Thursday, December 29, 2005

Farris Hassan's Day Off

Parents, do you know where your teenager is? Making out with his girlfriend in the back of your SUV? In his room downloading porn? Smoking weed behind the football field bleachers? Trying to score a plate of dolma outside an international hotel in Baghdad?

AP reported today on a 16-year-old Floridian who approached reporters at a Baghdad Hotel after traveling to Iraq alone, without his parents’ permission, after damn near getting himself beat up, kidnapped or killed. Attempting to experience “immersion journalism” in response to a class assignment, the boy’s resourcefulness, naiveté and idealism could have ended tragically.

And you were worried your kid was sneaking off to an unsupervised party with a pony keg of Budweiser. Next time he gets caught, his line will be, “Cut me some slack. At least I didn’t sneak off to Iraq!”

Who knew that parents needed to stash their kids’ passports in a safe deposit box?

Monday, December 26, 2005

Holiday lessons

Holiday gatherings are not just an opportunity to spend cherished time with family. They are also a learning experience if you keep your eyes and ears open. Here’s what I picked up at our family Christmas gathering:

1. Amazon and UPS do not yet have a system to alert you to the fact that your dad ordered the exact same Westinghouse SweepEze Vacuuming Dustpan you ordered for your mother.
2. A wine glass is incapable of surviving a fall of three feet onto a ceramic tile floor.
3. The fact that a wine glass belonged to your deceased grandmother affords it no protective properties.
4. Shards of glass on a ceramic tile floor can be invisible to the naked eye.
5. The Westinghouse SweepEze Vacuuming Dustpan, while quite effective, emits a shrill noise similar to that of a jet engine.
6. The “live” in “live Christmas tree” refers to more than just the evergreen.
7. In less than a week, a colony of ants is quite capable of spreading more than 30 feet from its starting point, even across carpet.
8. It is not possible for an 80-pound dog to fit through a cat door.
9. A two-year-old child has an unhealthy fascination with open wounds on a dog’s neck.
10. A Henckels knife is a mediocre imitation of the true Cadillac of kitchen knives, the Wüsthof-Trident.
11. It’s best to refrain from denigrating any product or service until all the Christmas gifts have been opened.
12. Correction to #10: Henckels knives are of superb quality and a proud addition to any gourmet kitchen.
13. You can get a slow, comfortable screw up against the wall for about five bucks at the Yreka Elks Lodge, provided you are an Elk.
14. Apparently, a Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against The Wall is a drink made up of equal parts sloe gin, Southern Comfort, Vodka and Galliano, mixed with orange juice.
15. The average toilet seat has fewer germs than the average kitchen sink.
16. Studies have shown that a pick-up with the tailgate up gets better mileage than one with the tailgate down.
17. Grenache is a grape variety, not a region of France.
18. DISH TV remote controls were not made with 80-year-olds in mind.
19. Had Green Bay beat Chicago on Christmas Day, New Orleans would have had a better first-round draft pick, giving them a shot at USC quarterback, Matt Leinart, which would have helped the Saints overcome the inconsistency of Aaron Brooks.
20. OK, I had to look that last one up. I only really grasped one thing from that conversation with second-cousin-in-law Chris: New Orleans still has a football team.
21. Two-year-olds, due to growth spurts, have poor balance.
22. The seat of an armchair is approximately the same height as a two-year-old child’s cheekbone.
23. The scream of a two-year-old child has about the same frequency and amplitude as a Westinghouse SweepEze Vacuuming Dustpan.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

My Brokeback Mountain Review (and my rewrite of that awful sex scene)

A few days have passed and I'm ready to share some impressions of Brokeback Mountain. I needed this gap in time to put the movie into some perspective. Had I written about it on Friday night, I would have dwelt on the awkward first sexual encounter, the overzealous attempts to place the characters into the 1970s through exaggerated beehives, sideburns and the colors of the 70s Tupperware palette, or the failed attempt to age characters 20 years--Jake Gyllenhaal at 40 reminded me of a mustachioed Peter Brady trying to pass as an older guy to go on a double date with Greg.

I had high hopes. I expected to be torn to pieces. I was ready and willing to have my heart wrenched at the sad ending I knew was coming.

