I think folks are finally starting to get the message. They're finally waking up to the smell of that proverbial french roast. Snapping out of their pathologically self-centered fog to the fact that the gays are pissed. Are we fuming over the fact that 52% of Californians voted against same-sex marriage for some esoteric reason that I still don't get? Are we unhinged by the unemotional, flaccid No on 8 campaign? Absolutely! Amen! But I think the crux of this unbridled fury is aimed at a new trajectory. In the cross hairs of our rifle: Hypocrisy. That funny feeling you get when someone says one thing, and does another. Or when someone says, after an off-color reference, "Hey, some of my best friends are _____!" Like America on Black Friday this year, we're not buying it. I don't buy your sham. I'm not swallowing your hate-the-sin-not-the-sinner justification anymore. I pulled your covers, sucka!
An article in the LA Times was published recapping more fallout over supporters of Proposition 8. Specifically, those in the arts that donated their money to the cause. Citing their religious beliefs, many donors are shocked at the public outcry for boycotts against them. They are using the ol' my-religion-told-me-to-do-it-so-it's-okay excuse to justify intolerance and bigotry. How convenient. And how 1967. Are you kidding me!? If the pope told you to play on the 405, would you do that too? I mean, is there no thought process that goes through your head? Hypothetically, say... 'Gosh, my pastor says that we should donate money to support Prop. 8. I need to protect the sanctity of marriage. I'm not sure how I feel about that. My neighbors are gay, they've been together for 20 years, and they really love each other. My cousin in Atlanta is a lesbian; we were best friends growing up, so I'm conflicted.' I've often wondered if this self-dialogue goes on, or if like scores of cute little rodents, they join the herd? Do they drown out the small, still voice of reason--of God (gasp!)--with centuries-old rhetorical nonsense or do they stop to think how this will affect their colleagues?
The director of the LA Film Festival, Richard Raddon quit his job after his $1500 contribution to the Yes on 8 campaign surfaced. This is what he had to say about his resignation: "I have always held the belief that all people, no matter race, religion or sexual orientation, are entitled to equal rights. As many know, I consider myself a devout and faithful Mormon. I prefer to keep the details around my contribution through my church a private matter. But I am profoundly sorry for the negative attention that my actions have drawn to Film Independent and for the hurt and pain that is being experienced in the GLBT [gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender] community." You believe in equal rights, Mr. Raddon? Did you read the text of Proposition 8? You said you believe in equal rights and yet you donated money to a cause that took them away from a minority group. What's worse, you decided that it might make you a bit more comfortable to take the marriages of 18,000 couples, and put them up for discussion in a court of law. Did it not occur to you for a moment that this was a bad move? Not just politically, but morally?
In November, Artistic Director Scott Eckern of the California Musical Theater in Sacramento resigned because of pressure from playwrights who were stunned by his donation to Yes on 8, according to the NY Times. Not because he's a Mormon. But because he supported a constitutional amendment to take away rights from a minority group. (Let me be crystal clear about this.) Let's recap: a man who makes a living off of musical theatre donated money to a cause that took rights away from gay people. Musical Theatre. He's the Artistic Director of a huge theatre. That performs musicals. Written by gay people. Isn't musical theatre the gayest thing on Earth?! Come on, man! Of course, he too issued a statement: “I understand that my choice of supporting Proposition 8 has been the cause of many hurt feelings, maybe even betrayal. It was not my intent. I honestly had no idea that this would be the reaction.”
Really? Well Mr. Eckern, you did betray us. Indeed, you hurt us deeply. But not only did you hurt me, and my friends who are married, but you hurt progress. You, in fact, poisoned the zeitgeist. It wanted to move forward. It ached to flourish. Your desire to protect marriage stripped it from those who wanted it. Chose it. Isn't that what this is about, anyway? Freedom of choice? You have the luxury of belonging to whatever religious denomination you wish. And it's protected in The Constitution. In fact, wars have been waged over it. Men and women have perished, and continue to perish for it. And hello? That's how we all got to this continent! Sheesh. I do not wish to repeal your freedom of speech. I am not saying you cannot practice the religion of your choice. I'm just saying you made a really bad decision. Because gay people made it possible for you to have a job. And feed your family. We wrote the plays that echoed in your house and composed the lyrics that got stuck in your head. We bought the tickets that filled your seats. And most devastatingly, we helped put the money in your bank account to write that fateful check. And then, you sucker punched us. Right in the kidney. When we weren't even paying attention.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Rumor Mill or Spin Cycle?
I got an email back from Public Relations at Urban Outfitters after I sent them the email from my last post. Hey, I give them credit--first thing Monday morning.
Ian,
Thank you for contacting us about the rumor that our company supported Proposition 8.
The accusation is totally baseless and without merit. Neither the founder, Dick Hayne, or CEO, Glen Senk made any contributions. Moreover, as a company we do not pursue political agendas. As a side note our CEO Glen Senk is openly gay and has been in a committed relationship for three decades.
