Justice, Souder and me

Posted on May 18, 2010 by 40andover

http://m.yahoo.com/w/ynews/article/topstories/10?url=http%3A%2F%2Fxml.news.yahoo.com%2Fus%2Fnews%2Frss%2Frichstoryrss.html%3Fu%3D%2Fap%2Fus_congress_souder&.ts=1274229436&.tsrc=yahoo&.intl=us&.lang=en

Representative Souder, a G-d fearing family values man, joins the Rogue’s Gallery of the sanctimonious hoisted on their own petards. I am not gleeful. I don’t relish another’s embarrassments and defeats — even those people who would deny me my civil rights.

Each one of these holier-than-thou sinners begs for forgiveness and feels entitled to redemption because aliens must have inhabited his body in order for him to behave so. Do we as a society enable the hypocrisy by forgiveness and opportunities for redemption? What if we required that each one of these-who-have-fallen-THUD!-from-Grace accept that he is not the interpreter of G-d’s wills, G-d’s ways and G-d’s Bible? [That is a way lot of “G-d”s for a religious conscientious objector like me.]

If pride goeth before the fall, then humility will come after it but only if we demand it of those whom we forgive. Humility and a quest for understanding of our common humanity. And maybe we will achieve peace and justice for all.

Some questions actually tell us so much about ourselves

Posted on May 12, 2010 by 40andover

Poor Solicitor General Elena Kagan. Just because she is single, unattractive, overweight and intellectual, she must be a lesbian.

Laura Ingraham is single and, to some, intellectual. So, she isn’t unattractive or overweight. Is she . . . .?

So, former Secretary of State Condi Rice is single and intellectual. She is not unattractive or overweight either. Is she. . . ?

Ok, I get it. If Elena Kagan were hot — or at least not unattractive and overweight, it wouldn’t be an issue.

If she were a man, like Justice Souter, no one would raise the issue. How do I know? Because no one did (loudly, anyway).

Has anyone looked at all of the unattractive and overweight women who are married and heterosexual? Has anyone looked at all the gorgeous heterosexual women who are single? And all the gorgeous lesbians who are “married”?

Maybe she is; maybe she isn’t. But if unattractive and overweight were the markers, there would be only five heterosexuals in middle America.

Who will be the first politician to own up to this attitude? And this “litmus test” only pertains to women. Overweight and unattractive men? Just look at the Congress.

GOP senators don’t have gaydar. How do I know? They didn’t figure out about Family Research Council George Rekers, who hired a gay male escort to carry his bags on a trip to Europe. Or that televangelist. Or the Senator who sits wide in aiport bathrooms.

Democrats assume that the Republicans will raise the issue, so they — including the White House — are “getting out ahead of it”. In some publications, the Democrats are being criticized for not getting out ahead of it sooner.

So, even among the enlightened of our generation — including those in the White House — it is still a “smear” to say that someone is gay. And being gay is deviant but fixable, or so says the Family Research Council. Maybe it should rethink its view in light of the scandal rocking its founder.

We will allow gays to serve in the military so long as they hide under a rock. Think of the patriotism of these men and women. They are willing to shed their blood and give their lives to a country that won’t allow them to live, fight and die in dignity.

Aint that America.

Synagogue Retreat at the Norman Bates Motel

Posted on April 25, 2010 by 40andover

Ok, this is a long, random recounting, so bear with me.

My sister thinks that her trip on a Greyhound bus to a casino — where, no joke, a medical conference and training were being held — brought her very close to the common denominator of humanity. She emailed me that when she got to the bus gate at Port Authority, the woman in front of her on line just started talking to her. The woman was traveling back from Florida to Providence. She had to go to Florida to get her mother’s ashes, which were in the shopping bag that she showed to my sister in case she wanted to see. (I wish my sister knew how to use the camera feature on her cell phone. A picture would have really made the moment.) The woman had spent 3 days on a bus and needed to smoke a cigarette, had trouble in her childhood but has now straightened out, etc.

Dear SOB (sister of blogger), welcome to my world. It is good that you experience your birthright — i.e., Mom’s magnetism for the strange, creepy and absurd.

Well, I am at a synagogue retreat. It was a rustic experience. Lots of rules — you need to observe the Sabbath and subscribe to the Jewish dietary restrictions — not on the quantity but on the depth to which the culinary arts must sink in order to conform to Kosher laws. Alcohol is Kosher, for which many people gave thanks to G-d. Also, no coffee Saturday morning because it is the Sabbath and one cannot use electricity or fire. Really? Really? Does anyone want really want to deal with me de-caffeinated? Also tonight someone by accident started making coffee before the end of the Sabbath. Before we could descend on the heavenly libation, the moshkiach (the Kosher police) told the kitchen workers that they had to dump out the coffee. Wastefulness CAN’T be kosher.