There were moments when I was touched, a couple of times when tears welled up, but for the most part, I couldn't relate to Ennis or Jack. Paradoxically, I think this movie is more for straight men than for openly gay men. And by "straight" men, I mean men who live their public lives as straight. This is a movie for those that took a different path than me, those that could not, for a variety of reasons, come to terms with their true love for someone of the same gender. For the vast, and I mean VAST numbers of men and women who make a decision in life to live a straight life despite homosexual passions, this movie is really hitting them in the gut. You can read many of their stories at the film's official website.

Take Wesley from West Chester, PA:

By the end of the film, I could not move. Soaked in tears, stomach tied in knots. I sat in the theater for as long as I could before the lights came on and I could make my way out with as few noticing the mess I was in as possible. I made it to the car across the way in Society Hill and then totally fell apart, until there were no more tears, and a numbness set in.

It was a close to my life story as it can get. Setting is different but the choices and the sacrifices and the pain -- the failed suicide attempts, the all-persavive loneliness worsened by the haunting memories of a failed marriage and the guilt. It has been rushing back onto me in the hours since leaving the theater. All my life I have tried to suppress all of this with every once of my being. In the name of normalcy.

What does it all mean? What would have been the better choice?
I hate this film. I love this film.


These are the men and women that the gay community often forgets, the throngs of closeted folks all around the world who live on the other side of liberation. Some, like this man from Denver, may never escape:
I am an ex -FL football player. I watched the premier of Brokeback Mountain last nite in a theater in Denver. I was drawn to this movie from the local press releases because I have longed for a male to male relationship for as long as I can remember. I came home aferward and wept for hours. What can it be like to be absolutely in love with another human being. I'm not talking just male to male... I'm talking about making that connection with ANY other human being. I probably will never act out my feelings and for that I am regretful. But, if you are young and am able to "come out" please do so, so hopefully the next generation will fell more comfortable with their true inner hopes and desires.
Upon further reflection, I began to remember that I could have been an Ennis or a Jack. For six months in college, I had an "Alma" and very well might have married her. And like Ennis and Jack, I would have been a lousy husband. Either I'd be cheating on the side, or I would have been a miserable, emotionally absent turd. Lucky for me (and for her), I came of age in an era and in an area where I could realize, before it was too late, that marrying a woman would be a selfish, destructive mistake. Unlike a 60s-era Wyoming cowboy, I had options.

As scenes from the movie kept playing back in my mind, I began to remember what it was like before I took the greatest leap of my life to come out and begin living an authentic life for the first time. I can relate to the heartache Ennis felt when Jack drove off after their first summer together ended. Ennis fell to the ground, puking at the side of the road. When my first love, John, walked out the door and moved away and I thought I'd never see him again, I bawled for days, listening to Barry Manilow records. That was 7th grade. I never told John how I really felt about him, but I know he knew. And I believe he loved me too. More than likely, John, a pastor's son, has chosen the other path. He's probably married with kids now, batting down his true desires.

I do not buy the idea that many teenagers go through an experimentation phase that they'll one day grow out of. The stories I read at BrokebackMountain.com convince me that those feelings never go away--they're just squelched.

Still, I don't think the movie was meant for me; the roughness, the wrestling, and the punching turn me off. One reviewer captured the mood: "In their first encounter in the tent, with all the spastic pushing, slap-punching, violent face-butting and pants-ripping, Ledger and Gyllenhaal display the intimacy of a pair of drunken paraplegics fighting over the last belt buckle at a Western Wear closing sale."

I prefer sweet, tender love, and I don't mean Ang Lee should have made them effeminate sissies. Even manly men have got to show their soft, affectionate side. There were flashes of tenderness such as when Jack recalled the summer at Brokeback when Ennis approached him from behind and cradled his chest. To really feel the love between the two, I longed to see more of that kind of affection.

Instead, Ennis and Jack, even after 20 years of fishing trips, often didn't seem to relate to each other as lovers. By then, they should be finishing each other's sentences. They should have cutesy voices they use only when they're alone together. In their last rendezvous, Ennis and Jack argued about the future of their relationship with the same tone and sentimentality one would expect in a dispute about what to do with a busted transmission.

