How Do You ALT-CTRL-DEL Hormones?

If I plagiarize myself, will I go blind?

Sorry. I'm recalling my high school days right now, and I'm clearly mashing-up my Creative Writing class with my Morality class.

But why? Why am I recalling my teen years? Why am I worrying about copying myself? And why am I making a dated reference to the consequences of a certain sex act?

Why? Because I recently read a news item about teens and sex, and it reminded me of a similar item I read last year - one I ultimately wrote about. In light of the latest news, I think the topic is worth writing about again, and since my original piece came and went unnoticed, I might cherry-pick some text, or an idea or two, from it. I thought it only fair to let you know I've been down this path before.

I was a teenager in the 1980s, and when the quadrillion raging hormones in my body wanted to see images of naked women, my choices were limited to having friends who could liberate certain literature from their fathers' sock drawers; catching Porky's-esque R-rated movies in theaters; sneaking late-night peeks at Skinemax...er, Cinemax; or finding a mom-and-pop movie rental store with a stocked back room and an ambivalent staff.

Little did I know then that, had I been born a scant 25 years later, I would have had no need to wait for manufacturers of fleshy delights to bring their wares to market. I simply could have had a classmate send me a picture of her nude self straight to my cell phone.

Really.

On January 13, 2009, Bob Stiles of the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review reported on six students from Greensburg Salem High School - three boys and three girls, all minors - who face criminal charges as a result of participating in what is known as "sexting." According to Stiles' report, "sexting" is "...the teen trend of sending nude or semi-nude photos from cell phone to cell phone...."

Sexting. A naughty twist on texting. How clever. You know, I used to worry that when I become elderly, I will be cared for by a generation of slackers. Now I'm afraid I'll be cared for by a generation of horny marketers.

The matter is serious. The girls, who took nude pictures of themselves and sent them to the boys, face a charge of manufacturing, disseminating or possessing child pornography. The boys are charged with possessing child pornography. I have several issues here.

The first issue is legal. As I have made clear in past writings - again with the self-plagiarism - I am not a lawyer, and everything I know about the law, I learned from Hollywood. Assuming everything I can gather from the story is true, either as stated or implied, the girls took their own pictures and willingly sent them to the boys, who received them. Should any of these six kids be criminally charged? I'm not so sure. I certainly don't condone the behavior, but if there was no coercion and no adult involvement, this seems to be a case of monumentally poor judgment, not a case of crime.

Complicating matters, according to another story, if these children are found guilty, while they might not serve any jail time, they could be required to register as sex offenders for a period of 10 years. Again, I don't condone the behavior, but I can't reasonably see a 14-year-old girl or a 16-year-old boy registering as a sex offender until they are out of college. Can you imagine answering to that in a job interview? Stupidity is the crime here, and that punishment seems too harsh.

The second issue concerns the parents of these children. I can speak with greater authority here, as I both presently parent and previously have been parented...and still am, sometimes. (Hi Mom!) Also, I can assure you that I ignore Hollywood when it comes to parenting, other than to add bullet points to my ever-growing "Yeah, Don't Do THAT As a Parent" List, AKA "The Lohan List." Whether the kids don't know any better about such behavior, or if they suffer from low self-esteem and are looking to be accepted socially for what they are willing to do sexually, or even if they are physically and sexually confident beyond their years, the parents of these kids need to do a better job communicating with their children, whether "better job" means "improve communications" or - sadly - "begin communications."

And those communications need to extend beyond right/wrong, or good/bad, or do/don't. In fact, the matter is similar to the abstinence-only vs. sex-education debate because it deals not only with should/shouldn't, but with understanding actions and their potential consequences in the event of a "But if you do..." scenario. Sure, sending a saucy photo is not the same as engaging in physical sexual activity, and no one ever got pregnant or contracted a disease by looking at pictures. But those pictures have the potential for doing even greater harm in both the immediate and distant futures.