We were never contacted by the blog authors who posted stories that sparked the rumor. They’re either using unreliable sources or not doing research before running negative stories.
Best Regards,
Sara Goodstein
Public Relations Director
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Anti-Establishment and Anti-Gay: Is This An Oxymoron? Or Just Moronic?
An open letter to Urban Outfitters and Anthropology:
Hello,
I heard today that Anthopologie and Urban Outfitters strongly supported and contributed to the Yes on Prop 8 campaign in California. If this is true I will no longer shop at your stores and will instruct my like-minded friends and neighbors to do the same. Please advise.
For over a decade, Urban Outfitters has been a staple in my shopping habits. Though after reading about your CEO's support of virulently homophobic Senator Rick Santorum, who likened gay marriage to incest and bestiality, I will not set foot in your stores. I will take my money elsewhere. I have copied this email to many of my friends and family. (To protect their privacy, I have blind copied them.)
This is not just a boycott. This is a movement of millions of Americans who are sick and tired of ignorant and divisive attitudes against the LGBT community. To support that kind of a sinister agenda is thoroughly reprehensible.
We will not linger sit in silence. It is my hope that you will hear us loud and clear--through your company's bottom line.
Sincerely,
Ian Jensen
Hello,
I heard today that Anthopologie and Urban Outfitters strongly supported and contributed to the Yes on Prop 8 campaign in California. If this is true I will no longer shop at your stores and will instruct my like-minded friends and neighbors to do the same. Please advise.
For over a decade, Urban Outfitters has been a staple in my shopping habits. Though after reading about your CEO's support of virulently homophobic Senator Rick Santorum, who likened gay marriage to incest and bestiality, I will not set foot in your stores. I will take my money elsewhere. I have copied this email to many of my friends and family. (To protect their privacy, I have blind copied them.)
This is not just a boycott. This is a movement of millions of Americans who are sick and tired of ignorant and divisive attitudes against the LGBT community. To support that kind of a sinister agenda is thoroughly reprehensible.
We will not linger sit in silence. It is my hope that you will hear us loud and clear--through your company's bottom line.
Sincerely,
Ian Jensen
Friday, November 21, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
No Roger, No Rerun, No Rent! No Roger, No Rerun, No Rent! Part 2
A quick recap:
After taking the train crammed with gay sardines down to City Hall, I bumped into my friend Gene. A few anti-gay marriage protesters were flanked by the yellow-shirted volunteers attempting to keep the peace. This is us in mid-"boo!"
Then, I stumbled upon the guy with the misspelled sign and caught up with my friends Antonio and Robert. They were in matching fuchsia t-shirts. Too adorable.
If I hadn't mentioned this before, it was hot. Like, sweltering. I mean, of course it's hot, being November in Los Angeles and all, hello?! Luckily, Antonio and Robert (along with hundreds of other people) found the shade of a skyscraper on the corner of 1st and Spring Streets.
Alec Mapa emceed the rally and introduced the likes of Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa and City Attorney Rocky Delgadillo. Both men opposed Proposition 8 and were there to show their support in spite of the devastating wild fires burning across California. Practically the only person missing was Governor Schwarzenegger. And even he has come out supporting gay marriage.
Here's Mayor Villaraigosa:
After over an hour of speeches--most of which were too long--the crowd began chanting, "March, march, march!" (Not to mention, it was freaking hot! And the sun changed position in the sky, so the building's shadow began to betray us.) Let's remember, this is not just about celebrities and politicians giving predictable, practiced speeches about equality. This is about peaceful, passionate people rallying in the streets. Our First Amendment rights guarantee us the right of Free Assembly. Something, by the way, I had taken for granted, until now.
After taking the train crammed with gay sardines down to City Hall, I bumped into my friend Gene. A few anti-gay marriage protesters were flanked by the yellow-shirted volunteers attempting to keep the peace. This is us in mid-"boo!"
 |
| From No on Prop. 8 Rally |
Then, I stumbled upon the guy with the misspelled sign and caught up with my friends Antonio and Robert. They were in matching fuchsia t-shirts. Too adorable.
 |
| From No on Prop. 8 Rally |
If I hadn't mentioned this before, it was hot. Like, sweltering. I mean, of course it's hot, being November in Los Angeles and all, hello?! Luckily, Antonio and Robert (along with hundreds of other people) found the shade of a skyscraper on the corner of 1st and Spring Streets.
 |
| From No on Prop. 8 Rally |
Alec Mapa emceed the rally and introduced the likes of Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa and City Attorney Rocky Delgadillo. Both men opposed Proposition 8 and were there to show their support in spite of the devastating wild fires burning across California. Practically the only person missing was Governor Schwarzenegger. And even he has come out supporting gay marriage.
