This flitted across my Facebook stream a while ago…I really wish I had the original because I’d caption it differently…

Having had and witnessed so many arguments with anti-gay bigots who say that marriage isn’t about love, I’m pretty sure this would fail miserably at getting the point across.   You simply can’t make that point with the hard core bigot, they just don’t get that “love” stuff to begin with, or to any degree they do they regard it with contempt as a sign of weakness.

This is a good argument to make with everyone else who is open to hearing to our stories and seeing our shared humanity.   But there’s a another one.   I’d caption the picture above something like this:

In a world bleeding itself to death with violence and war, how rational are those
who warn that it is dangerous to allow men to love other men?

Why am I here?   What is my destiny?

We ask these questions naturally.   And as we grow up we are given answers.   We sit in our parents laps and we are told how it was the family came to be where it is now.   How it was mom and dad met.   How it was we ourselves came to be.   And when we are young, we do not question them.   They become unconsciously part of the bedrock of our lives.

And sometimes…sometimes…some few of us when we are older, look back upon those answers and discover that they make no sense.

I was born in California, to a mother who had traveled there shortly after her father had passed away. That is the basic fact of my life.   Mom grew up, was born and raised in Greensburg Pennsylvania.   But I was born in Pasadena California, and raised in Maryland after mom divorced dad and moved here.   And it’s only been recently, now in my fifties, that I’ve looked at that and wondered.   She was born and raised in Greensburg, and yet suddenly her and her mother uproot themselves in the late 1940s and move clear across the country to live somewhere they knew practically nobody.   And when she divorced dad, her and her mother moved back across the country again.   And it wasn’t back to their childhood home they moved, but once again to somewhere else that they knew practically nobody.

Well even when I was a small child I often wondered about that.   And always when I asked, I got the same story.

Mom’s father had died she said, from a series of massive strokes, back in a time when medicine could do little for stroke victims.   The event had disturbed her deeply.   She moved to California she said, because she could not bear to live in the house she had grown up in, because the memories of the events of her father’s death were too traumatic.

Mom’s emotional life during that period was rough.   Before her father died mom had loved a man, a navy man, who had gone to war.   It was world war II.   He was Jewish and, she told me, her father had not particularly liked Jews.   But, she said, he had come to know the man she loved and that had changed him.   He had eventually come to like this man, Morris she said his name was, and as time went on approved of their love.

Then one day, so she always said, he had come back from the war changed, disturbed.   Her beloved sailor had been on a ship that was ordered into Nagasaki harbor after the war ended.   His ship she said, became trapped in the harbor briefly due to all the bodies floating in it from the atomic bomb.   She said the sight of it had driven him mad.

So her relationship with her sailor came undone.   Morris’ family, she said, had taken him off to a mental hospital.   She never saw him again.   And then her father had his stroke.   He lingered horribly, for months incapacitated, unable to do anything for himself, unable to speak or even feed himself.   After six months of it he had another stroke and died.

Mom said that afterward her dreams tormented her.   In the way people did back then, before the funeral his body had laid in rest in a coffin situated right in the living room of the house.   Family and friends had held the service for him right there in the house.   That was common in those days.   Mom said that afterward she had dreams of her father rising out of his casket, and walking up the stairs to her room.

After her father was laid to rest, her mother sold the house, and also his nice cabin in the woods in the hills of Pennsylvania.   That cabin was a special memory of hers….of summer months spent there with her father and the family, her dog Jigs, and all her childhood friends from Greensburg.   Sweet childhood memories.   She would tell me fondly of the summer months spent there.   She loved that cabin, and was for the rest of her life sorry that it had been sold.   The new owners had left a fire burning on a stove…the cabin had no electricity…and it had burned down.

But they had to leave Greensburg, mom always said, because she could no longer bear to be in the house she grew up in.   During the war her younger brother, Dean, had found work in California, and so mom and grandma left Greensburg and traveled to California to live near him.   Grandma bought a house in Pasadena, presumably with what she had gotten from the sale of the house and the cabin.   They moved close to where her brother lived.   And one day they traveled to Catalina Island, and there, on the pier in Avalon, she met dad.   They married, and soon they had a son.   Me.

That is the story I was always told.   It is the story of how I came to be.   And now I look at it, and it makes no sense.

My grandfather, who I never met, who mom always told me because I took an interest in electronics and technology that I took so much after him, had two nice homes, and a business.   And after his death they sold it all, and simply left everything they had, everyone they knew, and moved across the country to a new place where they knew nobody but her brother and his wife.   Because mom could not bear to live in the house where she grew up.

Really?

I’m fifty-eight years old now, and now I look at this story and it makes no sense.   Maybe everything happened just for the reasons she said it did…but now that I look at it with the experience of my own adulthood I can’t escape the feeling that some important piece or pieces are missing.   Perhaps to understand my doubt you need to understand something I do and maybe you don’t: what the distances we’re talking about here seemed like back in the day before cheap jet air travel and the Internet.

