your money and the homosexuals plunder your butt!

Go with God, His Loving Servant,

Ron Matthews
Ventura County Board of Education