A pair of friends, newly returned to the promised land from their long sojourn in Babylon, asked me for some advice about Tuesday’s election in California.  As I am somewhat distant from the action, I can only point to the advice of others.  However, here are some voter guides (for the propositions, that is) for folks that care about (a) a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work, (b) women’s rights, and (c) stewardship of the environment:

a.) the voter guide of the California State Labor Fed, AFL-CIO

b.) the voter guide of the California League of Women Voters

c.) the voter guide of the California League of Conservation Voters

A less “partisan” guide can be found at Cal Berkeley’s Institute of Governmental Studies.

And finally, some analysis by a long-time activist, advocate, and capitol staffer.

4 Reactie’s »

So, I’m going to do the foolish thing and make some predictions about next Tuesday’s election:

a.) the Schwarz-man by double-digits (I love my man Phil, but Arnold ain’t fucked up bad enough for people to toss him out).

b.) Perry by at least 10 points.  This will be troubling for many reasons, including (i) that Friedman isn’t just a joke candidate, but that no-one in Texas cares because this isn’t really a democracy, (ii) that Strayhorn is splitting the black vote away from Bell (latest poll has her with over 1/3 — erh?  I don’t understand this either, but the best explanation I’ve heard is that it’s because she’s for full funding of schools and against the gays, her son Screaming Bottom McClellan be damned), that (iii) fully a third of self-identified progressives and liberals are voting for Perry (double erh?  If that result holds, there is something seriously wrong with this place) and (iv) that probably the most illuminating cross-tab on the Houston Chronicle poll is, I shit you note, about the frequency of shopping at Wal-Mart (Perry takes it among the regulars, Bell polls best among those that go there one or twice and year, and Strayhorn carries the wouldn’t-darken-the-door-of-a-Sam’s-evah! vote).  The ironic rub: if CKS had had the sense to remain a Democrat (meaning not switched the first time, as opposed to the second time, and, oh fuck it.  Why can’t that woman just sit still for one cotton-pickin’ minute?), she would’ve won this election, as it appears she is in fact able to bring together the classic Democratic coalition: disaffected blacks and liberal snobs who won’t shop at Wal-Mart.

c.) that we take the Senate,  but not the House.  Of course, I’d much prefer Nancy to Harry.  Um, yeah: let’s see, does the gay boy like the Catholic or the Mormon (leaving aside the name-puns, which are of course rather too groaning)?  The choice is easy: go for the daughter of the machine every time. 

Follow-up:  here’s my revised thinking about Congress.  I was hasty in my judgement earlier, and now I’m going with taking the House but not the Senate.  We’ll get 49 seats in the Senate, and then, with luck, pick up either Missouri or Virginia (my money’s on MO).  That means that Lieberman (whom I expect to win, sadly) will have to shit or get off the pot as to whether he votes for Harry Reid as majority leader.  He’ll be so damned pissed that he won’t do it, and so the Republicans will remain in nominal control, with a 50/50 split.   On the House, side, however, I think we get 215 (all the safe plus leaning seats), plus three more (CT2, FL22, and NM1), for a 218/217 split.  I basically think that all the talk of “anti-incumbent feeling” is over-stated, and that we’ll only take seats away from the Republicans where people voted for Kerry in ‘04. 

An all of that means that there will basically be no change in federal policy for the next two years.  Sigh.  Will lame-duck status for President Bush be more, or less, frightening that his first term?

Geen reactie’s, je kan de eerste zijn »

So one of my students asked me to write them a letter of recommendation.  For an internship.  At the office of my state’s senior US Senator.

Being, you know, politick and all, I gently suggested that while I would of course write her a rec (and a good one — she’s quite smart and well put-together) a letter from some shmoe prof would be of but little consequence, and that the student should look for letters from rich folks and bigwigs.

What I did not say was that the real reason the student should not want my name near theirs is that the last time I wrote a letter to my senators, I quite literally called them “satanic.”