I am old enough to have glimpsed the last days of the great passenger trains.   When I was a kid, most people didn’t travel by air…that was for rich people.     And in their day passenger air travel would have been burdensome even if you were rich.   Before the first Boeing 707s passenger airplanes were propeller things that took much longer to go from coast to coast.   Nearly everyone back then traveled by bus or by train.   Train mostly for the longer distance trips if you could afford it.   It took days, not hours, to go from coast to coast.   So any sort of travel from the east coast to the west wasn’t just a trivial thing back then.   If you traveled far away, let alone moved, you just about fell off the planet as far as your family and friends back home were concerned.   You might send a postcard or two back home…   Having a wonderful time, wish you were here… You sure wouldn’t phone home.   Way too expensive.   Back then long distance phone calls were an expensive luxury.   Postal mail had two grades…regular and air mail.   You sent letters by air mail if you wanted them to get there in a couple days.   Otherwise it might be weeks to get something from clear across the country.   The highways and the rails where how most people and everything including mail traveled.

So if you went on a cross-country trip you were on another planet until you came back home.   And then it was everyone gathered around while you showed your snapshots and told your stories of the far away place you’d been to.   To actually go live on the other side of the country, well, you might as well have moved overseas.   It’s hard to grasp now, but that is how it would have been for my mom and her mother back then.   When they left Greensburg they didn’t just go move to a neighboring town…they didn’t even move to a neighboring state.   They moved about as far away from Greensburg as they could and still remain in the lower 48.

Now I’m grown up and I look at this and wonder…did she not have any roots there?   I know she had a job there for a brief period at an architectural firm…she used to tell me about working with the ammonia stench of the old blueprint machines.   And…she had friends there.   I know because he spoke of them, but not often.   There were a few she kept in correspondence with.   They were friends she never saw again.   After mom passed away I was given a stack of her old correspondence, but there were no letters to her from her Greensburg friends among them.

And there is this…as I grew up I just accepted the constant tension that was in the family.   It was just part of the background noise.   But she was the apple of her father’s eye…daddy’s girl.   That is the one thing everyone seems to agree on, even the ones who later cut her out of the family.   I have albums of the photos her father took of her…he was, like me, an amateur   photographer.   The photos all show a beautiful young girl, posed in various scenes in and around the house and the cabin.

He loved her very much.   And she loved him very much.   If there is anything I am certain of it is this.   But throughout my own childhood there was tension between her and the rest of her family…all except her younger brother Dean and one cousin.   It was a tension I always put down to her marrying my father, who they all despised.   But looking back on all of it now it just seems to me that the tension had to be caused by more then that.   Something more must have happened to her to make her mother take her away from the town they both grew up in, and had spent their entire lives in.   Whatever caused the friction in that side of my family tree, it started well before mom met dad at the pier in Avalon.

I’m fifty-eight years old now, and while I don’t think of myself as worldly I am old enough now to understand some things better that I could not have while I was growing up.   She had a life in Greensburg.   She had friends, family, community.   And so did her mother.   Greensburg was their home.   They were both born and raised there.   It was where everything and everyone they had ever known was.   And I was told they sold everything, their house and the cabin, and left it all for California.   Because mom could not bear to stay in the house she had grown up in after her father had died.

It makes no sense.   They could have bought another house.   Surely whatever trauma mom experienced she’d have needed her friends.   Surely grandma would have had friends of her own there as well to help her through the death of her husband.   In an age before cell phones and cheap long distance, when letters took days to arrive from the next state over, let alone clear across the country, and when long distance cross-country phone calls were so expensive people would gather around the telephone at the appointed time to wait for the call, to move from one end of the country to another would have been like moving to another planet.   They’d have both given up everything they knew, everyone they knew, to literally start life all over again in California.   Because granddad died of a stroke?

No.   Just…no.   It makes no sense.

I am not on friendly terms with that side of the family anymore…not that I ever really was.   Except for uncle Dean nobody was really nice to me.   I was my father’s son, and they despised him and I was living evidence of that marriage they all hated.   I had his face.   At various times when it was useful to them, and particularly to grandma, I was told I had all his bad traits too.   Did I talk too much?   Well he’s his fathers son isn’t he.   Did I forget to do my homework?   That’s his dad in him.   Was I too proud of something I had accomplished?   A piece of artwork?   A good grade in school?   His dad was vain like that.   Did I a get a bad mark in class?   His dad was shiftless like that.   Stubborn?   His father’s blood obviously.   Whatever I ever did that was wrong, it was always because I was my father’s son.   I got used to it.   By the time I was seventeen and began to realize my homosexuality, I already had a lifetime of training in coping with being hated for something I was that I couldn’t help being. So it wasn’t all for nothing.

The only one who really took an interest in me was uncle Dean.   Mom and he always got along great, and I have lived to regret I grew up on the east and not the west coast where I could have been near him and away from the others.   Whatever it was that was the cause of so much tension in the family, her brother Dean was never bothered by it, or blamed her for it.   Shortly after mom passed away, I took a trip out to California and visited my aunt Cleone, uncle Dean’s wife, and she told me something that shocked me enough to make me pretty much divorce myself, finally and forever from that side of the family.   She said one of my cousins, a daughter of mom’s oldest brother Wayne, an uptight right wing jackass, had told mom after Wayne passed away that mom would not be allowed a grave in the family plot in the Greensburg cemetery.   I put it down to their hatred of dad, but it made me furious.   It still makes me furious to think about it.   So I’ve pretty much disconnected myself from that branch of the family tree entirely.