Here's Mayor Villaraigosa:
After over an hour of speeches--most of which were too long--the crowd began chanting, "March, march, march!" (Not to mention, it was freaking hot! And the sun changed position in the sky, so the building's shadow began to betray us.) Let's remember, this is not just about celebrities and politicians giving predictable, practiced speeches about equality. This is about peaceful, passionate people rallying in the streets. Our First Amendment rights guarantee us the right of Free Assembly. Something, by the way, I had taken for granted, until now.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
No Roger, No Rerun, No Rent! No Roger, No Rerun, No Rent!
I always wanted to be an Act-Up Queer. I thought it would be cool to take to the streets and chant, "We're here! We're queer! Get used to it!" As the proverb goes, be careful what you wish for. What I didn't factor into this fantasy equation is that if one is protesting, it's not because something good has happened. Unfortunately, these demonstrations are preempted by some sort of injustice or inequality. This was not exactly part of my Act-Up Queer scenario. No, no... Life had an alternative plan.
On Saturday morning, an estimated 1 million people were to march against the passage of Proposition 8. All over the world. Not just in West Hollywood and San Francisco, but in Salt Lake City and Indianapolis. THE Salt Lake City. Utah, for crying out loud.
Here are some photos and videos of my adventure as an Act-Up Queer for the Day.
When I realized that the protest was downtown, I remembered that I could take the subway. And how crowded could it be? I mean who takes the subway in Los Angeles, anyway? On a Saturday?
These people do. There were dozens of gays and their friends standing in line to buy train tickets. And what was even more incredible was inside the cars. Like frigging rush hour in New York, the trains were packed with people riding downtown for the rally. Truly amazing. And hot. Not in the titillating way, but 'hot' in the humid and sweaty kind of way.
After the 15 minute train ride downtown, people ran from the cars. There was a palpable excitement in the air.
Also, there were a few crazies. Some Neo-Nazis and religious nuts. And then there was this guy. He was all by himself, surrounded by a sea of gays and our friends. And he's holding this sign by himself--which, of course is misspelled.
For awhile, there were volunteers in yellow shirts surrounding these people. Protesting our protest. Let me tell you, gays were pissed. But the volunteers in yellow implored everyone to be kind and tolerant (yes, it only has one "l") even to those who campaigned against us.
More on the rally later...
On Saturday morning, an estimated 1 million people were to march against the passage of Proposition 8. All over the world. Not just in West Hollywood and San Francisco, but in Salt Lake City and Indianapolis. THE Salt Lake City. Utah, for crying out loud.
Here are some photos and videos of my adventure as an Act-Up Queer for the Day.
When I realized that the protest was downtown, I remembered that I could take the subway. And how crowded could it be? I mean who takes the subway in Los Angeles, anyway? On a Saturday?
These people do. There were dozens of gays and their friends standing in line to buy train tickets. And what was even more incredible was inside the cars. Like frigging rush hour in New York, the trains were packed with people riding downtown for the rally. Truly amazing. And hot. Not in the titillating way, but 'hot' in the humid and sweaty kind of way.
After the 15 minute train ride downtown, people ran from the cars. There was a palpable excitement in the air.
Also, there were a few crazies. Some Neo-Nazis and religious nuts. And then there was this guy. He was all by himself, surrounded by a sea of gays and our friends. And he's holding this sign by himself--which, of course is misspelled.
For awhile, there were volunteers in yellow shirts surrounding these people. Protesting our protest. Let me tell you, gays were pissed. But the volunteers in yellow implored everyone to be kind and tolerant (yes, it only has one "l") even to those who campaigned against us.
More on the rally later...
If I Had to Vote for a Republican, It Would Be This Guy
In an extremely emotional and moving press conference, San Diego Mayor Jerry Sanders explains why his views on gay marriage changed. Seriously, get some tissues.
The Mourning After, Part 2
The morning after the election was like a really nasty hangover. Yeah, I had some fun, but at what cost? I mean I was happy--in fact, ecstatic that Barack Obama was now the President-Elect. But I still couldn't shake the disturbed sense of internalized homophobia and shame that the vote stirred up. Another wretched ghost from the past, ugly and old, and covered in cobwebs. This is the marrow of what is wrong with American society, in terms of how we deal with the LGBT community. When a government at the local, state, or federal level says you cannot get married if you are gay, you cannot adopt children if you are gay, you CAN serve in the army, but if we find out you are gay, you're gone! Even if you are a talented, hard-working Arabic translator, you're outta here! And as the Government leans, so leans the electorate. How can gay people not be hurt by this, consciously or unconsciously? When homophobia is injected into our policies, our schools, our institutions, and into the air that surrounds us. The government is supposed to protect us, give us guidelines, and liberties and freedom. But like an abused child, we learn to internalize this. We metabolize it. And like a poison, it kills us silently and slowly. It hangs in our cells, our flesh, and in our hearts. We blame ourselves for the abuse. It must be our fault, after all. We are the ones engaging in the immoral behavior! We should be ashamed of ourselves! This is the cyclical cycle of self-abuse, the destruction of our very souls. After awhile, it becomes involuntary, like breathing.