Geen reactie’s, je kan de eerste zijn »

For the past two weeks in church, the lectionary text has been taken from the gospel of Mark. Two weeks ago we heard Mark 10:1-12, and then this past Sunday we heard Mark 10:17-31.* From the first passage, we learned something, the import of which escaped me but was basically along the lines of “play nice, people.” From the second passage, we didn’t get a sermon at all, but rather a slide show from this year’s chair of stewardship, on the topic “here’s who we are, see – look at all the pretty pictures!”

I find this insufferable. If you’re going to call yourselves Christians, engage the blessed text, people. Otherwise head on over to the Unitarians, ‘cause this shit just don’t cut it.

So, in classic Protestant tradition, I’m gonna take up the text myself and see where it leads us. What does the Word have for us, on this day?

Mark’s tenth chapter sets the scene with some Pharisees barging in on Jesus’ impromptu lesson to the Judean crowds, whereupon they proceed to “test him” with questions. Now, I’m going to radically simplify things here and simply assert that, from where we stand, the Pharisees were the guardians of orthodoxy. They were that segment of the religious hierarchy most concerned with order, obedience, and close attention to the text. Inasmuch as Jesus preached liberation, equality, and a personal experience with the divine, he threatened the Pharisees. So they tested him – on his orthodoxy.

Specifically, they asked him “is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” Notice the words here: not “is it right to divorce?” Not, “can a woman divorce her husband?” Not, “what’s your position on divorce?” No, they asked “is it lawful.” They asked him a textual question, to test his orthodoxy.

His response was to engage them in the terms of their own philosophy. His response was essentially, to turn to the text and to debate them on orthodox grounds. He responded “What did Moses command?” And being good guardians of orthodoxy, they gave the response he was expecting (since he knew the text as well): “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.” Again, notice the terms here: not “divorce is a sin.” Not: “divorce is a tragedy.” Not “divorce is a necessary evil.” They gave him a textual answer: the author of the law has written, and here is what those writings say.

To which Jesus answered: ‘Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you.”

Most commentators skip right over that part and get to the bit they want to emphasize: the language about “from the beginning of creation, God made them male and female. And for this reason a man shall leave his father and mother, and the two shall become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.” Most commentators dwell at great length on verses 6-9, falling with heavy tones on the bit about “God made them male and female.”

I will come back to this, but I want first to discuss verse 5, the bit about Moses’ acquiescence to man’s hardness of hard. Jesus took the very words of the Pharisees, the very text of the Mosaic law and said, in essence, this law is written for us because we are hard-hearted. Moses allowed for divorce because he knew that men are mean, and cannot abide with each other in the sweetness of fellowship forever. Moses looked around at all us sorry motherfuckers and said to himself, “shit, I gotta give them an out.” He saw that we are a fallen and trivial bunch, and that the law is too hard. So because husbands beat their wives, because spouses cheat on their partners, because people marry too young, because we make promises we cannot keep, because our hearts are hard, we have divorce.

Jesus out-orthodoxed the Pharisees. He reached back to what they all knew – that we no longer live in Eden, that the Babel Tower was cast down for our arrogance, that God killed damn near all of us poor sinners with the flood because we were – and are – cruel and abuse each other. And Jesus schooled those Pharisees in the words of the text, saying “yes, we have divorce. We have divorce because we are not up to living by God’s expectations.”

Now let’s got back to that other bit, the bit that the Baptists love so much. Attend closely to the words of the text. Yes, God made us male and female. And yes we all must leave our parents to make our way in the world. And for those of us who are up to the challenge, there is the formation of a household. And if you’re going to do that last one, you damn well better take that shit seriously, ‘cause God don’t take it kindly when you can’t keep your promises.

Note, however, that you kind of have to do a logical leap from “God made them male and female” to the “and the two shall become one flesh.” You have to assume – interpret the text, in other words – that Jesus assumed that men would leave their parents to join with women, and only women, to become one flesh. Now maybe Jesus assumed this and maybe he didn’t, but either way, what the text says is not precisely clear.

