The moment the second plane hit. Who doesn’t remember that? The first plane was a horrible accident. Pilot error, who knows. Then the second plane hit and our hearts sunk and we all collectively thought, “Oh fuck.”
I lived in upstate New York, pretty far from Manhattan when the attacks happened. It was far enough away to feel as safe as any American was likely to feel at that point in time. It was close enough to be cocooned in a yellow haze that made it difficult to see more than a foot or two away.
The fear that originated from the 9/11 attacks was genuine. Nobody got up that day and thought something so grave would happen.
I’ve never been more proud of my country, or of the world, than I was in the week or two after 9/11. For a short period of time I felt an overwhelming spirit of patriotism, but really, earthism. The attempted terror attacks did scare us, but not into hiding. If there ever was a moment for world peace, it came in those first few days after the attacks.
There was so much potential. Potential to spend the collective loving capital to promote unity. To spread peace. To say “We will not allow these attacks to change us for the worse. We will take this opportunity to be better.”
But America, the world’s superpower, was under direction of an awkward fratboy government. Bush’s best intentions fell far short of the ability to embrace the opportunity before him. For us, it was a chance to unite the world. For him, it was a chance to use his daddy’s toys and finish out a family vendetta.
I find myself conflicted today. Osama Bin Laden is dead. For many families who have lost loved ones to attacks masterminded by this man, there is likely a certain amount of closure to be had. For that, I am glad. For the world’s safety, we can rest just a tiny bit easier. Al Qaeda is not disbanded, but without it’s affable leader, their operations will be more difficult.
On the flip side, what have we accomplished? Is the world any safer today than it was a decade ago? Has our quality of life improved? I’d argue no. The only thing we are today that we weren’t ten years ago is scared. We’re spending an hour in line at airports so uneducated workers can make sure we aren’t carrying more than 3oz of shampoo. I look out my window and see homeless people and armed drug pushers. Kids aren’t graduating from school, their parents can’t get jobs, and those are just some of the problems plaguing our own country.
How much money and how many lives have we put into this? If we’d spent half that on feeding people, on missions to eradicate disease, on education and employment, where would we be today? If we’d spent that human capital on peaceful things that had immediate benefits instead of blowing shit up?
Terrorism doesn’t work if people aren’t terrorized.
So where is the disconnect?
Terrorism sells. And it gets votes. The most skilled terrorists are not hiding somewhere in a desert. They’re our leaders and journalists.
So Osama Bin Laden is gone. I don’t feel any better now than I did yesterday. Someday, someone will figure out the answer to uniting people in the pursuit of peace. Until then, try not to be too scared, okay? Turn off the major news outlets. They’re only there to freak you out. Vote for someone in a third party. Eat a fruit or vegetable that you didn’t like when you were a kid and haven’t tried in a decade. There’s a chance I’m wrong, but I have a hunch that it will be a pretty good ride if you focus on the love and joy of life.
“‘Born This Way’, which is the title song, will completely get rid of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’. This is the new ‘I Will Survive’. That was the gay anthem. This is the new gay anthem. Actually, it’s not a gay anthem – it can apply to anybody.” – Elton John
There was a lot of hype surrounding Lady Gaga’s single “Born This Way.” We’ve been hearing about it for months. I really dislike when people talk about songs before they’re available. It sets up an unrealistic expectation and people only do it to name drop. Okay Perez, we get it, you’re friends with Lady Gaga. Now go bedazzle an alpaca or something, just as long as I don’t have to watch.
I think if Elton John hadn’t come out and said as much, people would be responding differently, so let’s forget he ever talked about Born This Way, forget about all the hype leading up to its release, and get down to it.
Born This Way IS an anthem.
The lyrics, literal and cheesy, are meant to be so. Who here has ever been to a protest? You don’t mince your words, you get right to the point. This isn’t a song about lust or angst, it’s a song about being proud of who you are. Born This Way intentionally escapes the mold to make a point, hiding behind poetic tricks would have detracted from the message.