People ought to stop calling it the "gay cowboy" movie and calling Ledger and Gyllenhaal brave for playing gay characters. Though gay actors have been convincingly playing straight characters since the early days of Hollywood, casting straight actors for these parts was really the only way to go. A Rupert Everett or a Sean Hayes would have been a disaster. These guys are more Clint Eastwood than Carson Kressley. There's nothing fabulous about them. As Ennis insists, he's "not no queer." This is the story of two men who shared a deep and enduring love for one another, but to call them gay assigns them a cultural label that is grossly misplaced.

All of that said, I'm still stuck on that first intimate encounter. I can't get over how Ennis exhibited the sexual instincts of a Colt Studio film star as he flipped Jack over like a rag doll, hocked some spit onto his hand and effortlessly found his target in the dark. I guess you can't expect the female author to know any better.

Here's how Annie Proulx wrote the scene:
"Jesus Christ, quit hammerin and get over here. Bedroll's big enough," said Jack in an irritable sleep-clogged voice. It was big enough, warm enough, and in a little while they deepened their intimacy considerably. Ennis ran full-throttle on all roads whether fence mending or money spending, and he wanted none of it when Jack seized his left hand and brought it to his erect cock. Ennis jerked his hand away as though he'd touched fire, got to his knees, unbuckled his belt, shoved his pants down, hauled Jack onto all fours and, with the help of the clear slick and a little spit, entered him, nothing he'd done before but no instruction manual needed. They went at it in silence except for a few sharp intakes of breath and Jack's choked "gun's goin off," then out, down, and asleep.


I think this moment needed a little more tenderness and a little more naiveté about sexual mechanics. I think it should have gone down a little more like this:

"Jesus Christ, quit hammerin and get over here. Bedroll's big enough," said Jack in an irritable sleep-clogged voice. It was big enough, warm enough, and in a little while they deepened their intimacy considerably. Ennis lumbered into the tent and plopped on the bedroll and finally dozed off, grateful for the warmth emanating from Jack's body. Unable to find a fitful sleep with Ennis lying so close to him, Jack was groggily aware that Ennis's leg had entwined between his own. With sleepiness and the haze of whiskey still clouding his judgment, Jack seized Ennis's hand and brought it to his erect cock. Ennis jerked his hand away as though he'd touched fire and pulled his leg out from between Jack's calves. Jack, fully awake now, fretted silently that he'd committed an unforgivable trespass that would ruin everything. But the fire in Ennis's own loin had been ignited. Moments passed, and Ennis, shaking with nerves, took Jack's hand to the bulge in his jeans. Jack held his hand still there, astonished to sense Ennis fumbling with his own belt buckle and pulling his pants down. Freed from the terror that his earlier overture had been unwelcome, Jack worked Ennis like he'd done to himself many a night up on the mountainside alone, peering down at Ennis's campfire below. Ennis reciprocated, albeit in a frantic manner, as if in a rush to finish the deed before he could come to his senses. They went at it in silence except for a few sharp gasps, then out, asleep.
You see, Ennis was not one who would have fantasized about this moment--he would never have let himself play this out in his mind, despite a growing emotional bond toward Jack. Indeed, he really would have needed an instruction manual to maneuver Jack into a doggy-style sex romp, even exhibiting the resourcefulness to use his own spit to ease the way. And Jack, despite his deep desire for Ennis, would be unlikely, I think, to, er, open himself up so freely in this first encounter.

But, I could be wrong. The movie seems to be resonating perfectly with the men who have been to their own Brokeback Mountain. When I read their stories, I am reminded that these are the folks that those of us on the other side must keep fighting for.