There are many blessings that are new to me. The place has helpful plaques to assist in mastering them. I took a picture of the blessing after one eliminates in the bathroom, thanking G-d for the creation of certain cavities in the body. Really? My orthodox grandmother said this prayer? Even when she had indigestion? This must be an invention of those “too cool for shul” types. I am not kidding. Look at the picture.

Ever trying to make lemonade out of lemons, I have decided that we would learn this prayer and recite it every time our father discusses his irregularity. Maybe we could teach it to him. Clearly, I am going on the slow boat the Hell.

The place was kind of like that. As you enter, there is a sign saying, “We are blessed by your presence”. Ok, someone should be holding judgment until we leave. There should even be a sign flashed for a specific few (like me), “We are blessed by your leaving.”

“Blessed by your presence”? Trying to create holy, kumbaya, religious space and energy at crash-landing impact, after braving hellish Friday night traffic. I thought to sing, “someone’s kumbaya-ing my Lord,” but I didn’t want to say kumbaya to that. This is getting to crazy, with the aggressive, reverse Kumbaya on the Sabbath. Slow boat. Nah, I am taking the express train to Hell.

As you may have surmised, we couldn’t do much documentation on the Sabbath because that required use of electricity or batteries, so I had to take pictures in secret and I couldn’t blog. Now that was harsh. As my own little rage against the machine, I turned on my iPod just BEFORE I left the premises to go on my run. Ah, the little subversities. But, as usual I digress.

Friday night, after blessing the group with our presence (or so the sign said), we proceeded to our promised charming two bedroom cabin. The advertising was so wrong it should be a felony. So one civil crime justifies a religious crime — desecration of the Sabbath — to take these pictures:

Is this a charming two-bedroom cabin? Type that into wikipedia and I bet that you won’t see a picture of this. Really?? This is a three-bed cabin. Ooops, there must have been a mistake. No? No mistake, this is the very finest that the camp has to offer? In the county in Connecticut with the highest per capita income? Really? Really? I am in a mood most foul and approach the rabbis about the relative merits of, say, a Ritz Carlton. Not so my friends can get business, but it is a base level that to which we should become accustomed.

But at least the turn-down service left conflict-free chocolate on the beds:

But the real kicker is that in the light of day on Saturday, I realized that I had parked my rented super-huge, gas-guzzling monstrosity here:

Ok, I am a convert: There, but for the Grace of G-d, go I.

~ the Blogger

Doctor, heal thyself

Posted on April 6, 2010 by 40andover

The urologist who put up a sign saying, “if you voted for Obama, go somewhere else,” got his information from the Internet and . . . wait for it . . . it was misinformation. We did not “misunderestimate” him (my favorite moment of the otherwise bleak Bush years). He was flat-out wrong.

The Internet is an amazing tool. It also must be viewed in its context. Opinions — informed, ill-informed and maliciously disinformative — are out there. It is up to each person to glean the facts, evaluate the sources and come to one’s own conclusion. Just because I can write an opinion that you might read doesn’t mean that I am right, that I have all of the facts or that, quite frankly, I am interested in the truth.

Everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion, but that doesn’t mean that each opinion deserves equal weight. I spoke to a tea party goer about a year ago that heard on an unnamed “news” station (ok, FOX) that the health care bill would give social security benefits to illegal aliens. Ok, let’s set aside the fact that we are not talking about E.T., The Extra-Terrestrial, or Martians, and that they are humans deserving at least the catch-all phrase of “illegal immigrants”. I asked this woman if she ever dealt with the government. She asked me to get to my point. I responded that even if President Obama were seeking to give away the money in the Treasury (which he can’t because there is a 3 trillion dollar deficit), that the government needs a social security number to take any action with respect to a person’s benefits. So if someone doesn’t have a SSN (let’s assume that an illegal immigrant hasn’t stolen one because why impugn someone who is seeking a better life here, while there are native born executives of Enron and Madoff enterprises who have committed heinous crimes and haven’t yet had their days of reckoning), then it is impossible to give that person social security benefits. The commentator was either mistaken or intentionally misleading.

Ok, let’s be honest. MSNBC is slanted the other way and sometimes uses inductive reasoning — basing a hypothesis on one fact — and gets the whole analysis wrong. For me, sometimes, it is analogous to watching a show about law or maybe a doctor watching ER or Grey’s Anatomy. It strains credulity and sometimes is farcical.