I have learned that pain, unfortunately, is the catalyst for change in my life. Another axiom that I begrudgingly ascribe to is that I cannot change others, only myself. (And trust me, after years of trying to people to suit my own selfish ends, this is a big one). So when the numbers came in and showed that the "religious" demographic overwhelmingly vote YES on Prop. 8, I was angry, livid, furious. I mean my freaking blood was boiling! The Mormon church actually issued a edict to its devotees that they must support this cause to preserve the sanctity of marriage. This from the religion--albeit in its more fundamental sects--that allows polygamy?! So let's review. Mormons can have more than one wife, but I can't have a husband. I just want one. Singular. The Catholics were no less intolerant. They actually joined forces with the Mormon Church to pass this dastardly legislation. These are the same folks who for decades, if not centuries, silently condoned and enabled the molestation of countless numbers of children. Shuffling the perpetrating priests from parish to parish as if changing their surroundings would help the kids they violated. An evil environment of geographics. And what about the parents who donated time, faith, trust, and money to this organization? Was not theirs a violation as well? The Christians aren't much on our side, either. Rick Warren, a mega-preacher in Orange County was extremely vocal in his support of a gay marriage ban. He claimed "we should not let 2 percent of the population change the definition of marriage." Well, Mr. Warren, I do not accept your definition of marriage. I do not want it. I have the receipt and I am promptly returning it for a full refund. Because your use of the Bible as a weapon does not work for me. Your perversion of the messages of the Jesus are transparent. I see you.
These institutions, who do not pay taxes, want to strip me of my civil rights? Let's be clear: the State of California issues marriage licenses, NOT the Mormon Church or the Catholic Church or any church. I don't even know where to begin. A history lesson then: the world did not begin with the birth of Jesus. There were thousands of years of human history before him. Greeks, Romans, Etruscans, and Egyptians to name a few. And marriage was about money and politics. Marriages, more often than not, were arranged. It was not about religion or love. And what about dowries? Women being traded or sold by their families? So are we clear on this? Christians did not invent the concept of marriage! You haven't cornered the market on it like Apple did with mp3 player! This is something that bugs me, this smug superiority about Christianity being the only religion that has relevance. You do not have the monopoly on the truth. Like their claim that the purpose of marriage is to bear children. I know people who have been happily married for years WITHOUT children--in fact, BOTH of my parents have been remarried. The purpose of their marriages were not to bear children, so I guess their marriages are not as important as yours then? So I guess they have tainted the institution of marriage? Theirs is not as sanctified as people who procreate? Huh? It is not YOUR institution. It belongs to everyone who chooses it. I despise this kind of intolerance. This sort of hiding behind religion as an excuse to be bigoted. This kind of intolerance is what causes gays to be persecuted, bashed, and killed for something they have no control over. So, I will not stop fighting! I will not stop protesting! I will not stop calling a spade a spade! I will not stop demanding equal treatment under the law! I will not be silent until the day comes--and believe you me, it's on the way--where I can look into the eyes of the man that I love, ask for his hand in marriage, and have that marriage recognized by the State of California and the government of the United States of America!
Cleansing breath...
Now, after the rage has faded, and the dust subsides, what's next? We cannot shine our anger like a flood light. It must be focused and concentrated like a laser. For me, this begs the question, where do I focus it? Protesting, rallying, and fighting for equal rights are all in my sights. I believe in the grassroots movement that elected Barack Obama as the 44th President. This is the same energy that will eventually overturn Prop. 8 and its cousins in 48 other states. I believe that the sea will change. But what about the change in me? If it does begin with me, what kind of pain will I have to endure? Pain of the knowledge that 52% of Californians think I am a second-class citizen? Pain for my friends whose marriages are in limbo? The pain that this fight is not over? Sure, those sting. But what pains me the most is giving up my rage. Giving up my own moral superiority. Relinquishing my hatred for those who voted against my dreams, the vision that I hold so dear. I must forgive. Begin to put my own weapons down and trust in that changing sea. Because in it are the stirrings of hope and change and solidarity and forgiveness and love. So that's what I will do. I will love those who voted Yes on Prop. 8. The Catholics, Christians, Mormons, and the owner of El Coyote. Even Rick Warren. Not because I want to, but because I have to. WE have to. I implore my brothers and sisters in this movement not to chastise, to disparage, or to hate those who are against us. Even when they protest at our demonstrations, resist the temptation to boo them. Instead, I beg of you to LOVE them. And listen, this doesn't mean you have to have tea with Tony Perkins. But, if we want to overcome our struggles, we cannot afford to employ the same tactics as they have. Yes, we must demand our rights! But we must also offer a silent prayer of love, of forgiveness to the other side. Will I do this? Yes. Will I do this perfectly? Not by a long shot. But I'll change, because it's more painful not to.
