People go to MySpace to flirt, to chat, to check out pictures, to catch up with friends.
More and more, they also go there to mourn.
Many American soldiers have MySpace profiles, a comforting reminder of home, of normalcy, of sanity. And when those soldiers die in Iraq, their sites stay active, unspeakably sad ghost pages in cyber space. Usually, there's a picture of the soldier, sometimes trying to look tough, sometimes trying to look cool, sometimes abandoning all pretense and simply smiling a kid's disarming smile.
Friends migrate to the dead soldier's page to say how much they loved him, to thank him for his heroism. To say goodbye.
If virtual tears exist, these pages are soaked.
It's difficult to look at the ghost pages, and I've done so rarely, in part because I wonder if I'm violating a dead kid's privacy by doing so, in part because they shatter my heart. But, sometimes, you need a reality check. You need to shake your head and forget about a delusionally evil president and his handlers. You need to forget about the politics. You need to forget about the big picture and zoom in on the people, the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis and the 3,454 Americans whose lives have been -- as the now justly marginalized and ridiculed John McCain said in an unguarded moment -- wasted.
So today I typed in the name of an 18-year-old soldier from Montana -- Matthew -- who was killed by friendly fire a week after arriving in Iraq. His mentor, another young soldier, died with him -- on perhaps his final day of combat duty. Time magazine reported that the Montana kid had been rushed into combat with inadequate training.
For those who knew and loved Matthew, of course, politics means nothing.
Their messages on his MySpace page are heartbreaking. One example:
OMG, MATT, IM SOR SORRY i GET TO SAY GOODBYE IM REally sorry, you'll be really miss now more than ever,since theres no goona be more chances for us to see each othere again I'll miss you budy, RIP,
In his boy-next-door profile on MySpace, Matthew wrote in the "Interests" section: "A happy life at my home and hopfully i can have children soon." He described himself -- with a smile, I'm sure -- as a "swinger." He was 5-foot-8 and "slim/slender." His education level: "High school." His occupation: "Army."
I'm reluctant -- out of respect for his privacy -- to put his picture here and to post more of his friends' anguished goodbyes. But, obviously, this was as typical a kid as you're going to find in the Army. A kid who no doubt believed his country would never spend his life recklessly. It's important to see his face and his heart.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Skin
Nothing is more sensual for me than when I first catch a glimpse of a sexy guy's skin, be it his side, his back, his belly. To pull up his shirt and lay my hands on his bare skin is electrifying.
Why, I don't know.
Skin, after all, is almost devalued now. Exposed flesh is more common than Big Macs. Girls, especially, have decided they have to show off their guts and backs. Fat chicks -- "It's my body, and I'm proud of it!" -- seem to take special pleasure in unburdening their shirts. Gobs of flesh droop over their pants as they thunder past in low-rise jeans licking ice cream cones. Guys are less obvious about it, opting for one-size-too-small T-shirts that hug the contours of their muscles while also offering peeks of skin here and there. But television makes up for any lack of male flesh in the real world. MTV is a swirl of hips, backs, nipples, belly-buttons, chests, sides and abs. So is every other youth-oriented channel.
Yet, somehow, the heart-pounding mystery of skin persists. Will it be dry or oily, smooth or hairy, darker or lighter? Will it be freckled or flawless, bony or muscled? Will the nipples be flat or pointed? Will the navel be a swirl, a plug, a simple indentation? So many possibilities, so many little surprises when the moment arrives. Unless, of course, you've seen the guy shirtless. Then, the mystery is gone, replaced perhaps by something less romantic -- lust.
Why, I don't know.
Skin, after all, is almost devalued now. Exposed flesh is more common than Big Macs. Girls, especially, have decided they have to show off their guts and backs. Fat chicks -- "It's my body, and I'm proud of it!" -- seem to take special pleasure in unburdening their shirts. Gobs of flesh droop over their pants as they thunder past in low-rise jeans licking ice cream cones. Guys are less obvious about it, opting for one-size-too-small T-shirts that hug the contours of their muscles while also offering peeks of skin here and there. But television makes up for any lack of male flesh in the real world. MTV is a swirl of hips, backs, nipples, belly-buttons, chests, sides and abs. So is every other youth-oriented channel.
Yet, somehow, the heart-pounding mystery of skin persists. Will it be dry or oily, smooth or hairy, darker or lighter? Will it be freckled or flawless, bony or muscled? Will the nipples be flat or pointed? Will the navel be a swirl, a plug, a simple indentation? So many possibilities, so many little surprises when the moment arrives. Unless, of course, you've seen the guy shirtless. Then, the mystery is gone, replaced perhaps by something less romantic -- lust.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Rubber Necking at Walmart
Come gather round, people, wherever you roam -- the times they really are a changing.
