Monday, July 20, 2009

Damn, I didn't know anyone actually read my blog.

Anyway. Before everyone freaks out permanently. It was Henrique.

I don't know that much about what happened. Probably you should talk to someone who knows more about it, if you don't already know yourself. Apparently there isn't a lot of information.

Saturday, July 18, 2009


I got a phone call this afternoon. A friend of mine from college is dead. He killed himself.

I have a picture of us, in a big group, from freshman year. We're all so young, all smiling, on the front steps of our house. It's spring; you can see the sunlight shimmering on the leaves behind our heads. We are at the beginning of something big, our salad days, the spring of our own lives. Hope drips from us like honey.

I want to ask why. I don't know the answer. I would ask how someone could come to that place, to a place where death seems like comforting respite, where it becomes a thing desired rather than ignored or feared...but I know how--it's a place I've been as well, and recently. A place where the dark is completely enveloping, where the moon is eclipsed, where it seems like there is no hope for any dawn. But I also know it's a monstrous untruth, a lie of the highest (or lowest) order. It denies that most basic of human instincts, one as powerful as the drive to eat and drink and breathe: the drive to hope. As Emily Dickinson wrote (who I would appoint to sainthood were I ever put to the task of developing my own religion):

Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm...

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Gay gay gay. Gaydee gay gay.

The Matthew Shepard Act (see this) is up for a vote this week in Congress. So if you've read my stuff for a while, and think that someone who bashes my head in for being a lesbo (or for thinking that I'm a dude dressed like a lady, something I'll get into a little later) should be charged with a hate crime, and pursued by the federal government even if the local law enforcement lets it slide...then by all means contact your Congresspeople. "Dr." James Dobson has been calling it the Pedophile Protection Act, and if it's got his panties in a wad you know it has to be good...this from the man who recommends, essentially, 'beating the will' out of your child. Like I said, quality stuff (did I mention my parents owned all his books?). I apply the word 'hate' very, very sparingly--things may piss me off, or cause me to take umbrage, but the 'hate' bar is set pretty high. "Dr." Dobson clears it with a flying leap. I hate him. Almost as much as I love Helen Mirren (see previous post).

The Episcopal Church (of which I am a member...damn, I hope that was grammatically correct) has just passed DO25 at its General Convention, meaning that the moratorium on consecration of same-sex loving folk to ministry (priesthood, the deaconate, the episcopate) is over. So even gay folks can serve Jeebus (he doesn't mind that I call him that. I asked). If you're a church nerd, you can read the text of the proposal here. )

And last but not least, I dug up an old Atlantic article about queer folk in Saudi Arabia that I remember reading with a great deal of interest in's only from 2005. Read it here, and decide for yourself if you want to make Riyadh your next vacation destination. They could stone you...but then again, you could also get super-laid.

Only 15 days late for Pride, or Queer Awareness, or whatever June is nowadays,

Thursday, July 09, 2009

Helen a bikini (?!?) at 63

So apparently this picture was published to the world at large in Dec. of last year, and I just wasn't paying attention. Go ahead and google "Helen Mirren bikini." I'll wait.

Holy Mary Mother of Christ, is she not gorgeous? I had previously set my "attract-dar" at an upper limit of 40, with a few notable exceptions (exemplia gratiae: Dame Mirren herself, the lovely Catherine Deneuve, the ravishing Isabelle Huppert, and the incomparable Meryl Streep). But looking at old magazines in my therapist's waiting room today, I was accosted--that is really the only appropriate word--by that photo of Helen Mirren, who is old enough not just to be my mother, but in fact to be my grandmother. So, as the kids say, what gives?

One could, if one were bloody-minded, point to my own psychological pecadilloes and mommy-issues. However. There remains another option: hotness is not in fact a package with a sell-by date. Self-confidence, good health, a sense of humor (and good Goddess, those ode-worthy breasts that would have moved even Homer, and we all know how those Greeks were)...these are the makings of attractiveness. I am not ashamed to say it. Even on my 200 mg of notoriously libido-killing Zoloft, today in that waiting room, a photograph of a 'mature woman' gave me serious physical needs.

Further disclosure: This issue of People (for such it was) had pictures of other "older women"--defined in Hollywood parlance as anyone significantly post-pubertal--who had undergone cosmetic surgery, or had other assorted procedures in order to 'age gracefully.' 30 year olds getting Botox. Poor body-obsessed Janice Dickinson, who should by now (at least in my opinion) be focused more on her legacy, such as it is, than her legs, with full-body lifts and Lord knows what else. None of these women--especially not those who'd been tucked and implanted and sanded into oblivion--held a candle to the au naturel (as far as I know) Ms. Mirren. So there.