No Pride In Being Straight

Straight Ahead

I’m a cis-gendered, heterosexual, white male. I’m completely ok with all of these things, and I do not feel like any of them make me lesser or better than anyone else. They are just facts about me, no different than the fact that I have blue eyes and shave my head on a daily basis, and they are not things I am proud or ashamed of. They just are.

I’ve recently realized, however, that I have a major problem with being referred to as “straight.”

I grew up in the 80’s during the height of the HIV/AIDS crisis. When I was in my early teens I was very much impacted by the culture of fear that was aimed towards the LGBTQ+ community at that time. My peers and I called things that we did not like “gay.” If a male did something even remotely effeminate, they were ridiculed for being a “homo.” I could quickly elevate my voice to a “girlish” pitch, loosen my wrist, and evoke peals and peals of laughter from my companions by pretending to be a “fag.” Along with the laundry list of N-word jokes I knew, I had an equal number of “gay” jokes in my arsenal that I could whip out at a moments notice to any unwitting audience that was willing to listen.

I started to change in high school. I attribute most of that to the fact that I was in an arts magnet program and was actually exposed to, and became friends with, LGBTG+ people as a result. One of the most influential teachers I had at the time, Jay Marley, died after developing AIDS during my sophomore year in the program, and his loss absolutely devastated me. Like many people of my generation, I also attribute becoming part of the Rocky Horror Picture Show crowd to have opened my eyes in many ways about lifestyles and people that were different from those I had been exposed to growing up. My Mother also got a job in a restaurant that was owned, operated by, and largely catered to an LGBTQ+ crowd, so I had additional exposure as a result of that. As all of this was happening, I did a lot of self-evaluation and did not like what I saw so I attempted to do something about it. One of the things I had to work the hardest on was not referring to things that I disliked as “gay.”

At that time, where I grew up, “gay” was a slur. Something that was “gay” was never, ever, good. Moreover, any time the word “straight” was used it was generally in terms meant to express superiority over being “gay.” You never heard someone describe themselves as being “straight” unless it was to directly disabuse someone else of the notion that you were “gay.” Even the “straight edge” movement that went through the punk scene was flavored with homophobia, with the proponents typically being racists and homophobes on top of being against the use of drugs and alcohol (a trend that continues in groups like the Proud Boys today).

The more my social circle expanded, the more I came to realize that the term “straight” had been co-opted by people whom, as a general rule, were not the kind of people I wanted to associate with. So much so that even using the term to give directions became something I jokingly asked people to do (“We go forward in this car. Never go straight. It will kill you.”)

Obviously, times have changed. Being labeled as “straight” is, more often than not, seen as the “bad” thing these days. “Straight” has become synonymous with boring, inflexible, close-minded, uptight, and/or some other word that basically describes lame. Whenever someone in my social circles use the term now, it’s not because they are describing something they consider to be a positive trait of the individual in question. I cannot recall a single time in recent memory when I have heard someone describe another person as “straight” without it being done so in a manner that implies the person is “less than”. At it’s most charitable, it comes across as being almost pitying. Like the poor souls can’t help the way they are because they are just so “straight.”

The result of all this is that when the term is used to describe me, I bristle. In a way that even I find surprising. It’s a visceral reaction I physically feel, and it immediately puts me on the defensive. Even as I write this, I realize my reaction isn’t logical and this is one more thing I should add to the list of issues to talk about with my therapist, but for now it is what it is. Part of it is also because of the fact that while I’ve become very accepting of the fact that I am, in almost every way, utterly and completely average (and I’m happy with myself in that state), I still haven’t quite gotten over the hurdle of being OK with other people denigrating me personally for being so. I have found great comfort in the fact that many aspects of my life are routine, predictable, and unexciting. I’m not so good with people looking down on me as a result of it.

Before I wrap this up, I want to make something perfectly clear. I ascribe no ill intent to anyone who has ever referred to me as straight or to people who use that term to describe others or themselves. The whole reason I wrote this post is because I knew that my reaction to the term was not something that was necessarily rational, but one I needed to figure out for myself so that I could clearly express it. I’m also not going to hold it against anyone who designates me as straight in the future, whether they have read this post or not (although I will reserve the right to ask that they not if it happens). This is really just a data point I needed to sus out for myself and one I thought might be interesting to share.  

Media Bias

I get very annoyed when people blame the state of the world on The Media. Not because I think that The Media is some kind of infallible institution that is operating solely to make the world a better place. Far, far from it. I think The Media, on the whole, is driven exclusively by the desire to make money, with little to no regard for anything beyond doing so (including, unfortunately, actually reporting the truth).

And it’s not at all their fault.

It’s ours.