However, when I realized that I paid more in 2009 taxes than most, non-celebrity, tea party-ers pay in two decades, I realized that I put my money where my mouth is. I believe in universal health care, medicare and a safety net for those like my grandparents who slept at night knowing that, if they lost their jobs in sweatshops, their children would not starve. As a child of those children — the embodiment of the American dream — I pay my taxes for those like my grandparents and my parents, and not for the ungrateful masses who are the tea-party-ers. Why? Because this is America, the greatest nation on Earth. But if you don’t want to buy in, that’s ok. But there are consequences. How about we mess with your medicare? Would you be partying then? I hope you get along with your neighbors because if I join your group, there won’t be money to pave the roads outside your homes. But because of my belief in America, and my indebtedness to my forebears, you get to be parasites sucking on the dream of America. To tell you the truth, I cannot wait to heave the yolk of your entitlement of my already heavy burden.

How about that? Let the generous, gentler and kinder America (thank you, Bush I) reclaim what is America. I live America — I work hard, I pay my taxes, I pray that the government is good, right and just, I do not believe in torture and I give charity to those who need help to jump start their lives. Yes, what Jesus would do. And I am a Jewish, lesbian, Ivy League educated, Northeastern elitist. And I embody the promise and opportunity of America more than most of the greedy, uncharitable, talking heads that pollute our airwaves.

Bring it on.

Glory Days

Posted on April 6, 2010 by 40andover

My son is into trains. We allow supervised access to YouTube and Technorati. How can we not? He has access to computers at school and already he mentioned that one of his friends clicked on “inappropriate videos”. At least our son knows that it is wrong to watch certain things, but he hasn’t hit puberty yet.

He desperately wanted to see some train videos. They were entitled “Glory Machines”. Think about that for a moment. We are at a cross-roads. And he is only almost-8 years-old.

POB (partner of blogger) and I were more than slightly horrified at the thought of what would come up on a naked search (as it were) of that phrase. I kept trying to add “model train video” to the search and my son kept saying, “E-Mom, I know what I am doing!!” Oh, sweetie, I thought, if you only knew the dangers of what you are doing. Miraculously, the search (which I was ready to minimize with my fingers on the mouse) came up with the train videos. Phew, dodge a bullet.

We watched the train videos and while there was some innuendo (which was really funny because it was cut and pasted from 1950s movie reels), there was nothing untoward about any of it.

I bookmarked the videos so he would never have to do that search again. He was happy that I saved him a step in finding them again. I was happy that I saved him from pornography and kept him young for one more day.

I was happy I saved POB and me from having to confront raw sexuality with our 8 year-old. Although, to be honest, Oedipus Rex is alive and well and living in our house. When POB, our son’s biological mother, is not around, all is light and roses with my son and me. When POB is around, my son gets very territorial about POB. POB is happy that he is exhibiting the usual signs of a normal growing boy and I remind her that Oedipus killed his father (or in my case, his non-biological mother).

Just saying is all.

The Acupuncturist

Posted on March 14, 2010 by 40andover

I go to a wonderful acupuncturist. She knows that I don’t necessarily believe in the power of my “chi” and that I am a western-centric client. But, I am open to ways to feel better and balance my body. That’s why my acupuncturist is terrific. She doesn’t try to change me. She works with me as I am. And I have mellowed over time. I now take vitamins, fish oils, have healthy foods in my office, etc.

When I leave my office for these appointments, I tell my assistant, “I am going to get pricked like a pin-cushion.” I keep my blackberry out during the sessions — a negotiated concession from my acupuncturist — and, in response to a flurry of anxious emails, I emailed to my colleague, “do you need me to pull out the needles and run back to the office?” I was perfectly willing to do so because I am a professional first and a pin-cushion second. And I knew my phrasing would make my colleague queasy and weak-in-the-knees (for which I get a slightly perverse kick). This colleague asked me once if I believed in the good effects of acupuncture and I responded, “Nah, but it can’t hurt — too much.”

I have gotten to know my acupuncturist some, and so I need to know about her life and if she is happy. So, I have to ask, “so, are you seeing anyone?” Her response: “I still haven’t found the right person.” The use of “person” means (i) she is being politically correct/sensitive to my being gay or (ii) she is intentionally obfuscating whether she is looking for a man or a woman. But, the vibe is definitely hetero. Still, I ask, “man or woman or gender irrelevant?” because I might know someone for a shitach (a match) and I want to get the gender right. And my gaydar has been wrong in the past.

And, once, years ago, I was talking to a “straight,” ultra-religious woman who started a conversation about finding a husband (for her). In the midst of the conversation, she said to me, “how hetero-centrist of you to think that I am only interested in men!” “But you are interested in men,” I said as I was thinking something is off because she knew I was gay. “To marry, yes,” she responded.