Whatever they thought of mom, she was a good mother to me, and a thoroughly decent person.   She set a good example for her son.   After she passed away people in the town she had retired to would come up to me…people I didn’t know from Adam…and tell me what a ray of sunshine she was everywhere she went.   That wasn’t an act…I grew up with it, it was her.   It made me absolutely furious how that side of the family treated her…all except her brother Dean and her cousin who lived in the small Virginia town she retired to.   He cousin also loved her very much.   Her older brother and the rest of that family, not so much.   And me…I’m living evidence that mom married a man they all hated.   So I can get no answers from them, and I wouldn’t trust any I got now if I asked.

I had always, until now, put the family static down to her marrying dad.   But now I look at it and it just seems so…wrong…so incomplete an explanation.   Was that really all of it?   I don’t know, but I am certain now that there is something that I was never told, because the story makes no sense.   You just don’t pack up and leave everything, even over such a traumatic experience as your father dying of a lingering illness.   Something happened.

Dad, let it be said, had…issues of his own.   The marriage didn’t last.   Mom loved him to the day she died, but the marriage didn’t work.   Mom divorced dad when I was two, and she and grandma took me and moved back across the country…but not back to Greensburg.   They moved to Washington D.C., to live near mom’s cousin, who was living there at the time.   She got a job as a clerk for the Yellow pages.   We lived in a series of small apartments.   Whatever money they had from the sales of the house in Greensburg, the cabin, granddad’s business, and the house in Pasadena, somehow was all gone.   I grew up in a very low budget household, being raised by a single working mother, in a time when women made about 60 cents for every dollar a man doing the same job made.   Mom’s family in Pennsylvania made no effort whatever to help her out.   It was something I took for granted as a child…but now it really stands out.   I’m having a hard time now believing that was all because of her marrying dad.   They basically shut her out.

But not grandma.   Someday maybe I’ll write about what growing up was like with that cold constantly angry, fire and brimstone Yankee Baptist women in the house.   Somehow she remained a bridge between mom and I and the rest of that side of the family, and a powerful force in it.   She stayed by mom’s side from the time granddad died to the day she died, but at times it seemed to me more to punish her daughter then support her as she tried to raise a kid by herself in a 1950s/1960s world that regarded single divorced women with children as less worthy of respect then prostitutes.   I never saw grandma smile, unless it was at the misfortune of others.   When bad luck struck other people it always seemed to satisfy her somehow.   And I remained a favorite target until the day she died, because I had the face, and the last name, of the man she hated.   Stinking Rotten Good For Nothing Garrett Just Like Your Pap was her favorite name for me.

And me…I grew up with next to nothing, but I never really noticed that until I got older.   I was fed on a bland, low budget diet but I never went to bed hungry.   I often wore hand me downs but I never left the house in dirty clothes.   I never saw mom cheat another person, lie to them or say anything about them behind their back that she wouldn’t have said to their face.   I never once heard her utter a curse word or saw her take a drink or light up a cigarette.   When I was a kid the first time I ever saw someone else’s mother smoking it shocked me…I didn’t think mothers did that.   Mom sat down with me and my homework, tried her best to teach me right from wrong, and always encouraged my creative impulses.   We didn’t have much, but I had what I needed to grow up on:   I never doubted mom’s love.   Never.   Grandmas hate, and the disdain of most of that side of my family, I just accepted as part of the background noise.   The love of a good mother can give a kid all he needs to stand up to whatever static life brings his way.

How her older brother, various other members of that side of the family, and especially her own mother treated her is something that some days makes me livid to think about, and others completely baffles me.   She really was that ray of sunshine everywhere she went, a completely decent person and a good mother.   Some of my childhood friends had horrible parents.   Everyone told me how nice mine was.   Everyone.   It wasn’t an act.   Yet her own family, with one or two exceptions, treated her miserably.   I never once heard her complain.   At least, not when I was there to hear it.   Mostly the family tension was just there in the background.   Always there.   Something I just shrugged off whenever I thought about it.   Mom loved me, that was all that mattered.   The only time it burst out into the open in my presence, was when I was 16 and they discovered she had started seeing dad again.   It was like being in the center of a nuclear blast.     But that incident centered on dad.   That they hated him does not really explain it all.

Something happened.   Something more then just her marrying dad.   Something that made them leave Greensburg and everything and everyone they knew, and when her marriage failed, prevented them from returning.   Something her family, other then her brother Dean and her cousin, never forgave her for.   Probably I’ll never know what it was.   Mom never strayed from the story.   Nobody else did either.

[Edited some for clarity, and add a few details that I missed occurred to me…]

Via Sullivan…

The No-Baby Boom

Considering the state of the economy, it should come as no surprise that the ranks of the child-free are exploding. The Department of Agriculture reports that the average cost for a middle-income two-parent family to support a kid through high school is $286,050 (it’s nearly half a million dollars for couples in higher tax brackets). Want him or her to get a college education? The number jumps to nearly $350,000 for a public university, and more than $400,000 for private. Though if your kid’s planning to major in Male Sterilization, it could wind up being a good investment: The vasectomy business seems to be one of the few in America that is booming. In the past year, the Associates in Urology clinic in West Orange, New Jersey, has seen a 50 percent jump in the procedure. So you could stress over starting a college fund, or you could consider that you can get a vasectomy at Planned Parenthood for less than the cost of a Bugaboo Cameleon stroller. Unless you’re among the less than 2 percent of Americans who farm for a living and might conceivably rely on offspring for free labor, children have gone from being an economic asset to an economic liability.

