Mitt Romney is the devil

Finally, a political figure to which “Lug'” has devoted his entire blog has made it to the national news. Before I heard his name recently on NPR, I had only heard of him after having been heavily “criticized” by ol' Luggy in my blog entry about Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid's being a Mormon. (See “Oh my God, I'm a bigot”—November 15, 2006.)

Well, I thought Reid was bad enough. Geez. At least Reid has the common decency to masquerade as a Democrat. But, to just go streaking through the political landscape with your right-wing Republican goods just hanging out? These days? Dude, that is so 1996. It's like what I always say about you breeders out there: “I don't mind straight people, I just expect them to act gay in public.”

Now that I have become more familiar with Mitt Romney, the soon-to-be ex-governor of Massachusetts, I think I can understand better the reason behind my Mormon prejudice. When anyone says something like "Attaching the word marriage to the association of same-sex individuals mistakenly presumes that marriage is principally a matter of adult benefits and adult rights. In fact, marriage is principally about the nurturing and development of children. And the successful development of children is critical to the preservation and success of our nation." Uh, ok... what was it abortion rights activists used to say...“keep your laws off my body”? Well, Mr. Romney, I urge you to keep your silly Momo definitions of my vocabulary!

I mean, since the purpose of marriage is making little kiddies, those that fail to pop them out must automatically see their marriages as giant failures, right? Just because a Mormon couple that has anything less than 12 kids is a total let-down to their faith doesn't mean that the thousands upon thousands of couple who have chosen not to reproduce should feel valueless, does it? When such a concise and constraining definition of marriage comes down from the governor himself, one would think that he could someday envision legislation decreeing that couples, when issued a marriage license, should be given a fair time frame to have progeny of some kind. If they have no children within the time allotted, the state should revoke their license and render them automatically divorced!

The Massachusetts millionaire claims that he abhors discrimination against gays, insisting that he only wants to protect the institution of marriage. Yet, he is also against civil unions for gays. Why doesn't he just come out and say it? Why are politicians always incapable of saying what they think? He thinks that gays are the pox of society and doesn't want their existence in any way sanctioned by the government. That's what he thinks. Just say it for Chrissake. I am sure he would like to just ship us all of somewhere...

(I have secretly loved the idea of getting shipped off to an island together, all us from the evil gay underground. Can you imagine the beach parties, I mean “Hello”! I can just see the newest reality show “Lost: a gay romp in the jungle” being a big hit. Let's just say, we wouldn't have killed off that hunky Mr. Eko quite so haphazardly. Damn you ABC and your CBS ways!)

I digress.

Oh, yeah, Mitt Romney, devil, etc.

I, in closing, just want to point out that Mitt (what the hell kind of name is that anyway...is that one of them Mormon names) wants to run for president. That is SO funny. I mean, what do these people think? Do they think that my fellow WASPs are just going to sit around and let an actual self-professed cultist climb that high on the social ladder? I just have to chuckle to myself that they don't seem to understand that this governorship was just table scraps to keep everyone satisfied. Well, nothing says happy multi-cultural society like a token Mormon Neocon on the ticket, right?

What's scary is that Mitt actually believes that he IS a good ol' boy. It's like when Dave Chappelle plays a blind Ku Klux Klan leader who doesn't know he's black because he was raised by white-supremacists. He never found out the truth because no one ever had the heart to tell him.

Well dammit to hell, someone's got to: Mr. Romney, you ain't got a snowball's chance in hell of being the next president of these here United States. Just go back to business and go back to what y'all are good at, making money and little Momo babies. All my best, J.

A tremendously good point.

This guy is funny. I especially like the spaghetti, and his sexy accent!

Blood is thicker than water under the bridge.

I spent the day trying to “get back on the horse” as it were...recuperating from a vacation of gorging myself, of being “lazy” in the typical the Yuletide fashion.

Had two BOPs today (Bühnen Ochester Probe—this is where we are on stage with the sets and with props, we do all of our staging, etc. for the first time with orchestra but are not yet in costume and make-up.) I am singing this little aria for the musical “Fiddler on the Roof” (the Russian singer.) It is a great opportunity to sing some high notes with the new power that I have learned in the past year as I change to the Heldentenor repertoire. Anyway... I sang my bit with the orchestra today, and when I'd finished, the entire orchestra applauded and cheered. It was a cool moment. It is always good to know that I am going in the right direction. God knows, I wouldn't hear that kind of enthusiasm about my voice from my fellow chorus members.

Not a single one of my relatives called to wish me a Merry Christmas. For whatever reason, my family does not seem to understand that their phones can call Germany. It is always my responsibility to call them; they never call me. And, when I do call, they try to make me feel guilty for not having called them more often. This seems a little off to me.