We get what we pay for, and we pay for sensationalism. We pay for sound bites. We pay for shoddy reporting that focuses on being first instead of being right. We pay for 24 hour news cycles that are filled with opinionated, blustering pundits. We pay for style over substance. We pay for a news cycle that looks more like The Real Housewives than Sixty Minutes.

We lap it up. Every. Single. Day.

So of course they give it to us. They have to if they want to survive. Look at the number of institutions who were once heralded as being stalwarts of integrity that are constantly diving deeper and deeper into the muck in an effort just to keep operating on a day-to-day basis. Why? Because we can’t be bothered to spend a little money to get the content that would have twenty years ago because we think that online should equate to “free.”

This, for the record, is also why we get the politicians we have. It’s not because of the media, and it’s not because of lobbyists, and it’s not because the Illuminati is pulling the puppet strings. It’s because we vote using the same criteria we use to choose what we consume for news and entertainment.

This is why manufacturing in the United States is a complete joke and why so much of our goods are produced in other countries. We want cheap TV’s, cheap phones, and cheap cars. We don’t care about the number of jobs that get lost or communities that are devastated because the companies in question cannot possibly produce the goods we want and the price we’re willing to pay. This is why we shop at Wal-Mart instead of the locally owned general store.

This is why so many restaurants struggle to provide quality food to their customers. We want a delicious, hand-made cheeseburger on a freshly baked bun with hand cut fries and a craft beer but we are only willing to pay $5 for it (oh, and let’s not forget how our gratuities decrease as the price of that burger goes up). This is why so many of the places we eat at that aren’t flat-out chain restaurants might as well be because their entire menu consists of food that can be purchased in bulk from Sysco.

It’s us. We have done this to ourselves. It’s our fault.

It is my fervent hope that we’ll come to our senses at some point and the market will respond accordingly, but as of right now all I can do is look around at the world and nod along with our old friend Pogo.

Image of the cartoon character Pogo, created and drawn by Walt Kelly.
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.” – Walt Kelly

What is your favorite quote and why?

I got an email a few days ago from the folks over at WordPress.com inviting me to take part in something they are calling “Bloganuary,” which is a daily writing prompt gimmick with a horrible name that they are currently using to promote the platform. My Mother and Uncle are just winding up a years’ worth of weekly story prompts that I purchased for them from Storyworth.com, though, and getting those little weekly emails with their stories was really enjoyable for me so I figured I’d go ahead and join the “challenge” to see what kind of prompts I would get (amusingly, the notice came about ¾ of the way through the month so I’ve missed most of the prompts at this point, but maybe they’ll keep them going).

I got my first prompt on Saturday. “What is your favorite quote and why?”

Considering the day we had on Saturday, it was a bit on the nose in terms or appropriateness, but I suppose the universe really wanted me to focus on a message. I honestly cannot say that this is my favorite quote, but on the day I got this prompt it was the only one I could think of.

You cannot have it all. You can only have a sliver of it all. So pick your sliver well, my friend. – Hugh McLeod, gapingvoid.com

My wife Lisa introduced me to this quote not too long after we started seeing each other back in 2012. At that time, I didn’t know how or why it was so important to her. I just thought it was a really neat inspirational post that I could relate to as well. I think I’ve only just fully realized why it resonated so strongly with her, and why that last line in particularly was so poignant that she had it inscribed on an iPad she purchased that year.

Pick your sliver well, my friend.

I’ve known for many, many years that you cannot have everything you wanted in life and that for the overwhelming majority of us a life “well lived” is one in which you realize that fact and focus your efforts accordingly. What is becoming more and more clear to me as I continue learning the lessons that life often feels the need to beat into my head is that this is not an invitation to throw all caution to the wind and seize the day to follow whatever whim is bound to make you happy in the moment.

Pick your sliver well, my friend.

Pick your sliver well.

The time we have on this planet is minimal. Infinitesimal in the grand scheme of the universe, especially if you’re like me and you do not hold the belief that you get some kind of “do over” if you muck it all up this time around. This is it. From the day you are born until the day you die, everything you do in between that time is all you get. When it’s over, it’s over.

And it could be over in the blink of an eye.

Pick your sliver well, but more importantly recognize that there are always trade offs when you do so. The choices you make today could cost you far more than they are worth in the long-term if you do not pick them wisely, especially if those choices harm those around you.

Pick. Your. Sliver. Well.

I recognize now, more than ever, that this part of the quote isn’t intended to be inspirational. It’s a warning.

Guns and the Constitution. Because of course.

I am not a Constitutional scholar. I am not a lawyer. I haven’t spent years of my life dedicated to the understanding of the ways our system of laws work. I’m just a guy who, in all honesty, had his interest in the Founding Fathers sparked because of Hamilton: An American MusicalOver the course of the last year I’ve read Ron Chernow’s books on Hamilton and Washington. I’ve read the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, and all the Amendments. I’ve read the Federalist papers.