Of course there are those who say it’s a copy. A copy of Express Yourself, a copy of God Is A DJ; to be honest, I heard a lot of other songs too. Pop imitates pop. Every song sounds like some song before it. What separates a clone from something great is whether it does something new; whether it’s current (or ahead of it’s time), and relevant. Madonna and Pink are well established pop artists with a history of releasing empowering songs about individuality. Gaga channeled the vibes of her contemporaries to add to the story.
There’s one thing we can all agree upon- this song is divisive. For every person who falls in love with it and carries it with them there are going to be ten people who hate it. Gaga may be amongst the biggest stars in the world right now, but she still has a very young career. It takes cahones to release something like this. Leave any doubts that Gaga truly believes and cares about equality behind, this girl is more than a pop star, she’s an activist.
This blog is generally about politics, men, music, and technology. It’s not very often that I stray from that to write anything personal. I need to tell a story that is hugely important to me, and although it occurred a very long time ago, it really has had a profound effect on shaping me as a person.
My Aunt Marie was not a person that I knew terribly well. I could count the number of times I met her on my hands. I also haven’t seen her since 2005; so it’s all the more remarkable that her passing today was able to inspire so much emotion in me.
I must have been well under ten years old. My immediate family took a trip to central New York to visit the bigger Bouvier clan. It’s a tremendous family on my father’s side; he’s the youngest of ten children, and the various aunts, uncles, cousins, and their children are incredibly well dispersed. I don’t remember the occasion, but I know a lot of my extended family was there.
My dad is a funny man. He wields his machismo in such a humorous manner that it completely erases any chance of him seeming intimidating. Let me provide an example so you can see what I mean; trust me, it’s on topic.
Aunt Marie had a fabulous back yard. Her house was in the woods and in the back yard was a tiny lake. Okay, it was probably just a large pond, but I was very small so it, in turn, seemed very big. Aunt Marie would feed the fish in that pond so regularly that the fish were not at all afraid of humans. I feel horrible now that my first fishing expedition was in this lake, I was catching her pets! I, of course, had no clue at the time, so really I should be expunged of any guilt.
So dad decides to impress me and the rest of the crowd by literally catching a fish. No, not casting a line and getting one to bite. He stuck his hand into the water, wrapped his fingers around a fish, and picked it up. Quite the achievement! My dad was a hero to me. Unfortunately for him, that fish was something sharp, and it cut his hand right up. My father lost the battle with the fish, but he won the war of awing me.
The point is Aunt Marie just loved everyone and everything. She loved the fish enough to feed them. She loved us enough to let us hunt her pond. The love that she shared had no borders. It was there for all takers, and we all took and are better for it.
When we had to leave her house, I did the most curious thing for a little future-gay to do. I tried to climb in the cupboards. It takes a lot of love to make a homosexual enjoy being in a closet, but I didn’t ever want to leave her palace. I wanted to pick blackberries and pet the deer in her back yard.
I’m lucky to have a family that is filled with examples like Aunt Marie. People who are joyous, welcoming, and most of all loving. If there’s one thing I’ll carry from this it is that when you love all things, all things love you. There is no greater legacy to be had.
Conrad Wolfram thinks math education needs a major refresh. He asserts that the way we teach math to children today in no way matches the ways it needs to be practically applied once you’ve moved into the job sphere. To change that, he suggests that we start teaching math by way of programming.
I am happily biased on this topic and I agree wholeheartedly. My interest in math wasn’t sparked until I discovered the programming features of my TI-83 calculator. I haven’t reflected on my math education in many years, but I am now angry at the disservice my educators did for me. Once they learned that I knew how to write these tiny programs, they wouldn’t allow me to use the calculator during class or during tests. Every other student sat there with the same TI-83, the same access to utility, and I was forced to use a 10-key calculator and show all of my work on paper. The sad truth is, because I wrote the program, I knew more about the actual mathematic problem at hand than anyone else in the room.
I’m happy to say that I wasn’t discouraged. I still followed my fascination with being able to make real world problems more simple not only for me, but for everyone. I followed that path right into my current position, where making software is my full time job, and I love it.
We should be teaching children how to solve real world problems as much as possible.
I’ve always been of the opinion that while supporting your favorite candidate is important, when election day nears, the final push and vote should be for someone with a chance of winning. Any significant split vote can easily lead to placing the worst possible candidate into office.