I have learned that pain, unfortunately, is the catalyst for change in my life. Another axiom that I begrudgingly ascribe to is that I cannot change others, only myself. (And trust me, after years of trying to people to suit my own selfish ends, this is a big one). So when the numbers came in and showed that the "religious" demographic overwhelmingly vote YES on Prop. 8, I was angry, livid, furious. I mean my freaking blood was boiling! The Mormon church actually issued a edict to its devotees that they must support this cause to preserve the sanctity of marriage. This from the religion--albeit in its more fundamental sects--that allows polygamy?! So let's review. Mormons can have more than one wife, but I can't have a husband. I just want one. Singular. The Catholics were no less intolerant. They actually joined forces with the Mormon Church to pass this dastardly legislation. These are the same folks who for decades, if not centuries, silently condoned and enabled the molestation of countless numbers of children. Shuffling the perpetrating priests from parish to parish as if changing their surroundings would help the kids they violated. An evil environment of geographics. And what about the parents who donated time, faith, trust, and money to this organization? Was not theirs a violation as well? The Christians aren't much on our side, either. Rick Warren, a mega-preacher in Orange County was extremely vocal in his support of a gay marriage ban. He claimed "we should not let 2 percent of the population change the definition of marriage." Well, Mr. Warren, I do not accept your definition of marriage. I do not want it. I have the receipt and I am promptly returning it for a full refund. Because your use of the Bible as a weapon does not work for me. Your perversion of the messages of the Jesus are transparent. I see you.
These institutions, who do not pay taxes, want to strip me of my civil rights? Let's be clear: the State of California issues marriage licenses, NOT the Mormon Church or the Catholic Church or any church. I don't even know where to begin. A history lesson then: the world did not begin with the birth of Jesus. There were thousands of years of human history before him. Greeks, Romans, Etruscans, and Egyptians to name a few. And marriage was about money and politics. Marriages, more often than not, were arranged. It was not about religion or love. And what about dowries? Women being traded or sold by their families? So are we clear on this? Christians did not invent the concept of marriage! You haven't cornered the market on it like Apple did with mp3 player! This is something that bugs me, this smug superiority about Christianity being the only religion that has relevance. You do not have the monopoly on the truth. Like their claim that the purpose of marriage is to bear children. I know people who have been happily married for years WITHOUT children--in fact, BOTH of my parents have been remarried. The purpose of their marriages were not to bear children, so I guess their marriages are not as important as yours then? So I guess they have tainted the institution of marriage? Theirs is not as sanctified as people who procreate? Huh? It is not YOUR institution. It belongs to everyone who chooses it. I despise this kind of intolerance. This sort of hiding behind religion as an excuse to be bigoted. This kind of intolerance is what causes gays to be persecuted, bashed, and killed for something they have no control over. So, I will not stop fighting! I will not stop protesting! I will not stop calling a spade a spade! I will not stop demanding equal treatment under the law! I will not be silent until the day comes--and believe you me, it's on the way--where I can look into the eyes of the man that I love, ask for his hand in marriage, and have that marriage recognized by the State of California and the government of the United States of America!
Cleansing breath...
Now, after the rage has faded, and the dust subsides, what's next? We cannot shine our anger like a flood light. It must be focused and concentrated like a laser. For me, this begs the question, where do I focus it? Protesting, rallying, and fighting for equal rights are all in my sights. I believe in the grassroots movement that elected Barack Obama as the 44th President. This is the same energy that will eventually overturn Prop. 8 and its cousins in 48 other states. I believe that the sea will change. But what about the change in me? If it does begin with me, what kind of pain will I have to endure? Pain of the knowledge that 52% of Californians think I am a second-class citizen? Pain for my friends whose marriages are in limbo? The pain that this fight is not over? Sure, those sting. But what pains me the most is giving up my rage. Giving up my own moral superiority. Relinquishing my hatred for those who voted against my dreams, the vision that I hold so dear. I must forgive. Begin to put my own weapons down and trust in that changing sea. Because in it are the stirrings of hope and change and solidarity and forgiveness and love. So that's what I will do. I will love those who voted Yes on Prop. 8. The Catholics, Christians, Mormons, and the owner of El Coyote. Even Rick Warren. Not because I want to, but because I have to. WE have to. I implore my brothers and sisters in this movement not to chastise, to disparage, or to hate those who are against us. Even when they protest at our demonstrations, resist the temptation to boo them. Instead, I beg of you to LOVE them. And listen, this doesn't mean you have to have tea with Tony Perkins. But, if we want to overcome our struggles, we cannot afford to employ the same tactics as they have. Yes, we must demand our rights! But we must also offer a silent prayer of love, of forgiveness to the other side. Will I do this? Yes. Will I do this perfectly? Not by a long shot. But I'll change, because it's more painful not to.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Mourning After, Part One
On Election Night, my friend Joe invited me over to his house to watch the returns. I was grateful for his invitation on many levels. I had been feeling somewhat disconnected and anti-social over the last few months, he was offering free pizza and Diet Coke, we have the same smart, though self-deprecating and sophomoric sense humor, and he has a family. Now, I've never told Joe that I like being around his family because, it's--well, a family. A real live suburban family unit. I've also rarely said out loud to anyone that I want a family. So there, now I have. I want a family, with a husband and a child (maybe two), a house with a two-car garage, and a Labrador. A yellow one. And apparently, a lot of other people want this too. I know this because I see them often and in droves. This means I am not as unique as I though was. I am pretty frigging ordinary, though special in the way that there will never be another me--ever.