At this moment, as we’re looking at another series of school shootings in our country, I’m particularly thinking about how everything I’ve read in the last year squares up with what our current situation is in this country.

Hamilton was opposed to a Bill of Rights for the Constitution, simply due to the fact that he was concerned it would set a precedent that would expand the powers of the Federal Government beyond what the Constitution intended. His reasoning was that, by declaring that the Government specifically could NOT pass legislation removing certain rights, the implication was that the Government HAD the power to pass laws not expressly forbidden by the amendments. The Government had, for example, no right to restrict the freedom of the press in the original document. It was, therefore, unnecessary for there to be an Amendment specifically stating that they could not do it. Fast Forward to now, and in order to prevent the Federal Government from passing a law restricting flag burning, for example, and you are forced to classify Flag Burning as “speech.”

Now take this data and turn it to guns. Here you have the opposite problem. Because the Bill of Rights specifically protects the right of the people to “keep and bear arms”, the Federal AND State Governments have found themselves in a situation where any attempt to pass reasonable gun legislation becomes a “Constitutional Crisis.” The truly amusing thing about all of this is that some people view the Second Amendment as proof the the Founders wanted everyone armed, when that is far from true. At the time the Constitution passed, all thirteen states had some sort of gun legislation in their Constitutions. Hamilton was terrified by the prospect of armed mobs. In many states, in order to own a gun you had to swear an oath of loyalty to the Confederacy.

And while I know this argument has been made, unsuccessfully, thousands of times…What the Founding Fathers viewed as “arms” back in the 1700’s and the weapons we have available to us today are so radically different as to be virtually unrecognizable in the same context. According to a completely random internet forum I just found using Google, a highly-skilled re-enactor can fire a flintlock rifle six times in one minute…while standing completely still…

Those are the “arms” the Second Amendment was written about.

Keep and bear those all you want, folks. That’s not at all what I’m worried about these days.

I don’t really have any sort of major point in writing this, or a solution, or…really anything. I’m numb, and I keep seeing people say that the solution is MORE guns and MORE metal detectors and MORE walls and fences and borders…and I just keep thinking…This is not the world we should want to live in. We shouldn’t need to be locked in amber to feel safe. I don’t want schools to be fortresses.

I want there to be less guns.

Much less.

Like…none.

But instead I’m thinking that I need to buy one.

So. There it is.

All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others.

QTQE_rrBe_g

It’s 6 AM on the day before Dragon Con here in Atlanta. I had a crappy night of sleep due to some poor dining choices I made yesterday, and I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee yet, so there’s a very real possibility that this post is going to get a little cranky.

But the subject makes me cranky, so it might have gone that way regardless.

After doing a major pruning of my friends list I started using Facebook again about a month ago. For the most part? It’s been a pretty pleasant experience. I no longer have to skim through pages of updates and posts that I really didn’t give a crap about to see updates from people who I actually want to stay connected to. That’s cool. Thing is, I still see some things that get my blood boiling. One of those things can be summed up in the use of the #AllLivesMatter hashtag (or the general attitude that is represented by that hashtag, even if it isn’t being used).

I want to say I get it, and that I understand the frustration, but I simply don’t. I can’t see how, with the massive amount of information we as a a people we have available to us in the information age, it’s not possible to see how there are major issues in our country regarding race that simply can’t be wiped away by insisting that people “stop playing the race card.”

What really bugs me about this is that more often than not this quiet racism is cloaked in comments about (primarily) African-American and Latino culture here in the country. “Those people” would do so much better in their lives if they would just “pull their pants up”, “learn how to speak properly”, and “stop acting like thugs.”

So, in other words, they should act more like a proper white person.

Ironically, these same people never seem to make those kind of comments about other whites unless said caucasian acts “ghetto”. I mean, while there are certainly exceptions to the rule you don’t often see your typical trailer park redneck contribute much to the betterment of society. See a picture of a white guy holding an assault rifle and standing in front of his pick up truck? Many likes! Yay, America! See a picture of a black guy holding the same rifle in front of his BMW? OMG THUGS!!

It’s gross.

I guess I’m speaking up about this now, and in a very public way, because I’ve had a bit of a personal epiphany. Not too long ago I had a relative refer to an African-American woman who was in an old velvet painting as a “jungle bunny.” He did this in my house, within earshot of children, and I said nothing. I’ve been disgusted with myself ever since. I’ve put up with this kind of thing from people I know for far too long, and I simply can’t ignore it any more. Which means I’m likely to continue having some very awkward conversations with people who I genuinely care for if I continue using Facebook.