I am a 50-year-old gay man, and I saw this film yesterday. I was almost afraid to see it, because I knew it would open old wounds. I was raised in the Midwest, in a town of less than 4000 - everyone knew everyone. I didn’t even know what being “gay” meant. I only knew what “queer” and “homo” meant, and the hate they percolated. I matured into a masculine outdoorsman – a man’s man - but with a “secret.” I’d had a couple of experimental encounters with boys when I was in my early teens, but I swept those memories away as kid stuff, and got on with marrying and raising a family – all the while hoping this “secret” would go away. When I met my current partner, we were both married. We belonged to the same internet club. We met for a beer, and to introduce ourselves. When I gazed into his steel-blue eyes for the first time, the room literally disappeared. After sneaking around for a period seeing each other clandestinely, we both knew we were putting our marriages in peril – we ultimately had to make the most difficult decisions of our lives. I won’t bore you with the pain, anguish, terror, embarrassment, horror, and self-hatred I endured – thanks to my upbringing in a completely gay-void environment. I won’t mention the suicide thoughts for being a “fag” and a “queer.” I won’t try to describe the pain I felt, knowing I should walk away from the only person I had ever truly loved heart-and-soul, in order to avoid burning in hell for all eternity. Brokeback Mountain is about that kind of love….love so painful to consummate that many men (and women) cannot bring themselves to pay the price. I did, and I’m glad – it was worth it in the long run. This movie honestly depicts the consequences of never accepting your “secret,” but rather succumbing to societal fears of severe repercussions for “coming out.” Brokeback is a HUGE triumph. It displays gay men as some of us are: masculine, quiet, and CAREFUL. I can only hope that it will save many people from suffering, as they realize how much better it is to accept yourself for what you are, and rid yourself of that “secret.” Love is truly a force of nature.


To all of you with a Brokeback story, I truly hope that this movie gives you the courage to be true to yourselves. It's never too late.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Potluck etiquette

Tonight we're going to our third potluck of the holiday season with two more to go. I haven't decided what to cook. My family has a broccoli casserole recipe that is a staple for holiday dinners. It's become something of a hit at potlucks, but I'm reluctant to become that guy who always brings the broccoli dish. People like it--it gives the illusion of adding something healthy to their plate, to balance out fattening meats and mounds of mashed potatoes erupting with gravy.

But, any semblance of healthiness is just an illusion. The broccoli is merely a filler to cloak a full cube of butter, a roll of Ritz crackers and a half-pound of cheese. And that's the other thing--the tasty broccoli casserole is to a gourmet cook as finger painting is to an artist. There's nothing gourmet or sophisticated about it. I'm almost embarrassed to distribute the recipe and reveal that I use Velveeta. This dish is pure Americana, and I'm more of a California fusion cuisine kind of guy.

I do enjoy a good potluck, but it is a quirky experience for the gourmand. By definition, you never know exactly what you're going to get. If your pot has some luck, you won't end up with 15 potato salads and one liter of Pepsi. Smarter potluck hosts take a little luck out of the equation by assigning courses to attendees.

But just assigning people a course still results in a hodgepodge of selections that may not mix well. On Thursday, we had a potluck at work and I had barbecue sauce running into my chicken enchiladas and green goddess dressing dripping onto my egg roll. I love a variety of ethnic foods but not necessarily all mixed on the same plate. Chefs give a lot of thought to how foods go together. There's a reason you can't order sashimi at Olive Garden and you can't get pepperoni pizza with your udon noodles.

I can get over that, but as the potluck season continues in full gear, we should all heed the following rules of potluck etiquette:

1. Bring your own serving utensils. Nothing is worse than stalling a potluck buffet line while guests have to serve their own soup with a plastic teaspoon because you didn't bring a ladle. Don't expect that the host will have one for you.

2. Your dish should be ready to serve. At a potluck I attended this week, someone brought a bone-in ham but offered no assistance in divvying it up. Without a knife and a serving fork, it sat at the buffet table untouched, like a centerpiece to give homage to carnivorous living without actually facilitating its occurrence.

3. If you don't cook, you have two choices: (1) Don't come to the party, or (2) offer to handle other non-edible necessities like cups, napkins and plates. And one or two guests who are particularly kitchen-phobic get to bring the beverages. Bringing a bag of potato chips is not an option. At a potluck buffet, I regard store-bought items as if they were parsley sprigs--pretty adornments that are not actually meant for eating. Thanks for adding some color to the table.