And yet for some reason, there are people who want to take away my dream. They already have it for themselves, and yet they don't want to share it like a greedy little brat at Halloween who eats all the candy until he moans from the cramps in his hateful little abdomen. But I'll stop here, because in order to move forward with this story, we're going to take a little voyage.
Back in good ‘ol 2000, months after the Y2K Armageddon prophesies faded into memory, voters in California were presented with Proposition 22. A ballot measure that defined marriage to be only between a man and a woman. At the time, I lived in Huntington Beach, a burg in Orange County, which is among the most conservative, Republican areas in the state. A senior at Cal State Long Beach, I commuted from home to save money, and frankly, to enjoy the benefits of being an unemployed college student. This was the beginning of the post-Clinton years, a time of prosperity at home and abroad. The harbinger of George W. Bush was on the political horizon, soon to take this country through the worst eight years in memory.
I remember turning left into the tract of the 1970's cookie cutter starter homes, and greeted by what else: a YES on PROP 22 SIGN. This is the place where I had lived for 23 years of my life. I rode my first bike here after my dad took of the training wheels and let my ride, however wobbly and unbalanced down Larthorn Drive. I lit firecrackers during the 4th of July (when they were still legal), I trick-or-treated, longed for summer to arrive, and played outside until the soles of my feet were blackened with asphalt. I smoked pot for the first time in our tree in the front yard. Hell, I even kissed a boy for the first time in front of my childhood home. Too many rites of passage to count. And now, the most insidious rite of passage of all. My personal introduction into the institutionalization of homophobia.
Homophobia, Ian. Ian, homophobia.
It's not like I hadn't been the victim of that kind of hostility before. In school, I received the brunt of it from very misguided and insecure boys. Mostly, I presume, because their parents taught them to do so. And maybe because on some level, they saw my vulnerability as a gay kid, recognized it in themselves, and lashed out. What you resist persists, what you take a look at ceases to trouble you.
But this time, it was different. This type of bigotry was not an in-yer-face, queer-bashing bravado. It was far more odious, like a deadly cancer metastasising its way through the circulatory system of the electorate. A deft killer of rights, of hopes, and of dreams. Instead of sexually repressed adolescents shouting, "Fairy!" or "Fag!", it was adults in the privacy of their voting booth, quietly marking ink on a ballot. It is a lot easier to take away some one's dignity when you're not staring them in the face. In the end, 62% of Californians approved Proposition 22.
After I graduated in May, I quickly moved to Los Angeles, thinking I would forever erase the years of verbal and psychological abuse I had endured. And this Prop. 22 thing? L.A. would be different. Not so many Republicans, I mused. People are a lot more open-minded in L.A., right?
So eight years go by. And the Good Gays and the Straight-But-Not-Narrows are fighting the fight. And it works! In June of 2008, the California Supreme Court overturned Prop. 22 by declaring it unconstitutional. To amend the constitution to take away the rights of anyone is unconstitutional. We won! I went to my first legal wedding in August. I continued to sketch the dream in my imagination. I held my head a little higher. I felt my heart soften a bit. And I had hope.
And then comes along a shadow from the past like a frozen feeling that creeps up your spine. A new Prop. 22. Proposition 8. And this time, I convinced myself, it would surely be struck down by the pretty people of Los Angeles. By the friendly folks of California. Because eight years had gone by. Will and Grace was in syndication. T.R. Knight was on Grey's Anatomy. Ellen was giving Oprah a run for her money as the Queen of Daytime Talk. I mean, Doogie Howser is out! And hot! Come on! People have evolved, right?
Back at Joe's place, MSNBC called the election for Barack Obama. I was beside myself. Verclempt. Gobsmacked. I worked hard for Obama's election. I phone banked three times, I donated money, I obsessively watched Rachel Maddow and CNN and read the Times of both coasts. I ranted, I raved. I wept and my friends wept with me. A feeling that what I had done, however minute, was part and parcel of a shift in American politics. November 4, 2008 instantaneously became a part of future history books. This was the day that Americans came together and said, "Enough!" Enough of the hedonistic, bull-in-a-china-shop policies of the GOP and W., enough of our soldiers dying in vain, enough of corporate culture draining taxpayers' 401Ks and pensions. In a millisecond that lasted an eon, I experienced the joy parents must feel when they give birth.