I was walking through the main aisle at Walmart -- the one in front of the cash registers with the constantly changing array of merchandise to entice weak-willed shoppers -- when my eyes spied ... are you ready? ... condoms.
Or c-c-c-c-condoms, as Kramer might say.
And not some will-it-be-a-boy-or-a-girl brand straight from China, but honest-to-penis Trojans. In Harrisonburg, Va., of all places. Yes, we're a college town -- metro population: 115,000, I'll have you know -- but we're also Church City, USA. Mennonites, Brethrens and evangelicals are big influences here, and they absofuckinglutely hate sex.
Yet, there they were -- condoms.
Walmart frequently surprises me. For all its flaws, it has been progressive on gay rights among its employees, it's becoming a major force in organic foods and -- in a nod to the environment -- it's now pressuring suppliers to significantly cut back on packaging.
But condoms! Up front! Right where little Melody and Jeremiah can see them! Fuck.
I was walking through the main aisle at Walmart -- the one in front of the cash registers with the constantly changing array of merchandise to entice weak-willed shoppers -- when my eyes spied ... are you ready? ... condoms.
Or c-c-c-c-condoms, as Kramer might say.
And not some will-it-be-a-boy-or-a-girl brand straight from China, but honest-to-penis Trojans. In Harrisonburg, Va., of all places. Yes, we're a college town -- metro population: 115,000, I'll have you know -- but we're also Church City, USA. Mennonites, Brethrens and evangelicals are big influences here, and they absofuckinglutely hate sex.
Yet, there they were -- condoms.
Walmart frequently surprises me. For all its flaws, it has been progressive on gay rights among its employees, it's becoming a major force in organic foods and -- in a nod to the environment -- it's now pressuring suppliers to significantly cut back on packaging.
But condoms! Up front! Right where little Melody and Jeremiah can see them! Fuck.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
The Fem Boy
A kid walked into the Nepalese restaurant in Harrisonburg this evening. Obviously gay. Mod haircut. A tight shirt revealing the countour of his chest and belly. A peek of skin when he leaned against the counter. A man's purse strapped around his back.
He walked like fem gay kids walk -- fast and scared. His face was blank and tense, almost unnervingly so. No doubt he's been the object of ridicule most of his life, so I assume he's put up an emotional shield.
When he entered the restaurant, he glanced quickly at me -- my table was directly beside the door -- and I smiled. I hope he saw the smile. And I hope he knew the smile was meant to convey love, not scorn.
Even in the gay community, you still see warnings on guys' on-line chat-room profiles: "no fems." In a way, it's our version of the dark-skinned/light-skinned black conflict. The "straight-acting" gays feel superior to the feminine gays.
I find the "no fems" admonition offensive, partly because it tries to marginalize a group of people -- something gays should be familiar with -- and partly because those guys face enough daily trauma in the straight world without being ostracized by their gay brothers.
But to be honest -- and it hurts to be honest -- I sometimes wince when I see "flaming fags." I absofuckinglutely hate having that reaction. But it's there. Why, I don't know -- I assume it's something middle America taught me as I grew up -- and I'm determined to fight it.
So I strip away the pretense and look into the eyes of those fem guys. Try it. You'll see a scared puppy. And you'll see another human being, a human being longing for the same things you want: love, companionship, respect and security.
He walked like fem gay kids walk -- fast and scared. His face was blank and tense, almost unnervingly so. No doubt he's been the object of ridicule most of his life, so I assume he's put up an emotional shield.
When he entered the restaurant, he glanced quickly at me -- my table was directly beside the door -- and I smiled. I hope he saw the smile. And I hope he knew the smile was meant to convey love, not scorn.
Even in the gay community, you still see warnings on guys' on-line chat-room profiles: "no fems." In a way, it's our version of the dark-skinned/light-skinned black conflict. The "straight-acting" gays feel superior to the feminine gays.
I find the "no fems" admonition offensive, partly because it tries to marginalize a group of people -- something gays should be familiar with -- and partly because those guys face enough daily trauma in the straight world without being ostracized by their gay brothers.
But to be honest -- and it hurts to be honest -- I sometimes wince when I see "flaming fags." I absofuckinglutely hate having that reaction. But it's there. Why, I don't know -- I assume it's something middle America taught me as I grew up -- and I'm determined to fight it.