After about a two-second pause, I realized the implications of the statement and that it was time for me to run, run like the wind. And I did. All the way home to my beloved. I am my beloved’s and she is mine. There are no ooky parentheticals or provisos to that statement.

What did this last story have to do with my acupuncturist? Nothing, really. But where I end up is rarely related to where I started, at least when I am not being a lawyer.

Life – one week later

Posted on March 13, 2010 by 40andover

Yes, to answer one comment from an everyday reader, there were sufficiently crazy things that happened in this last week, but, in my pledge not to alienate family and friends who read this blog, I must hold back. Think of a big

CENSORED

where blogs about this last week ought to have been. Maybe I will write about going to the acupuncturist. Mañana.

So, we start again with today:

When we were kids, our dad used to take us on more-or-less yearly pilgrimages to Paragon Sports on 18th Street and Broadway to get outfitted for the Spring and warm weather sports (we also did an ancillary run in late June, just before camp, but it was epic in a different way). We all grew over the winter (why do kids grow over winter?) so the prior year’s gear didn’t fit anymore.

For me, this was our family’s official opening day of Spring. Passover was religious but this was visceral. The promise of warmer, longer days leading into endless summer. I still hold on to the fantasy even though I am 45 years-old and haven’t had a summer of play in 28 years. I bet my siblings don’t remember this, but I do. My father, in his hat that looked vaguely Russian, with a dress coat and wing-tipped shoes, in a sports mecca. In fact, I would bet money that my brother doesn’t remember these excursions because he can only remember that Dad dressed him in a Mets outfit at a Mets game (in 1969 when they were the champs). But you have to remember that my dad wore wing-tipped shoes on the weekends until the mid-80s, so the man did the best he could.

In truth, since my siblings were 3 and 4 years older than me, these outings probably lasted until I was in 8th grade, after which it was impossibly embarrassing to shop with my dad. Maybe in my mind’s eye, these trips loom larger than they really did, although I associate Paragon with Dad. Also, in the 1970s, to schlep from the upper east side to 18th Street and Broadway with kids in tow was not for the faint-of-heart because Union Square was a needle park and there were many unsavory characters all around. And in these 28 years, that area transformed, so it is not like going parent-and-child into a combat zone.

Maybe today it felt like a Family Event because my son and I made the trek to Paragon, this time from the Upper West Side. My son wanted to stay home because it was raining cats-and-dogs (which is one of the stupidest expressions ever) and the wind was howling. No way we are staying in. We are going on a pilgrimage, young man. You have outgrown all of the sports gear you have. And, now that you are interested in football, hockey, baseball and basketball, we are going to get you the right stuff. Yes, sir. You may have two moms, AND you are going to have the right sports gear. Even if you NEVER use it.

My son is more of an intellectual sports fan. He likes facts and information and he likes to watch others play. So, this trip was a little, eensy, bit more about me than him. Never mind, one of the joys of parenting is that you can thrust your desires upon them and then pay for the years of resulting, required therapy.

We get to Paragon, which has gotten bigger over the years, but it essentially the same store (ok, I have been back over the years, but it is amazing how much the same it is). A young man, Vladimir, helped us get the right size baseball mitt (I got one, too), basketball, soccer ball and football. Also a solid, well-made baseball and an air pump. I inquired about oil for the glove and how long he needs to sleep with the ball in the glove under his pillow to mold the mitt. My son was browsing the sports jerseys for his favorite teams. Ok, this really was all about me.

I did not get him hockey gear because there is no way he is playing that insane sport. Oh, and, football, you ask? Only two-hand touch, thank-you-very-much. I did not bring him into this world to watch him go out on a stretcher.

I wanted to play with everything once we got home (even if doing so violated the house rules I set). He wanted to play Star Wars: The Clone Wars on the computer. Ah the picture becomes even clearer, you think.

At one point, I worried that I bought all of this gear and didn’t get my son a “cup”. Then I realized that I am the only one who will be playing with this equipment and I need different protective gear, including some for my ego, my heart and my hopes of playing ball with my son.

Diversity

Posted on March 4, 2010 by 40andover

I was at a company meeting and people were excited to have me on the various client teams because “we need diversity”. I realized they were talking about being a woman and I said, helpfully, that I satisfy two boxes. “Which other one?” “Gay,” I responded. Then I was asked if I wanted to join the GLBT affinity group. “No,” I said, “I am very comfortable being gay, and my only interest is satisfying client diversity requirements to get more business. But if you have a working mothers’ affinity group, that’d be great.”

