Bumpersticker of the Day

"If We Ignore the Environment, It Will Go Away."

Must Have Been Some Crash

From today's Oregonian:

"Wolf said the 1967 Chevrolet Camaro hardtop was northbound on 135th at high speed when it rolled and came to rest against the side of a home on the corner. A passenger was ejected during the crash. Tualatin Valley Fire & Rescue responders found him on the roof of the home. He was lowered and transported to OHSU."

A Bold Prediction

Sarah Palin will not be on the ballot in November. She may well withdraw from the ticket by the end of the week.

As Paris Hilton Would Say, "Hot."

Okay...so, today is the third triple-digit day in a row for Portland, which is highly unusual. We usually see 100 degrees somewhere in August, but this is a little intense. Fortunately it's slated to drop to the upper 80s tomorrow and the low '70s on Monday.

Still, in the meantime, there's no question about the most popular spot in the apartment.

I have not (yet) taken a single vacation day this entire summer (too much to do!), but Thursday morning between fits of feeling like I wanted to cry I decided maybe I should ask for Monday off. I found a cheap hotel room for tomorrow and Monday night out at the coast, so I'm just going to drive out after church, spend the night, and then take all day Monday to do, oh, nothing.

A while back I promised you a live-blogging roadtrip event for Hermiston, Oregon's first-ever Gay Pride. Umm...I didn't really get around to that. Co-traveler SMB live-blogged (as best he could, given spotty wireless access) on the JustOut webpage -- read here for details. (No, I did not go with him to the strip club. Honest.)

Here's where we stayed. "Tillicum" is a ubiquitous local Native American word, but I have no idea what it means. I confess that, churchgoer that I am, I picked the motel for its dirty, punny connotation. (And the $50/night rate...which, I have to say, was possibly a little inflated, given the amenities.)


Actually, we had a great time. For dinner Friday night, we ate at the first-ever Shari's Restaurant, which was founded in Hermiston, and had truly excellent table service. Breakfast the next morning was at a new restaurant in Umatilla (home of a chemical weapons dump), and while the waffle was excellent, the water was not; and I think the waitress was not entirely sure what to make of two men not in cowboy hats who whiled away the time until the food came by browsing the restaurant's antiques for sale.

Afterward I followed SMB around for some [wo]man-on-the-street interviews, and ended up buying some homemade lavender soap from a friendly, gray-haired lady who said, "It's okay with me if people choose to be gay [!!!], but I don't think Hermiston is ready for any 'New-York-style' protests." I don't think she has anything at all to worry about. As we walked away, SMB remarked that he wasn't sure she even comprehended that we ourselves were queers, despite the fact that I'd talked to her about living in New York and yoga and...well, I bought a lavender soap from her.

"Hermiston Pride" never really got off the ground. First, I guess "Pride" was judged to be a tad ambitious, so it was retitled "Equality Day." The "event" was co-hosted by Western Farm Workers and the Society of Friends, who were there to protest the Iraq war (and had an amazingly powerful Tibetan prayer-flag display).

Hermiston was represented by the local organizer, his mother, and one 18 year old girl who came up to me and said, "So...are you...G, L, T, B...?" I smiled and said, "Oh, I'm G, very, very G." She smiled back and said, "I'm B...which stands for 'bitch.'" I liked her immediately and immensely. Aside from that, the entire turnout consisted of two guys from local organizations in Portland (one of whom was beautiful but clad in a most unfortunate hawaiian-print shirt), a lesbian MCC minister from the Tri-Cities (Pasco/Richland/Kennewick), SMB from JustOut, and a reporter from Spokane's local gay paper. I don't think a single random person from the greater Hermiston metropolitan area even came by. I snapped this picture of a rainbow flag in the park where 'pride' was held because it seemed to me to perfectly encapsulate the flaccid nature of the entire day.

Because the Sanctity of Marriage Needs Defending From the Gays...

You can't make this stuff up. Well, I guess you could, but you'd have to be brilliant. From the Oregonian:

Clackamas rape report turns out to be consensual bondage

by The Oregonian

Thursday August 07, 2008, 11:00 AM

CLACKAMAS -- A man and woman arrested Wednesday night in a reported rape turned out to be engaging in consensual bondage sex after meeting through a Craigslist on-line bulletin board.

Detective Jim Strovink, Clackamas County sheriff's spokesman, said a homeless woman spotted the couple and called police, believing the bound woman was being raped. When deputies arrived, the couple ran.

Deputies then called a K-9 unit and used tracking dogs to catch the couple -- fully clothed. The couple, a Milwaukie man and a Portland woman, were booked into the Clackamas County Jail on accusations of public indecency, disorderly conduct and criminal trespass.

The man told deputies he ran because he didn't want his wife to find out.