So I strip away the pretense and look into the eyes of those fem guys. Try it. You'll see a scared puppy. And you'll see another human being, a human being longing for the same things you want: love, companionship, respect and security.
I hope I see that kid again. I hope he looks at me. I hope he sees me smile. And I hope he smiles back.
(Another post from my other blog, but I think the sentiments are worth repeating now and then.)
10 Things
OK, being old and wise, here are 10 things I've learned in life:
1) Seize the moment. I've mentioned Robert Frost's poem, "Wind and Window Flower," in an earlier entry. It's the one about a winter wind that flirts with a flower in a windowsill. The flower can't decide whether it wants to hook up with the winter wind. By the time it makes up its mind, the winter wind is a hundred miles away. Believe it or not, life's short. We live only 2.5 billion seconds, and they go oh-so-quickly. Don't let life -- and all of its adventures, carnal and otherwise -- slip away.
2) Be generous. Money ain't shit. Spend it on your friends. And never ever ask a friend to pay you back.
3) Don't be coy. Paul McCartney was right: It's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little bit colder. In other words, be eager. If somebody you like asks you out to dinner, go for it -- enthusiastically. Don't hide your emotions. And don't downplay your love or lust.
4) Read until your eyeballs drop out. I spend much of my life around 20-something guys, so I know that's an alien concept to most people under 40. But if you don't read after you get out of school, you'll stop growing. You'll become one of those old farts whose cultural tastes are frozen in their youth, who grow increasingly narrow-minded as they age, who find new ideas more frightening than exhilarating. Read at least one great newspaper every day -- meaning the New York Times or Washington Post -- to get a quick snapshot of the world each morning, however imperfect that snapshot might be. Read the New Yorker every week to remain culturally literate. Read novels now and then to nourish your soul. Read non-fiction books to give your opinions enough depth to be taken seriously. Do that, and you'll never stagnate.
5) Love people before you love your country. Love an Iraqi kid as much as you love an American kid. Because we're all the same -- we all want love, we all want security, we all want respect. Doesn't matter what color, ethnicity, religion or social class you are.
6) Be extremely skeptical of anything you're taught in school. If they tell you that the American criminal justice system is fair, think of O.J. -- think of how anyone with enough money for a brilliant lawyer can beat a murder rap, and how anyone with a court-appointed attorney is fucked. If they tell you that the high courts are blind to political considerations, think of Gore vs. Bush -- think of how the federal government's Republican Supreme Court tried to secure the 2000 election for George Bush and how the Florida government's Democratic Supreme Court tried to secure the election for Al Gore. If they tell you that American democracy is a beacon for the world, think of that same 2000 election -- think of how the people's will was circumvented in favor of the ruling class' preferred candidate. If they tell you that America is morally superior to other countries, think of atom bombs falling on Japan, think of napalm melting the skin off of Vietnamese peasants, think of the elected leader of Chile being overthrown, think of the Pentagon's glee at "shock and awe" in Baghdad. If they tell you that the American press is completely independent, think of Iraq -- think of how papers fell in line like tin soldiers when Bush was whipping up support for the war, think of how we never see pictures depicting the real horrors of war, think of how papers cozy up to the Washington establishment at things like the Gridiron Dinner. If you're got two oil men running the executive branch and they tell you that oil has nothing to do with a war, think only one thing -- impeach the motherfuckers.
7) When you become a boss, bend over backward to respect your workers. It took me awhile to learn that. But I now understand the importance of listening to them and consulting with them rather than barking orders at them. For one thing, they will be much better employees if they feel they have a direct stake in the everyday product. For another thing, they almost always deserve to be treated kindly and with respect. If I were to yell at one of my guys, he'd be in turmoil at least until he saw me again, probably a day later. That wouldn't be fair. Everybody in the world has an inherent right to be happy. At the same time, you need to push your workers to be the best they can be. But they need to know you're doing so only because you care about both their careers and personal lives. When I criticize one of my writers, I often preface it by saying, "You know I love you like a brown-spotted banana, Javy, but ..."
8) Always remember: You only live once. So if you want a bottle of wine, buy it. If you want a fancy meal, get it. Don't pinch pennies. You might be dead tomorrow.
9) Don't hurt people's feelings. Little white lies aren't sins. I mean, if your mother gives you a pie and it sucks, tell her how much you enjoyed it. She'll feel great, and so will you.
