Who Knew...

... Saudi Arabia is a gay paradise? Apparently the street harassment in Riyadh is off the hook, especially if you're a pretty little Filipino. (Party for the Rights)

... John Roberts is rumored to be gay? Repressing one's true self can have dire consequences indeed. (Underneath Their Robes; Forbes)

... 11 1/2 years in TV could have the same effect on your brain as a lobotomy? (Josh&Josh)

.... a white girl could do the soca wine and piss off all of Jamaica? (Jamaica Observer)

... there's a dance called the soca wine?

You've Been Warned

Don't let your brain go to mush just because it's the middle of summer. While you're slathering sunscreen in the Pines or the Hamptons, groups across the country are taking it upon themselves to right the "wrongs" of our country's current immigration system.

First it was the Minutemen, now it's the Patriots' Border Alliance aka thinly-veiled hate groups. I'd like to dismiss these blowhards and go about my day, but that's what the German public did back in the 30s and we know how that ended.

The "Patriots" are calling for anyone with an ax to grind against the world to take their frustration out on our nation's borders. Pissed off because your Ford plant closed or because you're too good to clean toilets at a K-Mart? Get your gun and hunt for "illegals" down at the "Arizona Border Muster," a two-day affair where you can man your own Minuteman post.

Creepy, fringe activity is one thing, but these folks don't want secure borders, they want power. White power. And guns ablazing their going to seize it. Mike Forest is the president of an Oregon-based "Patriot" group and he wants to run for senator in 2010, Presidential candidate Duncan Hunter is another immigration zealot -- behind the rallies, behind the calls for "justice" is a lynch mob mentality that is going to use government to turn violent and throw us into modern day Jim Crow leadership.

Don't say you weren't warned.

A Gay Is Born (Again)

I'm usually too hungry or too absorbed in my fabulous life to let very many things affect me. But tonight at 9:45 pm I was shaken to my core and I am still a weepy, shaky mess.

When Miss Patti Lupone mopped the floor and shook the rafters of the City Center with her rendition of Rose's Turn, the final number of Gypsy, all the anger, hope and sillyness that I keep bottled up inside just came pouring out. I think we're supposed to laugh with Mama Rose at this point in the story, but Miss Lupone's voice took me there. And I am strung out on her voice and her panting and her drag-me-off-the-stage-kicking-and-screaming pizzaz.

Because I'm not a theater queen. Because people singing and panting and screaming right in front of me makes me uncomfortable. Because I don't let myself go that way in public. Because this is the best show I've ever seen on the stage.

And eff what the New York Times had to say about the show. Their hateration is "unenthralling" though predictable.

If you're in town through the 29th treat yourself to history and buy tickets now.

China Should Not Be Making Airplanes

Following any catastrophe that claims human lives there are woulda-coulda-never-again discussions that, if we're lucky, effect immediate change. Here's hoping...

In the wake of the TAM airline disaster in Brazil today I thought to calm myself by looking up evidence that reminds me that, yes, one is safer in the air than in the ground.

A few Google searches later, though, I'm not so sure believe that anymore...especially because I just learned that Airbus and Boeing will be parceling a big chunk of their manufacturing to China.

China!

The same people who nearly wiped out our cat population a few months ago because they deal in bribery and shoddy craftsmanship are now putting together jumbo jets! No thank you.

On the flip side, what good is a well made plane if it doesn't have an equally good runway to land on or a sharp control tower to take instruction from? Here in the U.S. our airports are fraught with issues: antiquated runways and overworked control towers to name a few.

When it comes to air travel, both the private and public sector are blatantly thumbing their noses at the safety of passengers. Ladies and gentlemen you're all sitting ducks.

Now fasten your seatbelts.