I do not mean to take a particular hermeneutic stand on the inclusion or exclusion of one or two (or six**) words. I mean to point out that if you’re going to make your stand on the text, you better be prepared for some surprises. Because the text, in this case, does not precisely say what the Baptists would have us believe it says. You want to claim orthodoxy, you better be prepared to get schooled in the ways of the text.

But the text doesn’t stop there. Oh, no. A mere five verses later – two short paragraphs – we read of the curious incident of the rich young ruler. To quote:

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, ‘Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ Jesus said to him, ‘Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honour your father and mother”.’ He said to him, ‘Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.’ Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Let us take a look at this text closely, shall we? Just after Jesus had finished his little sermon to the Judean crowds, and after he had done schooled the Pharisees at their own game, and after he had given all the kiddies a hug, he went for a walk. And what happened?

He got cruised. That’s right, Jesus went out and picked hisself up a man. Jesus looked at that rich young ruler, that Jonathan, that angel prepared to wrestle to the break of day, and he loved him. And when we say love, that ain’t “philia” friendly-type love. The word, in the text, is “agape.” Jesus loved that handsome rich young ruler. And when that ruler asked, in the words of that old-time hymn, what it would take to abide in the ever-lovin’ arms of Jesus for all eternity, what did our Savior say?

Unburden yourself, my brother. Get rid of all those things that will come between me and thee. Unclench that hard heart of yours, if you want liberation and a personal experience of the divine. If you want to receive my kingdom, come to me in innocence and in equality. And then we can discuss promises.

And we know where this story leads, don’t we? It was too hard for that rich young ruler to give up his things.*** He went away grieving, as did Jesus, knowing that would face that cross uncomforted.

The lesson here, good people? These are the lively oracles of God – and you bet be prepared to wrestle with that text, because what it has to say may surprise you. It might even put you out of joint. But if you want to experience God, you must give up those precious possessions, these prejudices, this retentiveness. The law may be written for us with our hard hearts, but we can be better than that. God made us only a little less than the angels in Heaven, after all, and we are called to redeem meaning and wholeness from the fallen and trivial world we have made through our hardness of heart.

*In case you’re curious, the bit in between is the “Let the little children come to me” passage. It is most often used as a twinky little “aww, isn’t Sunday School great” message. It is, more darkly, sometimes used to suggest that applying any kind of intellectual engagement to matters of faith is contrary to the Gospel. Obviously, I think the second interpretation is false. I take the passage much more in the light of: be not afraid to be generous or innocent in matters of faith. Ask questions, share, and learn.

**In the New Revised Standard Version, there is a footnote to verse 7. It states, at the end of the phrase “a man shall leave his father and mother,” that, “other ancient authorities” then append the phrase ‘and be joined to his wife.’ In other words, some version of the text make it clear that marriage is between a man and woman. Other versions of the text do not include that phrase. If you want to take your stand on the text, you better be prepared to do some fancy footwork. Which text are you talking about, after all?

*** Following Rev. Theodore Jennings and Morton Smith, I like to think that the rich young ruler in question had a name, that name was Lazarus, and that he was in fact the same fellow Jesus raised from the dead and for whom he wept because he loved that man so much (John 11). That this fellow Lazarus was there the night Jesus was betrayed (Mark 14), there the day he died (John 19) and there the morning he rose in glory (Mark 16). This is, however, an unorthodox reading, and does not follow the authorized text.

