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With same sex marriage moving at such a fast pace it was almost inevitable that the bus to equality would come to a screeching halt. It looks like Chief Justice Sotomayer is in the driver’s seat this time. I’ll tell you this road trip has been one hell of a ride. After all the bumps and detours it appeared to be smooth sailing from here on out. No such luck. I guess I was waiting for the wrong bus.
My question is why are you – and by “you” – I mean the Supreme Court and all of you Federal Courts playing not only with people’s lives but with their emotions? C’mon, you’re either in or you’re out. You’re either for or against. Take up the 6th Circuit Court’s appeal and let’s get it over with. Let’s settle this injustice thing once and for all.
I have yet to hear anyone tell me how gay marriage would affect theirs. Not one iota of rationale for being against it. And using the Bible, religious beliefs and your own personal morals don’t justify your ignorance for which you can not hide behind. Any legal argument for “traditional marriage” has been proven to be worthless and invalid. You can’t stand behind your hatred and bigotry any longer.
So let’s stop playing this stupid game. Take one step forward. Now take three steps backward. Oops, I didn’t say “Simon Says.” Ya know what? We’re not putting up with your crap anymore. We’re taking our toys and we’re going home. And we’re not coming out to play until everybody is on the same team.
So make up your damn minds already. We are going to move forward. And we’re not waiting until Simon Says.
A very long time ago I took a bottle of peroxide and bleached my brown hair blonde. I don’t know why. It wasn’t to see if I’d have more fun. I suppose I just wanted to look different. I wore Huckapoo shirts with long pointed collars, bell bottoms and platform shoes. For a brief period of time I was a flamer.
Today I have salt and pepper hair. People say I look distinguished. I don’t want to look distinguished. I just don’t want to have more salt in my hair than pepper. If you put in lots of hair gel while it’s still wet it will make your hair look darker. Plus I like the greased look. I wear cotton oxford shirts with button down collars, pleated dress pants with cuffs and wing tips. Now I’m a professional.
I had one of those little portable phonographs. I think it was a Singer. It seems to me they made other things besides sewing machines. Anyway, I would snap one of those plastic discs into my 45’s so you could play them on a 78 spindle. My favorite singers were Dionne Warwick, The Supremes and Martha and The Vandellas. I loved Motown. I loved the beat. I loved the words. I loved taking the records out of those paper sleeves and popping them onto the turntable. You could understand what they were singing back then. Once in a while I’d throw on something British like Dusty Springfield or Petula Clark just to add flavor. Now I pop in my earbuds and listen to music I have stored in my Ipod. Enya, Dave Grusin, Jackie Evancho. I also have some Katy Perry and Five For Fighting. I like to think I’m still hip. I downloaded a Hoobastank song only because I like the name of the band. No other reason. On Sundays I listen to Bach, Handel, Telemann and anything that is classical baroque. I have a Hayden trumpet concerto just for variety.
In future postings you’ll find I’m a political junkie. I find myself fascinated by pundits who come on the cable news shows and try to act as if they are the only voice of reason. They aren’t. When I was younger my two favorite programs were “Dallas” and “Designing Women.” I loved Sue Ellen Ewing because she didn’t let JR push her around. Julia Sugarbaker was a tough broad and when she went political on someone she let them know who was boss. If those two women were still around I’d write them in on Election Day.
I’ve watched the world go by as I grow older. Some things I wish I would have done differently. And I wish I had done some different things. Life thus far has been pretty good. I’ve never felt like I’ve been handed lemons. When I was a kid my sister and I set up a lemonade stand. It didn’t go so well. I remember the woman who took a gulp and then threw the plastic glass out of the car window. She didn’t hurt my feelings. But it made me realize that just because someone looks nice it doesn’t mean they are.
So now I just take things one day at a time. Besides, I’m too old to set up another stand and I can’t be spending my money on things like red Solo Cups. I have too much hair gel to buy.
I was sitting in church this morning especially attentive. My mind tends to wander sometimes on Sunday mornings. It usually happens in the middle of the sermon. What was it I needed to pick up at Wal-Mart? I really need to make a list. I can’t rely on trying to remember what it was I thought of in the shower. And walking aimlessly down every aisle until it hits me doesn’t always prove rewarding. But this morning I was not thinking about crackers or ice cream or dog biscuits or paper towels. I was thinking that in five days Governor Brewer of Arizona is either going to be a coward to her party and veto a heinous law or she is going to appease the legislature and thus make her state the poster child for hatred. As much as I’d like to think she will do the right thing, the queasiness in my stomach says something else.