And then, the proverbial shoe drop.
I slid my iPhone open and typed in the URL for the LA Times. Proposition 8 was winning. This had to be a mistake. This night was too precious. And, like in a movie, when someone has some revelatory moment, all the noise drained from the room. My hope evaporated. The change that I longed for was ripped from my heart. All of the excitement and disbelief I felt about Obama's win vanished. I crashed to Earth. And someone turned the dial up on the master volume. Joe gave me a look. "Prop. 8 is winning," I said with a voice that escaped from my lungs. How could this have happened? Could all of the work and the tears and the pain we've spent over the years be in vain?
And yet for some reason, there are people who want to take away my dream. They already have it for themselves, and yet they don't want to share it like a greedy little brat at Halloween who eats all the candy until he moans from the cramps in his hateful little abdomen. But I'll stop here, because in order to move forward with this story, we're going to take a little voyage.
Back in good ‘ol 2000, months after the Y2K Armageddon prophesies faded into memory, voters in California were presented with Proposition 22. A ballot measure that defined marriage to be only between a man and a woman. At the time, I lived in Huntington Beach, a burg in Orange County, which is among the most conservative, Republican areas in the state. A senior at Cal State Long Beach, I commuted from home to save money, and frankly, to enjoy the benefits of being an unemployed college student. This was the beginning of the post-Clinton years, a time of prosperity at home and abroad. The harbinger of George W. Bush was on the political horizon, soon to take this country through the worst eight years in memory.
I remember turning left into the tract of the 1970's cookie cutter starter homes, and greeted by what else: a YES on PROP 22 SIGN. This is the place where I had lived for 23 years of my life. I rode my first bike here after my dad took of the training wheels and let my ride, however wobbly and unbalanced down Larthorn Drive. I lit firecrackers during the 4th of July (when they were still legal), I trick-or-treated, longed for summer to arrive, and played outside until the soles of my feet were blackened with asphalt. I smoked pot for the first time in our tree in the front yard. Hell, I even kissed a boy for the first time in front of my childhood home. Too many rites of passage to count. And now, the most insidious rite of passage of all. My personal introduction into the institutionalization of homophobia.
Homophobia, Ian. Ian, homophobia.
It's not like I hadn't been the victim of that kind of hostility before. In school, I received the brunt of it from very misguided and insecure boys. Mostly, I presume, because their parents taught them to do so. And maybe because on some level, they saw my vulnerability as a gay kid, recognized it in themselves, and lashed out. What you resist persists, what you take a look at ceases to trouble you.
But this time, it was different. This type of bigotry was not an in-yer-face, queer-bashing bravado. It was far more odious, like a deadly cancer metastasising its way through the circulatory system of the electorate. A deft killer of rights, of hopes, and of dreams. Instead of sexually repressed adolescents shouting, "Fairy!" or "Fag!", it was adults in the privacy of their voting booth, quietly marking ink on a ballot. It is a lot easier to take away some one's dignity when you're not staring them in the face. In the end, 62% of Californians approved Proposition 22.
After I graduated in May, I quickly moved to Los Angeles, thinking I would forever erase the years of verbal and psychological abuse I had endured. And this Prop. 22 thing? L.A. would be different. Not so many Republicans, I mused. People are a lot more open-minded in L.A., right?
So eight years go by. And the Good Gays and the Straight-But-Not-Narrows are fighting the fight. And it works! In June of 2008, the California Supreme Court overturned Prop. 22 by declaring it unconstitutional. To amend the constitution to take away the rights of anyone is unconstitutional. We won! I went to my first legal wedding in August. I continued to sketch the dream in my imagination. I held my head a little higher. I felt my heart soften a bit. And I had hope.
And then comes along a shadow from the past like a frozen feeling that creeps up your spine. A new Prop. 22. Proposition 8. And this time, I convinced myself, it would surely be struck down by the pretty people of Los Angeles. By the friendly folks of California. Because eight years had gone by. Will and Grace was in syndication. T.R. Knight was on Grey's Anatomy. Ellen was giving Oprah a run for her money as the Queen of Daytime Talk. I mean, Doogie Howser is out! And hot! Come on! People have evolved, right?
Back at Joe's place, MSNBC called the election for Barack Obama. I was beside myself. Verclempt. Gobsmacked. I worked hard for Obama's election. I phone banked three times, I donated money, I obsessively watched Rachel Maddow and CNN and read the Times of both coasts. I ranted, I raved. I wept and my friends wept with me. A feeling that what I had done, however minute, was part and parcel of a shift in American politics. November 4, 2008 instantaneously became a part of future history books. This was the day that Americans came together and said, "Enough!" Enough of the hedonistic, bull-in-a-china-shop policies of the GOP and W., enough of our soldiers dying in vain, enough of corporate culture draining taxpayers' 401Ks and pensions. In a millisecond that lasted an eon, I experienced the joy parents must feel when they give birth.