Victims, Palestine: Show Me The Money

Sometimes it's good to throw money at problems. Like the Bush administration pledging support for Mahmoud Abbas' government in Palestine - the message is simple: stop engaging in terror, we'll feed your people. What's even better, we're not going at it alone this time either. Instead of plowing through the Middle East with a sense of entitlement, we're reaching out to other moderate nations in the region -- Jordan, Egypt -- and are inviting them to sit at the table to, for the one billionth time, discuss the mess that is the Israeli-Palestinian situation. And for the bargain price of $190 million, it's worth it to this tax payer just to stop hearing about another series of bombings on both sides of the Gaza strip. It's a commendable step in the right direction and I won't even grit my teeth while giving President Bush his due kudos.

There are times, however, when throwing money at a situation just makes matters worse. Case in point, the record $660 million settlement awarded to the plaintiffs in a case against the Archiodcese of Los Angeles for the alleged cover up of child molestation. Does anyone think this is the last we're going to hear of blood-thirsty pedophile priests? Psssh! As we've seen over the years, claiming molestation has become quite lucrative. Which begs the question, what's the cost of a child's innocence? I mean, that's really the issue here, that children were violated by authority figures they were taught to trust. Fine. These priests belong in jail and the families belong in therapy -- not at Club Med doing aquarobics and sipping Mai Tais.

I'm very put off the by money lust going on in these cases against the Church. I'm not a Catholic nor was I raised one, but as an impartial observer, it just looks like anybody can cry rape these days and collect a pay check. It's kind of hard to take pity on someone who can ascribe a dollar amount to their suffering.

The Beckham Test of Decency

The image on the left is just one of many scintillating photos of David Beckham that grace the August issue of W magazine. Oh, and his Asian-tranny-looking-wife Victoria is in the shots, too.

As you can see, David Beckham is perfection brought to life. The tatoos, the muscles, the so-straight-I-can-do-gay-porn look. Divine. And it get's better -- he's got a skill too. Seeing as America is clamping down on immigration, David and his wife either won some sort of visa lottery or they made an impassioned case to the US Embassy about how they'd boost our country's status in the world community by moving to Hollywood. Bex could go anywhere -- Dubai? -- but he chose our land to plant that Union Jack. Hallelujah.

This is all beside the point of this post, though. See, even in barely there white skivvies, David Beckham doesn't look louche, derranged, or cracked-out. That's fashion: tasteful sexuality that leaves us wanting more. Unlike the new ads from Sisley on the right.

Hardly anyone remembers United Colours of Benetton, Sisley's parent company, but the folks there are trying like the dickens to remain relevant. Clearly, when you want to matter, you do coke. Right, Linds? Right.

But most of us are fed up with coke. We see what it did to Lindsay and the hopes of Parent Trap 3 being made. And we don't think it's funny. So yes, Sisley got my attention with two cracked-out models snorting a white dress because they're fashion junkies. I, however, see junkies strewn about 7th avenue in chelsea and they look a lot like these chicks. Not sexy, not fashionable.

Both photos test our sensibilities, but when is too much too much? If it involves David Beckham, it's best to quote the Spice Girls : "too much of something is just as tough." When it involves drugs and advertising, "stop right now, thank you very much."

Live Earth and other Noble Pursuits

I love a good show. And I happen to love Madonna. And I also love Al Gore. But something about this Live Earth global fiasco seems like more of a marketer's wet dream than a vehicle to stimulate responsible treatment of the earth's resources.

What's not sitting well with me is the spectacle of conscientiousness that is behind run of the mill self aggrandizing of Hollywood's glitterati. I have a hard time believing that Kanye West, the biggest megalomaniac in music, cares about global warming, or anything besides his ice and porn. And I doubt little else will be on the minds of the scantily-clad throngs in Rio either.

I appreciate Al's effort, and I don't doubt that the world is in for a great show -- but the emptiness behind this gesture is disappointing. I mean, even the venues selected for the shows are wack -- Having a concert for the environment in China is the most ass-backwards move ever -- the last time I checked China was killing its people with smog and the systematic bulldozing of its forests.

And the reason why the earth is being pummeled is the same reason why there are people dying of hunger in Africa -- because the world doesn't care. And just like Live 8 didn't get us to care about Africa neither will Live Earth get us to buy Priuses, or, in my case, Kanye's next album.