10) Make your body a priority. Whether you're 20 or 60, go to the gym. Keep yourself toned, build up your stamina. Don't put things in your body that will hurt you -- like Hostess Twinkies or cocaine. I shop for a lot of my basic groceries at Wal-mart. Which is good, because Wal-mart has more fat butts and guts per capita than any other location in America -- and all I have to do is look around and any urge I have to buy ice cream or doughnuts will evaporate.
1) Seize the moment. I've mentioned Robert Frost's poem, "Wind and Window Flower," in an earlier entry. It's the one about a winter wind that flirts with a flower in a windowsill. The flower can't decide whether it wants to hook up with the winter wind. By the time it makes up its mind, the winter wind is a hundred miles away. Believe it or not, life's short. We live only 2.5 billion seconds, and they go oh-so-quickly. Don't let life -- and all of its adventures, carnal and otherwise -- slip away.
2) Be generous. Money ain't shit. Spend it on your friends. And never ever ask a friend to pay you back.
3) Don't be coy. Paul McCartney was right: It's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little bit colder. In other words, be eager. If somebody you like asks you out to dinner, go for it -- enthusiastically. Don't hide your emotions. And don't downplay your love or lust.
4) Read until your eyeballs drop out. I spend much of my life around 20-something guys, so I know that's an alien concept to most people under 40. But if you don't read after you get out of school, you'll stop growing. You'll become one of those old farts whose cultural tastes are frozen in their youth, who grow increasingly narrow-minded as they age, who find new ideas more frightening than exhilarating. Read at least one great newspaper every day -- meaning the New York Times or Washington Post -- to get a quick snapshot of the world each morning, however imperfect that snapshot might be. Read the New Yorker every week to remain culturally literate. Read novels now and then to nourish your soul. Read non-fiction books to give your opinions enough depth to be taken seriously. Do that, and you'll never stagnate.
5) Love people before you love your country. Love an Iraqi kid as much as you love an American kid. Because we're all the same -- we all want love, we all want security, we all want respect. Doesn't matter what color, ethnicity, religion or social class you are.
6) Be extremely skeptical of anything you're taught in school. If they tell you that the American criminal justice system is fair, think of O.J. -- think of how anyone with enough money for a brilliant lawyer can beat a murder rap, and how anyone with a court-appointed attorney is fucked. If they tell you that the high courts are blind to political considerations, think of Gore vs. Bush -- think of how the federal government's Republican Supreme Court tried to secure the 2000 election for George Bush and how the Florida government's Democratic Supreme Court tried to secure the election for Al Gore. If they tell you that American democracy is a beacon for the world, think of that same 2000 election -- think of how the people's will was circumvented in favor of the ruling class' preferred candidate. If they tell you that America is morally superior to other countries, think of atom bombs falling on Japan, think of napalm melting the skin off of Vietnamese peasants, think of the elected leader of Chile being overthrown, think of the Pentagon's glee at "shock and awe" in Baghdad. If they tell you that the American press is completely independent, think of Iraq -- think of how papers fell in line like tin soldiers when Bush was whipping up support for the war, think of how we never see pictures depicting the real horrors of war, think of how papers cozy up to the Washington establishment at things like the Gridiron Dinner. If you're got two oil men running the executive branch and they tell you that oil has nothing to do with a war, think only one thing -- impeach the motherfuckers.
7) When you become a boss, bend over backward to respect your workers. It took me awhile to learn that. But I now understand the importance of listening to them and consulting with them rather than barking orders at them. For one thing, they will be much better employees if they feel they have a direct stake in the everyday product. For another thing, they almost always deserve to be treated kindly and with respect. If I were to yell at one of my guys, he'd be in turmoil at least until he saw me again, probably a day later. That wouldn't be fair. Everybody in the world has an inherent right to be happy. At the same time, you need to push your workers to be the best they can be. But they need to know you're doing so only because you care about both their careers and personal lives. When I criticize one of my writers, I often preface it by saying, "You know I love you like a brown-spotted banana, Javy, but ..."
8) Always remember: You only live once. So if you want a bottle of wine, buy it. If you want a fancy meal, get it. Don't pinch pennies. You might be dead tomorrow.
9) Don't hurt people's feelings. Little white lies aren't sins. I mean, if your mother gives you a pie and it sucks, tell her how much you enjoyed it. She'll feel great, and so will you.
