Item: The AP reported that “Philippine police issued a warning this week to gay officers not to sway their hips or display other suggestive behavior while on duty or they could risk losing their jobs.”
We take you now to a bar in Manila popular with off-duty policemen.
Danny orders a beer and sits down next to Manuel. “I am beat,” announces Danny. “An extra shift doing traffic.”
Manuel responds, “That shouldn’t tire you out, virile young thing that you are.”
“The hell it doesn’t. Have you tried directing traffic without moving your hips?”
“Oh, let me picture that.” Manuel closes his eyes. “I see a handsome 20-something in his policeman’s uniform, standing boldly amidst Manila’s worst traffic, totally snarling it up as he moves like an arthritic robot.”
“Hey!” Danny protests. “It’s hard!”
“Danny, I think you’re taking this warning too seriously.”
“Easy for you to say. You sit at a desk all day. If your hips sway nobody notices, except maybe the copy machine.”
Manuel smiles. “I’ve never been much of a swayer. Neither are you, actually.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving anyone an excuse to fire me.” Danny takes a swig of his beer. “Where did this stupid rule come from, anyway?”
“I can only guess. Maybe the big shots think policemen should act more macho. Or maybe some gay cop got caught on his knees while on duty, being far too helpful to a member of the public.”
Danny lowers his voice. “I’d like to see them make rules for straight people. If the superintendent is so worried about gay guys swaying our hips and having ‘lustful conduct’ like he said, then he should be worried about straight guys too. If we can’t sway our hips, then straight cops can’t . . . can’t . . .”
“ . . . puff out their chests?” offers Manuel. “Shine their aviator glasses? Strut?”
“Whatever straight men do to attract women. It’s only fair.”
Manuel flashes a benevolent smile. “Oh, you youngster. So naïve. Believing life should be fair. It’s touching, it really is. Listen, we’ve got it better than other places in the world. At least we can be cops. Do the arresting instead of being arrested for being gay.”
“Maybe,” Danny grunts. “All I know is when I walk, I got to think about walking, not my job. I’m thinking so hard I wouldn’t notice if a nun got strangled right in front of me.”
“I’ll alert the convents,” says Manuel. “My cousin sure sways his hips. He can make them move like a hula dancer. He’s in the army.”
“How does he survive?”
“He knows how to turn his motor on and off.”
Danny finishes his beer. “I’m no swisher. But I’m afraid I’m gonna turn into one. All this thinking about how I walk—I can’t remember how I used to walk. My legs are confused.”
“Imagine if you have to run.”
“God, I forgot about that! My legs’ll get all tangled up. I’ll never catch anybody. I’ll be fired for sure.”
“In that case,” says Manuel, “you may as well go back to your old way of walking.”
“No sir. I’m gonna learn how to walk masculine.” He rises and walks carefully to the bar for another beer, then returns to his seat. “How’d I look?”
“Constipated.”
“Oh no,” moans Danny. “Wait. Maybe that’s good. I always thought John Wayne looked that way.”
Monday, March 26, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
I Can't Help Myself
During the last few days, smoke has come out of my ears and a light bulb has appeared over my head. Any minute now I’ll be declared a toxic site.
All this began late one night. After I wrote the last lines of a column, my computer seized up. Over the next action-packed days, experts tried and failed to retrieve the years’ worth of material on my hard drive. I lost everything, professional and personal.
Hence the smoke billowing from my ears, as I raged at myself for putting too much faith in Macs and not getting around to backing up. People probably thought my perfume was Eau de Forest Fire.
I lost old columns, and I lost the one that was due. Since it isn’t possible to prove otherwise, I’ll just go ahead and claim that latest one was a masterpiece. A work of genius, I tell you, genius.
Its vanishing act meant I missed my deadline. I think that was the first time in the seven years I’ve been writing “General Gayety” that I haven’t come up with the goods. I don’t know whether editors consider me reliable or anal, but I assume my not delivering surprised us all.
What with the lost material, a missed assignment and the immediate need to pay for a new hard drive, I was a mess. Subversive thoughts entered my head, like maybe it’s time I stopped writing my column, and Mitt Romney would make a fine president.
I’m not one to believe recent events mean God or the universe is trying to tell me something—both must have better things to do—but this would indeed be an obvious time to call a halt to writing for gay publications, with their dismal pay policies and assorted frustrations.
Or maybe I was just feeling the seven-year itch. Whichever, I seriously entertained bringing down the curtain.
Then along came Peter Pace.
In case you were in the midst of something all-consuming—oh, let’s say a massive data loss—I’ll update you on what the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had to say. When asked about “don’t ask, don’t tell” during an interview with the Chicago Tribune, Marine Gen. Pace likened homosexual acts to adultery.
He said, “I believe homosexual acts between two individuals are immoral and that we should not condone immoral acts.”