Sicko Politics

Life, liberty, health and great clothes -- isn't that everyone's inalienable right under the Constitution?

I just got back from watching Sicko, Michael Moore's latest attempt to shock audiences into mass hysteria and a Marxist revolution....and I'm sold! (If only because I look pretty good in camouflage).

We all know that healthcare in America sucks. I should hope it's not anti-American to say so -- the fact is we spend more money on WMD's (fighter planes don't drop daisies, you know) than on taking care of the sick. And behind this gross prioritization of funds is a (sadly) uniquely American ideal: I'll take care of myself, eff the rest of you. We simply do not see healthcare and education as a basic human right.

And that's the point Moore's film makes.

I know, I know, Moore is a fat liberal who hates America more than Osama himself. But take him out of the equation -- the fact is that America is the only industrialized nation in the world that doesn't offer universal health care. We're the richest nation in the world yet we can't manage to provide decent medical care for all of our citizens.

That's not a partisan statement, it's the truth. And it's beyond infuriating.

Another truth is that the price of denim should outrage people just as much as our abysmal healthcare system. Death and taxes are unavoidable, as is my dismay that every pair of perfectly faded and abused jeans I see bears a price tag of $250 or more.

Well I've certainly had enough (thank God it's summer and I can wear speedos everywhere) and so has one Sarah Jessica Parker. Her new line of women's clothes, Bitten, offers all the basics for a cute wardrobe -- from shoes to coats to panties -- for under $20.

But just like Hillary Clinton faced a ton of hate when she tried to bring healthcare to the masses, so too has SJP been hated on for bringing fashion to the people.

I often entertained the thought that it would be a wonderful world if everything were free. I'd toil at my PR job while the janitor toiled at his, but we could all rock denim and diamonds if we so chose.

But we're feudal creatures -- our titles define us, we all need to rank in order to matter don't we? Everyone in his place... what's the point of going to the best doctor if you're maid can see him too? What's the point of wearing a Tom Ford tuxedo if the H&M version looks the same? (that was more of a plea from me to Tom to introduce a men's line at Hennes).

Health and fashion shouldn't be political issues. To those who poo-poo on universal healthcare and fashion at great prices, I offer the following words from SJP: "tell me what troubles you about women in this country having affordable, well-made clothes [and free healthcare]. Let’s talk about it."

Libby: He's No Criminal, Just Well-Connected

The language of partisanship is based on timing and convenience. When a Democrat refuses to divulge information on their personal life it's called "perjury," but when a Republican leaks information that compromises the safety of a CIA agent, it's called "OK."

The President of the U.S. gets a blowjob during peace time and in the middle of a spectacular economic upswing and our Senators think he should be impeached. Fast forward 10 years later and the Vice President's Chief of Staff leaks the name of a CIA agent, in the middle of "The War on Terror," and he gets NO jail time. WTF?! I hate to say it, but I'm starting to feel bad for Paris Hilton!

Why? Because Bill and Paris were railroaded for being trampy -- no one cares that Paris is a drunk driver, they care that she showed her cooch off in a sex tape and made millions of dollars off of it. People were WAITING to put a modern day Hester Prynn behind bars. And poor President Clinton? He "lied" about having had sex with an intern -- because that's who's business? Right.

Meanwhile the war on terror rages on, we haven't found Osama, soldiers are dying every day, and then the very people who started this war in the first place are putting their own countrymen in danger --- and no one says BOO.

And we're not supposed to laugh at this and scream foul? If only Osama would make a sex tape as opposed to those annoying, fuzzy videos -- the Republicans would have found him by now and would have sent him to Jesus Camp.