A couple of weeks ago, I told my friend Maria, because she had been disheartened about a recent fight with her brother, about a fight that I had with my sister Shawn years ago. I hadn't really spoken of it in a long time, and telling it certainly brought back lots on emotions that had lied dormant for a very long time.

The Summer before I started my doctorate at the University of Kansas, this was in 1999, I had gone to an opera festival in, of all places, Arkansas. I had saved enough money to pay for food and what-not during the festival, but had not thought enough ahead about what the heck I was going to do after it was over. I ended up having to actually live with a friend of mine when last curtain closed; I hadn't a penny to my name, really, or very little, I guess. I was 27 years old, and was, admitably, bad with my own finances. From the perspective that I have today, I understand that it had not so much to do with being bad with money as much as simply being poor...a poor student. I had to move to Lawrence. I had to get an apartment, and had to pay a deposit in order to get one. One problem: I didn't have the cash (I guess it was about $800—two months rent.)

To make matters worse, I was not speaking with my parents at that time. My father and I had a falling out after he informed me of how disgusting it is that I am gay (he had known for 6 years, but just didn't tell me until that year for whatever reason.) This is a completely different story, but let it suffice to say that I didn't speak to him for nearly a year after that conversation.

So, I was up shit's creek without a paddle when it came to money. I decided to call my sister and ask her for the it. Shawn lives a very privileged life in Texas as a housewife. I thought she would be a good candidate for the loan because she 1: had the money and 2: is my sister. The phone call went something like this:

“Hi Shawn, how are you?” insert lots of other pleasantries here... (I am sure you are not interested in them right?)
“I need to move to Lawrence and get an apartment, but I don't have the money that I need to put down a deposit. Do you think that you might be able to loan me the money?”
“How much do you need?”
“About $800”
“Uh, you haven't called me in months and then call out of the blue wanting $800?”
“Well, I am sorry about that. I was at an opera festival for 6 weeks this summer. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone who can loan me the money, and you know that I haven't been talking to Mom and Dad.”
“You know, Josh, you are just bad with your money. I don't think it's right that we should use our hard-earned money to enable your bad habits.” This, of course, pissed me off. It probably hit a little too close to home for it to be a comfortable kind of statement. Thus prompting,
“Shawn, you surely can't be trying to claim that the money that you enjoy spending is in any way 'hard-earned' by you. You are a rich housewife, for goodness sakes. You are lucky. You are lucky to be rich and comfortable, but please don't think that you are in any way entitled to that.”
“How can you say something like that. I am not giving you the money. Call me back when you're on the street.” Click.

That's right, she said “call me back when you're on the street.” My own sister. Now, I know that I hold grudges for far too long. I know that I am not really good at forgiving my enemies. My biggest problem with this, if I can be frank, is that fact that I remember too well what actually happened, thus disabling the possibility of forgiving and forgetting. Forgiveness is definitively something I need to work on. But, really, how could anyone ever forget their own flesh and blood saying something like that?

I guess I never will.

Only the English

I was watching some old footgae of Lady Di's wedding when I came across this. Far out...

Ich hab' mein Rohr Verlohr.

I just want to come clean: I am absolutely and positively obsessed with the American TV series “Lost”. I just can't get enough. I wish I tell you to what degree I think about the possibilities of what the show can “mean” or what sort of significance plot snippets fill my calculating mind. The infinite changes and potential changes of dénouement are bouncing around in my head endlessly as I seek meaning of the symbols we have been thus fed. For some reason, the mountain of pneumatic tubes sitting in the jungle is quite a strong reference for me, for some reason. They were obviously never meant o be read, or even retrieved. What does this mean? And what WAS/IS the Dharma project, anyway?

On a side note, I find it, even to this day, bizarre that Germans wish each other a good appetite before eating. I was sitting at the bar of my favorite restaurant today and was so happy (I just had my first Light Therapy session because of my winter depression—I HIGHLY recommend this, by the way...I am practically floating from happiness at this point) and wished, as is the custom, both of my neighbor “Guten Appetit” when their food arrived. It is a funny thing to say, though, if you think about it. When my food is sitting there in front of me and I start to eat, I really don't need anyone to wish me an appetite. Believe me, if the food looks and smells good, I won't have any trouble mustering one up. Maybe this tradition is better for people who don't love food as much as I...

Tomorrow we leave for Chris' parents to celebrate Christmas. I wish all of you and yours a very merry one. I hope that it brings to you feelings of satisfaction and inner peace as we remember the birth of the Christ and his message of peace and love. Merry Christmas.

