10 Reasons Why Gay Marriage is Wrong

01) Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

02) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

03) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

04) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

05) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.

06) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

07) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

08) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

09) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.
this was posted in craigslist's best of section, but i thought it deserved a repost somewhere.

war of the rosas and sleep

yeah, so it's 2:30 in the am and i am on the computer, which means i'm hitting critically productive strides towards another bout of insomnia. once i actually leave the bed and turn on a light, i'm past the point of no return. i've cleaned my office, well, sort of. i can't bear to put laundry away from last weekend. it will soon be this weekend. this i think makes me feel like a failure as an adult in many ways, the fact that there are some domestic chores in which i simply throw up my hands and say 'i cannot bear it right now'. and so sits the third world squalor that is my office. i currently have a load of towels with detergent in the broken washing machine downstairs replete with $1.25 in quarters. an uberwenschen adult crime scene. some sort of maturity police might come in and arrest me.

it is late, and i imagine myself face to face with the little shits that are eating my peanut butter sacrifices. yes, that is right, the rosas are back. war is on, baby. currently, i have one mouse under my belt, and i have carved one little notch into the trap. i feel like that kid in red dawn:

'all that hate is gonna burn you up, boy.'
'it keeps me warm.'

oh, i just had a frightening thought, i am so glad the mice don't parachute into the kitchen and speak russian and spanish interchangeably, that would be horrifying. or if they had wings. shutter. one down, 147 left to go. no, i don't know how many of them live here, but cheeba, the neighbor's cat, does a fan-fuckin'-tastic job of chasing them to floor three where their audacity and arrogance make me want to exact a sort of roman punishment upon them and their kin. they are currently getting incredibly talented at eating the peanut butter off the trap without setting it off. little fuckers are evolving. i only killed junior, a little baby mouse and he was damned cute for being a dead mouse. i hear the little 'avenge my boy' squeaks from under the stove.

all this being said, i received my daily writer's almanac poem. today's poem is from an anthology called A Cappella: Mennonite Voices in Poetry. here is "Instructions" by Sheri Hostetler:

Instructions

Give up the world; give up self; finally, give up God.
Find god in rhododendrons and rocks,
passers-by, your cat.
Pare your beliefs, your absolutes.
Make it simple; make it clean.
No carry-on luggage allowed.
Examine all you have
with a loving and critical eye, then
throw away some more.
Repeat. Repeat.
Keep this and only this:
what your heart beats loudly for
what feels heavy and full in your gut.
There will only be one or two
things you will keep,
and they will fit lightly
in your pocket. 

maybe i sort of needed that. what are my absolutes? right now, i have no problem with the critical eye part, but the loving part is escaping me. i know i need to sleep, but experience and a lifetime of not-sleeping has made me keenly aware that this will not come easily and without some kind of internal peace summit and/or drugs.

current mood: not fucking sleepy.

so, just curious, does anyone remember the four years in which i stopped dropping the f-bomb on a regular basis and snapped at people when he would say the f-word? perhaps i should try to reinstitute that again. it's really unbecoming, no? and i may drop it in front of a child or something.

i wrote down this quote about two months ago while talking to my sister on the phone from work: "I just saw a bear rip off a fish's tail. I didn't need to see that. Stupid Animal Planet."

spelling bee

yeah, i can spell some, stuff like asshat, dumbass, and my favoritest is making up words and nouns, like fuckuppery, or ass hattery (better even assberdashery), clearly, i cannot spell 'mesmorize', and i quit trying. so, yeah, i like spelling, but i never got to do the spelling bee thing. i grew up with people who, while nice enough as parents, didn't have any comprehension that spelling bee might be something they should encourage. nor, reading, really. but playing football with an empty two-litre bottle of soda, clearly a priority. clearly, i suck at life because of it, but i am fascinated and mezmorized by the talent that is the super speller. spelling helps my scrabble game. it does. and misspellings slow me down at weboggle. i did say the other night at sid's bourbon boggle night that deign was spelled D-A-N-E, the person from northern europe (see, dumbassness). i am THE fucking editor in my department.

so, i have said it once, and i will say it again, spelling bees are gateway activities to scrabble and the heroin-like addiction of on-line boggle. sid knows what i'm talking about here. anna. spelling bee person. i am like the crack head who never smoked pot. so, perhaps it is time to take a big ol' puff of the spelling bee ganja. in the fashion & style section of the nytimes, there is a piece entitled the night life of bees. this piece is about the growing rage of spelling bees amongst the hipster 20-30 something set. i have watched the documentary about national spelling bee, and i have watched a number of spelling bees on the deuce. i would get cable just for the deuce (espn2, for those not in the know.) at any rate, anybody want to bone up on her spelling? let's turn this bee ON.

word.

a model is down

i repeat, a model is down, someone get a marlboro light, a diet coke and a fattie line of coke. STAT.

vno, i joke. it's never funny with the unnaturally beautiful, thin supermodel goes down. never. it is simply schadenfreude at its most glorious. but there is seriousness going on right now with all the spring shows--designers on the loose, and models turning on their handlers and shit...the prada spring ready-to-wear show happened yesterday in milan. here is a review.

the beginning quote from the piece: "I wanted to go forward by trying to cancel out nostalgia. By canceling out the body," said Miuccia Prada. She opened her search for new proportions with a big, loose, odd-looking overshirt, pulled over thick gray stockings.

how fucking amazing is this woman? cancelling out the body? cathy horyn has a great piece in the times today about prada: 'The Bourgeois Lady Is Finished,' Miuccia Prada Says

overheard

Paramecium? Nobody talks about those anymore.

that is so true. noone talks about paramecium anymore. at least i don't talk about them.

sidehawk

from the smoking gun's mug shot section--that's cold. not even letting a brother finish his hair before you haul his ass off. damn.