10) Make your body a priority. Whether you're 20 or 60, go to the gym. Keep yourself toned, build up your stamina. Don't put things in your body that will hurt you -- like Hostess Twinkies or cocaine. I shop for a lot of my basic groceries at Wal-mart. Which is good, because Wal-mart has more fat butts and guts per capita than any other location in America -- and all I have to do is look around and any urge I have to buy ice cream or doughnuts will evaporate.
My Cool? Va-po-rized.
So, I'm curious: How long will it take before other guys interest me? You know, what with the love thing. Which I still absofuckinlutely hate, by the way. I mean, it vaporizes your cool in an insta-second. You're bitchy, you're jealous, you're mopey. It's disgusting. I freakin hate myself right now. I'd chop off my dick if I wasn't so attached to it.
Anyway, as I was implying, other guys still don't interest me at all. Cutest guy in the world could wag his butt in my face and I'd yawn. Just because of this love shit. And, as you probably know by now, I have zero chance with the guy I'm ga-ga over. I mean, he's straight, or at least he thinks he is, which at this point is just as bad. And there's a gazillion other reasons why I need to erase the dude from my memory banks -- all of which come down to one bottom line: It's consuming every spare second of my rapidly ticking life.
(I wrote this last year on another personal blog. So far, nobody else has caught my eye. But I'm at least dating again. Baby steps? Yeah, but that's better than nothing, no?)
Anyway, as I was implying, other guys still don't interest me at all. Cutest guy in the world could wag his butt in my face and I'd yawn. Just because of this love shit. And, as you probably know by now, I have zero chance with the guy I'm ga-ga over. I mean, he's straight, or at least he thinks he is, which at this point is just as bad. And there's a gazillion other reasons why I need to erase the dude from my memory banks -- all of which come down to one bottom line: It's consuming every spare second of my rapidly ticking life.
(I wrote this last year on another personal blog. So far, nobody else has caught my eye. But I'm at least dating again. Baby steps? Yeah, but that's better than nothing, no?)
Saturday, May 12, 2007
He Pays WHAT!?!?!
One of my former writers -- a Manhattan native whose father once owned a Times Square restaurant called Hamburger Harry's -- returned to New York City to attend grad school after leaving Harrisonburg. While doing so, he applied for a housing lottery. The lottery was open only to people who met certain criteria, low income among them. He won.
The reward was a loft in the Financial District for, at the time, less than $300 a month. He also had to put down a $16,000 deposit, refundable if he moves out. Sixteen-grand sounds like a lot until you consider that he, essentially, made it back in a year because of the absurdly low rent. Since moving into the loft two or three years ago, he's gotten at job with a Time-Warner magazine and is making more money, so his rent is now just below $500 a month -- still a steal in Manhattan. How much of a steal? Check this out (from the New York Times):
The rents for one-bedroom apartments in Manhattan average $2,567 a month, and two-bedrooms average $3,854 a month, according to data from Citi Habitats, a large rental brokerage company, but rents tend to be far higher in coveted neighborhoods like the Upper West Side and TriBeCa.
Because landlords typically require renters to earn 40 times their monthly rent in annual income, renters of those average apartments would need to earn at least $102,680, individually or combined, to qualify for a one-bedroom and $154,160 to afford a two-bedroom.
I have no moral qualms with any of this. Manhattan is an island. Space is precious. Prices reflect that. Ideally, of course, people of all incomes could afford to live there -- ideally because diversity gives places character. Fortunately, there are enough dumps in the East Village and Lower East Side to keep the place honest for a while longer.
The reward was a loft in the Financial District for, at the time, less than $300 a month. He also had to put down a $16,000 deposit, refundable if he moves out. Sixteen-grand sounds like a lot until you consider that he, essentially, made it back in a year because of the absurdly low rent. Since moving into the loft two or three years ago, he's gotten at job with a Time-Warner magazine and is making more money, so his rent is now just below $500 a month -- still a steal in Manhattan. How much of a steal? Check this out (from the New York Times):
The rents for one-bedroom apartments in Manhattan average $2,567 a month, and two-bedrooms average $3,854 a month, according to data from Citi Habitats, a large rental brokerage company, but rents tend to be far higher in coveted neighborhoods like the Upper West Side and TriBeCa.
Because landlords typically require renters to earn 40 times their monthly rent in annual income, renters of those average apartments would need to earn at least $102,680, individually or combined, to qualify for a one-bedroom and $154,160 to afford a two-bedroom.
