Chase the Devil

I'm dreaming. My son and daughter are sleeping at my parent's house, in the room my brother and I used to share. My brother's bed is pushed up in front of the double window that overlooks our quiet, leafy street. The streetlamp in front of the house opposite ours acts like an oversized nightlight, a klieg light really. Despite the pull-down shades and curtains, yellowish light makes the room glow.

To my annoyance, I notice that someone keeps rearranging my kids in their sleep, moving them around the bed or onto the floor. Then I realize that it is a presence...something bad. I have to protect my kids, but cannot see who or what is threatening them. Then I see the closet. It is definitely in the closet. It always is (and as a kid, you know damn well that the two closet doors in our room were shut tight before I went to bed each night).

I know I must cast this malevolent presence out of the house before he can harm the wee ones, and I'm struggling to find the right "Exorcist" words..."power of Christ...I cast thee..." No. "By the power of God I command thee...no." My throat is parched, scratchy, hoarse. It's a croaky whisper at first, but I finally manage to force out a relatively brave "Christ be with you!" Not exactly a menacing can of whoop-ass to unleash on the Devil, but it's all I had at the moment. (Yes, I was searching for "the power of Christ compels you," which I heard on "Family Guy" on Adult Swim a few nights before.)

Who knows what the hell happened next, because I woke myself up yelling "Christ be with you!"

Now, since I've been having some trouble with snoring, I've been sleeping on the sofa, right up against the wall of our neighbor's bedroom. Now, for whatever reason, all the other walls in our apartment are really thick and soundproof, except for this one. After my outburst, and I'm worried that I've woken up my wife or kids, because I was freakin' LOUD, I clearly hear a cough from next door. Great, I woke up my neighbor, who hates us anyway, because the kids are always up at 6 am making a racket, and now I go yelling some crazy religious phrase out at two o'clock in the morning.

Oh well, at least they didn't hear the chicken sacrifice I performed last week...

Pretty in Pink

So, let me get this straight, once again, we can't show a family with two mommies on "Postcards from Buster," but it's okay for a gay male prostitute with no journalism experience whatsoever to gain unprecedented access to the White House press room? Two lesbian women who are raising a bunch of kids on a farm in Vermont are so threatening to our nation's children that we have to essentially ban their image from public television (even though the show is all about encouraging diversity and tolerance, and has featured Mormons and Christian fundamentalists in the past), but the righteously moral, born-again Christian, gay-bashing, bedrock-family values White House thinks its fine and proper to have a gay hooker ask the President of the United States a question during a rare press conference?

Hey, I have nothing against gay prostitutes from pretend news outlets making inquiries of President Bush. I just though with all the homophobia spewing forth from the GOP and White House over banning gay marriage, and all the hatred towards gay people vomiting out of every right-wing media outlet that, you know, gays were bad people not welcome into our homes, or really anywhere in our God-fearing country. Boy was I wrong. There's been nary a peep of outrage from the right wing hate machine, nor have the conservative Republicans bravely stepped forward to denounce a gay man in their midst. Apparently, they generally embrace gay hooker fake reporters as long as they are of the right political persuasion and don't want to shack up and get married!

Do you think that whomever "Jeff Gannon" was doing inside the White House liked using condoms or not? (Inquiring minds want to know, what with all the disparagement of condoms by the White House and their pet abstinence-only crowd.)

Do What You Want, 'Cos this is the New Art School

Way back in the late 70s, if you were on a school tour of the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan, they would give you these round, day-glo orange stickers to put on your shirt or jacket to identify yourself as part of a visiting group. At the time, I was a shy, insecure sixth grader, always content to be amused by the look-at-me shenanigans of my more extroverted classmates, and there was always plenty of amusement on hand. As any adult who knows what it’s like to be among a hoard of middle-school boys, it was a struggle for some of us to be good and proper representatives of our WASPy, Episcopal choir school (another story for another day) in our matching blue jackets with their embroidered school emblems, gray slacks, and blue and gold striped ties. Yet, by the grace of god and fear of human retribution, we made it to the end of the tour without incident, and I’m sure our masters (in plain English: our teachers) were eager to get us the hell out of there before anything could mar this perfect outing.

If only there hadn’t been this oversized painting of dozens of perfect, day-glo orange circles hanging near the coat check we were milling about. If only Kelsey hadn’t done the most logically impulsive thing that any sixth-grade boy would do and take his sticker, which was the EXACT same size and color as the painted orange circles (to our amazement, it really was a perfect match!), and plonk it on the canvass of this museum-quality, world-class work of art (I don’t think we ever even knew whose work of art it was). If only the rest of us had just stayed silently stunned as we did when we watched this all unfold in slow motion, instead of guffawing and pointing to the vandalizing sticker, we all would have made it out of the museum without being busted. Perhaps in a day or two, the camouflaged sticker would have fallen off and no one would have been the wiser. A foolish prank that I’m sure some in the art world would have loved. Instead, my friend Kelsey – one of the nicest, funniest, most guileless people around – was snagged by the man. (The guard only noticed what was going on after we all stupidly drew attention to ourselves and the painting and Kelsey.) The NYPD was summoned and he was actually taken off in handcuffs (we’re talking a sixth grade boy here!). I forget if Kelsey was expelled at that point or simply was not invited back for seventh grade, but he joined the swelling ranks of bad boys and good that our class seemed to shed every year. He was made an example.

