I’m so glad I am not a polygamist.

First of all, I don’t really like pie. I know that is weird. Pie is good, but for some reason, I don’t like to eat it because usually it is too hot and I burn my tongue, and it is too sweet, so it gives me a crazy sugar high really fast and then I am exhausted. Polygamists seem to eat a lot of pie. I am not sure if this is a known fact, but a pie seems to complete the polygamist outfit.

Which leads me to the outfit - even though pastels like baby blue, lilac and soft pink flatter me, I don’t want to wear the big shouldered prairie dress. Don’t get me wrong – I love “Little House on the Prairie” but only when it is kept in the realm of ‘drag’ and not worn every day for religious purposes. The shoulders are too wide and lambchoppy to make anyone look good.

I don’t want to marry anyone that much older than me. Not just because of the sex (which would be not so fun to begin with but at least old people finish either super fast or super slow) but because there would be nothing fun to talk about. How do you relate to each other? It would be boring!

I also don’t want to be a polygamist because then I would probably have to cook or clean and I don’t know how to do either of those things. Also I have terrible allergies, so if I had to live in any kind of compound situation I am sure I would die of a runny nose.

I feel really bad for all those children, because they are the victims who are only being punished again by being separated from their families, but how can they be saved from their fate unless they are taken away? The whole thing is super sad but it also makes you really grateful not to be a polygamist.

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As the weeks go by and tensions and violence escalate in Tibet, it makes me more and more anxious. Tibet is a beautiful, mysterious country. I visited many years ago, and although there were always problems (I remember one incident when my travel party was delayed for several hours because of public executions!!) it was much calmer than it is now.

There isn’t enough air, which makes everyone who is just visiting a little high. To add to the trippy nature of the place, pretty much every site is religious. Even the graffiti is of different incarnations of Buddha – painted all over the sides of mountain rocks. If you felt sick, you were encouraged to meditate on the cool, indigo blue medicine Buddha, the deity whose color reminded me of the Milk of Magnesia bottle, whose image would soothe, coat and relieve as you pondered upon it. Tibet has the most challenging toilets in the world. I have been everywhere and I can attest to that! Hands down, Tibet is the number one worst place to go number 2.

But to counter that, Tibet has the best looking people in the world. They are Asian but with light eyes! Like green and blue! So everyone kind of looks like they are wearing contacts but they are not. I remember sitting in the courtyard of the Drepung monastery, watching all the gorgeously hot monks draped in their deep red robes, flinging their prayer beads at each other as they argued about philosophy while trying to steal looks at us at the same time. I know you aren’t supposed to hit on celibate people so I just sat on my hands the whole time and tried not to make eye contact for more than three seconds. Girl, it was hard!

I also loved the dog monastery, a special temple for wayward monks who have reincarnated into dogs. The grounds are covered in dogs of every size and shape and breed and hue, silently pondering the cycle of birth and rebirth. Squirming litters of puppies wriggle underneath their dog mothers and their distinguished elders nap in the patches of sun breaking through the clouds. There is no barking, no howling, no fighting, and miracles of miracles – no poo! – nothing but the quiet mediation of dogs and monks. You are allowed to feed the dogs small pieces of dough, and they actually wait in line! When I think of Tibet, I remember the politeness of the dogs, pulling back their dog lips and ever so gently taking the food from my hand with their open teeth, not wanting to bite my hand accidentally and then looking warmly into my eyes with a silent thanks. The thought of rioting and looting and blood in the streets there is too painful to comprehend.

This entry is cross-posted at The Huffington Post

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The pope has just released a number of brand new sins! They include drugs, pollution and genetic manipulation. I am not sure how he gets to do this, but if he can, I think everyone should be able to! So here are some new sins from me (not in any particular order…)

Tailgating. Thou shalt not drive too close to other cars. Mortal sin. People can get killed. One time, I was being tailgated so close on the freeway that it felt like the other car was raping my car. I mean it was a vehicular sexual assault. He kept pounding the back of my car until his car just blew up and sprawled across multiple lanes blocking traffic up for miles. Isn’t that just like a man?

Talking too loud in someone’s ear at a club. Thou shalt not try to talk over the booming techno beat, shattering your friend’s eardrums and annoying everyone in the process. You don’t even get heard, you strain your voice, you hurt their ears, no information is that important. Thou shalt wait til thou is outside.

Homophobia – thou shalt not be a homophobe! (this is something the pope cannot get enough of!)

Sexism and racism in the presidential race. Thou shalt not try to use gender or racial stereotypes in order to undermine presidential candidates, no matter who thou might vote for!

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I think Barack Obama really delivered an awesome speech on race. He took a potentially very difficult situation with comments made by his pastor, and turned it all around into another amazing opportunity for him to shine, which makes me think he is a Jedi.

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I think too much is being made about Barack Obama’s pastor, Rev. Wright’s controversial comments. Firstly, they were made by Rev. Wright, not Obama, and they are not all that inflammatory, as far as I can tell. When you have religious leaders regularly spreading hatred against homosexuals by falsely representing the Gospel, why then is someone demanding that America answer to its racist policies considered a big deal? I prefer Rev. Wright’s angry words to the homophobia I regularly witness on Sunday morning television. Also, Obama said that he was not aware of all the statements made by Rev. Wright, which I believe. I mean, who really listens in church? I don’t! It’s boring! That is why I don’t go!