A Mighty Embarassment

I said I wouldn't do it but I did it. James and I just got back from seeing A Mighty Heart and hands down, it's a gripping, intelligent film. Angelina Jolie's performance captures the reason why the book behind this movie was made in the first place: to continue to draw the world's attention to the misery beneath the phenomenon we know as jihad. Jolie's performance -- so in line with her roster of work as an alpha-femme both on screen and off -- empowers the audience to ask questions, to demand accountability and change from the forces that propogate the cycle of war and poverty instead of sulking home a weeping mess. Yes, we all know how Daniel Pearl's story ends but there's a bigger, yet unresolved story still unfolding. This film places the onus on all of us to seek out its end -- a mighty challenge for sure.

Ann Hornaday at the Washington Post captures my reservations about the movie: "Welcome to the new Cinema of Compulsive Reenactment, wherein excruciatingly painful recent events are rushed to the screen with breathless, almost fetishistic detail, and whose precise aims are subject to interpretation. Is this instant mythologizing a form of catharsis? Closure? Rank exploitation? Or a particularly American, impatient brand of revisionism, designed to create an immediately usable past?"

Note: I never took issue with the making of the movie or the writing of a book. I just cringed at the juxtaposition of such a weighty story alongside the glitz of the Cannes Film Festival. I also meant to sound judgemental, even mean. I still don't understand how life goes on, with such lucre, after the horrific death of a loved one. But so it does. How a bunch of people decked out in couture in the south of France can allow themselves to be impacted by the film is beyond me, but I'm glad I go to see it for myself. In Brooklyn. Far from Karachi.

Death to FARC Criminals

I've written about the paradox that is modern Colombia here, here, and here. You've heard this from me before, but I love that country - but that love is a double-edge sword. On the one hand, you've got modern cities that are brimming with art and history, designer shops and gorgeous people. My kind of heaven.

On the other hand, death and violence are so entrenched in the Colombian pysche that paying ransom for a kidnapped loved one -- alive or dead -- has taken on the ennuie of making a withdrawl from an ATM.

On Thursday the FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia), a left-wing guerrilla group hell bent on becoming the uber cartel, killed eleven government officials after holding them hostage since 2002.

The man pictured in this post is Raul Reyes, a member of the FARC secretariat. Following the killings of the lawmakers a Colombian daily, El Pais, ran a letter from Reyes expressing the group's condolences for the "tragic deaths" of the 11 individuals while demanding the demilitarization of the region where the deaths took place. The FARC wants control over all of Colombia, but for now they will settle for the western part of the country (as this is a gateway to the Pacific Ocean and the open waters of the drug trade).

Calling Colombian President Alvaro Uribe "stubborn," Reyes goes on to say that the group joins in the world's collective disbelief over Uribe's refusal to facilitate a peaceful prisoner exchange. I dare say that the few people in the world who are closely observing this catastrophe want nothing more than a scorched earth approach when it comes to the guerrillas. For years these people have waged war on civilians -- they are the new narco-terrorists, and they deserve a swift death. Sadly, Colombia's problem has its roots here in the States, the world's leading consumer of cocaine. So long as there is a demand for blow, so long will there be the killing of civilians in Colombia.

Boricuas for Life

I didn't think I was going to go to the Puerto Rican Day Parade this year -- I never go. I went once when I was a kid and don't recall having had a lot of fun. But a few days ago the importance of "el desfile"dawned on me. The parade came up in conversation at work last week and a rather ignorant white coworker just said "I'm getting the hell out of the city this weekend."

It was then that I decided to be the most proud Puerto Rican in New York. By not going, I figured, I was agreeing with that stupid, hurtful comment. Mind you, I don't find those red, white and blue beads that mark this time of year to be tasteful nor do I think overweight young ladies should wear tight jerseys with our island's flag emblazoned on the front. However, at its core, the Puerto Rican Day Parade celebrates the achievements of a community that really wasn't expected to thrive in this country.

I started thinking about my dad, who came from Puerto Rico in the 50s as a teenager to work in the farms of upstate New York. I also thought of my uncles, none of whom finished elementary school, yet all of them put me, and my cousins, through college. I thought about my cousin Roger who grew up down the block from me and tutored me in math -- I think about how he's given his two children classic Spanish names and how they speak Spanish even though they're growing up on Long Island. I thought about my uncle never letting me leave his house without 50, even 100 dollars, when I was in school. He'd just say "did you buy your books yet?"

