Ronaldinho
(AP Photo -- click for hi-res)
Monday, June 18, 2007
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Funny, But ...
Being gay, I hate religion. I don't think there's an alternative. That doesn't mean I hate the idea of a god. On the contrary, it would be great it there were one, if there were an afterlife, if we were reunited with our loved ones in bliss. But religion and god aren't synonymous. Far from it.
I've never understood why rational men and women subjugate their minds to the Bible or the Quron or other holy books. I can see using them as a resource, just as you would use another philosophical tract. But to take it as gospel baffles me.
Anyway, I got to thinking about this again when I stumbled across a Muslim comedian named Baba Ali. His stuff is on youtube under ummahfilms. It's very funny and sometimes thought-provoking, especially his explanation of why he converted to Islam.
Did you watch it? Funny, no? But also sincere.
As a gay person, of course, Islam is abhorrent to me. While Christians consider us sinners and abominable, most don't want to execute us. I believe the same could be said of most Muslims. BUT there are theocracies -- Iran and Saudia Arabia come to mind -- where gays have been killed for being gay. Sometimes beheaded. Sometimes hanged. All in the name of Allah. Want proof? These hideous photos from the Iranian Student News Service, published worldwide two years ago, show two gay teenagers -- one 18, the other 16 or 17 -- being executed. Gay rights advocates said it was simply for having gay sex; Iran said they "raped" a third boy. Because the third boy was 13, it was considered rape whether or not he consented.
Photos of gay teens' hanging in 2005 by ISNA
Obviously, there are tolerant Muslims and intolerant Muslims, although I'd use "tolerant" carefully. The tolerant ones might throw gays in jail rather than hang them. The Quran, after all, makes it clear that homosexuality is evil. Even Iran, according to one activist there, doesn't aggressively pursue gays for punishment. But it happens. Legally. Because of religion.
I'd love for a converted Muslim to explain to me the appeal of his new religion.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Dick Naked
Koji looked like he had just seen Dick Cheney naked.
His face twisted ever so slightly, eyes narrowing, lips struggling to smile.
Apparently, I wasn't his type.
"Hi. How are you?" I said, emerging from the tiny foyer at the Chelsea Savoy Hotel on 23rd and 7th.
"Good, good. And you?" he replied, his stricken gaze still on my face.
Oh god, I thought. Keep the meter running.
Koji and I had made arrangements to meet after talking on-line and on the phone for hours over several weeks. He was 34 and reviewed Broadway plays for a publication back home in Japan. I was a 49-year-old sports editor from Virginia. Somehow, we clicked.
It was a gay.com success story. Or so I thought until that cold April night when we met at the appointed hour for dinner.
"Hangawi OK?" I asked, thinking he might suddenly develop bronchitis and beg off.
"Yes. Should we take a cab?" he said.
A cab? Good grief, no. He could stare at me all the way to Midtown.
"Let's walk," I suggested, wondering if my salt-and-pepper hair looked more black or silver under the neon lights.
By this time, Koji was politely masking the biggest disappointment of his dating life. We had a nice chat as we walked briskly to Hangawi, a soothing Korean vegetarian restaurant on 32nd Street. Dinner went smoothly too, and he even took me to a theater district joint for strawberry shortcake afterward. We parted with a generic peck on the cheek outside of his subway stop at about 11 -- four hours after the date began.
Obviously, Koji's good manners had taken over. But, just as obviously, it was the last time we would see each other. I think we chatted on-line twice afterward -- briefly -- and then he and his gay.com nickname disappeared forever.
It's the nature of cyberspace. Hope fading into reality. Budding friendships dying like too-early crocuses in the back yard.
Koji was an extreme example, simply because we actually met face to face. Other friendships on platforms such as gay.com vanish with less trauma, less personal capital spent.