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What’s the big deal about turbans? Supposedly the Clinton camp sent a picture of Barack Obama wearing a turban out to conservative websites to re-emphasize the false rumors that he is a Muslim, which is pretty low of them, mostly because of some Americans’ misunderstanding and prejudice against the Islamic faith. People just assume all Muslims are terrorists, which is absolutely untrue and completely dumb. Besides, Obama is not even Muslim, he is Christian, and he has spent a lot of his campaign talking about just that. Why should it even matter if he were a Muslim? Our country demonizes Muslims out of pure ignorance and racism, totally ignoring the fact that Christianity and Islam are, in truth, not all that different. God is God. God goes by many names. God, Jehovah, Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Spirit, the Universe, the Goddess, Shiva, Kuan Yin, Kali, Oprah – they are all the same.

And religious garments do not somehow make the wearer suddenly a devotee. I wear yoga pants like almost every day and do you think I ever go to class? All this, and that picture was totally taken out of context because it was during a special visit to that country! Like you’ve never gotten drunk in Mexico and donned a sombrero and sat on a donkey! Do you pick coffee beans? I didn’t think so! I like how people act all high and mighty when they have all done the same thing. Plus this clearly wasn’t even a drunken activity, much like the sombrero/donkey situation that many have found themselves in AFTER the fact, after the incriminating false Juan Valdez coffee picking photos were taken and posted as their myspace default picture. The turban worn in the Obama picture was perfectly appropriate for the situation at hand. And wearing a traditional garment when visiting the country of its origin should be seen as a respectful gesture, one that I wish more world leaders would be gracious enough to adopt. It shows a deep reverence for the culture, a willingness to roll with it. When in Somalia, do as the Somalis do….or more like - what happens in Somalia stays in Somalia. Perhaps the rest of the world wouldn’t resent us so much if we gave them some props every now and again!

Besides, turbans can look cute! I have one, but I don’t wear it, because I already have a giant head and the problem with turbans is they can make your head look much bigger than it is. Then also, remembering that the camera adds ten pounds, I would completely exceed the size of anybody’s screen and would only able to be in IMAX movies – and as much as I love Everest, I don’t want to have to limit myself. But for the lucky and small headed, turbans can be smart and glamorous, very Lana Turner – perfect with a ruched pearl white 50s two piece and pearls. Or even a little kooky and crazy like Joanne Worley, matched to your psychedelic caftan on your way to a key party.

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It is revolting that the gay marriages are being annulled in San Francisco. I don’t understand why these bigoted, arrogant, nosy, busybody ‘conservatives’ have to trample all over civil rights in order to make everyone understand that they think that homosexuality is wrong.

You know what? I think that intolerance is wrong. I think that having no compassion is wrong. I think that meddling in people’s lives whom you don’t even know personally is wrong.

I think that these people who claim to do God’s work are actually working for the Other Guy. Satan likes it when people are motivated by their own prejudice. The Horned One gets all happy when someone is being oppressed or unduly punished. The Dark Lord loves injustice. These so called family advocates and Christian groups are really doing the Devil’s Work. I hope they enjoy being pawns for Lucifer.

The true face of evil is the need to control the actions of others. It doesn’t matter that you think it might be for their own good or salvation. We will see who goes to hell.

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The Scott Peterson trial began last week. With the murder of Laci Peterson being absolutely one of the most unavoidable crimes in recent memory, it is hardly certain whether or not he will receive fair treatment in the courtroom. As highly publicized as it is, I know very little about the crime itself, just that Scott’s physical appearance seems to have changed drastically in the past year, and he seems to have modeled himself after Ben Affleck. Who knew you could get self tanner in jail?

The official decision by investigators that this was actually not a ritual killing by a Satanic cult made Peterson the chief suspect. I wonder if the public still has not really gotten over the Manson Family. I don’t understand why people still think that Satanic cults exist anywhere other than in the imagination of law enforcement officials, Christian extremists and mothers who hate heavy metal.

Growing up through the 80s and 90s, when backwards masking on records was considered a real danger, even then, I never bought it. Judas Priest having to actually go to court to defend their own lyrics was ludicrous and insulting not only to lovers of hard rock, but to all artists. Imagery like pentacles, a hand with raised index and pinky fingers, blood sacrifice, cannibalism, cauldrons, swastikas, occult text, dark gatherings in the middle of the night in the forest and the numbers 666 do not necessarily add up to any historically accurate context. It is a hodgepodge of symbols of perceived evil. If there’s smoke, there’s hellfire. The idea of ritual and crimes possibly committed during them lives in the vibrant fevered dreams of a stifled, ignorant culture. Not to deny the presence of cults, I am sure there are some out there, but I tend to think that they are a dinosaur of the 70s, when parents were worried sick about their teenage daughters and there were actually jobs for deprogrammers.

The phenomenon of the religious cult to me seems to be outdated, as their discoveries are few and far between, and almost always end in their own self-immolation, like the Branch Davidians or the Heaven’s Gate people. The Jonestown massacre was the prominent cult mass suicide/homicide of my early years, and Jim Jones remains an odd anecdotal figure in my life.