That got me to thinking about the Puerto Rican teachers at PS1 in Brooklyn who taught me songs about el coqui and who taught me how to dance bomba y plena. Not to mention one Dr. Maldonado who, at the time when Bart Simpson T-shirts saying "Underachiever and Proud of It" were all the rage called a special assembly to remind us that we were worth more than the $5 it cost to sell our potential away.

That's why I showed up on Fifth Avenue with my flag today, proud that the same wherewithall that brought my family to this amazing city is behind this colossal event. Sure, I went to see Ricky Martin (missed him) and J-Lo (pix below), but I also went to be a part of history. So much can change for a people in fifty years. The parade started with 125,000 people who showed up to cheer the floats representing the different towns of Puerto Rico back in the 50s -- today that number is almost a million. And it was all love today on Fifth Avenue. There were gay couples, there were families, there were teenagers. Everyone was well behaved (I left my fashion-critic hat at home today) and I felt like I was at one big family outing.



And I got to see J-Lo for the second year in a row at a pride rally (see last year's pics here). My goal is to take a formal picture with her by next year.

Enjoy the pics. And if you've never been to the Parade, come around next year.




Took the 6 up to the parade. Channeling J-Lo already.


Other queens.


Homemade?


The one day we show love for the po-pos.


Get that money.


Yes, I do want a job in TV and film production, actually.





Ponce is Ponce, everything else is just parking space.


Priceless because she's not even posing for me.




His flag was way bigger than mine.








Jenny from la cuadra showed up on the ill float with strobe lights and plasma screens playing her music videos. Como se dice FIERCE en espanol?










Picture me to her right next year.

















Yours truly (l) and Latino James.

Scary Weekend

I didn't think I was going to post tonight, but I won't be going to bed tonight after reading this bit of news on Towleroad: At least five men who claim they were raped at a Dutch gay sex party led authorities to arrest four others, two of whom have confessed to intentionally injecting men with HIV-infected blood. Police also arrested two others, one for his alleged involvement in the rapes, and another for selling a "considerable amount of drugs" including ecstasy and GHB. (More: IHT)

WTF? I can see the headlines now: Beware of Gay Vampire Rapists, Homocidal Pricks, and so forth. It's just so diabolical... so Fox News Channel. I wonder if the O'Reilly Factor will pick this up.

Quick question, though: Didn't the guys at the sex party go there, to well, you know....

Not that anyone deserves a deadly virus shot into them, but the rape accusation is kind of odd. It's like going to the beach and complaining about getting sand in your hair. What are the victims going to say in court? "Your Honor we went to a sex party with the intention of having sex with as many people as possible but instead we got raped."

This is all I need to send my paranoid mind into a tizzy -- my biggest concern this morning was whether James and I live on the pipeline that the West Indian terrorists were planning to blow up -- now I'm thinking about some creepy Dutch dudes collecting blood and injecting other people with it.

I'd rather replay the horrible images of naked fat people and fish carcasses under a gray sky in Gunnison Beach in New Jersey -- that's where James and I went today (for an uncomfortable one-hour visit). We just thought it was gay, we didn't know it was going to be disgusting. Last week was unnecessarily brutal, as I'm sure it was for many social-climbing gay 20-somethings, can't we just have one weekend of sunshine and good news?

Marble Collegiate Church: Come Prai$e the Lord

Two years ago James and I were invited by a friend to attend a service at Marble Collegiate Church, one of the oldest reformed churches here in the city. As someone who was raised as a Jehovah's Witness, I was raised to believe that an even bigger sin than my latent faggotry would be to embrace another religion. When I came out, of both the closet and my congregation, I knew that while my Sunday mornings would now be free, my relationship with God would remain the same. Having visited other churches, because a friend invited me or because it's a holiday tradition with James' family, I'm blown away by the emptiness I feel at these services.