Thus, my third issue: the consequences of cyberspace. Yes, these particular photos (as far as we know) were contained to the boys' cell phones. But one reckless or vengeful file transfer puts them on the Internet, which makes them accessible to anyone. What today's parents need to stress to their children, and with the same gravity as pregnancy and disease, is that just as easily as teens voluntarily share with friends or lovers every pore of their skin via the Internet, they unintentionally share the same with the billions of strangers who know how to use a computer - and by "strangers," I don't mean just creepy bad guys or social enemies or incoming underclassmen. Those strangers could be college administrators, military recruiters, prospective employers, and even potential love interests.

Look, we've all been there. We've all done foolish things that we look back on now and laugh about (or cringe over) and bury in the Youthful Indiscretions file. But a key difference between teens of the past vs. teens of today, and the difference with perhaps the greatest significance, is the permanency of cyberspace. Sure, many foolish actions carry no long-term consequences, but cyber-shamelessness can. Pictures on the Internet aren't Polaroids that can be burned after viewing, or tattoos that can be removed or covered, or booze-fueled overindulgences that can be mitigated by sleep and aspirin. They will be there for as long as there is an Internet, so the youthful indiscretion of today can wreak havoc with the opportunity of tomorrow...or 20 years from tomorrow.

Parents need to make sure their kids understand their own cyber-presence. In fact, parents should probably understand their own cyber-presence, too. And it's okay.

No one will go blind Googling themselves.

What's Next? Fantasy Leagues?

The following is the first of an occasional 2009 series looking at how the traditional "Seven Deadly Sins" play in today's world.

If there is one sin (from the official Seven Deadly Sins) of which I am recently guilty, it's Gluttony. I mean really. We're already two weeks removed from the end of the six-week holiday period between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, and I'm still considering submitting "bloated" as a new color suggestion to the Crayola people; I see it as a rather unhealthy hue of pink and green. Unlike the other six sins (SLOTH, PRIDE, ENVY, WRATH, LUST, and GREED), which take only thought - or little-to-no action - to commit, Gluttony requires excessive participation.

I found my favorite definition of Gluttony in Wikipedia: the "...over-consumption of food, drink, or intoxicants to the point of waste." Think about that. It's a sin that actually requires you to act to such an extreme degree, the word "waste" is part of the definition. This led me to ask, "What does '...to the point of waste' actually mean?"

Maybe this is some kind of subconscious rationalization on my part, but I don't see where overindulgence at a holiday dinner table is wasteful. Besides, my eating habits in the hours leading up to my Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were different from normal days. Usually, I eat an early breakfast and lunch, followed by a good dinner; but on those two holidays, I ate a light breakfast later in the morning and skipped lunch entirely in anticipation of dinner. So really, I wasn't wasteful with my eating at all; I simply back-loaded my overall daily intake.

Okay. Maybe the rationalization isn't so subconscious after all.

Still, I'm not sure if I was truly gluttonous. I didn't actually measure the volume of food I ate, but even with two large servings, I didn't break any records, like...

...6.91 pounds of roast turkey meat eaten in 8 minutes.
...2.71 pounds of green beans eaten in 6 minutes.
...13.23 pounds (yes, 13.23 pounds) of jellied cranberry sauce eaten in 8 minutes.

It's true. The volume of traditional holiday food and the time it took to eat it, both listed above, are actual documented records.

It turns out that this type of Gluttony is called "Competitive Eating," and it has its roots in New York. Nearly every Fourth of July weekend for the last 90 years, the world has been treated to the intestinal exploits of men and women who gorge themselves on Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs in Coney Island. I always thought this annual ritual was something steeped in decades of tradition, harkening back to a simpler time when electricity was for fancy people and men wore funny hats. I thought that modern-day participants were simply carrying on tradition for tradition's sake, regardless of how ridiculous the tradition seemed, or how meaningless the outcome was; kind of like the annual Groundhog Day festivities, but with six more weeks of antacid.

Silly me.

This event, and countless others like it, are brought to you...ad nauseum...by the International Federation Of Competitive Eating and Major League Eating. They are the fine folks encouraging, promoting, and recording all things Competitive Eating, including 100+ competitive eating records (like those above), competitor rankings, an online store, and even a competitive eating video game.