4. If you are going to be a little late, bring a dessert. If you're going to be really late, don't bother coming. On Thursday, some poor sap showed up after everyone had already been through the buffet line once or twice. Everything would have been fine if he had brought in a homemade cheesecake, but he brought an appetizer. And as an added infraction, the appetizer was a cheese and cracker plate from the grocery store. As he was tearing open a plastic packet of cheddar cheese blocks, I wondered if he really expected everyone to jump up and come back to the buffet table for another round.

5. Avoid poisoning other guests--it's very uncouth. Use proper hygiene when preparing food, especially with meat. Keep hot foods hot and cold foods cold. Bring your own Crock Pot, chafing dish or other warmer. Use ice to keep cold dishes cold. True, with the multitude of dishes, it's not likely that you will be fingered as the culprit, but don't push your luck.

And here, for your enjoyment, is our family broccoli recipe. Just let me know if we're going to the same potluck.

BROCCOLI AND CHEESE CASSEROLE

2 pkg. (10 oz.) frozen or same volume of fresh chopped broccoli
1 (8 oz.) pkg. Velveeta cheese, diced or for snobs, use Kraft "Old English" cheese
1 sleeve Ritz crackers (or cheaper, healthier alternative crackers)
1 cube of butter or margarine

Cook broccoli as directed on package or steam fresh broccoli until tender. Crush crackers and the melted butter. Add the diced cheese and half the cracker mixture to the broccoli. Mix over low heat until cheese is melted. Pour into a 1 1/2 or 2 quart casserole and cover with the remainder of the cracker mixture. Bake at 375 degrees for 30 minutes or until top is slightly browned. This recipe is easy to double and you'll want to have some leftovers anyway.


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Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Ford loves me, Ford loves me not, Ford loves me...

All of you folks who just sent off angry letters calling Ford a dirty, rotten, cheating scoundrel for getting into bed with AFA's Donald Wildmon had better go to Ford's on-line form and say something nice now that the company is, apparently, again our friend.

Come on, now. Ford has something to say to you:

"Hi, gay."

"Yes, I'm listening."

"Yeah, about that little thing with Donald Wildmon. Really, nothing happened. We were just talking, you know? Fully clothed. Both feet on the ground the whole time, I swear. He means nothing to me. And I was thinking of you the whole time."

"Why were you even talking to that jerk?"

"Oh gosh, I don't know. I was just...well, you've been working late a lot, and I just...just got lonely. Donald kept calling. Said he wanted to talk. I didn't see any harm in just talking. So we talked. That's all. Then, he got all, like, crazy on me and threatened to call all his friends and tell them I'm a big slut and I got scared. So scared. Here, look what I got you--a bunch of new ads for the Advocate and Out Magazine."

"Oh, Ford, you big lug, they're beautiful. Come here. I'll give you another chance. You've been good to me. But this is it. I swear, if I see that little weasel around here again, it is over."

"I promise."

The letter Ford wrote to the leaders of several gay groups is even addressed to "Friends" so it looks like we're back on speaking terms. Corporate ads touting all of Ford's brands will be placed in gay publications, and our leaders seem convinced Ford's corporate contributions are down merely because things aren't looking so good for Ford overall.

So, go write your letter, and Honey, if you're reading this, you can go ahead and get me that new Jag for Christmas after all. I know you've been talking about getting me a "bike," but you and I both know that by "bike" you really meant "2006 Jaguar X Type VDP Edition." Don't worry. I'll act surprised.


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Monday, December 12, 2005

High Hopes for Brokeback Mountain

The Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation has high hopes for Brokeback Mountain. Hailing the release as "a historic moment in film history," the organization sees the movie's "potential to change hearts and minds." On opening night, GLAAD told ABC World News that Brokeback Mountain "might actually transform mainstream audiences."

I have been equally optimistic. Just look at Hollywood's impressive track record at making movies that dramatically change social attitudes.

Ever sense Guess Whose Coming to Dinner, interracial relationships are happily embraced throughout the land.

And remember before the movie version of The Grapes of Wrath when America didn't take care of its poor? Thank goodness that movie gave us the will to win that war on poverty.

Movies do change the world. If it weren't for Dr. Strangelove's nuclear wakeup call, the Cold War might have lasted well into the 1980s.

And in another landmark gay film, Philadelphia touched our hearts with the injustice of AIDS discrimination, and now, of course, people can disclose their HIV status at work without any fear of recriminations or stigma. AIDS stigma? Oh, that's so 1992.