3 Reactie’s »

So this tale is second-hand.  I was (sadly? No, not really) not present to witness the events in question.  But apparently it went something like this…

After wrapping up some political volunteering this past weekend, two friends of mine went out to one of the filthier, skankier bars in town.  This, place, recently under new management and currently named for what happens when you scare a herd of cows, is not entirely objectionable — as after all, one can draw distinctions between dive, dingy, trashy, dirty, filthy, and downright infectious bars.  This place is somewhere between dirty and filthy.  But since they don’t actually run whores out of the place, nor do they deal drugs openly on the bar, I don’t just plain balk at going.  But, to be clear, this venue was the sight of the events to which I referred last year, the “praise jebus, that is precisely what we do not condone here!” wet-t-shirt and boxers contest.

So my friends went there on Friday night.  The crowd was apparently somewhat light.  I gather they’re facing competition from FoWo’s newest bar, which caters to Hispanics, and which probably now hosts what had previously been this bar’s main attraction, namely an, ahem, informal transactional labor market for the undocumented “service” trade.  The patrons there consisted of the usual crowd.  The kind of crowd that caused my partner to observe, “oh, this place isn’t so bad.  It’s just every other East Texas hole, only the ugly women at this bar are actually men.”  (you ain’t seen just how ugly a drag queen can get until you been here, trust me).

After getting a couple of beers, my friends ran into another pair of acquaintances.  One of them was a fellow who, in the distant past, served as the webmaster for a political club to which I belong.  He didn’t last long; the last time I had seen him was two years ago when I was registering voters for the ‘04 election.  I had gently assumed that he had left our club because he had other commitments.  I was wrong, as my friend’s tale from Friday evening illustrated. 

For, see, this former webmaster was falling-down drunk.  Snoozed out on a table with head in his arms, shirt runched up and his pants fallin’ down to expose four full inches of plumber’s crack.  And this fellow is a big boy — or, as they say in the trade, a bear.  So one of my friends, being a Yankee and so (thank g*d) blessed with a full appreciation for irony, went up behind him and dropped in a quarter. 

At which point our acquaintance the former webmaster heaved his drunk-ass hulk up, said something to the effect of “you want a song, bitch?” and dropped his pants.

I am not, I should be clear, sorry that I missed this little improvised a capella performance.  No, sirree.  Not sorry at all.  I am lookin’ forward to the day when a Friday’s night’s entertainment will not involve seeing a drunk fat man expose himself in public. 

Geen reactie’s, je kan de eerste zijn »

So I was sitting in the pews the other day at my church.*

And I had three thoughts in quick succession:

a.) the Lancet recently published an article on the cost, in human lives, of our FUBAR occupation of Iraq.  Leaving aside for a moment my confusion, sadness, and shame – my personal sense of guilt and sin, in my capacity as an American citizen, for my personal complicity (I do pay taxes, after all) in this moral monstrosity.  Leaving that aside, why do I hear nought but a thunderous silence from the pulpit?  Where, in the midst of all this horror and death is the prophetic voice, that still small voice that might give me hope and meaning in this maelstrom of blood and bombings?

b.) Second thought: if you wanted to beat the goddamned Christa-bigots at their own game, here’s what you do.  Every blessed Sunday, you get up there in that pulpit and you ask for prayers for every soldier that died that week.  And you name them, so that prayer is personal. So far this week that’s the following brave Americans:  Gene Hawkins, 24, of Orlando, Florida and Thomas Hewitt, 22, of Temple, Texas.  You tell everyone in the congregation to pray for the souls of the departed, for comfort for the aggrieved. 

c.) Last week’s lectionary involved a classic “marriage is between a man and a woman” passage (Mark 10:1-12).  And it occured to me, as I listened to my assistant pastor (a lovely woman, bless her heart, who is as mealy-mouthed when it comes to strict passages as ever could be); it occured to me as I listened to her deliver a watery, nearly-nonsensical sermon the gist of which (as far as I could tell) was “can’t we all just get along?”  It occured to me, “fuck this shit, sweetie.  I could deliver a better sermon on this topic than you, and I ain’t even been to divinity school.”

It is in such moments that I am struck by how utterly Protestant I am.

Sermon to follow in a day or so.   But first, another amusing tale from the bar scene here in little ol’ bo-vineville.