I understand why young people are killing themselves.
When you are gay, who do you have to turn to?
No matter how supportive my family is and how many close friends I make, I still feel a constant loss and I still harbor incredible amounts of anger. Although I’ve surrounded myself with people who love me, I am still surrounded by the constant din of hateful rhetoric. Whether directed at me, or just mindlessly spouted into the collective, it hurts.
And who out there is watching out for me? I’m not asking who can I call that will tell me they love me or who can I go hug and share my anger with. I’m asking who, in a position of power, is watching out for me? Our “fierce advocate” Obama? Nope. His administration’s clear ambivalence to our plight and lack of action are evidence that his campaigning was little more than hollow, lifeless, careless promises. In my eyes the biggest policy decisions he has made about LGBT people is to defend the Defense of Marriage Act and Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, the two harshest laws discriminating against us. Fair weather fan, I guess.
What about other elected representatives? Well considering Congress won’t even vote yes to debate something as simple and widely favored as Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, I guess I can’t turn to anyone there.
Perhaps I can count on the media. After all, it is the media’s responsibility to investigate and report. They’re the unwritten part of the system of checks and balances. When all branches of our government go haywire, we can count on reporters to set the record straight. Then, on Coming Out day, Washington Post publishes a vitriolic (and completely false) mess of hate speech. My face is still bruised from that slap.
Unfortunately I can’t turn to the country as a whole. Those are the people I need the government to protect me from.
We can tell clearly from NY Gubernatorial candidate Carl Paladino that everyone is willing to reap the benefits of LGBT people, and nobody in the upper echelons is willing to stick their neck out for us. Despite leasing his properties to two gay bars in the past, one run by his son, he campaigned saying “I don’t want them [children] to be brainwashed into thinking that homosexuality is an equally valid and successful option.”
So when every day you are faced with wondering whether mentioning a bar you were at, or a song you were listening to, or the clothes you are wearing, or the name of someone you went on a date with will end in ridicule, or worse, violence, what would you do?
Well I get really angry and write about it. I know I’m preaching to the choir but it makes me feel a little better. Not everyone is that strong though. For some people, when faced with this level of discrimination, and given seemingly no way out, death seems like a better option. It’s not, but I can see where it might look that way.
The good news is there are places for gay people to go and be safe. If I wanted to get rid of this stress and hurt, I could just stop paying attention to the news and shuffle around some of who I follow on Twitter. Escape isn’t that far away and maybe that’s why I can handle it. I also know that within my lifetime the majority of these silly laws will probably be gone, and while gay people may not be seen as equals by all, it will be a heck of a lot easier.
I just wish everyone would see that while I’m different, I’m not different. The difference between gay and straight is no greater than the difference between brown and blond. And I wish that people realized that changing our laws to recognize that fact is no less urgent than ending our war in Iraq or balancing the budget or finding a cure for cancer.
There is an unspoken epidemic in this country. It’s not people being gay. It’s people who are gay who are depressed and angry and who have no remedy but to sit and wait while those in power decide when the appropriate time is to say “now you are equal.”
A few years ago, when Picasa was only an application and it only worked on Windows machines, I worked at Google and jumped on some of the earliest betas of Picasa Web Albums. Consequently, I managed to grab the username jordan.
Fast forward a couple years and suddenly that username begins working in a strange manner with Google Calendar. People enter “Jordan” into their calendar invites, and they show up, quite mysteriously, on my calendar. This results in all sorts of hilarity when my friends, who I share my calendar with, see all the fun things I have planned.
A few weeks ago I had horse camp. That was fun. Today I am going with my friend Kim to get gas at Costco.
I’m very excited for Friday, when I’ll be travelling to Virginia to receive an award! Don’t worry, I won’t let the recognition go to my head. Sunday I’m serving food to the homeless with a youth group.
The 14th of every month I have a recurring reminder that “he” asked me out on July 14. I love incremental anniversaries!
I think the most disconcerting events to show up are the multitude of doctor appointments. Most days show at least one. A stranger to my calendar would think I was either the most diseased person in existence, or that I was the world’s biggest hypochondriac.