When Jamie Foxx portrayed Stan Tookie Williams in Redemption in 2004, Governor Schwarzenegger was moved and insisted that this man should not be executed under his watch.

What a better world we live in now that transgender people don’t have to fear getting shot and stabbed to death since all the would-be hate criminals were, ironically, brought to tears by Boys Don’t Cry.

And where would we be today if American hadn't squashed the Bush-Cheney like a junebug in 2004 after seeing Fahrenheit 9/11?

Hey Mr. Snarkypants, you say, aren't you the guy who just called for girlfriends to drag their boyfriends to see Brokeback Mountain with the hope that a straight men's era of enlightenment will ensue?

Oh yeah, that was me. It's true that all of the movies above did change attitudes, but perhaps GLAAD and I ought to temper our great expectations that a cowboy love story, even a good one, can change the world.


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Saturday, December 10, 2005

All I Want for Christmas is Coronary Artery Disease

My Christmas Wish List
1. Bunny slippers
2. New Madonna CD
3. McDonald's Arch Card
4. Lemon zester

Wait, back up. McDonald's Arch Card? Nobody has that on their Christmas list. Or if they do, it's time to stage a family intervention.

McDonald's, apparently tired of sitting on the sidelines during the seasonal height of consumerist fury, is attempting to nose its way into the frenzy with the new Arch Card. Gift cards are big business these days. They're a delightful way to say, "I have no idea what your really want, but at least I've given it enough thought to narrow it down to this store."

Launched in November, McDonalds is making a big marketing push to get Santa to pop an Arch Card into the kids' stockings, next to the new toothbrush, the penlight, and the orange-apple-tangerine combo in the toe. Santa, if you love the little children, you will do no such thing.

The concept is nothing new. McDonald's has been selling books of gift certificates as the perfect little stocking stuffers for many years. But that was before we realized we Americans were choking our arteries with special sauce and padding our asses with Big Macs, super sized fries and sugary Cokes.

But McDonald's is healthy now, you rationalize. Yes, it's possible to eat healthy at McDonalds, and I suppose you could score some green tea in a crack house if you asked nicely, but that's probably not why you went in there.

As a rule, I don't go into McDonalds since seeing the movie "Super Size Me," but if I did, I doubt I'd see many kids ordering the healthy Fruit and Walnut Salad. There's no two ways about it--the kid is getting a Happy Meal. And I'd bet they're not selling very many of the "Apple Dippers" (sliced apples and caramel sauce), but they get some credit for trying. No, more than likely, the kid will get a cheeseburger, small fries and child-sized Coke which packs 650 calories and 23 grams of fat. Force a kid to eat a salad at McDonald's and you've got a kid who might just start calling you "Mommie Dearest." It would be like bringing a child to Disneyland and making him sit on a bench all day, watching other kids ride Thunder Mountain Railroad. You might have a social worker knocking on your door to investigate allegations of emotional abuse.

These Arch Cards come in denominations from $1 to $50. So, if you really love a person, would you give them the $50 or the $1 version? The $1 card will get them a double cheeseburger from the Dollar Menu. That's 460 calories, 23 grams of fat (11 grams of saturated fat), 80 mg of cholesterol and a whopping 1140 mg of sodium. That means 45% of the calories are coming from fat, way more than the 25 to 35% the U.S. government recommends for adults, and they've just scarfed down almost half of their recommended daily sodium intake for the day--and they're probably still hungry. Quite possibly, this is the cheapest way in America to get fat, short of eating Crisco straight from the can.

But, give a person $50 worth of McDonald's slop and they're likely to ingest about 10 meal deals. If their penchant is for a Big Mac, large fries and a large coke, that means 14,000 calories, 550 grams of fat (150 grams of saturated fat), 800 grams of cholesterol, 13,600 grams of sodium and virtually no nutritional value. A $50 Arch Card is a cruel gesture--It'd be like giving my grandmother a skateboard.

If your spouse gives you a $50 McDonald's gift certificate this Christmas, the next thing you might hear is, "Hey, hon, what say we just go ahead and bump up that life insurance policy to $2 million. How 'bout it, sweetie pie?"

