Thursday, July 31, 2003
Pope Launches Campaign Against Gay Marriage
Why?
Doesn't the clergy think that they wouldn't have a problem with priestly child abuse if they were just able to get rid of all those god fearin', Holy Father lovin' homos in the Church?
Therefore, if gays were allowed to be married and priests could only be single men, doesn't it follow that the Church would have solved their 'problem' in their eyes? The potential priest pool would shrink to primarily hetero men.
Then the Pope could look out over the world's Catholic congregations and not have people snicker when he mumbles something about the church built on St. Peter getting bigger every day.
Why?
Doesn't the clergy think that they wouldn't have a problem with priestly child abuse if they were just able to get rid of all those god fearin', Holy Father lovin' homos in the Church?
Therefore, if gays were allowed to be married and priests could only be single men, doesn't it follow that the Church would have solved their 'problem' in their eyes? The potential priest pool would shrink to primarily hetero men.
Then the Pope could look out over the world's Catholic congregations and not have people snicker when he mumbles something about the church built on St. Peter getting bigger every day.
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
Gay High School in New York City
http://www.cnn.com/2003/EDUCATION/07/28/gay.school.ap/index.html
Oh if Jerry Falwell were dead and buried, he’d be turning over in his grave. Well, if he were really dead, he wouldn’t be turning now would he? But regardless, the news on Tuesday did not bode well. New York has started a gay high school. But the whole prospectc leaves me with some questions.
How do you get in? I mean, can you get in by just saying “I’m here, I’m queer. Get over it.”? Or do you have to audition for some theatre arts production? Or is there some stereotypical written exam? Or worse do you have to bring in pictures of you in flagrante delicto with another gay high schooler wannabe? (That would be the oral exam I guess) Can 14 year old boys or potential freshmen tomboys get provisional admission for attending until they find out if it’s just a phase they are going through? And what about those metrosexuals who don't want to miss out on anything?
Now imagine the coursework that these kids could participate in.
Human anatomy—Been there, done him.
Human sexuality from top to bottom.
Home Economics: Or The Naked Chef meets a Martha Stewart look alike and they learn how to sew fabulous outfits from an aging draq queen.
History: Oh those crazy Greeks
And what about sports? I haven’t figured out a good mascot yet, but I can see a winning football team. Seriously. The guys on the line could be husky bears. The guys in the backfield could be nimble gym bunnies—good at spotting each other and sharing. And of course a couple of tight ends, like we can even find one now. And let’s not forget wrestling, in the Greco-Roman style.
Can you imagine the glittering gayla prom night? How about “Leather and Lace” as the theme, and see who comes in what.
And it would seem that you would never want to miss a day of class, else everyone would be calling you “Miss Thang” and talking trash about you. Lots of possibilities this school.
Well, I hope it works out for the kids. It’s tough enough not knowing what the hell is going on sometimes, but knowing for certain you’re gonna get hassled for it anyway.
Now what about the mascot??????
http://www.cnn.com/2003/EDUCATION/07/28/gay.school.ap/index.html
Oh if Jerry Falwell were dead and buried, he’d be turning over in his grave. Well, if he were really dead, he wouldn’t be turning now would he? But regardless, the news on Tuesday did not bode well. New York has started a gay high school. But the whole prospectc leaves me with some questions.
How do you get in? I mean, can you get in by just saying “I’m here, I’m queer. Get over it.”? Or do you have to audition for some theatre arts production? Or is there some stereotypical written exam? Or worse do you have to bring in pictures of you in flagrante delicto with another gay high schooler wannabe? (That would be the oral exam I guess) Can 14 year old boys or potential freshmen tomboys get provisional admission for attending until they find out if it’s just a phase they are going through? And what about those metrosexuals who don't want to miss out on anything?
Now imagine the coursework that these kids could participate in.
Human anatomy—Been there, done him.
Human sexuality from top to bottom.
Home Economics: Or The Naked Chef meets a Martha Stewart look alike and they learn how to sew fabulous outfits from an aging draq queen.