I have no moral qualms with any of this. Manhattan is an island. Space is precious. Prices reflect that. Ideally, of course, people of all incomes could afford to live there -- ideally because diversity gives places character. Fortunately, there are enough dumps in the East Village and Lower East Side to keep the place honest for a while longer.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Here Kitty, Kitty
My favorite T-shirt is black with a catty message: "So Many Right Wing Christians. So Few Lions." I don't wear it in public, simply because it would offend most people. But I love the sentiment.I guess the bottom line is I don't understand fundamentalists. And, in truth, I don't respect them. I don't respect them because they form their beliefs on blind faith. Logic? Forget it. If the Bible says it happened, it happened. If the Bible suggests it's bad, it's bad. Want proof? The Bible says ... And that's where they lose me. Quoting scripture in a argument about religion is like quoting Bush in an argument about Iraq. If I'm doubting the premise, quoting the source won't convince me.
Needless to stay, many churches are wonderful institutions. They glue together communities, perform valuable charitable work worldwide and are a source of comfort to millions of people. Others, just as obviously, are evil. They preach intolerance, reinforce prejudices and demonize gays -- which is where I come in.
Being gay, it's hard for me to look fondly on religion. Even most mainstream churches believe that gay sex is an abomination. Most say they love all people, including sinners like gays. But most also marginalize gay people by treating them -- however benignly -- as deviants. Again, many churches do important charitable work. But why should I embrace them?
If there is a god, I can't imagine he created me and my gay friends by mistake or as a diabolical joke. If there is a god, I know he would consider me as much a part of him as Mother Teresa or Billy Graham. He wouldn't ask me to repent, which would come as news to people like the senior editor who said I was going to hell for having sex out of wedlock unless I confessed my sins or to places like Eastern Mennonite University that expel or fire gay people for having sex out of wedlock -- not because they're gay, EMU insists, but because they're not married. The catch 22? EMU opposes gay marriage. So if you're gay and never have sex, you're A-OK.
What bullshit.
Obama Obody
I'm as intrigued by Barack Obama as anyone. I'd vote for him over Hillary in a heartbeat, even though I think he's being a little too mainstream, a little too ruling class in his statements these days. But what about the sex appeal factor? I think Obama is cute, but he certainly looks better in his suits than in his swim trunks, no? (Though I could see a couple of nipple rings on that chest.)
Yum 1: Beans and Pasta
Beans and pasta. Odd, no? But this is really good:
1) Pour some olive oil in a skillet
2) Saute a leek or half an onion with several garlic cloves
3) Add red pepper flakes
4) Add sweet red or yellow bell pepper (diced or cut into little strips)
5) Add a handful of sliced grape tomatoes
5) Add a little salt and some black pepper
6) Add bitter greens (I use escarole, radicchio and endive, which you can buy separately or in Dole's Mediterranean mix)
7) Add half a can of cannellini beans (a creamy favorite in Italy)
8) Add some pine nuts
9) If you choose, you can also add a few drops of really good balsamic vinegar (by really good, I mean one of those little $50 bottles where each drop is thick and sweet)
10) Cook 15-20 minutes
While you're making the "sauce," boil some rigatoni. When it's done, toss it into the skillet with the sauce. Add reg-parm cheese. It's a great winter pasta because its so freakin hearty.
1) Pour some olive oil in a skillet
2) Saute a leek or half an onion with several garlic cloves
3) Add red pepper flakes
4) Add sweet red or yellow bell pepper (diced or cut into little strips)
5) Add a handful of sliced grape tomatoes
5) Add a little salt and some black pepper
6) Add bitter greens (I use escarole, radicchio and endive, which you can buy separately or in Dole's Mediterranean mix)
7) Add half a can of cannellini beans (a creamy favorite in Italy)
8) Add some pine nuts
9) If you choose, you can also add a few drops of really good balsamic vinegar (by really good, I mean one of those little $50 bottles where each drop is thick and sweet)
10) Cook 15-20 minutes
While you're making the "sauce," boil some rigatoni. When it's done, toss it into the skillet with the sauce. Add reg-parm cheese. It's a great winter pasta because its so freakin hearty.
The Not-So-Skinny On Locker Rooms
Locker rooms at places like Gold's Gym are cool, I think, because every strain of humanity uses them. Young, old. Black, brown, white. Skinny, toned, paunchy, muscular, fat.
And, yes, gay and straight.
I'm a little surprised, though, that nobody has suggested segregating queers into their own locker rooms. Actually, it would make dating a snap. It'd be better even than gay.com, simply because you could see your potential mate in the flesh. On the other hand, can you imagine how uncomfortable you'd feel if you thought every guy in the room was checking out your body? One good thing about universal locker rooms is that nobody knows who's gay or straight, meaning you pretty much keep your eyes to yourself.