I ask you, was that fair? Just as I was preparing to forsake the business of making humor out of the gay experience, the general played dirty, handing me such a choice goodie my fingers hankered for the keyboard.
Still, I’d warmed up to the idea of embarking on a different career path, and wouldn’t be dissuaded by this single gem of ridiculousness.
Then along came R. Albert Mohler Jr.
Rev. Mohler, president of the nation’s leading Southern Baptist seminary, wrote an article for his Web site in which he alerted Christians that homosexuality might well be proven to be biological. If so, he wrote, the Bible still says homosexuality is a sin, so prenatal treatment to reverse gayness would be a grand idea.
“I realize this sounds very offensive to homosexuals, but it’s the only way a Christian can look at it,” he told The Associated Press. “We should have no more problem with that than treating any medical problem.”
My medical problem is not that I’m a lesbian. My medical problem is the light bulb hovering above my head and frying my hair. Because it’s clear to me now that when the Paces or Mohlers of the world pop off, I’m constitutionally unable to stay silent. So I won’t quit until they do.
All this began late one night. After I wrote the last lines of a column, my computer seized up. Over the next action-packed days, experts tried and failed to retrieve the years’ worth of material on my hard drive. I lost everything, professional and personal.
Hence the smoke billowing from my ears, as I raged at myself for putting too much faith in Macs and not getting around to backing up. People probably thought my perfume was Eau de Forest Fire.
I lost old columns, and I lost the one that was due. Since it isn’t possible to prove otherwise, I’ll just go ahead and claim that latest one was a masterpiece. A work of genius, I tell you, genius.
Its vanishing act meant I missed my deadline. I think that was the first time in the seven years I’ve been writing “General Gayety” that I haven’t come up with the goods. I don’t know whether editors consider me reliable or anal, but I assume my not delivering surprised us all.
What with the lost material, a missed assignment and the immediate need to pay for a new hard drive, I was a mess. Subversive thoughts entered my head, like maybe it’s time I stopped writing my column, and Mitt Romney would make a fine president.
I’m not one to believe recent events mean God or the universe is trying to tell me something—both must have better things to do—but this would indeed be an obvious time to call a halt to writing for gay publications, with their dismal pay policies and assorted frustrations.
Or maybe I was just feeling the seven-year itch. Whichever, I seriously entertained bringing down the curtain.
Then along came Peter Pace.
In case you were in the midst of something all-consuming—oh, let’s say a massive data loss—I’ll update you on what the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had to say. When asked about “don’t ask, don’t tell” during an interview with the Chicago Tribune, Marine Gen. Pace likened homosexual acts to adultery.
He said, “I believe homosexual acts between two individuals are immoral and that we should not condone immoral acts.”
I ask you, was that fair? Just as I was preparing to forsake the business of making humor out of the gay experience, the general played dirty, handing me such a choice goodie my fingers hankered for the keyboard.
Still, I’d warmed up to the idea of embarking on a different career path, and wouldn’t be dissuaded by this single gem of ridiculousness.
Then along came R. Albert Mohler Jr.
Rev. Mohler, president of the nation’s leading Southern Baptist seminary, wrote an article for his Web site in which he alerted Christians that homosexuality might well be proven to be biological. If so, he wrote, the Bible still says homosexuality is a sin, so prenatal treatment to reverse gayness would be a grand idea.
“I realize this sounds very offensive to homosexuals, but it’s the only way a Christian can look at it,” he told The Associated Press. “We should have no more problem with that than treating any medical problem.”
My medical problem is not that I’m a lesbian. My medical problem is the light bulb hovering above my head and frying my hair. Because it’s clear to me now that when the Paces or Mohlers of the world pop off, I’m constitutionally unable to stay silent. So I won’t quit until they do.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Their Loss, Our Gain
Civil-rights movements are messy and perverse. The GLBT movement will progress in part because of the recent sufferings of individuals. That makes me feel a little like a cannibal.
Take the ghastly case of Detroit's Andrew Anthos, who was singing as he rode the bus from the public library to his apartment one evening. An annoyed passenger asked him if he was gay. After Anthos, 72, left the bus, the other passenger, spitting gay slurs, whacked him in the back of the head with a metal pipe. Anthos died 10 days later.
Needless to say, he wasn't killed for singing off-key. This was a clear hate crime.
Politicians in the state capital of Lansing knew Anthos, not as a wild-eyed gay activist, but as a wild-eyed patriot. For years he'd advocated lighting up the Michigan State Capitol dome in red, white and blue on one night a year. Well, everybody has a passion.
I have to believe the cruel death of this senior citizen has opened a few eyes and softened a few hearts in Michigan. Which means--Warning: crassness ahead--it's time to strike while the emotions are hot. A state senator has promised to reintroduce a bill including sexual orientation in the state's hate crimes law immediately.