My grandparents held their 50th wedding anniversary party at the recently vacated People’s Temple, not long after the tragedy in Guyana had occurred. The venue was quite affordable, and my family was not particularly squeamish. They don’t stand on ceremony. Leave it to my family to party at a crime scene, dancing and destroying evidence. Still, I thought the empty rooms held a ghostly allure, morbidly emptied out of all its secrets by police. Nobody had said a word about it at the time, and this reflected my familial religious beliefs, which was a fairly hard scrabble Christianity with an austere flavor of Zen Buddhism. Lots of rules, no sentimentality. Satan didn’t exist, not in the way that was warned about in the hour long news shows. Bad people were real, as were bad belief systems that were destructive, that were willfully ignorant or intolerant. But the devil with the horns was looked upon as a kind of fool’s gold, taught to dummies too stupid to grasp the honest ideology of actual wrongdoing. If I did get any values from my family of origin, then that is the only one I hold dear. The claim of something or someone as “Satanic” always helps me find the idiot within.

There is an actual Church of Satan, which was founded by Anton LaVey in the 60s. He, as legend has it, was the advisor on the set of “Rosemary’s Baby,” a scary movie to be sure, and a nightmare premonition for director Roman Polanski. The supposedly extensive kingdom of the Church of Satan is rather minor, compared to most religions. It is a rash reactionary afterthought to Christianity, and therefore could be considered an offshoot, its own peculiar denomination. Lots like Lucifer himself, merely a fallen angel, a disgruntled employee, setting up his own shop and trying to compete across the street from the big guy.

All religions have elements of sacrifice, which is essential in the Catholic tradition of communion, the bread and wine standing in for the body and blood of Christ. Or the idea of being repentant for sin in Protestant faiths because of the acts of He that ’so loved the world.’ That one must give something or receive something for God to continue to give life is the very nature of religion itself. Humanity assumes that you never get something for nothing. Ass, gas or grass, no one rides for free.

There are dark mentors, methods of worship that are self serving rather than compassionate, people that just do shitty things, but “Hail Satan” is an empty phrase to me. You may not be able to sell your soul to the devil, but you could sell your soul to anything, which might be equally as bad, making the world an awful lot more treacherous than we had previously thought. All is not lost. Black Sabbath are reuniting for Ozzfest, which is proof that there is a God.

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Semante Santa is Holy Week in Mexico. That was where I was attempting to spend my vacation. I have a hard time relaxing. It was nice to escape to a completely different world, not so far in miles, but impossibly distant in the way we live.

For the important days, my husband and I rattled an ancient rental car up the mountainside to Taxco, a small village famous for its silver and its remarkable rituals sandwiched between Good Friday and Easter. The altitude is high in the Taxco Sierra, and the air is thin, as it always seems to be in the rooftops of the world like Lhasa - the capital of Tibet, where my dear friends live, two men, one white, one not, celebrate their eighteenth year of love this week and the mouth of the Ganges, the places where worship is the way of life, as if proximity to God were directly related to actual closeness to Him.

Taxco is one of these heavenly locations. It’s an evening affair, beginning Maundy Thursday, with penitents walking in the streets, in pointed black hoods with slits for eyes, horsehair belts and chains around their ankles, dragging bare feet for miles on cobblestone. Old women walk cautiously in front of them, picking up pieces of debris so as to not cut their feet. It is tetanus waiting to happen, and I get lockjaw just thinking about it. Little girls in white lace wave frankincense burners in the air, and teams of young, strong men carry icons of Jesus in all the stations of the cross heavily on their backs.

They are such cute boys, about 17 to 24, my demographic, apparently in this part of the country. There aren’t many Asian women. Actually, I am the only one. Their faces are bright and proud, brown eyes huge and luminous, and they are trying to be all sly, but they steal glances at me and say “China” to themselves, then move on, but not before registering my dirty mid-thirties womanly reaction. I kind of wish I’d come alone, but then I remember this is a religious affair, and I have no intention of making anyone lose theirs. Besides, my darling husband is taking photographs with the mad joy of Jimmy Olsen. We share stale pastries and mangoes, and realize this is our honeymoon, and nothing could be more romantic. Candles light the night, the Virgin floats above, the choking smoking air tastes of blood. The Passion Play carries on.

Looking up the steep stone causeways, I see a procession of possibly a hundred Jesii or even more. Some are most elaborate, tricked out with rims, electric lights and mahogany altars and are proudly flanked by countless penitents, flogging themselves with small ropes with nails embedded into the ends. Others are lackluster, with cardboard crucifixes and blood that is too-orange tempura paint, and attract fewer repentant souls.

I am alarmed at the size of the crowd and their silence. It is apparent revelry, the time of night and the kind of audience that should by all rights be unruly and drunk, but that is not the case here. It is quiet and oddly ominous, for the Christ is to be crucified all over again, and the tension is thick as the crush of bodies. It is hard to breathe, and everyone feels it. There are few lookie-loo types in the crowd, people come here to worship, not to gawk, and that quiet dignity keeps me from being traumatized by the blood I see coming off the backs of the hooded men. Thorny rolls of wooden sticks are hewn together and supported by the necks of the penitents.

I wonder what it takes to get that job. If it is a scary Shirley Jackson “The Lottery” type selection process, or if the positions are hotly contested, as to who gets to wear the itchiest horsehair belt, the heaviest load of prickly logs, who is the holiest of all, kind of like Catholic Latin American Idol.