What started me to ponder were some things that were in the lessons and the Gospel. Although they had no relation whatsoever to the state of events in Arizona, I thought it was rather ironic that they appeared at all considering the fact that the legislators are using religion as the basis for their bigotry. The first reading included these words: “You shall not render an unjust judgment; you shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great: with justice you shall judge your neighbor…You shall not hate in your heart anyone of your kin; you shall reprove your neighbor, or you will incur guilt yourself…You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself…”
When it was time to hear from The Gospel these words stuck in my mind: “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven…”
I question people who use religion as a crutch for their bias against others. I question their motives. I question their consciences. I question their sinless lives. But most of all I question their faith.
Love is love. Hate is hate. Evil is evil. With the stroke of a pen or the stamp from an ink pad one woman will decide which it is going to be. The burden of doing the right thing or letting “religious morals” take control rests upon her shoulders. When she was asked by the press on Saturday what she was going to do she said she “needs to think about it.” Really? Okay. But what is there to think about? What effect a law like that would have on Arizona? Would people stop coming to her state? Would the Super Bowl pull out next year? Would businesses decline to relocate there? Would their economy suffer? Would she be guilty of discrimination? Would she be labeled a bigot?
My guess is she is only trying to think about what was on her shopping list for the week.
If you want to know what really irritates me it’s people who tweet comments about gays and then try to take them back with “that’s not me at all” or say their statement was “taken out of context.” Taken out of context my ass. If it was you you wouldn’t have said it at all.
I applaud the coming out of Michael Sam, defensive lineman at the University of Missouri. It didn’t take long for the bashers to jump on board. Jonathan Vilma, linebacker for the New Orleans Saints was afraid that if Sam was drafted to a team in the NFL, he might “look at” the other players in the locker room, Vilma using himself as the object of the leering. “Don’t flatter yourself, dude. You ain’t all that” I tweeted to Vilma.
Am I to assume that all those pats on each others’ butts – on and off the field – are okay because the guys doing the patting are macho, heterosexual jocks? And when you score a touchdown and jump onto another player’s back that isn’t a little too gay? I can almost bet a lot of towel snapping goes on in the showers. All under the guise of “just buds horsing around.” Okay, if that’s what you want me to believe I’ll play your stupid game.
This is 2014 for pete’s sake. Grow up and get over yourselves. No gay football player is going to look at your junk in the locker room with salacious eyes, if that’s what you’re worried about. So keep your homophobic remarks to yourself. Then you won’t have to try to justify your “acceptance of everyone” in a feeble attempt to clear your name from being called a bigot. And just to be on the safe side, look around before you butt slap your team mate. You never know when you’ll find a photo of your hand on another man’s ass on twitter. You’ll have a lot of tweeting to do to get out of that one.
A twitter friend of mine reminded me that I haven’t been writing. I’ve been procrastinating long enough. So I’m back. There’s just too much going on to remain silent. And a 140-character limit isn’t going to cut it.
Injustice is spreading like wild fires and nobody seems to be able to put it out. There’s not enough water. There aren’t any hoses long enough to squelch the burning rage that is being inflicted upon the vast majority of Americans who live their lives according to a mission statement of “every one is treated equally and fairly.” I wonder what they live by. They. The so-called “christians” and the right wing moralists who lead such perfect and sin-less lives that they don’t need a mission statement.
So when your governor refuses to speak to his constituents about issues that are troubling them, and instead hides behind the legislative building playing catch when they’ve come to see him, or hands them a paper plate of chocolate chip cookies, mumbles “God bless you!” and turns on his heels and crawls back into his mansion, it gets under your skin. How someone could be so cowardly and ignorant yet hold such a high office is beyond mind-boggling.
Now I can settle down and do what I enjoy doing; writing about what’s on my mind. I’m wondering if the expiration date on that package of cookies of the governor’s had already expired. It’s not unlike someone from the GOP to hand you something on a plate that’s already been tainted.