So what does this have to do with Brian Williams? Well, he's speaking at Marble Collegiate Church on Tuesday -- you can hear his take on the war in Iraq and the Virginia Tech shootings for $20. And that proves the point I've been making to James ever since we set foot in Marble Collegiate: they're a shameless money grubbing bunch.

I remember the sermon we heard by Dr. Arthur Caliandro, here are the words that stood out in my mind: "I was invited to a wedding...rich...Connecticut...who has $10,000?...I know someone here does....anyone have $10,000?....we need a new..." Mind you, I was still seething from having to argue with some "elite" members of the church who were asked to move from their usual Sunday seats to accomodate my friend in a wheelchair. Just before the fundraiser - er, service- began, someone approached my friend and offered her a brochure on the history of the church's stained glass windows. That made waking up at 8am sooo worthwhile.

I've tried to move past my unpleasant experience with the MCC out of respect for my friend, but this ad just brought all of those negative feelings back.

In my new life, one that has removed the public element from my faith, I've ruled out organized religion as a good vehicle for me. So of course I'm bound to compare experiences in other churches to my time with the JWs. And while the JWs have their own issues to work out, I can't call them dishonest or money hungry. The JWs don't pass around collection plates during service (that's what donation boxes are for) they never ask for money from the pulpit (though the virtues of generosity are, of course, lauded) and having seen it time and again in Kingdom Halls and stadiums (during yearly conventions) space is gladly made for the disabled. Mind you, I'll be the first to say that I have my questions and doubts about many of the religious practices I once embraced, but I never doubted the honesty of the people around me.

Not so with the folks I encountered at MMC. Sure, they welcome gays, but everyone knows its bad business to turn away the pink dollar.

If anyone plunks down $20 for Tuesday's gabfest with cutie Brian Williams let me know how it goes.

This Would Kill Me

Nothing makes me happier than seeing other Latinos and gays and anyone who's smart and talented and motivated move ahead in this world.

And PerezHilton makes me happy. I like the pictures on his blog and the silly drawings he "paints" on celeb's photographs. I think he's funny and I think he's cute. This, however, does not a cohost on The View make.

So while I applaud Perezzle's success I think it's time for me to toss my hat into the ring and vy for Rosie's spot on The View. He can have the blogosphere and candid celeb shots, I'll take my seat next to Barbara.

I've been writing about left-right-center politics for the past year -- I'm no Maureen Dowd or Andrew Sullivan -- but I thought to complement the writing I do all day for work (which is usually dismissed and wrong and uninformed anyway) with somewhat-daily missives about the goings-on in our world.
I never claimed to be an expert on anything. I think of myself as an observer of world events who might be smarter than the average queer. I write about issues that I'm passionate about -- issues that play to my Christian-Latino-born-in-Brooklyn-wanted-to-leave-from-the-minute-I-learned-to-walk-was-once-closeted-but-am-now-free-to-live-in-Chelsea-with-partner-of-three-years-and-work-in-PR-and-still-have-guilt-for-God-knows-what-self.

That's really what political debate is. The big ideas being dissected and mulled over in the heart and discussed with friends and family over meals and after the State of the Union Address. It's that spontaneity of political and social debate that I try to bring to this blog. It's the same spontaneity (and photogenic-ness) that I would bring to The View.

So let's have at it --- who would you rather see on the air?

Peace Out, Cindy Sheehan

Citing fatigue and disenchantment, Cindy Sheehan, a pillar in the national debate on the war in Iraq, has bowed out of the anti-war movement.

What started as a silent protest outside President Bush's Crawford, TX ranch demanding accountability from the Commander-In-Chief for the death of her 24-year-old son Casey in Iraq turned into a two-year spectacle that turned a grieving mother into an odious figure on both ends of the political spectrum.