All I know, is that this messiah stuff is really not for me. I am no James Cavaziel. It looks like it really hurts, and I love God and everything, but there is a point where I must absolutely use a safeword, even with the Lord Himself.

At times I welcome pain, and can enjoy many varieties, but I said “Yellow!” and He just has to honor that. I am a big bottom and everything, but there are limits. I am just kidding. Simply put, I am awestruck by the display of devotion to the Christ, and therein lies a bloody salvation that is absolute and sincere, and I have no business at all, a foreign presence, not unwelcome, yet not asked in any way to participate, making light of their faith, nor do I desire to minimize what it means to the legions of blessed participants.

But Good Friday is worse. There is an endless parade of black hooded men, wearing the hundred pound load of thorns on their bare backs. They march through the town, and there is no end to them. They are tireless and many. My empathy is taking over. My heart and my feet hurt. I cannot take it anymore, but it has become inescapable. Even from the expensively converted mission we have rented at the top of the village, we are forced to look down to see them from the balcony because sometimes, even when you want to, you can’t stop looking, for we can still hear the clatter of the chains on their ankles, and they make a procession that seems to go on for miles and miles.

I want to wash their feet with my hair, ease the bloody sores away with Bactine, put them all to bed with expensive ointment and clean gauze on their wounds. They bring out the Mary in me. I love them, I love them all. I adore, admire and revere their faith, their endurance, their agonizing love for God. I respect the ritual, the silence, the ancient stoicism that owes much to the native Indian Gods who once ruled these mountains, and the people who worshipped them, the mighty Mayans and Aztecs, possibly more than the conquistadors who brought this Version 5.0 of God to the Americas.

Ava says that the Passion Play is much more intense in Spain, and bloodier still in the Phillipines. It isn’t a contest. The point is people love the God they love and they are going to love Him the way they will. The spectacle of it is tremendous, overwhelming, tragic, beautiful, poetic, happy and sad, and it shows me, even though I think the Lord is truly phat and all that, I don’t do much for Him. Fuck the Easter Bunny. This is the shit.

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I just saw “The Passion of the Christ,” and it was a lovely film. I know how it ends, so it wasn’t really suspenseful, but the way that it completely bowls you over is pretty scary. Being raised as a born again Christian and Buddhist, the story of the crucifixion was always somewhat glossed over. We knew all the details, but Mel Gibson’s film brings the whole Jesus experience to new heights. I think that by far this is the most gory cinematic representation of death to date, and I have spent most of my life trying to shut my eyes through horror films.

I like scary movies, but I don’t like to watch them. Does that make sense? The ugliness of the violence is that it is inescapable. The sound comes flooding into the senses, so if you cannot see it, you are still seeing it with your ears. The cast was remarkable, the costuming lavish and brilliant, the scenery super dusty, the script entirely in Aramaic and Latin adding a totally different feel than your usual Easter Passion Play, or old favorites like “Jesus Christ Superstar” and “Godspell.” An unflinchingly steady camera - where the thriller element of turning a shot around just before the moment of impact is turned on its head, and you get the whole of it - complete and bloody.

After having witnessed the full Catholicism of Gibson’s retelling, I never want to see it again. This is one DVD that I will not be purchasing, for I do not wish to see the director’s cut, nor omitted scenes, nor any extras. I especially do not wish to see any off-screen antics and bloopers. You know that would just fuck it up.

Catholics are mysterious and exotic to me, never having been to Mass, nor knowing much about it except what I gleaned from Madonna videos. They seem to like to dwell on the suffering, and what Jesus endured physically, which is so unlike what I always was fed from my Sunday school teachers. My education was filled with acoustic guitar toting priests with short sleeved shirts who went on and on about how He loved the little children. In the Good News Protestant 70s, we got the sing-song fables from the Bible, not the bone-crushing, thorny, nails in the hands and feet, splintered wood aspect of the Son of God.

The film includes all the stations of the cross, which are blown up in flashback sequences to the younger, pre-persecution days, where Jesus gives all His advice and tells stories. It is interesting to learn about what different ways God is worshipped, and how even within Christianity, there are many interpretations of what actually happened, and those stories change in detail even within the books of the Bible, depending on who is telling them.

What I really found compelling in the film is that women are depicted as being closer to God, in very good and gentle relationship with Jesus. He is kind of like a rock star, because he has a hot girlfriend, my very favorite Bible character, Mary Magdelene, and lots of groupies wearing black. He is also a mama’s boy. The kind of sweetness that women rarely get treated with in your average Hollywood film is nice to see, even when it is as graphic and tortured as this, with the poor guy always falling down right on the crown of thorns on his head. What is really great is that Jesus doesn’t ever say that anything is wrong, and he is forever forgiving everyone for everything.

After having been in the midst of all this fighting about how same-sex marriage defies the teachings of the Bible, not once did I think that Jesus was being judgmental. Jesus is really all about how we need to love each other, and He says it a bunch of times, not only when He’s doing the sermon on the mount, but just in general. He does get mad at the weird Satan character, who is very beautiful but hairless, a sexy but sexless creature, but only one time, and that is in the very beginning.

I love it when Jesus gets mad in the Bible, when He is all hollering at people to get out of His father’s house, and then when that fruit tree won’t bear fruit. Also there is that time when He yells at the disciples for getting all up in Mary’s business when she is trying to put that ointment on His feet. He likes a pedicure, our Lord. So the message of the Messiah, of God, and of this film..love everyone, forgive everyone because they don’t know what they are doing and keep your feet soft.