Of the Birds and the Bees...and the Mice

Another absolutely perfect summer day in Oregon. I was able to leave work early again today, and made it out to the pool about 3:00, and for the first 20 minutes or so, I was completely alone as I stretched out on the chaise. I fell asleep almost instantly. I could feel my muscles relaxing in the warm golden sunshine, a gentle, dry breeze blowing away my cares.

Alas, my reverie was broken by that most unwelcome of pool intruders; no, not a cloud, or a raindrop, or a hornet...a toddler. Not even maximum volume on my iPod could keep out the stream of conscious shrieked forth unceasingly from this little girl.

As her grandmother was applying her sunscreen -- "Gramma, it's COOOOOLLLLD!!!" -- a small garter snake, about six inches long, slithered across the patio. The scream that emitted from the tyke...indescribable. I am hoping my hearing comes back tomorrow.

"Oh, you don't need to be afraid of him, dear," said Grandmother.

"He can't eat me?"

"No, honey. He's much too small, and he wouldn't want to, anyway. Snakes eat...well...let's see, I suppose he'd eat small birds, and bird eggs, and maybe turtle eggs if he found them, and mice --"

"And mice eggs?"

"...."

"Well, no...mice don't lay eggs, honey."

"Why not?"

"Well...because they're not the kind of animal that lays eggs."

Safely strapped into a vest and inflatable arm thingies, the little girl splashed about in the pool while Grandmother sat in a chair and tried to read a magazine.

"Gramma...Gramma...Gramma! Watch this."

"That's good, dear," said Grandmother, not looking up.

"Gramma...Gramma...Gramma!....GRAMMA!!!!!"

"What, honey?!?"

"Did you know mommy has a bagina?"

Is that a $600 Check in Your Mailbox or are You Just Happy to See Me?

I am officially stimulated.

Most of you are probably thinking, "You just got your check TODAY?" Well, yes. The IRS distributed the checks according to the last two digits of the taxpayer's social security number. My last digits are 98. Could have been worse, I suppose.

My dear friend "Anonymous" was looking in vain (though, not very hard) for some instance where I disagreed with Barack Obama; this is one. In fact, back in January I said the only politician on the right side of the government's "economic stimulus" bill was...Mike Huckabee. I am still upset that we're going to borrow billions of dollars from China (ummm...that we have to pay back, with interest) to send people a paltry $600.

Granted, right at this moment I'm pretty relieved to have $600 more in my checking account, but it irks me that this isn't actually a tax refund, it's essentially a cash advance on a credit card that George Bush and the Congress took out in my name.

* * * * * *

Following up on Bp. Robinson's visit to the UK during the Lambeth Conference from which he is being excluded on account of some other bishops' discomfort with homosexuality, the Vicar of St. Mary's, Putney -- where Robinson preached this past Sunday -- wrote one of his predictably acidic and hilarious columns for The Guardian about the event.

Money quote: "How on earth does Gene Robinson cope with the disgusting abuse to which he is subjected most days – the protester who interrupted his sermon in my church on Sunday being a pretty mild example? Day after day, buckets of spiritual shit are thrown at him, sometimes by fellow bishops, and he just keeps going."

Wow, I am loving the phrase I emboldened there (to use a favorite word of the President's). It's vulgar, sure, but so, so, so accurate. Absolutely the right metaphor for the situation.

* * * * * * *

It's To Wong Foo meets Priscilla meets The Last Debate: fellow blogger and JustOut columnist SMB and I are teaming up to cover Hermiston, Oregon's first ever Gay Pride event. Okay, well, no SMB will cover it, I'm just driving and along for the thrill of it. It's the weekend of August 1-2; stay tuned for another exciting Road Trip Live Blogging Event (this time without cats, I'm afraid.)

Not One of the Gifts of the Spirit

I kid you not: "An Oklahoma church canceled a controversial gun giveaway for teenagers at a weekend youth conference.Windsor Hills Baptist had planned to give away a semiautomatic assault rifle until one of the event's organizers was unable to attend." [Emphasis added.]

UPDATED JULY 15: They've changed their minds; the gun-giveaway is back on again. Money quote: "Windsor Hills Baptist apparently has a history of worshipping God through firepower, and last year ran a shooting competition as part of its annual shindig." Now, that is some snarky reportage! Bravo.

A Follow-Up

It's been a crazy couple of weeks. Work has been busy and then of course on Wednesday we had the memorial service for my stepfather, which was a moving and fitting tribute attended by a couple hundred people (including a couple of this blog's readers; thank you, again).

* * * * *

My company has "summer hours," which means that we can leave at noon on Fridays until September, provided the boss is satisfied that everything that needs to be done is done. I worked like a crazy person for four hours yesterday morning and disappeared precisely at the stroke of 12. A few minutes later I could be found reclining on a chaise by the pool at my apartment complex, basking in dry, 83-degree bright sunshine with a gentle breeze, exhaling a deep sigh of exhaustion.

