I thinking it’s time to end this blog. For I saw last night that perhaps it was all pointless. The last straw as it were, but not the only one, by far. Ann Coulter and some Professor Lamont Hill, each speaking for the other side, were on Larry King last night. A show I only heard, like old time radio, since my old friend is hard of hearing, though he denies it, and plays the TV so loud I can hear it through the brick walls out into the garden even. The “conversation,” if I may be so bold to call it that, was supposedly about gay marriage, and DADT, and DOMA, and her appearance at Homocon, which was a conference of gay conservatives such as I. A guy who’s been arguing against the very existence of the IRS since I was old enough to have my money stripped away for purposes I do not agree with. And without the IRS we gay folks wouldn’t have to beg and plead for the privilege, or right, or penalty, or however you conceive it, of filing a joint tax return at all. And neither would you.
So Larry sat hunched over, as Lamont said that Republicans are against gay marriage, but did not point out that every senior and most minor Democrats in this nation are as against gay marriage, or gay anything, and certainly against a joint tax return, as much as every Republican against whom he tried to play the gay card. And Ann sat there, and did not think to point out the glaring hypocrisy of Lamont for not pointing out that on this issue Republicans and Democrats are in agreement, and can’t we all get back to talking about some real issues, like the impending destruction of the nation?
Yet, in riposte to Lamont’s card, Ann said something I marvel at. Absolutely marvel. She blamed gay people even just seeking marriage for the problem of unwed mothers in the black community. And she blamed gay people for the lack of marriage between blacks. And she blamed gay people, in seeking a joint tax return, for the teenage mothers. And for the abortion. And for everything really. For when Lamont made a flimsy attempt at saying “Ann, you’re against gay marriage,” without pointing out that he’s not for it either, obviously, or he would have made the case, Ann, shaking her head in wild eyed wonderment said, roughly “But we’re talking about civilization here.”
And Larry, the great inquisitor, said nothing, and let the two children squabble, perhaps ready to intercede only if fists were thrown.
So I went out, to the new gay bar here in town. A big place, a sports bar, rooting for all the local teams. With a proper front door, and a sign, and all the appurtenances of a solid business. And I watched the last quarter of Monday Night Football with Jason, the handsome 20-something bartender, and we had a gay old time. Then I went to the old gay bar, the one that’s been there for more than 30 years, with the door that used to be the backdoor, lest anyone would have been seen entering, but 15 years ago turned into a delightful front door under a porch. And I looked at all those mousy men there, and asked myself, “These are what the nation is afraid of? We are the cause of the black teenage pregnancy problem in America today? We are the cause of every problem facing the world, and we imperil the civilization?”
We’re the three-ounce mouse in the room and all the Elephants, Donkeys, Eagles, Grizzlies, and all the other animals which represent your political positions are sore afraid, and get up on your soap boxes, in great fear. What a strange lot you are, you “normal” and “moral” people.
And then I thought back to my moment in Clovis, New Mexico, a place some argue the earliest signs of civilization on these shores was found. I wound up sleeping over there, after too long a drive, and some car problems with my big old 1973 Lincoln, on my trip to Albuquerque to play piano, in the hotel built by those serial monogamists Conrad Hilton and Zsa Zsa Gabor, who each had one of their many weddings right there. Having naught to do, and despising TV, I went out to dinner and a walk, and stumbled upon a dance hall on the main street. A cold beer after a long drive was well deserved I thought. So I went in, and let my eyes adjust to the dim light. And there was a good sized crowd there, dancing to country music. I went to the bar, and something caught my eye. A handful of gentlemen, sitting by themselves, but closer to each other than other gentlemen would be comfortable sitting. And on the bar I saw a small Rainbow flag, that international banner of gay people saying “Don’t Tread On Us.” So I went over, and got my beer, and wondered what this was all about.
“This is the gay bar, such as it is, here in Clovis,” I was told. And I was amazed. And we all talked about the conditions, the predicament of gay folks there in the cradle of mankind in North America, if the archeologists are right. “It’s just fine.” And then two of those gentlemen got up and took a turn on the dance floor, in a sea of swirling couples, one out of 20 perhaps, and no one looked askance. And I was flabbergasted. And filled with inordinate, even serene, happiness. Gay in every sense of the word, indeed.
So when I put the two together in my mind, on my way home from destroying civilization or something, that is — the abject arrant nonsense of Larry, Ann & Lamont, the three stooges, representing the big herd of animals trying to run our nation, and the endearing acceptance by a crowd of real Americans of the two men dancing in romantic bliss, I realized that perhaps, as I said, it’s time to stop the blog. For my time would be better spent in going to real people and convincing them of rational acceptance of reality than trying to talk to anyone in the public sphere, poseurs all, wanting to be the next set of elites, through mere words on a computer screen.
And then, while I wrote this up, it also occurred to me, that the next president, whomever he or she will be, will inherit quite a mess – the hundreds of lawsuits, and more to come, relating to gay folks in this nation. They will percolate up through the cracks of the court system. They’ll be brought about by every new legal proposal. They’ll come from every singular attempt to enforce bizarre and outmoded laws. And they’ll be dumped into the laps of the Supreme Court and Congress and the Oval Office itself. Laws like the 100% unenforced for 25 years “sodomy” statute of Texas, which led to Lawrence v. Texas overturning those laws nationwide only in 2003.
And I think back to Justice Antonin Scalia begging and pleading with the Houston district attorney who argued for keeping the law to come up with one compelling state reason to keep it on the books. He could offer none, really, for there were none. When Scalia asked how often the statute was enforced, the district attorney had to say “never.” And Scalia asked if that was because no gay folks could be found to arrest. And the DA said that was not the case. So Scalia pulled out a copy of This Week In Texas, the gay guide to the whole state, and said “you can’t find them?” And the DA was mute. Still, Scalia still hung on to old beliefs and voted to keep that unenforced and unenforceable statute. For the appearances perhaps.
And the men in Clovis danced the night away. And civilization survived enough for the three stooges, and the rest of the herd, to gather about the waterhole, and fret once again about the mice in their midst, the mice that roar, Don’t Tread On Us. But I don’t have to write about it every day. So I think I’ll just stop now.
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