This is the image that I'm always going to remember of Cindy Sheehan. I don't think hunger strike, I don't think vigils in Texas, I don't think of a pissed-off mom who has lost her son. I think of someone who lost touch with reality and wound up becoming a traitor. Not to this country (for what is a country after all if you think of what's worth laying your life down for...would I die for the U.S. if it meant protecting Idaho? My US is NY, the word country is elusive...but I digress) but to the movement of peace and democracy she supposedly represented.

Hugo Chavez is not a man of peace. He's no better than George Bush and yet for the Latin dictator's taunting of our President, Cindy Sheehan snubbed reason and common sense to further mock W. And it wasn't worth it. It came across as pathetic and self-aggrandizing.

Her parting words, though, did make me pause:

"Casey [Sheehan's son] died for a country which cares more about who will be the next American Idol than how many people will be killed in the next few months while Democrats and Republicans play politics with human lives. "

That much is true. Your job, Cindy, one that you took upon yourself, was to call out the circus and spectacle for what is was: vulgar, immoral and unacceptable. Instead you became your own freak show -- and you have no one to blame but yourself.

Rosie, Chavez, Bush and Some Irrelevant Bitch

My Memorial Day Weekend has been consumed by Fox News, sunscreen, and heated conversations with my mom about Rosie, Chavez and W. By now everyone knows that Rosie has left The View following a heated argument with that blonde idiot blowhard with a speech impediment. Soon after Rosie's departure was made public, the Fox News Channel swept in like the vultures that they are to exaggerate and denigrate.

I love how so many people in this country are enthralled with the goings-on of one opinionated private citizen. Meanwhile, while we're commemorating the sacrifice of our dead soldiers, our Democrats-in-Power don't have the courage to impeach the biggest war criminal in our nation's history. And that was the argument that sparked the show-down on The View, the argument that has been buried in the cat-fight angle of the story, the argument that needs to be brought back to the forefront.

I'm seething at Congress for giving Bush the $120 billion he's asked for to make his rich friends richer (and shut up about Diane Feinstein, TGC, she wasn't making money off an endless, stupid war that hasnt made us safer, found Osama, or thwarted the activity of Al-Qaeda) without pushing for the provisions that call for troop withdrawl and a more transparent account of how things are unfolding in Iraq. The same idiots who stood by while Bill Clinton was being railroaded for getting a blowjob are the same fools who can't even utter the word impeachment. The monster-at-large needs to be stopped, but again, we have bigger issues to worry about, chiefly "big, fat lesbian" talkshow hosts.

And speaking of people who need to be stopped, Hugo Chavez just etched a notch in his belt of victories against democracy with the closing of Radio Caracas Television, the oldest independent TV channel in Venezuela. Slowly but surely Chavez is silencing dissent while forging alliances with Iran and positioning himself as the heir-apparent to Fidel Castro's brand of totaliarianism. CIA snipers anyone?

All of this has gotten me to thinking, doesn't The View need an opinionated, handsome, gay Latino to keep the controversy going? I so know Middle America would love me...thoughts?

Fagbug

Remember the first episode of Queer as Folk when Brian's car gets spray-painted with the word "fag" and he drives off screaming "faggot!"?

Well, the same thing happened to one Erin Davies, 29, in Albany, New York. But instead of trading up her wheels, and driving off screaming "faggot!"or having the vandalism covered up, she's taking her fagged-up VW across America to educate people about hate crimes.

How very cool.

Erin's keeping a blog about her pet project -- the possible TV deals, the strain on her relationship, the fear she sometimes feels about driving around with the word "fag" spray-painted on her car -- you should definitely check it out. In her latest post, she writes about a group of teenagers who laughed right in her face as she pumped gas:

He came within a few inches of my passenger side door and kept laughing in my face and finally took a camera out of his pocket and took a picture of me and the word "fag" and kept laughing, and finally gave me a thumbs up and one more laugh and walked away laughing with his friends. It was a big fuck you to me. Not pleasant. It was probably the most disturbing moment I have faced thus far with this whole thing. He totally invaded my space and it made me feel pretty small.