There was a familiar face hanging out with a couple of friends. They were deep in vapid tweentalk which I tried hard to ignore, until suddenly their voices dropped to a hush. My ears pricked up, because I'm wise enough to know that meant they were actually going to say something interesting. Here's what I overheard:

Girl 1: ....

Girl 2: How do you know that?

Girl 1: He told me.

Girl 2: What, he just came out to you, like, randomly?

Girl 1: Umm...it's a long story.

I can only imagine she was referring to this.

* * * * *

Readers may note that I have disabled anonymous commenting for this blog. It seems I have tremendous difficulty restraining myself from feeding the trolls. So now, if you'd like to comment, you'll need to sign in.

No doubt "Anonymous" will once again accuse me -- or would, if he were still allowed to comment here -- of being unwilling to debate (note the blog title), but the truth is, I will happily engage differences of opinion as they relate to a common set of what are known as "facts." "Anonymous" accuses me of not wanting to know "the truth" about Barack Obama, and then proceeds to insist that he is a stealth Muslim who, like all blacks and Hispanics, hopes to initiate slavery reparations using white folk's 401(k)'s.

For a time I found attempting to educate this dullard entertaining, but I've grown weary of it. His repeated "threats" to not return to my blog have not been kept, and he has ignored my pleading to go the hell away.

Things that Make You Go "Hmmm"

This morning I was out of milk, both at home (so, no cereal) and at work (so, no coffee) so I decided I'd go ahead and stop at Starbucks and get coffee and a treat to take with me.

Behind me in line was a very handsome, very well-dressed guy about my age who pulled up in a BMW. He ordered a "non-fat, one-pump peppermint latte."

I could not decide whether that was the gayest drink in the history of the world or something so disgusting that only a straight man could love it. Thoughts?

If Only James Dobson Were Right

My new upstairs neighbor is gorgeous. I mean...wow. He is hot sex in a bottle. (Now, where on earth did I pick up that phrase?)

Alas, his girlfriend isn't bad, either.

I hate them so much.

I wish I could work my secret evil gay powers; in tandem with the combined force of Oregon and Washington's Domestic Partnership laws and California's legalization of same-sex marriage, according to the wing-nuts that should be more than sufficient to wreck this relationship and make him go gay. I mean, the government has clearly sent the message that it's okay; why is he still hanging out with this chick?

I mean, I know that this would mean the collapse of civilization as we know it (or at least, that's what I'm told), but honestly, for him I'd risk it.

The Untold Story of Gay Pride

This year's theme for Portland's Gay Pride Parade was, "Pride: Bring It!"

I'm pleased to say, my parish brought it. Here I was afraid that our group would be pitifully small, so I had us join up with the largest parish in the state, Trinity Cathedral, so we wouldn't be lonely. Well, Trinity sent two people and we sent eighteen, which included our entire clergy staff, three members of the Vestry, and straight allies with children. I think that's pretty dang good for our first appearance! We're already talking about what to do differently (better, more) next year.

I mean, look at these people. This is the untold story of Gay Pride, folks. The media and the conservatives like to focus on the scantily or otherwise outrageously clad. What they don't show you is a group of devout Christians, gay and straight, who came directly to the parade from the Eucharist. A couple of local columnists remarked that the endless welcoming religious groups are kinda dull because our outfits aren't especially interesting. (Well, come to an Episcopal church on a Feast Day and behold the fabulousness.) But in a way, aren't we the crucial part?

In his speech at the Lambda Legal Liberty Awards in Manhattan in 2006, Bishop Gene Robinson of the Diocese of New Hampshire remarked, "Religion is the source of our oppression." Well, the good people at my church and in congregations across the country and around the world aim to make religion the source of our liberation. As the Reverend Canon Mary Haddad of Grace Cathedral put it once, "If it's not good news for everybody, it's not good news."

* * * * * *

Rocky will kill me for including this picture, but I couldn't resist.

Turning Intentions to Action

So...erm, I guess I'm "coming out" in church today.

I mean, no, obviously, it's not like I'm "closeted" there, but there are those for whom sexuality seems to be somewhat opaque, and I've never made a big deal or "announced" my orientation publicly. That's about to change.

I have formed a small group, and for the first time in our parish history, our church will be represented in the Portland Gay Pride Parade this year. I did receive permission to do this, but was encouraged to keep our group discrete because of pastoral concerns about some church members who may not be totally comfortable with the idea. It was a compromise I was willing to accept, because I think even appearing in the parade at all is a big first step.

So, speaking privately to people I knew would be supportive, I set up a small network and was delighted that everyone I invited was interested. That was that, I thought, until a member of our clergy staff said, "Do you think you should announce it to the congregation?"