History: Oh those crazy Greeks
And what about sports? I haven’t figured out a good mascot yet, but I can see a winning football team. Seriously. The guys on the line could be husky bears. The guys in the backfield could be nimble gym bunnies—good at spotting each other and sharing. And of course a couple of tight ends, like we can even find one now. And let’s not forget wrestling, in the Greco-Roman style.
Can you imagine the glittering gayla prom night? How about “Leather and Lace” as the theme, and see who comes in what.
And it would seem that you would never want to miss a day of class, else everyone would be calling you “Miss Thang” and talking trash about you. Lots of possibilities this school.
Well, I hope it works out for the kids. It’s tough enough not knowing what the hell is going on sometimes, but knowing for certain you’re gonna get hassled for it anyway.
Now what about the mascot??????
Monday, July 28, 2003
Aunt Bertha
Today was Aunt Bertha’s funeral. She died at the age of 77. Some time back she had written a short history of her life that two of her daughters read for the congregation. Aunt Bertha was always a fairly reserved woman, and as they said in the service, she liked to stay in the background. So hearing her words that had so much life from her past took away some of the sorrow of her present death.
From the funeral I went to visit my newest nephew, David, 3 weeks old. And you all really need to rent Disney’s “Lion King” if nothing else to hear the opening number, The Circle of Life. Now this would be before Elton John got to it. But it captures the majesty of renewal. And it sets up the scene and perspective for kids who will witness an impending loss. I’m told that originally, the music and video were going to be playing in the background as the narrator would introduce the story. Once the director viewed the scene with the music (African vocals included), he decided to let it stand alone.
Bertha was a devout Mormon, so the circle analogy gets a little lost—it’s more like a continuum. Everyone in the church is convinced that Bertha and Eddie, whenever his time comes, will reunite with Bertha for the eternities. Well here’s my problem. Is he going to end up with heavenly honey-dos? I mean, if a guy gets nagged down here, is he post-destined to get nagged in perpetuity? There’s got to be a lot of stuff going on in the afterlife. Things in other worlds have got to be breaking and need fixing. At least they probably don’t have refrigerators where a magnet holds the list of tasks firmly in place. Actually, in Mormon heaven, there would be no need for a refrigerator if you didn’t plan on keeping cold beer to have on hand after a busy day of doing the Lord’s heavenly work. Fortunately, red wine can be stored and drunk at room temperature, assuming there will be heavenly rooms and heavenly temperatures, and then assuming that the Mormons at least lighten up about wine, after they realize it’s the blood of Christ.
So whether it’s a circle or continuum, as the Warthog in Lion King sang, “Hakuna Matata” – no worries for the rest of your days. Goodbye, Bertha.
Today was Aunt Bertha’s funeral. She died at the age of 77. Some time back she had written a short history of her life that two of her daughters read for the congregation. Aunt Bertha was always a fairly reserved woman, and as they said in the service, she liked to stay in the background. So hearing her words that had so much life from her past took away some of the sorrow of her present death.
From the funeral I went to visit my newest nephew, David, 3 weeks old. And you all really need to rent Disney’s “Lion King” if nothing else to hear the opening number, The Circle of Life. Now this would be before Elton John got to it. But it captures the majesty of renewal. And it sets up the scene and perspective for kids who will witness an impending loss. I’m told that originally, the music and video were going to be playing in the background as the narrator would introduce the story. Once the director viewed the scene with the music (African vocals included), he decided to let it stand alone.
Bertha was a devout Mormon, so the circle analogy gets a little lost—it’s more like a continuum. Everyone in the church is convinced that Bertha and Eddie, whenever his time comes, will reunite with Bertha for the eternities. Well here’s my problem. Is he going to end up with heavenly honey-dos? I mean, if a guy gets nagged down here, is he post-destined to get nagged in perpetuity? There’s got to be a lot of stuff going on in the afterlife. Things in other worlds have got to be breaking and need fixing. At least they probably don’t have refrigerators where a magnet holds the list of tasks firmly in place. Actually, in Mormon heaven, there would be no need for a refrigerator if you didn’t plan on keeping cold beer to have on hand after a busy day of doing the Lord’s heavenly work. Fortunately, red wine can be stored and drunk at room temperature, assuming there will be heavenly rooms and heavenly temperatures, and then assuming that the Mormons at least lighten up about wine, after they realize it’s the blood of Christ.