But for the child-free, the benefits go beyond dollars and cents. There’s less guilt, less worry, less responsibility, more sleep, more free time, more disposable income, no awkward conversations about Teen Mom, no forced relationships with people just because your kids like their kids, no chauffeuring other people’s kids in your minivan to soccer games you find less appealing than televised chess.

In his best-seller Stumbling on Happiness, Harvard psychologist Daniel Gilbert writes, “Couples generally start out quite happy in their marriages and then become progressively less satisfied over the course of their lives together, getting close to their original levels of satisfaction only when their children leave home.” No wonder so many are choosing to spend their entire marriages as empty-nesters. A 2009 University of Denver study found that 90 percent of couples experienced a decrease in marital bliss after the birth of their first child. And in a 2007 Pew survey, just 41 percent of adults stated that children were very important for a successful marriage, down from 65 percent in 1990. Meanwhile, nearly one in five American women now ends her reproductive years without children, up from one in ten in the 1970s.

Growing up I used to get odd looks from people, friends and adults both, whenever I expressed my utter disinterest in raising a family.   It marked me as weird as far back as elementary school, probably long before anyone began to get a clue that Bruce wasn’t the sort you’d ever see holding hands with a girl to begin with.   But it wasn’t that I thought the married life wasn’t for me, or that I harbored some deep seated disgust at the thought of having children around.   I would hate to live in one of those adults only communities where everyone is just old and tired.   As you get older especially, you really appreciate the cheerful anarchy that happens around kids.   It keeps you thinking.   I just never saw any personal need within me to do the parent thing and I reckoned early on that if you were going to raise a kid right, you needed to really want to have kids.   I knew almost right from the start that I didn’t.

To a lot of people apparently, that makes me defective somehow.   I guess the thinking is it doesn’t matter what you do for your community or your country or the good of humanity if you don’t also produce children.   But…that’s bullshit.   And I’m happy to say that finally some heterosexuals are standing up for their life choices here.

For Heather McGhinnis, a married 35-year-old marketing specialist in Elgin, Illinois, motherhood is simply a lifestyle choice that’s not for her. “The job of being a parent doesn’t interest me,” she explains. “Just like I don’t want to be an accountant, I don’t want to be a parent.”

This is the case for nearly all of my straight friends, who were all theoretically lead to believe growing up that being parents was their natural destiny. They didn’t go there for the same reasons I, a gay man who could nevertheless adopt if I really wanted to, didn’t either.   No interest.

That’s not to say I have no interest in the welfare of kids.   I care very much care about their welfare, about the world they must grow up in.   I care they all get a good education.   I care that they grow up safe and sound and healthy and strong.   I care about that very much.   That’s a natural adult thing, whether you have any of your own or not.   If you need to have kids of your own to care about the welfare of kids then there is something wrong with you, not me.

Now at last folks like us are finding our voices.   And for once I am so very, very glad to see heterosexuals taking the lead here because a gay guy like me can’t plausibly be standing up for the virtues of childlessness with any sort of credibility.   Of course you’re childless, you’re a fucking homo and homos don’t reproduce, they recruit… It’s sad but there it is.   Not that childless couples are going to get a break from the culture warriors simply because they’re heterosexual.   Oh no…they’re easily as much the Enemy as we are, if not more so.   If you think the culture wars are only about homosexuality you really need to look more carefully at what right wing lunatics think of contraception.     And no, it’s not about sex being only for having children either.

According to Laura S. Scott, who surveyed 171 subjects for her book Two Is Enough: A Couple’s Guide to Living Childless by Choice, that kind of attitude is linked to a specific personality component. “A lot of introverts, thinkers, judgers—these are people who think before they act,” she says. “They’re planners, and they’re not the kind of people who can be easily led into a conventional life just because everyone else is doing it.”

[Emphasis mine…] How unsurprising that it’s mostly my fellow introverts who are going the childless route.   No doubt the culture warriors will say this is all the fault of Teh Gay.   We’re setting a bad example.

Well…yes.   We are.   And happy to be of service!   We’re showing heterosexual couples that you can have a happy and contented love life without kids if you are not really into the parent thing.   That you can contribute to your community and your country and to the future of humanity in many ways besides childbearing.   That you don’t have to follow orders.

Especially orders from louts who are waiting with bated breath for the end of the world.

Yes, yes…blame Teh Gay.   We showed our heterosexual brothers and sisters what you never wanted them to know:   that you can make the world a better place for everyone…kids included…and that’s fine, you’ve done your part, you’ve left your mark, you’ve borne your share of the burden of civilization more nobly then anyone who ever added souls to a world they didn’t give a good goddamn about.