That line about feeling small really hit me. It's how I felt when I was walking James home from the hospital and two guys released the breaks on their car to scare me and then call me a faggot. Words may be words and sticks and stones, bla bla bla, but it's those moments when you're confronted with the reality that some people just don't think you matter, that you don't even deserve to exist. So you can be a successful whatever you are, you can be creative and noble enough to turn a hateful experience into an opportunity to educate others, and then some blowhard can happen along to push you into a corner.

Well, here's snaps to Erin for not backing down and fighting the good fight.

The Fabulous Life of Marianne Pearl

Who wouldn't be tickled by the thought of spending a raucous weekend on the French Riviera with Brangelina and the creme de la creme of cinematic high society? Marianne Pearl, wife of slain Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl, is certainly having the time of her life.

I can't imagine what it's like to lose your husband just months before giving birth to your baby, but the five years since that horrible ordeal seem to have done Marianne very well, so much so that she's now clinking glasses with the jet set, swathed in couture.

And Marianne isn't the only one turning calamity into lucre while the War on Terror rages on. Pointless films like United 93 and World Trade Center don't celebrate heroism as much as triviliaze the most harrowing events of our times. Unlike the victims on the big screen we get to walk out of the mess. To think that a two-hour rehashing of unthinkable violence is somehow cathartic or brave is just stupid. If you ask me, these kinds of movies are pornographic.

I'm not taking a shot at a widow who has a child to support. I want to think it's admirable that Marianne Pearl hasn't ended her life along that of her husband's. But to go from grieving widow to the toast of Hollywood sounds more like a Candace Bushnell novel than any great feat.

Yes, We Do Need Immigration Reform

As the immigration debate rages on (or re-emerges when there's a lull in Iraq and the Senate takes a break from grilling Alberto Gonzalez), our lawmakers are hard at work trying to define who is and who isn't entitled to live and work in this country.

The latest incarnation of a proposed immigration bill has everyone in a tizzy -- and in the middle of the drama, Republicans are making some shockingly sound observations on the impact of hasty legislation. In short, you can't just drag a couple million people out of the shadows of anonymity and call them yankee-doodle-dandys just 'cuz.

But that's not the point of this post.

Given that the face of the immigration debate looks, well, like me, I thought I'd write about the need for reform within the Latino community regarding immigration. In short, if we're gonna make a big (and justified) deal about being in this country, then let's step our game up.

While more and more Latinos are going to college, a lot more of us are also just getting by -- and are happy with it. The trappings of success -- hi-def TVs, cell phones, and instant credit -- have become the American dream for many people. What's worse, many hardworking people are coming to this country so that relatives in Latin America can enjoy these things, too. I wonder, has the DVD player replaced the diploma as the benchmark of success?

Walking along the streets of the neighborhood that I grew up in I see little families that are clearly living paycheck to paycheck with three kids, another in the stroller, and another in the belly. And healthcare isn't really an issue because most of these people receive government-funded medical insurance.

But that doesnt bother me as much as the lack of ambition that I see in so many of these people. It seems that crossing the border was as far as their imaginations could go. And it saddens me. I wonder how many of these children, sporting Dora the Explorer backpacks and guzzling 50 cent soda pop, have ever been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art or have ever been to Central Park. I also wonder how many of them will ever read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, the definitive, timeless story of working class Brooklyn and the possibility of the impossible.

What I saw in my neighborhood in Brooklyn was a proliferation of Mexican street gangs -- people who wanted to wage war on the Puerto Ricans who had been there for two, three generations before them. In my days as a door-knocking JW I saw squalid homes but no sign that change would come for these people, or if it was even wanted. I was supposed to teach these people about God but thought that I should tell them about Martha Stewart and Windex first.


When I think of the immigration debate, and how it has become a Latino issue I want to shake my own people by the shoulders more so than the politicians who are clamoring for "reform" and "fairness." The question isn't "should we let illegal immigrants stay?" it's "why do they want to be here at all?"