I bet that He is ecstatic about Rosie O’Donnell getting married, because He likes her comedy and admires her parenting skills, but mostly because He loves it when we are loving and happy. To think, He went through all that trouble, just so that we could love each other. This is why I am a Christian, and a devout one. God and love cannot be separated, because they are one and the same. The love between my husband and I is what I see as a shining aspect of God, just as the love between the gays and lesbians getting married in San Francisco is God as well. I was stopped at a rally by a man who had been married only two days to his longtime partner. He said, “There really is something about wedded bliss.” He didn’t finish his sentence, and tears came to his eyes, and then to mine, because his message was very clear. They only had glimpsed the very beginnings of married life, and the taste of it was so deliciously sweet, and there can be no wrong here, the way we love can no longer be considered perverse.

Hatred is perverse. Bigotry is perverse. Prejudice is perverse. Those abominations will not be tolerated. Love wins all wars, love is all the ammunition you need to fight your holy war. Learning to love my enemies, which are many, is easy when I realize that when I love them, the war is won.

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Note: The author of Letter #1 in the entry from 11/20/2003 responded and the discussion continues.

> Margaret, (Got it right this time)

Thank you. I was just pulling your leg!

> I’m glad to see we have some common
> ground in all this. You asked why, if
> Biblical mandates are so important,
> people don’t follow them. That’s a
> loaded question!

I know. It makes me want to load a gun sometimes!

> I think many so called Christians
> should ask themselves that question.
> (Yes I have asked myself. If you want
> to know my answer, let me know and
> I’ll tell you about it.)

You go girl!

> First of all, God is the one who created
> us and knows what is best for us. I think
> you would agree to this at least in part
> since you indicated you have a belief in God.

Yes, and we are His children. I was raised in the church, but I also have spent time in the ghetto, and then was adopted by a wonderful frolicking group of gay men, so being poor had its advantages, as we relied on God a lot, and we relied on each other maybe more, and we all acknowledged ourselves as part of God’s family. I even learned all the words to “We are family” by Sister Sledge!

> Secondly, if God knows what is best for us,
> He would somehow let us know what that is.
> I believe that “somehow” is the Bible.

That is great. Many use the Bible as their guide to living. I don’t find anything wrong with that. But being a ‘fisher of men’ does not include creating laws that would ban others from loving each other. Some people just fish for men in a different way.

> You said you define what is sacred from
> the truth. Where do you find your truth?

From my love of God, from the radio, from books, from people like you, from the lessons found in every rock and tree on earth.

> In mankind who has proven himself through
> many centuries/millenniums to be extremely
> unreliable?

You are so right about that. Guys can be really like so unreliable.

> I would rather find truth in a more
> reliable source.

My sources are pretty good, as I have a satellite dish, which they didn’t have in Babylon, or Sodom and Gomorrah - actually, Sodom, I heard, had basic cable, but that was it.

> Now, why don’t people follow the manual
> for living God gave us? One simple reason,
> they choose to do what they want to do
> and disregard the rest. The first sin recorded
> is one of selfishness.

I don’t know why they don’t follow God’s manual for living, but there are lots and lots of manuals to help us along. I don’t judge those who might use the manual that came with the Saturn they just purchased, or the manual that shows us how to program the VCR. Haven’t they heard of Tivo? The ignorance is staggering. It breaks my heart that some are deprived of Tivo. I pray for them.

Selfishness can also be manifesting itself in getting up in other people’s business.

Live and let live. If you start to try to control others in how they live, because you want them to live a certain way, then that is selfish. I am selfish in that I would like all people to understand that Tivo is sacred, but I will not judge them if they do not want it. Tivo is a choice.

> I found other common ground in your reply.
> You said that, “gays and lesbians [are] treated
> as second class citizens . . .” I believe that
> more often than not you are correct.

That is very kind of you.

> I do not look down on the person who is gay
> or lesbian. They were created by God as I
> was.

You are a true believer, and you are loving your neighbor, even if he might be gay, and perhaps you covet his landscaping, but you love him all the same. How can we finally get along if we just all saw as you and I do, that we are all created by God? Thanks a bunch for not looking down on us!

> I merely feel that their behavior is not
> in harmony with God’s manual for life, the
> Bible. They still deserve all the love and
> human compassion due any other person.

I also feel that the manuals can sometimes misguide us. The manual to my car suggests that I get my oil changed every 3,000 miles, which I feel is not in harmony with my lifestyle, but I understand that the manual is correct, and my choice not to accept that oil change, or to change all the fluids in my car, is selfish.

That is beautiful that you think we all deserve love and human compassion. Here is our common ground.

> I have a question however about the rest of the
> quotation in the previous paragraph. The
> remainder of the statement refers to this nation
> being built on religious freedom.

Yes. The Pilgrims came because they were persecuted
for worshipping God. They searched for a land that would give them the freedom to do so, and they found it. Then they gave the people here smallpox blankets, scalped them, killed them by the millions, were compensated by the government if they brought body parts in as proof. The government would pay fifty cents for a native American scalp and five dollars for a whole head! However, they did initially come here to create a nation that would have freedom of religion.

> Are you saying that homosexuality is
> a religion and that its followers should
> be allowed to practice it? (I’ll be waiting
> for your reply.)