Germania:
In Wayward Pursuit of Germans and their History
by Simon Winder

I have this in my iPad book library and the biggest thing it’s taught me so far is how absolutely pathetic my grade school history lessons were.   The history of Europe in the middle ages I was taught, was exclusively that of England, and not really very much of that.   We didn’t get to the rest of Europe until the Renaissance and even that didn’t cover much of Europe.   I knew nothing of this thing called The Holy Roman Empire (which actually bore very little relationship to the Roman Empire of the Cesars) until I started reading this book.

I’m finding that individuals engaged in a personal exploration of their world tell a Much more satisfying tale of history then academics, although their accounts need to be paid attention to as well.   That “street level view” of history often provides you with so many little telling details the high level view does not.   Case in point being Sebastian Haffner’s Defying Hitler, which just completely floored me as to how little I really knew about that period of time, despite having World War II history drummed into me throughout my childhood in school and on TV, in comic books and the movies.

In this case, Winder, an Englishman who became fascinated by Germany for somewhat different reasons then I did (I, after I reconnected with my first high school crush who is German, Winder after his father took his family to the Continent one vacation and he had his eyes opened to a whole ‘nother world), tells us about the history he meticulously, even obsessively uncovered for himself.   And we sense that history in his retelling of it as one interesting or puzzling or amazing discovery after another after another after another.   Text books so often, and tragically, kill that sense of learning something new as an adventure.

His book engages you.   But also, and this is what makes a personal reading of history so worthwhile, you see how digging up the history of another land and its people brings him some insights on the history of his own native land for him. So here in this book I am getting insights into both German and British people and their histories and their relationship past and present to each other.   A different teller would tell it a tad differently, but still authentically, and that would give you, the reader, a few more telling details that the high level histories would have overlooked, because that is not where they go.

I’m glad I stumbled on this book.   Yes, sometimes Winder tries a little too hard to be humorous and it comes off just flippant.   But better that then dry and boring.   And he’s completely wrong about German food.   At least what makes it across the ocean here is just wonderful.   But I suppose that’s true of all local eats.   The lousy stuff tends to get left back home.

And…gosh…I can’t believe I went through a pretty decent U.S. public school education and walked out still being so ignorant of so much history.

Timothy Kincaid over at Box Turtle Bulletin, has the party line vote on the first of the so-called "common ground" bills put forward in Utah.  These bills actually do very little to insure equal rights for gay and lesbian citizens…almost the bare minimum you could imagine.  The first of these to come to a vote, simply made it possible for financial dependents, other then legally married spouses, parents and children, to sue if their breadwinner suffers wrongful death.  Keep in mind that these so-called "common ground" bills were introduced after the passage of Proposition 8, when the Mormon church’s staggering level of involvement became widely known, and the Mormon leadership, while in the glare of the public eye, averred they had no problem with extending gay people many of the rights of marriage…just not marriage itself.

Many of us found that statement interesting, since nothing was stopping them from giving gay Americans in Utah those rights and gay Americans in Utah have damn few if any.  The only places as bad to be gay are the deep south

The bill failed along party lines.  Republican verses democrat?  Oh my, no…

Let me be clear. There is no legitimate reason to exclude those who rely on someone for their livelihood from suing should that livelihood be taken away due to the wrongful actions of another. If a woman is killed directly due to the reckless or wrongful actions of another, why should her partner who stays home and raises the kids not be able to sue?

But because this bill was understood to benefit (among others) those gay persons who rely on each other, Sen. Buttars’ committee killed the bill 4 – 2.

And did the Mormon Church live up to its claim? Did it encourage its members to allow for probate rights for gay couples? Let’s see.

Voting “no” were:

Chris Buttars, Mormon
Lyle Hillyard, Mormon
Mark Madsen, Mormon
Michael Waddoups, Mormon

The three non-Mormons either voted Yes or were absent.

As Kincaid notes, this fits pretty well with recent polls showing that Utah Mormons are hugely against granting their gay neighbors any rights whatsoever, other then maybe, possibly, the right to breath.  So long as they don’t flaunt it.

Expect the Mormon church to claim it has no influence over the state legislature.  They’ve shown repeatedly that they can look you right in the eye, smile, and lie through their teeth.  Your hopes, your dreams, every smile you ever gave the one you love, and every smile you ever received in love, and placed somewhere deep within your heart: these things are their stepping stones to Godhood.  Nothing else matters to them.  Nothing.  They will walk over your every hope and dream, and grind them into dirt, for that promise of Godhood at the end of the road.

I know…I know…  But there are Mormons who don’t hate their gay neighbor…  Yes.  And they are either silent or they are on the road to excommunication.  We, that is America, saw it all during the battle over Proposition 8.  There are no Mormons who are not on board for the war on gay Americans…only Mormons who are about to leave, or be shown the door.

Via Pam’s House Blend…  The next time you hear someone in the Catholic Church complaining that proposition 8 supporters are being targeted, laugh in their face…

Catholic church strongarms org from hiring anti-Prop 8 priest

Father Geoffrey Farrow, the Fresno priest who came out against Prop 8 during Mass and was suspended for following his conscience by the Archdiocese of Los Angeles is still being hounded by the church.