Going to McDonald's is something you should do only when you're terribly desperate, when nothing else is open, when no one is looking, or to placate a child who has been hopelessly brainwashed to believe that she can't live another minute until she has all six Power Rangers action figures. You don't need your friends and family to enable such activity by giving you McPlastic.

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Thursday, December 08, 2005

Happy Holidays -- From the Fox News Channel

I'm tempted to camp outside of Bill O'Reilly's studio so I can flash a smile and greet him with "Happy Holidays." But I'm afraid he'd stab me in the heart with a crucifix.

In light of O'Reilly's success at drawing attention to this phony "War on Christmas," it'll be interesting to see how Fox News celebrates the holidays this year. In 2004, the network produced an amazingly inclusive montage of Fox employees wishing the world Happy Holidays, Seasons Greetings, Happy Hannukah, and a Prosperous New Year, alongside Merry Christmas messages.

If O'Reilly is so offended at attempts to be inclusive of those who worship someone other than Jesus, why does he choose to accuse George Soros and liberals of bashing Christmas instead of his own colleagues at Fox?

Sean Hannity may be regretting that the News Hounds documented his wishes from on Dec. 26, 2004: "From all of us here at Hannity & Colmes, Happy Holidays." Alan Colmes added, "And we wish you a wonderful New Year."

And O'Reilly himself seems to have expressed some sense of inclusivity in 2003 while pimping his web store: "Also, we'd like to invite everybody to go to billoreilly.com where no-spin elves are standing by in our all-inclusive Christmas/Hanukkah/Holiday/Anything You Want Store. Get a jump on holiday gift giving."

The Fox News Shop was caught selling The O'Reilly Factor "Holiday" Ornaments up until a few days ago. After various bloggers pointed out hypocrisy, Fox now calls them "Christmas" ornaments. The website Conservative Thinking calls that progress.

Oddly, Fox has kept the heading "
Christmas and Chanukah Collection," yet none of the items has anything to do with Chanukah (or even Hanukkah for that matter).

Personally, I take no offense whatsoever if someone wishes me a Merry Christmas, but Happy Holidays works for me too. For me, Christmas is not a religious holiday; it's a family tradition. For me, it's a season of giving, caring for others, pretty lights, wrapped-up surprises, family, charity for those less fortunate, sentimental music, and schmaltzy TV specials. It's a time of wonder for children, for Santa and reindeer and Nat King Cole and talking snowmen and one-horse open sleighs.
Jesus ought to be the reason for the season for practicing Christians, but that doesn't mean it's not a meaningful holiday for the rest of us.


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Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Chalk one up for intolerance

It looks like we're going to see a lot fewer rainbow stickers on the bumpers of Jaguars and Land Rovers in the coming years. They'll be replaced by fish emblems and bumper stickers with slogans like "Caution: In case of rapture, this car will be unmanned." That's because Ford Motor Company has just capitulated to the far-right American Family Association's demands that the company stop being so nice to gay people.

AFA had threatened a boycott more than six months ago, but suspended it when Ford agreed to meet with them to discuss their concerns. This week, AFA dropped its boycott threat after Ford agreed to pull its Jaguar and Land Rover advertising in the gay media. "They've heard our concerns; they are acting on our concerns. We are pleased with where we are," said AFA chairman Donald Wildmon.

Why would the AFA and its phalanx of fundamentalist followers care that Ford tries to sell cars to gays and lesbians? It's just business, right?

A recent Volvo ad in HRC's Equality Magazine showed two men with a baby, and a woman embracing her pregnant partner.

"Whether you're starting a family, or creating one as you go... Whoever makes up your family, think about making Volvo a part of it." Surely, this is the kind of ad that works Wildmon's Fruit of the Looms into a wad.

Until last week, Ford was considered one of the most gay-friendly Fortune 500 companies. The HRC website still lists Ford in its Equality Buyers Guide, but clearly, Ford's commitment to the LGBT community isn't as strong as we believed.

Ford has insisted that this is strictly a "business decision." If Ford really just decided to pull the ads because they weren't effective, then why is Donald Wildmon so smugly declaring victory?