So, I’m here, I’m queer, they are used to it, but they don’t get it.

Look away

Posted on February 21, 2010 by 40andover

I have been pretty good about a new gym regimen since I started my new job. (My 2010 horoscope said that I should keep up an exercise schedule, and that is as good a reason as any.)

Since the global economic melt-down, I have taken to drinking wine. One glass goes straight to my inner thighs. No joke. I feel it the next day. So, I need to work out just to maintain the usual mid-40s spread.

Since going to the gym, I have been feeling much better about myself and my degeneration into older age (in our family we call it “decrepitude” because we are — er — so gentle). And I have noticed that, in the afternoons on the weekends, men have been looking twice at me at the gym (and not because I have stains on my t-shirts or my outfits are disastrous). Most people would feel good about that. But I have to tell you who is looking.

Imagine we are in the early 1980s when the Olivia Newton-John exercise outfits were popular. Imagine your relatives who were moving down to Florida around that time. Remember how they couldn’t pronounce “condominium” and kept saying “condominian” (which now sounds like a group of ten prophylactic devices)? Remember the men who wore short-shorts with dark shoes and dark socks, dyed their hair and uber-cool sunglasses? You know, the ones who drove Cadillac El Dorados.

Imagine now it is 2010, and these men have aged 30 years and wear white free spirits and white socks and they dye their hair an odd shade of red. Apparently, mid-afternoon on the weekends, the older set comes to the gym. The upside is that they wipe down the machines and don’t do many reps. The bad news is that the men think I am old enough to be interested in them.

I wear bi-focals, but generally my eye sight is good. I am graying, but I have few wrinkles. I have a little extra thickness around the middle but I still have muscle tone in my arms and my breasts still hang comfortable above my waist. Also, I am a lesbian for Goodness sake. Ok, they don’t know that last fact.

I just wish I weren’t so attractive to the 85+ crowd. Maybe once, just once, a young, beautiful woman would give me a second glance that doesn’t telegraph, “oh, you really should have taken better care of yourself when you were young. . . .” Oh, well, that isn’t what I need. I need the old men to look at me and think, “she is way too young for me.”

So, my cousin just called and I told him about this blog entry. He lamented that only really older women check him out on the street. We were laughing/crying to each other and he mentioned that this could be a schtick for http://oldjewstellingjokes.com/. I checked out this site and there are videos of old Jews telling jokes.

The internet is worthwhile if only for bringing us this website and keeping the tradition available for the younger generations. Also, if there could be a registry for “I’m too young for octagenarians”, that would be awesome.

Tiger

Posted on February 19, 2010 by 40andover

Does anyone care if Tiger apologizes? Why is it news? Other than his family, whom did he let down? Certainly not the women who wanted their 15 minutes of fame by having sex with him. His fans? Didn’t people root for him because of his athletic ability and his personal story? Did anyone root for him because he was a faithful, family man?

The unfortunate truth is that if you know something sordid or unappealing about a person, it affects you more than if you knew something positive or simply neutral. I didn’t listen to Tiger’s apology, but if it took this long to come up with one, then it is a public relations apology to regain sponsorships and not a soul-searching mea culpa.

A dear, wise friend once said, “you do it, you live with it.” She also said, “the strong eat the weak,” although she has mellowed from that position. But she is right, life is about taking responsibility and standing up for what is right or taking your lumps when you blow it. We lived across the hall during senior year at college and I was having an — how shall we say — indiscretion and she cleared the hallway of people for me to avoid embarrassment. (I am not giving details, so you need to read between the lines and draw your own conclusions.) The next morning, she was knocking at my door, booming, “if you want to dance, you need to pay the fiddler,” which means if you can’t do something in the light of day (as it were), then don’t do it.

This friend probably doesn’t know that she caused me to look deep inside and start the process of coming out of the closet. She continues to have high standards, tempered by compassion from life experiences. She is the standard bearer and I adore her. She and I have had professional upheavals these past few years and I admire her willingness to take on new challenges in new places. She is my measuring stick for success and hard work. If she reads this, she may be surprised that she had such a profound effect on me so many years ago and through to today. I hope that she puts me in her “win” column.

She could have taught Tiger a lesson or two. And she would have shaped him up faster than an army drill sergeant. And, she has perfectly puffy hair. So, Tiger (if you know what is good for you), be afraid, Tiger, be very afraid.

And, to my friend who is always in my court, long ago you re-directed my life on a bumpy but, ultimately, very happy course. You make a difference just by your presence among us. I love you.

40 — oh wait, yikes!! 50 — andoverblog

Aging and living in urban US

Category Archives: gay