Of course, at my gym in Harrisonburg, I'd just as soon gouge my eyes out with a fork as scope most of the guys in the locker room. As I've said before, it seems that when a man turns 60, he loses all inhibitions about his body. I've had old guys start up conversations with me stark naked, their ballooning bellies casting shadows over dicks tucked away in a lifetime of country-cooking fat. These guys pad back and forth from the showers, swinging their asses like chicks in a rap video, blinding passers-by with their utter whiteness. It's enough to turn a gay guy straight. (Yeah, right.)
My philosophy on nudity: If you're got a reasonably taut body, go for it. If you don't, keep the boxers on, please.
None of this would have to be spelled out in a locker room marked "Gay Men," which would smell fresh as flowers and be a de facto fat-free zone. After all, the saying is true: 2QT2BSTR8. Those of us who didn't measure up would just slink off to the regular "Men's" locker room and keep our eyes squarely on the floor.
And, yes, gay and straight.
I'm a little surprised, though, that nobody has suggested segregating queers into their own locker rooms. Actually, it would make dating a snap. It'd be better even than gay.com, simply because you could see your potential mate in the flesh. On the other hand, can you imagine how uncomfortable you'd feel if you thought every guy in the room was checking out your body? One good thing about universal locker rooms is that nobody knows who's gay or straight, meaning you pretty much keep your eyes to yourself.
Of course, at my gym in Harrisonburg, I'd just as soon gouge my eyes out with a fork as scope most of the guys in the locker room. As I've said before, it seems that when a man turns 60, he loses all inhibitions about his body. I've had old guys start up conversations with me stark naked, their ballooning bellies casting shadows over dicks tucked away in a lifetime of country-cooking fat. These guys pad back and forth from the showers, swinging their asses like chicks in a rap video, blinding passers-by with their utter whiteness. It's enough to turn a gay guy straight. (Yeah, right.)
My philosophy on nudity: If you're got a reasonably taut body, go for it. If you don't, keep the boxers on, please.
None of this would have to be spelled out in a locker room marked "Gay Men," which would smell fresh as flowers and be a de facto fat-free zone. After all, the saying is true: 2QT2BSTR8. Those of us who didn't measure up would just slink off to the regular "Men's" locker room and keep our eyes squarely on the floor.
Tears
Why do I still cry every time I see footage of 9/11?
What happened that brilliant blue day that seared itself so deeply into my being?
The answer, I think, is elemental, almost trite: The attacks were the embodiment of man's inhumanity to man. It wasn't the act of a lunatic, like Virginia Tech. It wasn't an act of nature, like Katrina. It was a group of men -- men blinded by religion -- deciding to kill thousands of their fellow human beings.
I think of the beautiful blend of humanity inside the World Trade Center. I think of the humbling bravery of the firefighters as they began their ascent up the towers, bravery captured in a heroic, life-affirming documentary by Jules and Gedeon Naudet. I think of a world weeping with America. And I cry.
Nobody has more cynically capitalized on 9/11 than George Bush. And now he's again using 9/11 to justify his attack on Iraq, a grotesque distortion of history. Maybe Bush's delusions allow him to wash the blood off his hands, to vanquish the angry ghosts that surely pound at his windows every night, to wipe dry a billion tears shed by the shattered living. Or maybe he's really that ignorant. Maybe he hasn't read study after study -- some by his own government -- that say Iraq had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington.
At least the press -- even the establishment press -- is calling foul this time. Here's what Washington Post columnist Dana Milbank wrote this week (in bold):
President Bush is at odds with the American public and a restive congressional majority over the Iraq war, and even some Republicans talk about imposing new requirements that could trigger a troop withdrawal.
It's time to play the Qaeda card.
In a speech about Iraq yesterday morning at the Willard Hotel, the president mentioned Osama bin Laden's group -- 27 times. "For America, the decision we face in Iraq is not whether we ought to take sides in a civil war, it's whether we stay in the fight against the same international terrorist network that attacked us on 9/11," Bush told a group of construction contractors.
Never mind all that talk about sectarian strife and civil war in Iraq. "The primary reason for the high level of violence is this: Al-Qaeda has ratcheted up its campaign of high-profile attacks," Bush disclosed.
The man who four years ago admitted "no evidence" of an Iraqi role in the Sept. 11 attacks now finds solid evidence of a role in Iraq by the Sept. 11 hijackers.