So whether it’s a circle or continuum, as the Warthog in Lion King sang, “Hakuna Matata” – no worries for the rest of your days. Goodbye, Bertha.
Thursday, July 24, 2003
PISS ACTION ON THE ROAD
I’ve been seeing a lot of peeing on the road. Mostly on the back windows of trucks and a few S.U.V.s. I think it all started innocently enough with guys, proud of their toys, disdainful (granted that might be a big word for these guys) of owners of Fords or Chevys or Dodges or clearly anything Japanese.
Lately though, I’ve seen this piss action morph into a more robust value statement. So without the need to roll down your window at the stoplight and engage in playful banter, you already have a bead on what the driver is like.
A lady I don’t want to talk to ever has the picture of a women squatting down pissing on the letters “EX”. While a graphical challenge, the message was clear to any prospective pre-“EX”. From there, the puerile pissing pictures get into hated sports teams and the like. This seems to be a logical extension.
However, over the last few months I’ve been watching this communication and art form elevate to a whole new level. I’ve seen the little kid pissing on that Christian fish logo. (I’m sure there’s a story there.) Then there was one with the kid pissing on the Darwinian fish eating a smaller fish. Nothing reflects your devotion more than what you’d be willing to piss on. I haven’t seen one yet, but sometime soon this kid has got to piss on “Satan” or was that the Dallas Cowboys already? I’m getting mixed up.
So prepare yourself for the upcoming political pissing. I think we’ll see
Two little boys pissing on each other, which would be politics as usual
Bush pissers
Pissers on whomever the Democrats can mainstream
Pissers on NRA, NEA, labor unions, HMOs, etc.
Finally, I’m getting a special one made for my window that may sell well too. It’s a huge Niger aluminum tube pissing on “WMD”. Believe it or else.
I’ve been seeing a lot of peeing on the road. Mostly on the back windows of trucks and a few S.U.V.s. I think it all started innocently enough with guys, proud of their toys, disdainful (granted that might be a big word for these guys) of owners of Fords or Chevys or Dodges or clearly anything Japanese.
Lately though, I’ve seen this piss action morph into a more robust value statement. So without the need to roll down your window at the stoplight and engage in playful banter, you already have a bead on what the driver is like.
A lady I don’t want to talk to ever has the picture of a women squatting down pissing on the letters “EX”. While a graphical challenge, the message was clear to any prospective pre-“EX”. From there, the puerile pissing pictures get into hated sports teams and the like. This seems to be a logical extension.
However, over the last few months I’ve been watching this communication and art form elevate to a whole new level. I’ve seen the little kid pissing on that Christian fish logo. (I’m sure there’s a story there.) Then there was one with the kid pissing on the Darwinian fish eating a smaller fish. Nothing reflects your devotion more than what you’d be willing to piss on. I haven’t seen one yet, but sometime soon this kid has got to piss on “Satan” or was that the Dallas Cowboys already? I’m getting mixed up.
So prepare yourself for the upcoming political pissing. I think we’ll see
Two little boys pissing on each other, which would be politics as usual
Bush pissers
Pissers on whomever the Democrats can mainstream
Pissers on NRA, NEA, labor unions, HMOs, etc.
Finally, I’m getting a special one made for my window that may sell well too. It’s a huge Niger aluminum tube pissing on “WMD”. Believe it or else.
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Hot Yoga Workout – A Summertime event in Phoenix
OK, here’s the deal. For $12 a session you get to do Power Yoga for 90 minutes at 110 degrees with humidifiers throwing out moisture. No matter that this is Phoenix and it’s 110 degrees outside. Ostensibly, it’s to let you be more flexible in your various poses and stretching. Realistically, I think it’s to sell bottled water.
