On the origins of homosexuality

Men and women everywhere were rocked today by a scientific breakthrough that came, of all places, from the tiny offices of the Tas travel agency. Despite a complete lack of research, no adherence to the scientific method, and no discernible hard evidence, the company - which to this point had sadly restricted itself to selling luxury cruises - has proven beyond a doubt the true cause of homosexuality among men and women.

P. L. Marshall, president of the company, issued a press release over a lunch of bran flakes and feta cheese describing the incredible find.

"It's really very simple," the honorable Mr. Marshall stated. "What if a child has a crab-faced mother and an insanely gorgeous father? Isn't it possible that the child is so repulsed by his horrifying mother that he becomes attracted to his father instead? Then, when he grows out of this reversed Oedipus complex, he naturally displaces this affection onto other men."

The information - so blatantly and revoltingly obvious that it had clearly escaped the higher minds of the American psychology community for decades - promises a massive paradigm shift; perhaps one that rivals the dramatic shift in thinking after Darwin's earthshattering "Origin of Species."

"It's absolutely astounding," reported Dr. Taylor Fields, senior psychologist at the Chimaerical Institute for Psychological Health. "We never even imagined that something so abjectedly retarded as crab-facedness among mothers could be the cause of homosexuality among men. Of course, it all makes sense if you just imagine that the universe really is out to get you, and that we ultimately mean rendered dog turds in the grand scheme of things. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go redeem myself by drowning in a porta-potty."

Margaret Cohen of North Fork, Tennessee, was stunned to hear the news. Mrs. Cohen, whose face has been described by neighbors as "the very sphincter of Hell," stated, "Oh my God! It really IS all my fault!"

Her husband, Mr. Andrew Cohen, commented, "I never actually noticed it before, but you're absolutely right! She's hideous! She looks like the ass crack of Hades! What the hell was I on? I want a divorce!"

Not everyone, however, believes in the validity of the research. The Cohens' son, Robert (known locally as Pricilla McQueen), remains skeptical.

"Well fuck-a-doodle-doo...another BS scientific discovery about why I like to suck cock. Why don't you sons of bitches do something important, like find out why people still wear pleated jeans?"

Others insist that they knew all along.

"Ah knew it!" added Jimmy-Bob McCree, native of sixty years to Podunk, West Virginia. "Those gawddamn homersexuels're a gawddamn unnacheral insult to God and nature an' this here research proves it! We oughtta line'em all up and give'm the firin' squad. Er put'em to work diggin' ditches. Er sumtin'." Mr. McCree was unavailable for further comment, as he returned to performing various unmentionable acts of a carnal nature with his pit bull.

Podunk is one of several thousand charming towns scattered throughout the American south where certain pigment-challenged residents may still occasionally awaken to the sight of a flaming cross on their lawns. Homosexuals here, though uncommon, are nevertheless regularly ostracized in a ritual process involving bundles of sticks and a tall stake meant to reduce further incidences of "sexual immorality." However, it is in small towns like Podunk, where reduced gene pools often result in physical deformity, that news of the research struck like lightning. When informed that they would have to either promote homosexuality or marry outside the family, most residents of the town spontaneously imploded.

Scientists are not, however, discouraged by the mass outbreak of gruesome death in rural America.

"Does it matter?" Dr. Fields remarked from inside a porta-potty in Central Park. "Another few generations and they'd have bred themselves into extinction anyway. The point is that we now have an easy way to prevent the spread of homosexuality. Just don't let ugly people have kids. I know it's kind of hard-wired into our shallow, shallow society anyway, but alcohol can still cause a lot of flukes, particularly in Las Vegas. Now go away! You're distracting me."

A proposal for a constitutional Amendment is already underway in the House of Representatives, requiring all couples who want to have children to register and pass an objective test on hotornot.com.

In an even more sweeping motion, the Pope declared that allowing ugly people to breed would now be tantamount to condoning sodomy, and as such be a direct act against God. It was a therefore a matter of course to officially ban such a blasphemous thing in church doctrine. To further discourage misplaced affections among the youth, only ugly men would henceforth be allowed in the priesthood, and stunningly gorgeous women permitted in convents. The habit, long a staple of the convent, would be replaced by string bikinis and thongs in order to jar younger adherents in the proper direction. When noted that such a thing may, in fact, condone lesbianism instead, an anonymous bystander stated, "Sweet! Lesbians are hot! I'm so converting to Catholicism!"

Certain individuals, however, have suggested a more moderate approach.

