Respect Authority

Andrew Sullivan is a writing genius. Andrew Sullivan sometimes uses that genius to eloquently overreact, like in the lead up to the Iraq war. Lately, however, Sullivan’s been channeling his uppity eloquence toward “knowing hope” and railing against California’s Propostion 8.

While I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the surgical detachment of his conservative ideology from Rove’s permanent majority monster of hate®, this short essay has to be the best articulation yet on why Mormons should go home and fuck themselves instead of trying to prove something to the more mainstream religions.

Seriously, apparently that’s their ultimate goal. According to Fred Karger, of Californians Against Hate (ugh), the Mormon Church is tackling gay marriage in California so they can earn street cred from the bigger religions who’ve “always looked down on Mormons”.

Religious people, we don’t live in a bad Mad Max sequel. Churches shouldn’t be renegade gangs that pick off social depravities for the same reasons you might try to shank the biggest and blackest inmate on your first day of prison. This is America, not the Australian parliament.

Now, thank you for bearing with me through my painfully forced pulp sci-fi reference. It was worth it if it makes Sullivan’s essay seem that much more sensible. Read More ›

Gay bars, no matter where you are in the world, are no place for politics. Even if it’s three thirty in the morning and the staff is telling you to leave. No, in fact, especially if it’s three thirty in the morning and the staff is telling you to leave. A lesson I tend to forget. And admittedly, the more drinks I consume the faster I become the cynic, as I was tonight with the intelligent remark, “Honestly, James, I’m going to get an absentee ballot, but it doesn’t mean anything. It just doesn’t. I’m from New York, Obama will get New York.” My roommate, Bridget, doesn’t like this.

Cut to twenty minutes later and I’m phoning my straight English mate, James, who is now standing outside Heaven in Charing Cross. James doesn’t seem as nervous as he should over the phone, as he is about to descend into the depth of trannies, glitter, bad music, and perhaps, date rape, and I’m trying equally hard to sound calm as I bury the fact that I am completely lost in central London. Bridget has left me, and she’s the clever one who knows London, whereas I know nothing. I am about to start my second year here and I’m lost. I had been home in Brooklyn for most of the summer and this was my first night out since touching down in The Big Smoke, as they call it. (Incidentally, I thought this “Big Smoke” thing meant Heaven when I originally heard the term and replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe in Heaven, so I can’t answer that question.”)

I was drunk… a bit high, yes, but also completely flustered by the argument I had just had with my roommate as a result of my callous opinion on the upcoming election. Ultimately, it ended with a shove and one of us storming off, but that’s not important. After the kind old man helped me up, I was off to save James from the impending doom that awaited him. I was right off Picadilly Circus, so that meant if I walked in the direction of Leicester Square and Charing Cross I would be at Heaven in no time. Read More ›