Some people worship cock. I am guilty of that. But cock is really Godlike, as is the vagina, depending on my mood. I am bi-spiritual.

Yes, it is a religion for some. For others, it is a way of loving, a way to make a family, a way to live in a world that is so lonely we cannot bear to face it alone. That some bigots/Pharisees/homophobes cast them out of the temple, claim that they are not worthy of the right to live as they do, love as they do, to me goes against the word of the Lord, far more than homosexuality. Hatred is a great sin. Love is not a sin at all. Love conquers hate in all battles. Love is stronger. Love is mighty. Love is God. And we have God on our side.

> If you will read some of the writings
> of the founding fathers of our nation,
> you will see that they came to this land
> so they could be free to worship “God”,
> not “Gods”, as they felt convicted in
> their hearts. Is homosexuality worship
> of God?

They also all kept slaves.

But also, God has many names, and He is worshipped in many ways. Homosexuality is worship of God, because it is the acknowledgement of love. God is love, homosexuality is love, and so then by proxy, God is gay.

> I don’t think that homosexuality is either
> worship or religion.

Oh sir, then you are really missing out!

> I sincerly hope, however, that the
> people of those religions will accept
> homosexuals into their churches.

I do too. More common ground.

> The sin of homosexuality is no
> worse than say, the sin of adultery,
> or any other sin for that matter.

But homosexuality is not a sin. It isn’t one of the Ten Commandments. There is not “Thou shalt not be a fag.” It isn’t one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Homosexuality is love. God is love. God made homosexuality so that we would have variety in our lovely world, where we all love each other, or at least are meant to.

> By the way, I didn’t think it would
> be challenging for you to read. But
> I was glad to see you read
> part of Genesis.

It is really kind of boring, but I was just kidding. I know you know that I know how to read!

> As for the pie, we have been eating,
> gorging on, apple pie (figuratively)
> for too long. And yes I’ve had my slices.

I see that you are a thoughtful Christian, and you believe that certain things are meant to be according to the Bible. You and I only differ in that you would wish to control how other people live and love. I do not wish to control. I do not wish to rule the realm of love. That is God’s job. You believe that you must work to establish that homosexuality is against God. I believe that God accepts and loves homosexuality. We are really very similar, just coming from a different angle.

> I was glad to see that you put much
> thought into what you say. That speaks
> well of you.

Thinking is FUN! Yayy. Thought! Let’s hear it for brains!!!

> I was most encouraged to hear you
> say we should love each other. You
> are correct also that everyone is
> welcome in the true house of God.

I am glad for that, and you and I are going to kick back in God’s crib one day.

> If you are ever in Mobile, Alabama
> I would love to have you visit my
> church. I do think that God asks more
> of us than just to love Him. He said
> that if we love him we will do as he
> has instructed us.

I will - and thank you for this invitation. We can resume this friendly discussion over donuts. I love French crullers. What is your favorite donut?

> In summary, I was glad to see that
> we have more in common than I
> originally thought. Hope I didn’t wear
> you out with all this reading! (Just joking!)
> God Bless.
> VV
> Mobile, Alabama

Best,
Margaret Cho

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That is just so fucking typical. Reverend Stephen White, infamous for preaching against homosexuality and sexual promiscuity at Yale and other universities is facing charges of attempting to solicit sex from a teenage boy. White had been well known for his impromptu speeches denouncing minorities, gays, other religious groups that didn’t follow his particular brand of Christianity - and pretty much despised by the liberal communities of every school he visited on his reign of error.

Now, White is being investigated for allegedly giving $20 to a 14-year old boy in Pennsylvania in exchange for oral sex in his van. Reactions from Yale students range from indifference to unrestrained joyful celebration. In a way, it is much better than winning the World Series or any other important sporting event. It is proof once again, that if you give them enough rope, they will hang themselves. Why is it always the ones who protest too much, who project the sanctity of themselves onto those who don’t want to hear it, the people who really need to control the populace, that need to condemn the things they see around them and point fingers, wind up being the worse perps? What is that stupid saying? When you are pointing one finger at someone, there are four pointing right back at you. Judge not, lest ye be judged. Ha ha. Fuck you Stephen White! Child molesters are the worst too. They get killed in jail, they have to register with the communities that they move into - if they survive, they can’t give out candy at Halloween, at least in New York.

This is some Old Testament kind of judgment coming down on people, as in the case of Rush Limbaugh. I keep wondering if Rush is having some type of awakening in rehab, as he probably has at least a week clean now. What if he becomes a total liberal huggy bear, invests a large sum of his earnings as a conservative icon in Ben and Jerry’s, so much they name a flavor after him “Recalcitrant Rush” - Vanilla with hydrocondone chips and an oxycontin swirl running through and through. Then Rush will slip into Greenpeace and become the patron saint of saved water mammals in a XXL tie-dye shirt and a little, tiny, itty, bitty ponytail.