Most of the class participants are slim, young women who gracefully bend and stretch and perspire. Then there are a smattering of fat white guys who stumble and cheat on counts and sweat like pigs. I would be the man in the mirror.
I count two victories when they occur in this class.
The first victory is not having to regain consciousness midway through a class with a cluster of concerned women asking me if I am OK.
The second class victory, what with all the extreme power stretching and bending over, is not passing gas. (Note to self: burro day at work should not coincide with yoga day.) I’ve been told that it’s bad Yoga chi to invite unwanted visitors to our class. I just thought it smelled bad.
Well some days you get lucky and some days you get looks.
OK, here’s the deal. For $12 a session you get to do Power Yoga for 90 minutes at 110 degrees with humidifiers throwing out moisture. No matter that this is Phoenix and it’s 110 degrees outside. Ostensibly, it’s to let you be more flexible in your various poses and stretching. Realistically, I think it’s to sell bottled water.
Most of the class participants are slim, young women who gracefully bend and stretch and perspire. Then there are a smattering of fat white guys who stumble and cheat on counts and sweat like pigs. I would be the man in the mirror.
I count two victories when they occur in this class.
The first victory is not having to regain consciousness midway through a class with a cluster of concerned women asking me if I am OK.
The second class victory, what with all the extreme power stretching and bending over, is not passing gas. (Note to self: burro day at work should not coincide with yoga day.) I’ve been told that it’s bad Yoga chi to invite unwanted visitors to our class. I just thought it smelled bad.
Well some days you get lucky and some days you get looks.
Monday, July 21, 2003
So when the Italian prime minister, Berlusconi, spends time with the President at his ranch in Crawford, Texas, does Bush throw a big State BBQ? And then I wonder if Bush goads Silvio into using his hands to tear all the meat off those juicy ribs? Bene, bene.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Phoenix, 7/17/03: Arizona Crime Scene
I need to check with the N.B.P.S.A (National Battery Powered Saw Association) to see if they have a heavily funded Washington lobby, lest I be censured (or drawn and quartered) for bringing up this local crime event.
The Arizona Republic reported that police arrested a drunk, angry man who had cut off his friend’s thumb during an argument over a door being locked(and after several hours of drinking). The Republic wrote “The fight broke up, then Harvey grabbed a saw off the couch and followed Garski into the kitchen, Masters said.”
O.K., so maybe I’m way too liberal, but does it strike anyone else odd that the buzz saw was on the perp’s couch? On the freakin’ couch! It certainly helps paint the picture of home decorating accessories at this guy’s place. I don't know about the rest of you, but I keep my battery powered saw in one of the remote control and beer pockets of my Laz-Z-Boy recliner.
I know for a fact the Founding Fathers were not thinking about battery powered, thumb cutting saws when their 2nd Amendment provided for the right to bear arms. So clearly, there should be some control of these weapons before thumbs lead to hands, hands lead to arms, and well, what would we bear then?
I need to check with the N.B.P.S.A (National Battery Powered Saw Association) to see if they have a heavily funded Washington lobby, lest I be censured (or drawn and quartered) for bringing up this local crime event.
The Arizona Republic reported that police arrested a drunk, angry man who had cut off his friend’s thumb during an argument over a door being locked(and after several hours of drinking). The Republic wrote “The fight broke up, then Harvey grabbed a saw off the couch and followed Garski into the kitchen, Masters said.”
O.K., so maybe I’m way too liberal, but does it strike anyone else odd that the buzz saw was on the perp’s couch? On the freakin’ couch! It certainly helps paint the picture of home decorating accessories at this guy’s place. I don't know about the rest of you, but I keep my battery powered saw in one of the remote control and beer pockets of my Laz-Z-Boy recliner.
I know for a fact the Founding Fathers were not thinking about battery powered, thumb cutting saws when their 2nd Amendment provided for the right to bear arms. So clearly, there should be some control of these weapons before thumbs lead to hands, hands lead to arms, and well, what would we bear then?
Saturday, July 19, 2003
Welcome to Lorenzo's first public blogging. I hope to make this as painless as possible.