"There's, like, no need to be so drastic," asserts J. T. Morgan of Sanatee, Pennsylvania. "If people are so concerned about it, just put a paper bag over the mother's head for the first few years. That ought to do it."

Note: I actually hadn't intended this to be so long, and it seemed to get rather darker than I intended as I wrote...but anyway, this little work of satire does result from an actual conversation at work. No, obviously none of these people actually exist, or said any of these things. The crab-faced mother comment, however, is a real one, and I might have disputed it if I weren't busting my ass laughing.

On homesickness

I miss the way sunlight streams through a canopy of red and gold leaves, and autumn winds that taste like mountain streams. I miss the sight of two-story split-levels of vinyl and brick on either side of the street, with half-acre yards neat as turf and speckled with dandelions. I miss the smell of damp earth on freshly raked leaves, and the ridges of a decade-old handlebar against my skin. I miss the way the trees rustle as a wind combs through their leaves, in just that way so you know a storm is brewing on the horizon. I miss the feel of carpet underneath my feet as the first swollen drop of rain pitters against the window, knowing that the purr of an engine will soon sound in the driveway. I miss the vaulted evening sky, spotted with stars so innumerable they seem to crowd against the distant darkness, until the spaces between us seem to shrink and grow at the same time. I miss soaring down narrow streets on a bike at three in the morning, until the wind slices at my face and hands with cold razors, and knowing that nobody will ever be there to slow my way. I miss the way moonshine reflects off the snowfields at night, so that the ground itself seems to be glowing white, and the air is so cold it hurts to breathe, and so clear that you only wish you could take deeper breaths.

I miss all these, as I sit in this jewel-speckled city, with its palaces of glass and steel. I've traded a great deal to be here, for the right to pursue my dreams. Sometimes, in the depths of my complacency, it's good to remember what all of us gave up in coming to New York.

On idiotic crushes

I love Steve Sandvoss and I want to bear his children.

Okay, that was a bit simplistic and a trifle exaggerated. Let me exposit. I just saw a movie called "Latter Days," rented via Netflix about...oh...forever and a month ago. Minus the forever. I got Netflix because it was more economically viable than continually paying late fees at the local Hollywood Video, which is a 45-minute commute from where I live and therefore very inconvenient now that I'm out of school. Who wants to sit in a subway for an hour and a half just to rent a fucking movie? (I almost capitalized the Subway, and it's worth noting being forced to watch people eat overlarge sandwiches for an hour and a half just to rent a movie would not only suck, but reeks of unacceptable surrealism.) Anyway, I keep putting off watching the damn movies due to a lack of time, so in reality they're costing me something like seven bucks each. Did I ever mention that I'm a goddamn lazy artard?

Getting back to the point, in "Latter Days" Steve Sandvoss plays a rather sweet-faced Mormon boy who happens to be gay. He discovers and eventually accepts his sexuality over the course of the movie. If you happen to be Mormon...what are you doing reading my blog anyway? Depart this palace of sodomy and sin! Depart before it sucks you in! Depart and read nothing herein! Okay, so you don't have to be Mormon to realize that being gay and Mormon is kind of like being gay and right-wing Republican...and we all know how well drag and George Bush go together (although, admittedly, that's a rather amusing mental image.) So, the movie's pretty much about how he comes to terms with himself, and how his true romance comes to terms with how meaningless his party-boy lifestyle really is.

It's a low budget film and the script is hardly Pulitzer-prize material, but I found it generally rather enjoyable. Not just because there are legions of gorgeous semi-naked men (I seem to recall having had this discussion earlier), but because I actually did find the movie holding a certain resonance. However, it did feel a little like they were trying to cram three and a half hours of storytelling into an hour and a half. The script and scene-work was choppy like a Ginsu. I was also uninspired by most of the performances, although as I said Steve did a rather good job. I may be slightly influenced, however, by his wholesome, corn-fed, disgustingly attractive boy-next-door good looks (which could turn the heads of straight men and bull-dykes alike!) Actually, that can't be it - his co-star, Wes Ramsey, was arguably just as good looking, and I thought his performance campy and a bit forced.

One point of unintentional hilarity, however, were all the shots where someone would have been naked but for some very cleverly angled cameras and well-placed limbs. It was pretty skillfully done, and the actors didn't look like contortionists or anything, but I still found it profoundly funny how often we would have gotten a faceful of penis but for that errant wrist or convenient shadow.

I can't say it's a great movie, but it is pretty good and I would recommend it to my gay friends and anyone who isn't bothered by copious amounts of man-ass.