I am trying to contain my own joy at the revelation that White is now forced to face the music, and sing in Sing Sing, but then I wonder what am I all superior about? Biblical lessons abound. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Okay. I am winding up, about to pitch. then I am stopped in my tracks. When does my number come up? Who is going to find out the truth about me? Where is the scandal? I am just kind of jealous that I have no big thing to hide, because that does give a person some depth of character. It makes up for the relative tedium of the minutes that go by, measuring the breaths between birth and death. Not that I am going to solicit sex from children or take gargantuan doses of drugs, but there has to be something. I find children incredibly unsexy, having always preferred the company of those much older than myself. I would much rather play the child. I love drugs, but I hate hangovers, and the hatred of the hangover wins by a landslide every time. Plus, I don’t even know what the new drugs are these days, and I don’t want to appear like I am doing anything for the first time.

I suppose it is that revelation that I am kind of boring that is the greatest secret of my life. I leave social functions early, always, intimating that I am going somewhere better, where there are multiple sexual opportunities as well as other sublime debauchery like hot canapés and soft, flattering light, sleepy eyed and sated, decadently low to the ground sprawled out on Morrocan furniture draped in rich velvets and overly pillowed. A faraway opium den populated by rock stars and the nameless beautiful that surround rock’s elite await me, so I must leave your boring dinner party after the main course is served, no offense - I am just too fabulous for your world. The truth of the matter is that I am going home, to walk my dogs, who whine and glower at me for daring to go out in the first place. I slump down in my uncomfortable, smelly couch, pillowless and covered in inch long blond dog hairs and use a Backnobber on the point where my shoulder blade meets the anterior latissimus dorsi on the right side of my body. Then I will take off my expensive dress and ball it up on the floor where the dogs will poke at it with their wet noses, wash my face, letting my water-resistant mascara make big gray splotches underneath my eyes, then I slather my beautifully tended feet with an AHA cream and go to bed without letting my slippery toes touch the floor, allowing my big dog, Ralph, to lick the moisturizer off my face as I fall asleep. People drain me, even the closest of friends, and I find loneliness to be the best state in the union to live in, and yet to remind myself that I am alive, I like to make an appearance, a grandiose one, then leave them wanting - or at least I hope - more. So there you go. I don’t think that I could go to jail or rehab for that, but there is always the possibility.

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The Roman Catholic Church is talking about how condoms don’t block AIDS. I don’t know what to say about that. And taking the vow of celibacy doesn’t prevent pedophilia. What is wrong with them? If they oppose all forms of birth control, then when do we get to actually fuck? Or how do we get to fuck? Do they promote pulling out? Douching with a Coke right after? Only taking it up the ass? So now since the Vatican has issued the health warning about condoms, which they justify is just the same as they have about the hazards of smoking, there has been a major spike in HIV infection, with more than 42 million wrestling with the virus. Okay, condoms are not 100% protection, but 90% is better than nothing, or ‘abstinence,’ which nobody practices, never did, never will.

The Pope is one press release away from selling indulgences to buy space in heaven, like in the days of Martin Luther - not the King, the father of Lutheranism, Catholicism Lite. I am so angry, I don’t want to just rip up a picture of the pope. I want to rip him a new asshole, wearing a condom, and I don’t even have a dick, but this is the one time I wish I did. Fuck you John Paul whatever the fuck your fucking name is you fucking gold vestment tall ass hat wearing shit head. Why don’t you just fucking die already? Doesn’t God need a personal assistant? Fuck Fuck Fuck you. No seriously. Fuck you. You are not God’s representative. God would not do that to people. God loves unconditionally. All are welcome in the true House of God. We need Angry Jesus to storm the Vatican right now, kicking out the money changers and the temple prostitutes and the child molesters. I love me some Angry Ass Jesus. Make your own loaves and fishes muthafucka! Get out of my Father’s house!!! I want Jesus to evict your ass, throw all the millions of dollars worth of sacred art and gold and relics and Liberace style robes bought with the blood of the countless believers who give you everything and more so that they will be saved, and you do nothing but let them die, condemn them, judge them, molest them, kill them. I want the Vatican front lawn littered with the garage sale of the Judas Iscariot of the world, which would amount to much more than thirty pieces of silver, and to give the money to the people who are dying of AIDS because of you, the children who have had their innocence stolen by you, the innumerable crimes you have committed against the people in the name of God. We are made in the image of God, we are fucking GOD!!!! You don’t know Him. You just front like you are God are down and shit, but you don’t have His pager number. You don’t two-way message Him. If you did, you would care about the people that believe in you, you would treat them like you worship them, because we are all GOD!!!!! GOD is nice. God wants you to wear condoms. God wants you to have fun. God loves everyone. He doesn’t care what you do. He is going to love you no matter what. God also has many names, like Buddha, Vishnu, Allah, Mohammed, Jehovah, Beyonce, you. Don’t listen to the Vatican. They don’t know shit and should just have a fucking bake sale and shut the fuck up.

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What if God was one of us?

What kind of God are you?

Dear God, I hope you get this letter. I hope things will get better around here. we don’t need a big reduction in the price of beer.