"I don't need to remind you who al-Qaeda is," Bush reminded. "Al-Qaeda is the group that plot and planned and trained killers to come and kill people on our soil. The same bunch that is causing havoc in Iraq were the ones who came and murdered our citizens."
Yes, all indications are that Al-Qaeda is in Iraq. But it has been drawn there by the American invasion. To insinuate that the United States is in Iraq because of Al-Qaeda is another lie by a government that stole the White House in 2000 and has since redefined arrogance.
I wonder if Bush cries when he thinks about 9/11. He often says his view of the world changed on Sept. 11, 2001. Rightfully so. But, because of his fundamental ignorance, he failed to give us a reasonable plan to fight the terrorists. Never in its history was the United States more justified than in its attack on the Taliban and, by extension, Al-Qaeda. The world was poised to bond in common cause. Then came Iraq. Then came hundreds of thousands of deaths. Then came tears of a different kind -- tears of rage at a senseless war, tears of sorrow over lives wasted by misinformed American aggression.
I'm glad I cry when I see the Towers imploding, when I see the courage of those firefighters, when I see the British play the "Star Spangled Banner" at the changing of the guard in London. It reminds me that every life is profoundly important. And that reminds me of why Iraq is so wrong.
What happened that brilliant blue day that seared itself so deeply into my being?
The answer, I think, is elemental, almost trite: The attacks were the embodiment of man's inhumanity to man. It wasn't the act of a lunatic, like Virginia Tech. It wasn't an act of nature, like Katrina. It was a group of men -- men blinded by religion -- deciding to kill thousands of their fellow human beings.
I think of the beautiful blend of humanity inside the World Trade Center. I think of the humbling bravery of the firefighters as they began their ascent up the towers, bravery captured in a heroic, life-affirming documentary by Jules and Gedeon Naudet. I think of a world weeping with America. And I cry.
Nobody has more cynically capitalized on 9/11 than George Bush. And now he's again using 9/11 to justify his attack on Iraq, a grotesque distortion of history. Maybe Bush's delusions allow him to wash the blood off his hands, to vanquish the angry ghosts that surely pound at his windows every night, to wipe dry a billion tears shed by the shattered living. Or maybe he's really that ignorant. Maybe he hasn't read study after study -- some by his own government -- that say Iraq had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington.
At least the press -- even the establishment press -- is calling foul this time. Here's what Washington Post columnist Dana Milbank wrote this week (in bold):
President Bush is at odds with the American public and a restive congressional majority over the Iraq war, and even some Republicans talk about imposing new requirements that could trigger a troop withdrawal.
It's time to play the Qaeda card.
In a speech about Iraq yesterday morning at the Willard Hotel, the president mentioned Osama bin Laden's group -- 27 times. "For America, the decision we face in Iraq is not whether we ought to take sides in a civil war, it's whether we stay in the fight against the same international terrorist network that attacked us on 9/11," Bush told a group of construction contractors.
Never mind all that talk about sectarian strife and civil war in Iraq. "The primary reason for the high level of violence is this: Al-Qaeda has ratcheted up its campaign of high-profile attacks," Bush disclosed.
The man who four years ago admitted "no evidence" of an Iraqi role in the Sept. 11 attacks now finds solid evidence of a role in Iraq by the Sept. 11 hijackers.
"I don't need to remind you who al-Qaeda is," Bush reminded. "Al-Qaeda is the group that plot and planned and trained killers to come and kill people on our soil. The same bunch that is causing havoc in Iraq were the ones who came and murdered our citizens."
Yes, all indications are that Al-Qaeda is in Iraq. But it has been drawn there by the American invasion. To insinuate that the United States is in Iraq because of Al-Qaeda is another lie by a government that stole the White House in 2000 and has since redefined arrogance.
I wonder if Bush cries when he thinks about 9/11. He often says his view of the world changed on Sept. 11, 2001. Rightfully so. But, because of his fundamental ignorance, he failed to give us a reasonable plan to fight the terrorists. Never in its history was the United States more justified than in its attack on the Taliban and, by extension, Al-Qaeda. The world was poised to bond in common cause. Then came Iraq. Then came hundreds of thousands of deaths. Then came tears of a different kind -- tears of rage at a senseless war, tears of sorrow over lives wasted by misinformed American aggression.
I'm glad I cry when I see the Towers imploding, when I see the courage of those firefighters, when I see the British play the "Star Spangled Banner" at the changing of the guard in London. It reminds me that every life is profoundly important. And that reminds me of why Iraq is so wrong.
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