*Yes, I go to church, though not to a congregation affiliated with either of my “ancestral” denominations. Unfortunately, the Episcopalians ’round here are run by a man I freely and publicly call the Imp of Satan, while the Methodists are infested with the kind of smug apologists for anti-civil rights reactionary horseshit that even if I could sing “Come O Thou Traveler Unknown” every week I still wouldn’t darken the door of one of their might-as-well-be-Church-of-Christ churches.  Instead, I attend a church of my partner’s denomination, the unimpeachably progressive UCC.

2 Reactie’s »

So I was out walking precincts this weekend for a local candidate.  There I met a lovely couple who are recent transplants to the area from Seattle.  Being good people, upon their arrival here they had looked around for political volunteering opportunities.  Luckily, they live next door to a great liberal, who sent them to the same campaign I’ve been working on. 

That’s all the good stuff.  Now for the gut-punch.  The hubby in this couple works as a pathologist in the county coroner’s office here.  And, in conversation with another volunter, he allowed as how what surprised him most about his new position (they moved here in the spring, I believe), what he found most disturbing, because he had never experienced it before, is that every day they get a dead child.

Let that sink in for a moment.  Every day at the county coroner’s office, they receive at least one dead child.  Every day, whether for lack of abortion and family-planning services, whether because a drunk or hopped-up boyfriend/husband gets abusive, whether because of the pathologies of poverty, someone murders their child. 

This place is cursed.  I live in a culture pervaded with hate and vice and meanness.  I live in a culture of death.  I will lose my mind if I remain here.

Geen reactie’s, je kan de eerste zijn »

One of my regular blog-reads posed a perennial question: why are there gay Republicans.

Typically, to answer that question, people do the ostensibly reasonable thing, and go ask one. 

But here’s my question: why would you believe the answer given by a person who daily enacts a self premised on (a) mendacity, and (b) meretriciousness?

Gay Republicans are Republicans because they either (a) hate poor people, (b) hate black and/or brown people, or (c) hate women.  However, publicly saying “I loves me my tax cuts and fuck all the resta ya’ll” has only recently become publicly acceptable, while publicly saying “fuck the negro, fuck the High-spanick, and fuck the chicky-poos while you’re at it” is even now not really acceptable (thank G*d).  Gay Republicans, therefore must tout publicly-acceptable (but increasingly tatty) lies like “I’m a small-government man, really” or “see, I’m a libertarian” or “well, I believe in keeping America strong when it comes to national defense” 

The answer doesn’t matter, because the answer can only tell you what the Kabuki-theatre script line of the political moment happens to be. 

Geen reactie’s, je kan de eerste zijn »

There was a time — when I was young and naive, I suppose — when I tried to swallow David Brooks like a good boy.  I figured that it must be worthwhile to read someone who used such big words, who wore such big glasses and had such a prominent forehead, who took such hard-to-grasp concepts (cultural capital! human capital! bourgeois bohemians! the widening wage gap!) and translated them into comprehensibility for the poor benighted readers of the New York Times.

Silly me.  Silly me for giving the time of day to a man that would have me believe that reading Nabakov is morally equivalent to encouraging the behavior of men that screw twelve-year old girls, or (which is to say the logically equivalent thing) that failing to demand a boycott of Eve Ensler disqualifies me from demanding that someone who actually, you know, proffered blowjobs to his 16 year-old employees, be brought up on sexual harassment charges. 

Um, yeah.  If there is no difference between art and life, the Bobo should get down in front of God and everybody and blow Ken Mehlman, because I frankly don’t see the difference between that and what he does every damn week on the pages of the NYT.

Of course, others have already it said it better than I.

Geen reactie’s, je kan de eerste zijn »

Apologies for my lateness in commenting on this pathetic imbroglio.  I have been knee-deep in mid-semester academic tasks and have thus not been attending to matters more interesting.