Andrew Anthos is a reminder that any individual can have a positive impact on GLBT rights. Even if that person had no such plan.
Former Marine Staff Sgt. Eric Alva knows a lot about suffering. He and his leg parted company after he stepped on a land mine in the Iraq War's earliest days.
He received a Purple Heart and hospital visits from President Bush and then-Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld. I hope those two politicos were shocked to their wingtips to see Alva at a recent Capitol Hill news conference announcing, "Who would have ever guessed that the first American wounded was a gay Marine?"
That day in D.C. Alva called for "don't ask, don't tell" to lose its legal legs, and Rep. Marty Meehan reintroduced legislation authorizing the amputation.
Alva said losing his leg induced him to come out. "It made me realize everything that I had to actually speak up for," he told ABC News, "basically, the rights and privileges of what I as an individual have earned in this country."
Alva's loss is our gain. I don't mean some gay person is toting his leg around. I mean the experience crystallized things for him. He found the courage to come out, and to fight another battle.
A Latino Marine from a military family in Bush's home state, Alva couldn't be better advertising for the cause of defeating "don’t ask." We're using him to budge GLBT rights forward—and that's hunky-dory with him.
Thanks to people like Steve Stanton of Largo, Fla., the day will come when transgender folks can transition without fear of losing everything. That may not provide Stanton any comfort right now, as he's rather busy being chewed up and spat out.
Stanton has ably served as Largo's city manager for 14 years. Less than a week after he disclosed his intention to undergo sex reassignment surgery, city commissioners voted to begin the process of firing him.
Who says government can't move fast?
"I do not feel he has the integrity, nor the trust, nor the respect, nor the confidence to continue as the city manager," said one commissioner. You'd never guess Largo's slogan is "City of Progress."
"It's just painful to know seven days ago I was a good guy and now . . . I have no integrity," said Stanton to the commissioners.
Considering all the turmoil he's facing, I should at least do Stanton the courtesy of addressing him properly: Good luck, girlfriend.
Take the ghastly case of Detroit's Andrew Anthos, who was singing as he rode the bus from the public library to his apartment one evening. An annoyed passenger asked him if he was gay. After Anthos, 72, left the bus, the other passenger, spitting gay slurs, whacked him in the back of the head with a metal pipe. Anthos died 10 days later.
Needless to say, he wasn't killed for singing off-key. This was a clear hate crime.
Politicians in the state capital of Lansing knew Anthos, not as a wild-eyed gay activist, but as a wild-eyed patriot. For years he'd advocated lighting up the Michigan State Capitol dome in red, white and blue on one night a year. Well, everybody has a passion.
I have to believe the cruel death of this senior citizen has opened a few eyes and softened a few hearts in Michigan. Which means--Warning: crassness ahead--it's time to strike while the emotions are hot. A state senator has promised to reintroduce a bill including sexual orientation in the state's hate crimes law immediately.
Andrew Anthos is a reminder that any individual can have a positive impact on GLBT rights. Even if that person had no such plan.
Former Marine Staff Sgt. Eric Alva knows a lot about suffering. He and his leg parted company after he stepped on a land mine in the Iraq War's earliest days.
He received a Purple Heart and hospital visits from President Bush and then-Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld. I hope those two politicos were shocked to their wingtips to see Alva at a recent Capitol Hill news conference announcing, "Who would have ever guessed that the first American wounded was a gay Marine?"
That day in D.C. Alva called for "don't ask, don't tell" to lose its legal legs, and Rep. Marty Meehan reintroduced legislation authorizing the amputation.
Alva said losing his leg induced him to come out. "It made me realize everything that I had to actually speak up for," he told ABC News, "basically, the rights and privileges of what I as an individual have earned in this country."
Alva's loss is our gain. I don't mean some gay person is toting his leg around. I mean the experience crystallized things for him. He found the courage to come out, and to fight another battle.
A Latino Marine from a military family in Bush's home state, Alva couldn't be better advertising for the cause of defeating "don’t ask." We're using him to budge GLBT rights forward—and that's hunky-dory with him.
Thanks to people like Steve Stanton of Largo, Fla., the day will come when transgender folks can transition without fear of losing everything. That may not provide Stanton any comfort right now, as he's rather busy being chewed up and spat out.
Stanton has ably served as Largo's city manager for 14 years. Less than a week after he disclosed his intention to undergo sex reassignment surgery, city commissioners voted to begin the process of firing him.
Who says government can't move fast?
"I do not feel he has the integrity, nor the trust, nor the respect, nor the confidence to continue as the city manager," said one commissioner. You'd never guess Largo's slogan is "City of Progress."
"It's just painful to know seven days ago I was a good guy and now . . . I have no integrity," said Stanton to the commissioners.
Considering all the turmoil he's facing, I should at least do Stanton the courtesy of addressing him properly: Good luck, girlfriend.
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