Please make the journey easier for people from Mexico to cross the border into Arizona, California, Texas - wherever they want to go, whenever they want to come. They get killed so fast and in horrible ways, because our government keeps trying to ’save’ them by making it tougher and tougher for them to cross. They get dehydrated, suffocated in overcrowded box cars, crash in cars trying to outrun the border patrol. Such bad ways and sad ways and they are only trying to live here, which is not half as good as they think it is going to be, but probably twice as better as it might be for them now. I see the saints at the botanicas, the ones they pay homage to in order to secure safe passage, little amulets and bags of herbs that will protect them from the harsh elements, the police, the cruelty of false guides who will take their money and dump them when they get to the point of no return. I hope that this magic works, and You let them use it, and maybe if so, You could count their spells as a big, collective wish and grant all of them that. I hope that the people that would have them arrested and sent back, the ones that believe that the migrants are responsible for the unemployment crisis, who are not looking at who they are, just folks wanting a better life, people, real live people, with mothers and fathers and grandparents and children, friends and family and even enemies and acquaintances and the weird relationships in between where you know someone’s face enough to say hi, but more often than not you just ignore them because you are not quite sure where you know them from and you probably should know their name or they might know yours and it will be a situation where introductions will be in order and you might find yourself in a pickle - because even the word ‘migrants’ sounds like a problem that needs the exterminator dude with the big hammer. The one that lives in Silverlake. Make the word ‘migrants’ sound like ‘me’, or someone’s daughter’s name, or the name of the one that got away that you should have married but didn’t. I know that You are not a showoff, but it would be great if You could make some water when they need it, some food when they are hungry, some wings when they have to fly for whatever, from whatever, a nice Coleman stove, s’mores - You have guided people through the desert before, and I am pretty sure You know how. Because now it is just so shitty, and it has been shitty for a while. I remember that one truck, with a bunch of people in the back, going fast as they could, to get to the other side, and the border patrol ran them off the road, and it was all on tape Lord so don’t act like You didn’t see it. They were beating the people with the nightsticks, a small lady all crumpled up on the floor of the truckbed trying to shield her body from the blows. And for what? Their safety? And what are we afraid they are going to come in and do? Compete with Harvard graduates for brutal, non-unionized farm labor? I know that You have a plan and shit, but would You then try to explain Your fucking plan to at least one person so that maybe we could have a way to understand You and avoid all the death and mayhem? Needless death and mayhem in the name of.? Immigration? Isn’t that what America was made for? Didn’t we steal the shit anyway? I don’t give a fuck who lives in my town. I don’t. And I think that there are a lot of people who agree. If the entire world wanted to stay at my house for a couple of months, just until they find a place, fucking bring it. I gots mad blankets God, and an air mattress and all kind of dope shit for the discriminating sleeper. I don’t mean to brag, but I have higher thread counts than body counts, and I am not opposed to sharing. I don’t mean to take Your name in vain, but You never said that You didn’t like it, and I have secret feelings that You think it is funny. Anyway God, I am grateful for all the shit You done for me, You been there God, You my playa, aiiight? You know we boys and shit. I know that You left that single set of footprints from carrying my ass all over the place. So thank You for letting me be myself again. But seriously though, let them come over.

Oh yeah, in Jesus name, Amen.

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The Bible just got a makeover! There is a new teen magazine called Revolve, which is actually the New Testament disguised as a girl’s fashion publication. So instead of JANE, it’s MARY. It’s not TEEN PEOPLE, it’s TEEN DISCIPLE. It’s choc-a-block full of sidebars of top ten tips like where to go on a date (Take cookies to an old folks home., Start a prayer group., Wash his feet with your hair!) to beauty tips (prayer, as inner beauty cannot compete with makeup or skincare). Then there are reminders of how to be a Revolve Girl - Don’t call guys, don’t kiss and tell, guys don’t like that you show too much skin when you dress so be aware! I guess inevitably there will be dreamy pictures of Jesus, John the Baptist, and that bad boy Judas Iscariot (I just can’t help it, he makes me feel dirty!).

The magazine encourages the Revolve readers to be nice to underclassmen and to honor their parents, unless their parents want them to smoke pot, which is not God’s will, so there is a little leeway in the Ten Commandments that anyone could twist and turn into their favor. I think this is the best thing to happen to the Lord since, well, since the reformation of the church, let by Martin Luther, not the King, the German dude. It’s about making God appealing for teenage girls, because Christian opinion must think that these girls are so stupid that they will believe anything printed on glossy paper. To their credit, it is true. We are duped by the hi-shine veneer of fashion magazines, girls and women alike. From Teen to Mirabella, we believe, maybe not in God and the Holy Spirit, but Clinique and Zac Posen. We are devoted, but not to a religion that is old or particularly dignified.

It really is a cult, whose main philosophy is that “If you adhere to our principles and commandments and buy what we tell you to, herein lies power.” It is the empty promise that if you emulate as closely as you can the images underneath the gloss of the pages, you will be superior to other women, and therefore more likely to catch the approval of men, and that is really what we all want - right? I actually believe Revolve is a positive thing, because it doesn’t pretend to be the way to our salvation as the other fashion rags do. It IS the ANSWER, in that it is the WORD, the SCRIPTURE, the MESSAGE - and whether you choose to believe or not - by the way - I tend to be on the ‘not’ side - they are honest in the fact that it is the fucking BIBLE. Not anything but the alleged word of God written by a bunch of hippies a long time ago when everyone wore sandals. Christianity is often villified by the left wing intelligencia, and for good reason. They are capable of the most idiotic behavior, but sometimes, the simple belief that we need to be kind to others and to ourselves is a nice one, and a bunch of Christians I know are like that. So I prefer some Gospel to some media propaganda that is telling me I have dark circles under my eyes which undermines my chance at happiness - therefore La Mer is the Golden Calf I must bow down to. Kinda want to get a subscription to Revolve. I wonder if they have a horoscope…

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