I haven’t been blogging in a long time. I think I’m just so caught up with this “Romney-gate” that I’ve lost all sense of, well my senses. I logged on here to wish a Happy Birthday to the brother of a blogger I follow (AndrewSGinsburg) and thought, well while I’m on here I might as well speak my mind – before I lose it altogether.
I try not to get into politics very much, unless something has really gotten me angry. The last time was the Amendment One debacle in NC. This time it’s about my “friends” – at least those on facebook – who “like” Mitt Romney.
I am two things. Well, three really, but most people know of the third. I am a Democrat and an Episcopalian. Back in May, prior to the passing of Amendment One, the Episcopal Diocese of Eastern NC took a very brave but justified stance in decrying Amendment One because of it’s denial of equality to gays and lesbians. That stance made me very proud to be an Episcopalian. Now that Mitt has included me in the 47% – the 47% before he said he was for 100% – I need to say something.
With the passing of Amendment One I was labeled something less than a human being, a non-existent resident of NC, except for paying my taxes. I was considered not a heterosexual, not a traditional (i.e., “traditional” marriage), probably not even a Christian. I was considered “other.” I think that would be the box to tic if I had to complete a survey. Now it’s necessary to add to that list of options and tic “moocher” – apparently because by way of Social Security I have been sponging off of the government. Nevermind that I contributed to the fund during my entire working career. That doesn’t matter according to Romney. I’m merely taking a handout from the government.
So I am bewildered by my senior “friends” on facebook, or any “friends” from my church who click on “like” anything related to Mitt Romney. I mean WTH?! You’re supposed to be an Episcopalian and support equality, aren’t you? If you’re a senior you’re supposed to be outraged by Mitt’s 47% comments, aren’t you? Am I missing something? Am I going to the wrong church?
If you want to be a Republican, that’s fine. This is America after all. If you want to be an Episcopalian, that’s even better. But shouldn’t you be supporting a party that is ALL inclusive?
So I won’t mention what you “liked” when I see you Sunday at church. However, after the election I’ll probably walk up to you and ask “what were you thinking?” I’m so tired of being labeled something, especially something I’m not. I’m certainly not an “other”. As for a moocher, I’m not one of those either. I’m a human being and I wish to be considered as such.
Now you may go click on “like” Mitt Romney if you so desire. Just remember he’s probably not going to “like” you back.
At my age, I should know better. But still I throw caution to the wind – in this case, the sun – and decided that I hate wasting a sunny day hanging around inside waiting for the clothes to wash and dry, so I ventured outside in the brutal heat to sit in the shade under the carport to read. There was a semi-cool breeze blowing around two cars, so I set up my canvas lawn chair I got at Wally World between the two and sat down.
Inside or outside, it doesn’t really matter, I always manage to doze off and today was no exception. Two pages short of the end of Chapter 45, I put my head against the back of the chair to just “close my eyes for a minute.” I awoke to a burning sensation on my legs. Sure enough, my legs looked like lobster claws. But I was sitting in the shade! I said to myself. Idiot! my self said back. It’s probably wind burn and if you don’t know by now that you can burn in the shade then you have no business going outdoors in broad daylight.
So I reluctantly hobbled back inside. It felt like I had walked into a meat freezer. I settled myself into a reclining position on the leather sofa, which was tantamount to lying on a frozen box of Klondike Bars. It’s hard for me to read horizontally so I didn’t really enjoy Chapters 46 and 47 as much as I would have had I been sitting in my Walmart chair under the carport. I closed the book and decided to check on the laundry.
I can try to go back outside when it cools off a bit – which according to the Weather Channel will be Thursday or Friday. But I was in a reading mood, not a laundry mood. Nevertheless I decided it isn’t worth it to char broil myself so I’ll slip my bookmark in the beginning of the next chapter and either wait until Thursday or Friday.
Somehow the sensation of the sun beating down on your legs while you’re sleeping in the shade is not the same as lying on a soft leather sofa. Besides, the temptation to turn on your side and grab a quick nap is always there. I don’t like sleeping in the middle of the day. Not even in a chair in the middle of the carport. I don’t want to look like a complete idiot to the people riding by. But it’s too late for that. I’m already an idiot for going outside to do a little reading.