The last I heard of Kelsey was that he later became a gourmet chef. And I always wonder who at MOMA had the brilliant idea to give out neon stickers to school kids? Idiot. You bet that they changed that policy after we were there.

Beautiful Day

Christo's and Jeanne-Claude's The Gates will probably go down as one of the most photographed art installations ever...and it should be. It's a gift to New York City in every sense of the word (they raised all the money to manufacture the components, to install it, to pay for extra police patrols, the whole shebang...and all sales from The Gates merchandise goes to supporting NYC parks, they don't make a dime). Simply art for art's sake.

Done too Much, Much too Young

Like most pro-choice people, I am all about prevention. Let’s do everything we can to reduce unwanted pregnancy and shrink the number of abortions performed in the United States each year. To accomplish this, I strongly believe that every child in America should be taught about all about sexual reproduction, contraception, abstinence, sexually transmitted diseases, etc. in a manner that is medically accurate and judgment free. Then, there should be a separate course in which the ethical, moral, and societal issues surrounding human sexuality are discussed and explored from many diverse viewpoints (religious views should be recognized and talked about, but no preaching allowed!). Maybe this class should even include a forum that includes kids’ parents, to encourage dialogue about sexuality between the generations. But the bottom line is that we must give kids all of the information possible, so they can make the most responsible, informed choices about sex.

Yes, teens should delay having sex until they are adults, but most don’t, so let’s make sure they know how to protect themselves from unintended pregnancy and disease. And this includes removing any social stigmas around condoms, which should be readily available to kids if they want them. We’ve got to drill it into boys’ heads that if they are going to have sex, they need to use a condom. No excuses. Nada. (A lot of grief is heaped on girls and women for unintended pregnancy and abortion, but the guys are essentially off the hook…they are a big part of the equation, don’t you think?) Birth control pills and emergency contraception also should be easy to obtain if we want to make sure that abortion is rare, but guys really need to own up to the vital importance in doing their part in preventing pregnancy and the spread of disease. Wrap that rascal now, dude!

Here’s a wacky thought. As our intrepid legislators work overtime in their quest to restrict abortion, on a parallel tack, why don’t we demand that laws be put into effect that would make it a crime if a male does not use a condom during sexual intercourse (we want to make abortions rare, right)? Of course, there would need to be an exception for sexual intercourse that is for procreation (and we could draw up some sort of document men and women could sign attesting to their true intent before they have sex). So it would be a little complicated and trample people’s right to privacy, etc. But since our federal government has so much disdain for civil liberties anyway, why not have some good come out of this trend, right? Are you with me? I mean, if we are going to get all high and mighty and tell women they can’t have easy access to birth control or emergency contraception AND plan to outlaw abortion, the guys need to take on some greater responsibility or things are going to get a hell of a lot messier. Human beings have sex. So let’s make condom use whenever people are “doing it” the law of the land. Nice and simple.

Should I place a call to Alberto Gonzales right now, or give him some time to settle in and forget about that pesky Abu Ghraib/Guantanamo Bay nastiness the Dems keep harping on? Hello, is anyone there? This is New York calling…hello? Is this thing on? Can you hear me now?

Working for the Goon Squad

You gotta hand it to the enemy.  They are much more crafty than the left in their insidious and relentless “messaging.”  Case in point: check out Frank Rich’s excellent column on the New York Times website regarding the continuing war on anything the right wing finds objectionable in the media (among other offenses, a black woman’s boob and the mere mention of the word ‘penis’ get them really hot under the collar – I guess‘taboo’ things turn ‘em on).  The open season they have declared on gays since the presidential campaign has me particularly pissed off, and Rich hones in on how completely evil Spellings and Dobson are in their attacks:

"That our government is now both intimidating PBS and awarding public money to pundits to enforce "moral values" agendas demonizing certain families is the ugliest fallout of the campaign against indecency. That campaign cannot really banish salaciousness from pop culture, a rank impossibility in a market economy where red and blue customers are united in their infatuation with "Desperate Housewives." But it can create public policy that discriminates against anyone on the hit list of moral values zealots. Inane as it may seem that Ms. Spellings is conducting a witch hunt against Buster or that James Dobson has taken aim at SpongeBob SquarePants, there's a method to their seeming idiocy: the cartoon surrogates are deliberately chosen to camouflage the harshness of their assault on nonanimated, flesh-and-blood people."

Yeah, they wouldn't want to actually attack a real gay person like, say, Mary Cheney for being in the public eye and flaunting her lifestyle in front of impressionable young Americans. No siree! Gotta go after poor bunny Buster Baxter, who just wants to know how to make maple syrup, not advance a lesbian agenda (well, tolerance, actually)!

My Name is Might Have Been

Remember when a grown-up would ask you what you wanted to be when you grow up? And you would eagerly tell them that you wanted to be some variation of fireman, astronaut, or veterinarian that you had read about or seen on TV. Adults would tell you that you could be anything you wanted to be if you applied yourself hard enough…even President of the United States.

Fast forward, and for the lucky few, a million variables come up triple cherry and are able to realize their dreams.

The rest of us settle, take what we can. We get by on diminished expectations. Or the better of two bad choices. Some kick and scream on the way down to their knees. We need our anti-depressants to make it through another bloody day at the office, dear. Potential is a dirty word.

We hope that our kids will be more successful than we were. Pin all of our tarnished hopes on them. And try to forget that we didn’t make it. That we let down that sweet kid from so long ago whose brilliant dreams are gone.