Why do I bother?

Dear Mr. Ramirez,

How can you say that one of the most beloved ex-Presidents is "stupid" and that he "hates America". I like your cutting edge cartoons even if they often express opinions other than my own. But to demean someone who has done so much humanitarian work in the world and has devoted so much of his life to helping others is so ridiculous it's almost funny. I guess that's why they call it a cartoon. It's only troubling in that, having for a long time been familiar with your work, I don't think you have a good, working understanding of irony. I guess the real irony is when an idiot calls a president, who is purported to have had one of the highest IQs amongst the Commanders in Chief, an "idiot". Maybe you should feature Mother Theresa as a whore in your next cartoon, then this one would make more sense. That would be funny. Or, maybe you could draw a picture of Da Vinci and you next to each other with a caption like "one of these things is not like the other". Again, funny.

Me

Hellish Sno Cones

I am so sick of people saying that the term “Xmas” is somehow trying to take ‘Christ’ out of ‘Christmas.’ The letter “X” has been used to represent Christ since ancient times. It is in no way demeaning to use this term. The term “Xmas” has been in use at least since the 16th Century, so it is also not a modern day invention. Do us all a huge favor and forward this to your super-Christian friends, everyone. We should put this subject to rest once and for all.

I, personally, think that “Xmas” is a really neat was to say Christmas, but that’s because I actually know a little about history, unlike so many of those people who like to get up on their soap boxes. Why are the loudest ones so often the ones with so little to say?

I put this out there as I recently read that Newt Gingrich is thinking about running for president. Granted, Newt is not an idiot. He is actually very smart. He is just ‘misguided’, shall we say. More that that, though, he must be a few fries short of a happy meal if he thinks he has a snowball’s chance in hell of being the President of the United States. And, thankfully, remote possibilities can sometimes be very positive things.

Shock and Ra

Where have I been? I had no idea that anyone actually cared. Sweet...really. Unfortunately that does not translate into a better value for my blog, even if the irony of someday getting some kind of monetary kickback for it after having lambasted others doing the same would, in and of itself, be a pure irony of sorts.

Where have I been? I have been horribly depressed, practically unable to even keep up with the absolute minimum of what I should be doing in my life. It has been a slump. What has brought it on is slightly confusing to explain, and perhaps much worse, hoky beyond all imagination.

In the journey of discovering myself, what I like to call ‘life’ (see “commentary” and explanation thereof) I have been doing a lot of meditation, and chakra work. My friend Maria from Wales is on a very similar path as I am and we have helped each other in this discovery process. Within the umbrella word of discovery is an almost automatic healing process, in that, the deeper you go, the more you realize hurt exists there and lies in wait, hiding.

One of the principles of chakra work is that as one clears the pathways of the body, and previously un-aligned chakra pairs re-align. One learns more about oneself in the process and starts to feel more “whole” as a person. As you can imagine, words are difficult to use in describing something that is so esoteric, but I feel the need to express what has happened, even if it remains in most ways a complete mystery.

As one gets better at this re-alignment process, the book says that one can begin to make contact with your spirit guide or angel, to communicate with him/her as they allow one to discover, through time, what the purpose of one’s life is. I am a complete novice at this, and I can honestly say that I have not made any sort of substantive contact with my angel. The time that I did try the exercise that connects one with their angel, I got a vision. This vision is what sent me into a reeling depression.

Somehow, in spite of not really believing in re-incarnation as a principle, I have always thought that some souls on this earth seemed to be old ones and some new. I don’t know why I think this. Hell I’m not sure why I believe a lot of what I believe...a lot of it just comes to me, and when I get a certain feeling, I know, somehow, that it is the truth. Past lives are somehow an integral part of this level of chakra work in that the belief of reincarnation is a Buddhist principle and chakra work has traditionally been done in Buddhist cultures.

Anyway, while I was doing my meditation and chakra work, I got a vision of some kind, an understanding of what my last life was, and it wasn’t pretty. Most people, when they “learn” about what they have been before, always get some kind of grandiose figure like Mari Antoinette or Napoleon. Hardly anyone imagines that they were just some 16th Century serf somewhere. I, and again, I don’t really understand it, got a vision that what I was was not good, really not good. I did something bad. I mean, like more than just murder, something like torture or some other unimaginable thing.

That’s what made me so sad. That’s why I’ve been keeping my head so low. Not just from the realization, either. I mean, with whom in my circle can I even talk to about this? There are few people that wouldn’t listen to such a story and think that I am just off my rocker. But, what can I say? I got a vision. That’s what it was. It rang “true” somehow, and now I have no idea what to do. Well, there it is.