And then, the proverbial shoe drop.
I slid my iPhone open and typed in the URL for the LA Times. Proposition 8 was winning. This had to be a mistake. This night was too precious. And, like in a movie, when someone has some revelatory moment, all the noise drained from the room. My hope evaporated. The change that I longed for was ripped from my heart. All of the excitement and disbelief I felt about Obama's win vanished. I crashed to Earth. And someone turned the dial up on the master volume. Joe gave me a look. "Prop. 8 is winning," I said with a voice that escaped from my lungs. How could this have happened? Could all of the work and the tears and the pain we've spent over the years be in vain?
Monday, November 10, 2008
Prepubescent Game Show Fever
When I was thirteen, I was on "Teen Win, Lose, or Draw." I had always wanted to be on a game show, plus the prospect of seeing myself on TV was so intoxicating I could barely stand it.
Now, if you've ever been on a game show, one of things they tell you is that you cannot wear white, or stripes, or busy patterns, or anything with logo. Solid colors, right? This, of course, ruled out everything in my closet so clearly, I had to get a new outfit. And what do I select at Nordstrom but a nice short-sleeved, button-up shirt. In pink. Actually, it was CORAL. But on TV, pink. Right. Hey, it was 1990. What do you want?
I get to the set and they tell us it's "funny hat day." Mmm hmm. So, I'm wearing a pink shirt, my dad's giant beach hat, acid washed jeans, and British Knights. Hot. Anyway, one of the celebrities is a girl on a soap opera. For the sake of her privacy, let's call her Kelly. I really wanted to be like Kelly because she was gorgeous, and put together, and on television. And she seemed really down to earth too.
So my team ends up winning, which was really awesome! I guessed like a dozen clues in the final round and we totally smeared the other team. It was quite a confidence booster for a closeted, pre-pubescent, skinny, athletically-uninclined boy with questionable fashion sense.
As the air date grew closer, I grew more and more excited. My parents got cable for that month just so we could see the show. And on the day it was to air, an hour before--the cable goes out. Nothing on the screen but snow. I was horrified, humiliated, and crushed. Luckily, my step-dad fanagled a copy of the show from the Disney Channel and to this day, I have a copy of that show. Like a VHS time capsule, it holds the memories and lessons of a distant and faint youth waiting to be experienced and learned again.
Fast forward fourteen years later... I am taking an acting class at a studio where I also taught. And lo and behold, who starts taking the class but Kelly! From the soap opera. This is a very small world. And she remembers "Teen Win, Lose, or Draw!" Not only do we take the same class, but we end up doing a scene together. Crazy.
This, in a nutshell, is my life. It exists as a series of hopes and dreams and goals. Some are fulfilled and realized while others are crushed or rearranged. People come and go, with or without an explanation. But always with a lesson. It's strange and funny and weird and sad and exhilarating and everything.
Now, if you've ever been on a game show, one of things they tell you is that you cannot wear white, or stripes, or busy patterns, or anything with logo. Solid colors, right? This, of course, ruled out everything in my closet so clearly, I had to get a new outfit. And what do I select at Nordstrom but a nice short-sleeved, button-up shirt. In pink. Actually, it was CORAL. But on TV, pink. Right. Hey, it was 1990. What do you want?
I get to the set and they tell us it's "funny hat day." Mmm hmm. So, I'm wearing a pink shirt, my dad's giant beach hat, acid washed jeans, and British Knights. Hot. Anyway, one of the celebrities is a girl on a soap opera. For the sake of her privacy, let's call her Kelly. I really wanted to be like Kelly because she was gorgeous, and put together, and on television. And she seemed really down to earth too.
So my team ends up winning, which was really awesome! I guessed like a dozen clues in the final round and we totally smeared the other team. It was quite a confidence booster for a closeted, pre-pubescent, skinny, athletically-uninclined boy with questionable fashion sense.
As the air date grew closer, I grew more and more excited. My parents got cable for that month just so we could see the show. And on the day it was to air, an hour before--the cable goes out. Nothing on the screen but snow. I was horrified, humiliated, and crushed. Luckily, my step-dad fanagled a copy of the show from the Disney Channel and to this day, I have a copy of that show. Like a VHS time capsule, it holds the memories and lessons of a distant and faint youth waiting to be experienced and learned again.
Fast forward fourteen years later... I am taking an acting class at a studio where I also taught. And lo and behold, who starts taking the class but Kelly! From the soap opera. This is a very small world. And she remembers "Teen Win, Lose, or Draw!" Not only do we take the same class, but we end up doing a scene together. Crazy.
This, in a nutshell, is my life. It exists as a series of hopes and dreams and goals. Some are fulfilled and realized while others are crushed or rearranged. People come and go, with or without an explanation. But always with a lesson. It's strange and funny and weird and sad and exhilarating and everything.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