Or I’m just going to unfriend them…or leave the service altogether.

I frankly don’t know.

What I do know is that I can no longer sit by while the pigs take over the farm.

It’s Not About Respect

I recently asked a male relative of mine if he would send his nephews to a rape defense class. This was part of a larger discussion on rape culture, misogyny, and the general state of affairs in our society that have been brought into sharp focus due to the recent events in California. My relative replied to my question by stating that he would hope his nephews “would respect women.”

Now ignoring the fact that he dodged my very direct question almost completely, what he said was still somewhat interesting to me. In the next few days,  I saw similar comments from other men I knew along the same lines. More often than not, I see them offered up as part of a thinly veiled “Not All Men” defense. “I was raised to respect women,” the argument goes, “so clearly I am not part of this ‘rape culture’ you speak of.”

This defense is not only irrelevant and distracting, it’s also inherently flawed…and it proves exactly what it is trying to deny.

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Revisionist History

Damn it, Bones, you’re a doctor. You know that pain and guilt can’t be taken away with a wave of a magic wand. They’re the things we carry with us, the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves. I don’t want my pain taken away! I need my pain!

– Captain James Tiberius Kirk

I’ve been documenting the mundane details of my life online for a quite a while now. I originally started a hand-coded blog on my personal web site back in May of 2000. A few years later I moved over to LiveJournal, and for a while there I blogged just about every damn day. Honestly, though? Most of those blog posts had little more content than a standard Twitter post these days. Which is why, when Twitter came out, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that I’d make the jump to that particular service. For a while there I had a service that aggregated my twitter posts over to my LiveJournal blog every day, but back then people were getting all bitchy about that so I turned that feature off. In time, I signed up for Facebook and Google Plus, and as things started to get weird in LiveJournal land I decided to move my blog to WordPress and transfer all of the content over.

In the midst of all of this I also did some blogging for ShrinkGeek and WowInsider. I’m sure there’s other places out there that I’ve added content to as well, but damned if I know what all of them are.

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Spending wisely

Image courtesy of Nina Matthews Photography via flickr

Time is money.

We’ve all heard that phrase before, but how many of us have really stopped to think about what it means. The common translation seems to be that if people are using your time they should be willing to pay you for it, and while that’s a fine stance to take I’m not quite sure it really it captures the true meaning of the saying.

Time is a resource, just like any other, and it it finite. There are things you can do to, possibly extend the amount of time you have on this planet, but you cannot ever get time back. Once you spend it, time can never be replenished. You get no dividends or interest on time. You can’t save it and let it grow. All you can do is watch your balance constantly diminish.

That concept is still a bit esoteric, though, so let’s break it down to something much more simple.

What if you could track the amount of time you had in life much like you could the amount of money you have in the bank. What if time had a dollar amount associated to it, and every second of your life that dollar amount shrank?

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I’m Tired (Or, Blog Post Necromancy)

Michael C. McGreevy pictured at the New World Brewery

Photo by David M. Jenkins

I decided to peruse through my Drafts folder this morning and I stumbled across a post I began writing over a year ago and never finished. I don’t know if I’d say it was my best work, but I don’t think it sucks so I’ve cleaned it up a bit, tacked on an ending, and am setting it free to roam the wild internets as an independent post free from the safe confines of the Draft folder. I hope you enjoy.

One of my Uncles sent me an email with a link to this article (note – I’ve updated the link to point to a blog post that has the full text of the article. The original piece, along with the blog associated with it, appears to have been pulled down by the owner) earlier today. It was written by a sixty-three year old retired Marine and former state senator from Massachusetts.

When I get these kind of things I tend to ignore them. I know I’m not going to convince the more Conservative members of my family to see my point of view, so I generally don’t even bother trying. That said, it’s hard for me not to read something like this and not have the desire to respond, so I figured the best place for me to do so was here.

With all of that out of the way, this is likely to be a rather political post. If you’re not in the mood to read that kind of thing I suggest you ignore the cut tag below.

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The Rainbow Hippie Argument

Love the trees!

Image courtesy of mendhak via flickr

Back in the Summer of 1992 I was working my one, and only, renaissance festival. What is amusing about this is that the show was not, in fact, the one I had grown up around. Despite being closely tied to the Bay Area Renaissance Festival for many years, the only gig I’ve ever actually been an official cast member at was Scarborough Faire in Waxahachie, Texas.

Like many folks who traveled and worked with the renaissance festival circuit, I set up a tent in the woods back behind the festival grounds to live in during the time I was employed at the show. The small section I “lived” in during that time was populated by myself, my friends Holly and Donnie, and a Rainbow Hippie.

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