I said, "Hrmmm...well, I thought we were keeping this discrete?" But the priest had wondered if maybe there would be people who would feel upset if we didn't tell them and open it up to everyone; people who will be unhappy that we are going are going to be unhappy either way.

We decided to run it by the vestry, at which point one member reminded us that we recently voted to become a "welcoming and affirming" congregation, and pointed out that we would hardly be living up to that if we had to secretly march in the parade.

So here I am. I can hardly believe that all these years after quietly disappearing from church because I felt unworthy to attend as a gay person until I got "fixed," I'm going to stand up during a service and invite people to a gay pride parade.

The Gates of Hell?

There was a time, I confess (and not so long ago), when I spoke the word suburbia under my breath, with a shudder of disdain. I have come to see that not all suburbs are created equal, however. While some may well be worthy of cringe-inducement, Portland's west side is pretty great.

I had my first day of training at my temp job yesterday, which lasts through next week. It's an executive assistant position with a medical technology company and, as Austin Powers might say, "This sort of thing is my bag, baby." It's all the kinds of tasks I'm accustomed to doing, just in a more relaxed setting than many of the investment banks or advertising agencies I temped for in New York.

It feels pretty damn odd, I have to say, to get in the car and drive to a suburban office park to go to work, after all these years on the A train. Yes, the office park and the office itself is largely as soulless as the image that phrase conjures up, but the people seem very nice. This office park at least has a path with picnic tables and a duckpond.

The big news is that I've decided to go ahead and try to get an apartment now. The parents -- and with them, the dogs -- are coming back next weekend. Rocky is doing much better, but I think throwing the dogs into the mix is a recipe for a major setback. I don't anticipate any kind of fights or anything, but I think the dogs might just be asking too much of him right now. Plus, my mom's house is pretty small. It would be nice to actually unpack my suitcases.

Ideally I wanted to get a job first and then pick a place with an easy commute. The reality is that no matter where I end up, as long as I'm somewhere here on the close-in west side, my commute isn't going to be that bad. It will surely be better than two hours a day on the subway. I'll get a six-month lease to start; it would suck to have to move again, but it's also going to suck to stay here much longer. I'm working another half-day today for training, and then this afternoon I already have some appointments to look at apartments in the area. My goal is to "move in" next weekend.

Since there were requests for photos of the neighborhood, I'm posting a few more below. This is my mom's back yard. Wow, it is really nice to have a back yard, especially when the weather is as nice as it has been.

Everyone knows Oregon is "green," but it's so much more than that. There are so many different kinds of plants and trees here that it's a very colorful place; and it's not just that we have "a lot" of plants and trees, there is a density to them that is unique among urban environments.

Here's a shot of a typical street in the neighborhood.

Rocky, I don't think we're in Washington Heights anymore. Thank God.

Are there Hot Tubs in Heaven?

I had a couple requests via IM and email for an update to make sure I'm okay.

I'm fabulous, there's just not a lot to report on, nothing particularly blogtastic to make for fascinating reading.

I've done three interviews so far, with a fourth one scheduled for Friday. At today's interview, I was clocked at 100 wpm. Fastest blogger in the west, I tell you whut.

So, my days right now are fast-paced and stressful. I wake up around 6:30, walk down to my old elementary school to warm-up and stretch out, then I jog on their nice soft track for a mile, and then walk back home, where I enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee while reading the news online and checking email. Around 9:00 or so, depending on what time the interview is, I hit the shower. One interview was in Lake Oswego, about an 11-minute drive, or, roughly the amount of time it took me to walk from the A train stop to my office on Wall Street every day. The second interview was downtown, so I rode the local light rail train (known as "MAX"). Today's interview was actually in an office building two blocks from my mom's house, so I just walked.

Afterwards I typically swing by the grocery store to pick up things for dinner, and then, because the weather has been clear and sunny in the upper 70s/low 80s the last two days, I spread a towel out on the deck and have started working on my summer tan so that when I go to the beach, Greenpeace doesn't try to rescue me (hence also the jogging).

While I was spreading out the towel today, a squirrel yelled at me from one of the pine trees in the yard. I thought Oregonians were supposed to be friendlier; I can't recall ever coming across a rude squirrel in New York. I told him to fuck off.

I just cleaned the kitchen while a load of laundry is in, now I'm having a beer and blogging all about it. I may take a short nap with Rocky in a few minutes before I head downtown to have dinner with new friends (also recent NYC refugees).

My evenings generally wrap up with me sitting in the hot tub for 20-30 minutes sipping a beer, then I relax in my mom's Sharper Image massage chair for another half hour or so, and then stumble half awake into bed, nestled in between the two cats.

Rinse, repeat.

Welcome to being unemployed in suburbia. If I make it to heaven, I hope it's something like this (except hopefully I won't be alone in the hot tub, unless I want to be).