Since he was out of a job, you’d think the church would be satisfied that Farrow would seek employment elsewhere and fade from its PR radar. Think again. Father Geoff applied for a position with the Los Angeles branch of Clergy and Laity United for Economic Justice (CLUE) and look at the thuggery of the Church in action. Father Tony at The Bilerico Project and at his pad:

CLUE derives a significant part of its funding from the Roman Catholic archdiocese of Los Angeles.

Today I spoke with a member of CLUE’s board of directors, Rev. James Conn, a Methodist minister and Director of New Ministries for the California-Pacific Conference of the United Methodist Church. Reverend Conn had been directly involved in the recruitment and interview process involving Father Geoff.

I asked him if CLUE had denied Father Geoff a second interview specifically because the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Los Angeles threatened to cut off all its significant funding for CLUE should Father Geoff ever be offered the position in question.

As incredible as it may seem, Reverend Conn confirmed the truth of this and expressed his heartfelt disappointment over the fact that CLUE had to choose between continuing the interview process with an extremely promising and qualified candidate or risk losing the financial support of the Roman Catholic archdiocese of Los Angeles that is critical to CLUE’s work.

…I am writing this because I’ve learned over the years that the Roman Catholic Church gets away with this kind of despicable and inhumane treatment of men who choose to follow their conscience only when its bad deeds are not held up to a strong light. Father Geoff does not wish CLUE to lose its funding and therefore has remained silent about this, but his friends have brought this situation to my attention, and I want Catholics in California and beyond to understand clearly the level of unchristian behavior and deliberate malice of which their bishops and cardinals are capable.

More from the Bilerico Project blog…

It is important to note that at the age of 51, after having devoted 23 years of his life to the Roman Catholic Church plus an earlier 7 years in the seminary, Father Geoff has had his medical benefits discontinued and is without income and assistance from his bishop. While it is disgusting that his bishop has turned his back on Father Geoff, it is infuriating to think that his bishop would conspire with the Cardinal Archbishop of Los Angeles to block gainful and appropriate employment.

I am well familiar with the jargon of the Roman Catholic hierarchy. They will say that they feel compassion for Father Geoff and that they pray for him, but their actions speak too strongly and demonstrate deliberate malice. They do not wish him well. And, God forbid that they should have ever proactively attempted some sort of out-placement effort on his behalf. Some bishops privately do that on behalf of priests who leave, but not the hard-hearted bishop who cut off Father Geoffrey Farrow nor the malicious Cardinal Archbishop of Los Angeles.

I am writing this because I’ve learned over the years that the Roman Catholic Church gets away with this kind of despicable and inhumane treatment of men who choose to follow their conscience only when its bad deeds are not held up to a strong light. Father Geoff does not wish CLUE to lose its funding and therefore has remained silent about this, but his friends have brought this situation to my attention, and I want Catholics in California and beyond to understand clearly the level of unchristian behavior and deliberate malice of which their bishops and cardinals are capable.

I hope you will consider going to CLUE’s website and leaving them a message about your feelings (please keep in mind that CLUE wanted to continue its interview with Father Geoff so don’t paint them as the "bad guy". If you want to leave a message for the real "bad guy", you may contact the office of Cardinal Roger Mahony.

Archdiocese of Los Angeles
3424 Wilshire Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90010-2202
213 637 7000
info@la-archdiocese.org

Ask them why they hate Father Geoff. When they assure you that they do not hate him, ask them to prove it and soon. Right now, more than their insincere prayers, he needs a job.

I hope nobody is surprised. When you hear the Proposition 8 supporters talk of civility and mutual respect, laugh in their face. 

Via Scientific American…  It’s not only our brains that make us stand out from the rest of the critters here on planet Earth.  Brains actually receive a lot of pre-processed input.  Turns out our auditory system has a few neat tricks of its own too…

Why Dogs Don’t Enjoy Music

Anyone with normal hearing can distinguish between the musical tones in a scale: do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do. We take this ability for granted, but among most mammals the feat is unparalleled.

This finding is one of many insights into the remarkable acuity of human hearing garnered by researchers at the University of California, Los Angeles, Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Weizmann Institute of Science in Rehovot, Israel, reported in January in the journal Nature.

…

The study revealed that groups of exquisitely sensitive neurons exist along the auditory nerve on its way from the ear to the auditory cortex. In these neurons natural sounds, such as the human voice, elicit a completely different and far more complex set of responses than do artificial noises such as pure tones. In this mixed environ­ment humans can easily detect frequencies as fine as one twelfth of an octave—a half step in musical terminology.

The vexing question is: Why? Bats are the only mammal with a better ability to hear changes in pitch than humans do. Predatory species such as dogs are not nearly as sensitive—they can dis­criminate resolutions of one third of an octave. Even our primate relatives do not come close: macaques can resolve only half an octave. These results suggest the fine discrimination of sound is not a necessity for survival.

More likely, the researchers speculate, humans use their fine hearing to facilitate working memory and learning capa­bilities, but more research is needed to explore this puzzle.

I have a strong hunch about that.  It isn’t memory and learning.  It’s communication.  Speech.  Try this sometime while listening to people around you chatting: try to ignore the words and just listen to the sounds of the voices as if you were listening to birds, or dogs or some other animals.  Humans have an Amazing range of vocalizations.  You think birds are good at it, but compared to humans birds are johnny one-notes.  Think of how much information is conveyed by tone of voice alone, in a conversation. 