I still wonder what happened to the Vietnamese-American from the East Village with the Ivy League degree and quick wit, to the Hell's Kitchen Filipino who was almost an icon on gay.com until he too faded, to the Indian dorm-keeper at a New England college, to the Latino in Queens with the keen social consciousness, to the black kid from U.Va. who was trying to make it as a software developer on Long Island, to the Russian economics grad from Columbia, to the 40-year-old from Brooklyn with the taut body who still danced professionally, to the Virginia boy transplanted to South Beach, to ... well, the list is endless.
But another list, a shorter list, exists, too, a list of cool guys who were fun to hang out with, fun to meet face to face. That's what makes cyberspace, specifically gay.com, a lifesaver for gay men. It's a safe, energetic place to meet guys, and not primarily for sex, although -- clearly -- gay.com is sex-driven.
Why Koji and I didn't mesh is anybody's guess. No doubt, he pictured me as far better-looking than I am -- pictures do sometimes dissolve into fantasy -- and found the skin-and-bones version repulsive.
Oddly, though, the incident didn't enter my mind when I dated other guys afterward, guys who never looked like they had just seen Dick Cheney naked.
His face twisted ever so slightly, eyes narrowing, lips struggling to smile.
Apparently, I wasn't his type.
"Hi. How are you?" I said, emerging from the tiny foyer at the Chelsea Savoy Hotel on 23rd and 7th.
"Good, good. And you?" he replied, his stricken gaze still on my face.
Oh god, I thought. Keep the meter running.
Koji and I had made arrangements to meet after talking on-line and on the phone for hours over several weeks. He was 34 and reviewed Broadway plays for a publication back home in Japan. I was a 49-year-old sports editor from Virginia. Somehow, we clicked.
It was a gay.com success story. Or so I thought until that cold April night when we met at the appointed hour for dinner.
"Hangawi OK?" I asked, thinking he might suddenly develop bronchitis and beg off.
"Yes. Should we take a cab?" he said.
A cab? Good grief, no. He could stare at me all the way to Midtown.
"Let's walk," I suggested, wondering if my salt-and-pepper hair looked more black or silver under the neon lights.
By this time, Koji was politely masking the biggest disappointment of his dating life. We had a nice chat as we walked briskly to Hangawi, a soothing Korean vegetarian restaurant on 32nd Street. Dinner went smoothly too, and he even took me to a theater district joint for strawberry shortcake afterward. We parted with a generic peck on the cheek outside of his subway stop at about 11 -- four hours after the date began.
Obviously, Koji's good manners had taken over. But, just as obviously, it was the last time we would see each other. I think we chatted on-line twice afterward -- briefly -- and then he and his gay.com nickname disappeared forever.
It's the nature of cyberspace. Hope fading into reality. Budding friendships dying like too-early crocuses in the back yard.
Koji was an extreme example, simply because we actually met face to face. Other friendships on platforms such as gay.com vanish with less trauma, less personal capital spent.
I still wonder what happened to the Vietnamese-American from the East Village with the Ivy League degree and quick wit, to the Hell's Kitchen Filipino who was almost an icon on gay.com until he too faded, to the Indian dorm-keeper at a New England college, to the Latino in Queens with the keen social consciousness, to the black kid from U.Va. who was trying to make it as a software developer on Long Island, to the Russian economics grad from Columbia, to the 40-year-old from Brooklyn with the taut body who still danced professionally, to the Virginia boy transplanted to South Beach, to ... well, the list is endless.
But another list, a shorter list, exists, too, a list of cool guys who were fun to hang out with, fun to meet face to face. That's what makes cyberspace, specifically gay.com, a lifesaver for gay men. It's a safe, energetic place to meet guys, and not primarily for sex, although -- clearly -- gay.com is sex-driven.
Why Koji and I didn't mesh is anybody's guess. No doubt, he pictured me as far better-looking than I am -- pictures do sometimes dissolve into fantasy -- and found the skin-and-bones version repulsive.
Oddly, though, the incident didn't enter my mind when I dated other guys afterward, guys who never looked like they had just seen Dick Cheney naked.
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