This "business decision" is the crux of the problem. We've been making great headway in Corporate America by arguing the "business case" for diversity. Offering domestic partnership benefits doesn't cost much, but attracts highly talented employees, we've argued successfully. Promoting respect and inclusion increases productivity, we attest, because employees who are respected do better work. We don't bother to argue that it's simply the right thing to do.

HRC, which rates companies on a 100-point Corporate Equality Index, explains that corporations are becoming more gay friendly because "fairness is good for business."

But that makes for a dangerous equation. If the AFA folks buy more Fords than we do, we lose. Justice cannot be denied just because it doesn't make money. It may be that Ford has concluded that an Equality Index score of 100 isn't the right mark to aim for. They may decide to go for a sweet spot where the fundamentalists leave them alone; maybe an 82 or a 76.

The bottom line is, indeed, the bottom line. Ford is a corporation that exists to make money. As long as "shareholder value" is the only value that matters in Corporate America, Donald Wildmon will continue to carve notches into his belt.

Until we hold corporations accountable for more than their profits, this is what we can continue to expect. Ultimately, LGBT equality in the workplace will be a house of cards until society holds corporations accountable for more than making a buck.

When that day comes, maybe this will be the next ad for Mastercard (which scores a respectable 86 on the Equality Index):

Diversity training: $200,000

Equal benefits: $800,000

Doing the right thing regardless of the impact on the bottom line: Priceless

Friday, December 02, 2005

Weight just a second!

I went to see my new doctor today, but before I did, I had to go through the usual routine of filling out forms, getting my temperature and blood pressure checked, and . . . the dreaded weigh-in.

The nurses aide had me on the scale before I could even set down my sunglasses. Don't they teach these people the proper way to weigh a person? I was wearing heavy shoes, a thick belt, slacks, a shirt, underwear and not one, but two socks. Hanging from my belt was a hefty Blackberry, and in my pockets, I had my wallet (overstuffed, notably), my keys, a pager and 55 cents in change (and not two quarters and a nickel--it was two nickels, four dimes and five pennies!).

The aide scrawled down a horrific number that I have never seen appear on my scale at home. This was not me! No subtraction for everything I was packing. No consideration that Thanksgiving was just a week ago.

Not to mention the fact that I had just come from lunch and had lots of sushi and miso soup and a glass of ice water (that's 12 ounces right there) and several cups of green tea, which is good for you, for Pete's sake. I was late, so I hadn't gone to the bathroom. Plus, I haven't had a haircut in more than six weeks.

This was exactly opposite of the proper way to weigh oneself. At home, I don't step on the scale except on an empty stomach, in the morning, before I shower (wet hair is heavy hair), after I use the toilet, stark naked.

Then the aide asked how tall I am and ran her finger across a chart. Her finger passed over the white boxes, beyond the gray boxes and into the black boxes and stopped. "Your Body Mass Index is 30," she huffed. Now my Kaiser chart officially says that I am, yes, obese. OBESE!

Well, I never. There's no allowance for all the deep knee bends I do while I'm brushing my teeth--that's got to be worth five or ten pounds of lean muscle mass. Muscle is heavier than fat, you know. No consideration for push-ups and shoulder presses and bicep curls.

The BMI chart says my normal weight should be 173 or less. Listen, if I weighed 173 pounds, I would look like I had just spent 39 days on Vanuatu going to tribal councils and eating a fistful of rice a day. I could be mistaken for an Olsen twin.

I just weighed everything I had on and it amounted to five pounds. Just those five pounds would have pulled me into the "overweight" category. That I can live with. I could afford to lose 10 or maybe 15 pounds. But the federal governments says I should lose twice that, even considering my true, empty stomach and bladder, naked weight.

This BMI stuff just not working for me. It's messing with my mind. I like my method for assessing my weight--if I can get into the denim Hard Rock Cafe shorts I've had in my closet for more than 10 years, then I know I'm doing OK.

The next time I go into that clinic, even if I've got a case of avian flu, I will have fasted for 12 hours whether they need to do blood work or not. I'll be wearing nothing but shorts, a tank top and flip-flops. And, my nails will be clipped and my eyebrows will be plucked.