Consider the sentence "The cow jumped over the moon".  A human speaking those words could convey astonishment or indifference or anger or fear simply by how they inflect the speaking of that string of words.  Just by slightly changing the inflection on the word "moon" you can change the sentence from a statement into a question.  It’s not just cadence.  It’s tone.  The better you can decode tone, the better you can tell what other people mean…how they feel…the better you can grasp what is being said.  And not only that, but the greater becomes the potential bandwidth of communication.  Because now information can be carried by both words and tone of voice.

Tone is the first language we have.  Human infants don’t do words.  They do coos and gurgles and squeals and cries.  A human sitting not far from a baby knows exactly how it’s feeling by all the little non-verbal vocalizations it’s making.  Is it content?  Is it delighted?  Is it curious?  Is it upset?  Does it need its diapers changed?  It needs to tell you these things and it can’t if it has to use words it hasn’t had time to learn yet.  But as we grow older, we don’t discard the language of tone.  In fact, it grows and develops along with us.  We learn to use it better…more deftly…just like we do our verbal languages.  How much is conveyed by lovers to one another, simply by a sigh?  And the longer a couple has been together, the more intimately they learn each other’s tone signals.  Like music, how the words are spoken goes right to the heart.

That’s why we evolved the more highly attenuated detection of tone.  It’s a communication thing.  The bigger brain needed it.  Words alone weren’t enough.  And I’ll bet this is why music affects us so profoundly, yet so irrationally.  Recall this from the article… 

In these neurons natural sounds, such as the human voice, elicit a completely different and far more complex set of responses than do artificial noises such as pure tones.

Music isn’t pure tones though.  Not even minimalist scores like those of Philip Glass.  A gathering of instruments in an orchestra, or even a single instrument playing a melody all by itself, produces a complex layering of tones that I’ll bet hits those neuron in just the same way.  It Is communication, but a different kind.  It’s communication that goes right past the logical analytical brain with its ear for words, to the heart, which listens to tones.  Tone was the first language.

The stereotype of our pre-human ancestors is that they communicated in simple grunts and barks.  Perhaps.  But even without language yet, those vocalizations may have carried a lot of information in them simply by tone alone.  Language evolved from those vocalizations, and gave them more precision, because the growing brain needed that.  But as our capacity for language developed and grew, so did our capacity to decode tone, because that was also a channel of communication.  But they’re different channels.  The logical rational brain likes words.  The emotional intuitive brain responds to tone.  When interacting with others, the one who can decode both those things best has a big advantage. 

So Orpheus probably didn’t tame the savage beasts by the sound of his lyre, because the beasts are mostly tone deaf.  But the beast within…yeah.  Absolutely.  Here’s an experiment: Humans that are tone deaf, or who have difficulty decoding tone…how well do they interact socially?

[Edited a bit more then a tad…]

People seem to be discovering that, surprise, surprise, the Mormon church has been working against gay equality for a bit longer then just Proposition 8…

Memo: Same-sex marriage strategy discussed by Hinckley in 1997

This memo was reportedly sent from a LDS General Authority to a member of the Quorum of the Twelve.

It deals with the issue of same-sex marriage and it is dated, March 4, 1997.

This eleven-year-old memo gives a glimpse into President Gordon B. Hinckley’s strategy for dealing with same-sex marriage.

It talks of a meeting with President Hinckley who reportedly said to "move ahead" with the church’s opposition to same-sex marriage.

This memo also discusses joining forces with the Catholic Church, saying:

"…the public image of the Catholic Church is higher than our Church. In other words, if we get into this, they are the ones with which to join."

But President Hinckley apparently urged caution as the memo makes clear, "he (President Hinckley) also said the (LDS) Church should be in a coalition and not out front by itself.

And this is a key point…

You best believe it is.  They’ve been waging a semi-stealth campaign against gay people for a decade now, and probably much longer then that.  It’s not surprising in the least, coming from a religion that declared black skinned people got their skin color because their spirit ancestors defied God.  The mindset that the different ‘other’ wasn’t really human was there right from the beginning.

You may have heard that an Australian named Matthew Mitcham won the gold in the 10 meter diving event.  You may have heard that in doing so, he broke the Chinese sweep of the diving events.  You may have heard that a string of disappointments some years ago caused him to drop out of the sport briefly and that his comeback this year was the end result of a lot of very hard and determined work.  What you might not have heard, if your only exposure to the China Olympics was our mainstream news media, is that Mitcham is openly gay…

NBC Censors Sexual Orientation Of Openly Gay Gold Medalist Diver

According to OutSports.com, of the 10,708 athletes at the Olympics this year, just 10 have identified themselves publicly as being gay. Of the 10, Australian diver Matthew Mitcham is the only male gay athlete.

Yesterday, Mitcham won the gold in the in the 10m platform diving event, scoring an upset over the Chinese team, which was heavily favored to win. But as Maggie Hendricks at Yahoo’s Olympics blog notes, NBC never mentioned Mitcham’s orientation:

NBC did not mention Mitcham’s orientation, nor did they show his family and partner who were in the stands. NBC has made athletes’ significant others a part of the coverage in the past, choosing to spotlight track athlete Sanya Richards’ fiancee, a love triangle between French and Italian swimmers and Kerri Walsh’s wedding ring debacle.

As Atrios said the other day: love triangle okay…gay, not so much.

There are two parts to the culture of violence toward gay people.  The first is the relentless demonization of gay people.  By churches, by religious leaders, by politicians and their parties, by bigots with a platform.  The public is told we are a threat to children, to families, to society, to the very existence of the human race.  We are portrayed as sexual predators, disease spreading sociopaths, self-centered narcissistic parasites on society.  We are said to be shallow, vain, self-centered and interested only in self gratification on the one hand, and self-hating, self-destructive and miserable on the other.  When we are not dangerous sociopaths we are contemptible faggots.  The other part is the silencing of gay voices.  Where we are not allowed to tell our own stories, in our own voices, where social invisibility is imposed upon us, as though we are a dirty secret best kept away from view, the only voices that are heard, are the voices of those who hate us.  The hatemongers go unanswered, and this is what happens…

Oh…and this…

I now feel very fortunate that I was able to spend some private time with Matt last summer during my vacation from Saudi Arabia. We sat and talked. I told Matt that he was my hero and that he was the toughest man that I had ever known. When I said that, I bowed down to him out of respect for his ability to continue to smile and keep a positive attitude during all the trials and tribulations that he had gone through. He just laughed. I also told him how proud I was because of what he had accomplished and what he was trying to accomplish. The last thing I said to Matt was that I loved him, and he said he loved me. That was the last private conversation that I ever had with him.

Impact on my life? My life will never be the same. I miss Matt terribly. I think about him all the time—at odd moments when some little thing reminds me of him; when I walk by the refrigerator and see the pictures of him and his brother that we’ve always kept on the door; at special times of the year, like the first day of classes at UW or opening day of sage chicken hunting. I keep wondering almost the same thing that I did when I first saw him in the hospital. What would we have become? How would he have changed his piece of the world to make it better?

Impact on my life? I feel a tremendous sense of guilt. Why wasn’t I there when he needed me most? Why didn’t I spend more time with him? Why didn’t I try to find another type of profession so that I could have been available to spend more time with him as he grew up? What could I have done to be a better father and friend? How do I get an answer to those questions now? The only one who can answer them is Matt. These questions will be with me for the rest of my life. What makes it worse for me is knowing that his mother and brother will have similar unanswered questions.

Impact on my life? In addition to losing my son, I lost my father on November 4, 1998. The stress of the entire affair was too much for him. Dad watched Matt grow up. He taught him how to hunt, fish, camp, ride horses, and love the state of Wyoming. Matt, Logan, dad, and I would spend two to three weeks camping in the mountains at different times of the year—to hunt, to fish, and to goof off. Matt learned to cook over an open fire, tell fishing stories about the one that got away, and to drive a truck from my father. Three weeks before Matt went to the Fireside Bar for the last time, my parents saw Matt in Laramie. In addition, my father tried calling Matt the night that he was beaten but received no answer. He never got over the guilt of not trying earlier. The additional strain of the hospital vigil, being in the hospital room with Matt when he died, the funeral services with all the media attention and the protesters, [and] helping Judy and me clean out Matt’s apartment in Laramie a few days later was too much. Three weeks after Matt’s death, dad died. Dad told me after the funeral that he never expected to outlive Matt. The stress and the grief were just too much for him. Impact on my life? How can my life ever be the same again?

Excerpt of Dennis Shepard’s Statements to the Court
November 4, 1999

  

There are two parts to the culture of violence toward gay people…and to all minorities.  The first is hate.  The second is that silencing of the voices of the hated, which allows hate to go unchallenged and unquestioned.  Last week a young Australian diver, after a difficult struggle to come back from burnout and defeat, won a gold medal for the 10 meter dive, beating out the best of the Chinese diving team.  You were allowed to know that.  He is openly gay, and his parents and his lover were there to support him in his quest for the gold.  He said his boyfriend was part of the support network that made his dream possible.  You weren’t allowed to know that.  Because then you might start wondering about all those things you were taught about homosexuals. 

And then you might start wondering why the news media doesn’t give a damn.

I’m copying the following from Brad DeLong’s blog comments in their entirety.  Some days you read the news and you just want to write off the human race altogether.  When those moments hit you, it’s good to be able to keep things in perspective…

Hoisted from Comments: The Dawn of Humanity

Grasping Reality with Both Hands: Brad DeLong’s Semi-Daily Journal: The Dawn of Humanity: What astonishes me is the speed. They’ve got the origin date at -56,000, and the oldest modern human remains in Australia are -40,000. The route from East Africa across Asia to Northern Australia is 10K+ miles, which means humans were expanding at close to a mile a year. That’s just unbelievably fast.

We have all sorts of branches of homo surviving stably for a million plus years all over africa, asia, and europe, and this new branch comes out of Africa and by the end of the Great Migration, only a little over ten thousand years later, they are building boats to sail to Australia. And wiping out or out-competing every one of our homo sibling species on the way.

The Singularity is truly in our past.

Posted by: tavella | January 23, 2007 at 05:15 PM