What do we make of this? What do we make of the oversight of, encouragement of, celebration of, and capitalization on the ability of one person to take a mere five minutes to consume 1.75 pounds of...butter? You read that right. Someone ate seven quarter-pound sticks of butter in less time than it takes most people to run a mile. I can see the bumper sticker on his parents' car now: MY CHILD CAN EAT MORE BUTTER THAN YOUR HONOR STUDENT

Is this Gluttony to the extreme? It sounds like it, but far be it from me to accuse anyone of committing a sin. I'm no more free from sin than the next person...and the next person happens to be the person with whom I've committed a few of those sins. (Thank you, Baby.) Each person in this world has their own maker to reconcile with - or no maker at all - so I leave that reflection to each individual, duo, or group, surely to be done once the buffet table closes. (Actual record for buffet food: 5 1/2 pounds in 12 minutes)

Is this waste to the extreme? It sounds like it, but far be it from me to suggest that any food consumed and NOT regurgitated is wasted. However, if you must speak of waste, try not to do so from your Hummer while driving to buy the hundreds of chicken wings you need for the Super Bowl party you plan to host to show off those 105 glorious flat screen inches you treated yourself to for Christmas. (Actual record for chicken wings: 7 1/2 pounds in 12 minutes)

Is this uncontrolled-need-for-competition to the extreme? It sounds like it...at least, it sounded like it until I lost my concentration when the guy who cut me off to steal my spot in the parking lot also sneered at me inside the minimarket when he picked the quicker checkout line to buy the last of the chili cheese fries. Competition in our society seems to have become less about sport and more about superiority. (Actual record for chili cheese fries: 8 pounds, 2 ounces in 10 minutes)

Or...

Is this America to the extreme? Oh yes. Only in this country could we suffer from record hunger and record obesity - at the same time! - and turn the ingestion of mass quantities of food into a spectator sport, complete with screaming crowds, news coverage, t-shirts, and video games.

Look, I don't think that just because someone has eaten more than I have, I am absolved from anything; I am not (so the scale tells me). However, I do sleep better knowing that while I might have overdone it during the holidays, it's not like I ate four 32-ounce bowls of mayonnaise in 8 minutes.

That is an actual record, too.

Sadly, Naming Rights Cost Millions. Sadder Still, Naming Wrongs Are Free

My older daughter - The Girl - has a huge crush on Fall Out Boy bassist Pete Wentz, a fact that was not lost on me when, during Fall Out Boy's TV performances on New Year's Eve, the music stopped being music and became instead a series of sustained, three-minute squeals that, at certain points, only neighborhood dogs could hear. Much to The Girl's great despair, Wentz and his wife, Ashlee Simpson ("singer" and sister of Jessica Simpson, another "singer"), recently welcomed into the world their first child, a son. Much love blessed the Simpson/Wentz family with the arrival of Bronx Mowgli Wentz.

Hmmm.

Why would anyone name a child Bronx Mowgli?

Perhaps the parents lost a bet. Probably not, although it would be a better explanation than if they had WON a bet.

Perhaps the parents wanted a child with the initials BMW and, in the grand tradition that almost had R&B super-group The Commodores calling themselves The Commodes, Pete and Ashlee blindly opened the dictionary, pointed reckless fingers, and landed a fate almost as bad. Probably not, since I can't imagine that any parents who would name their child Bronx Mowgli would actually own a dictionary.

Perhaps the parents conceived the boy in New York's northernmost borough while Disney's The Jungle Book played on a TV in the background. Probably not, because while the Bronx is as fine a place as any to conceive a child, I can't see replacing Marvin Gaye's mood-setting "Let's Get It On" with animation voiced by Louis Prima and Sebastian Cabot.

I'm not picking on the child, of course; it isn't his fault. This is a criticism of the parents, and not only these parents, but the many celebrity parents like (a) actress Gwyneth Paltrow, (b) actress Rachel Griffiths, (c) singer Toni Braxton, (d) magician Penn Jillette, and (e) director Robert Rodriguez. These celebs named their kids (a) Apple, (b) Banjo, (c) Denim; (d) Moxie CrimeFighter; and (e) Rogue, Racer, Rebel, and Rocket.

Really.

("Really" is my commentary, not the name of another Rodriguez child. With the rich and famous, adverbs don't seem to be as popular as nouns.)

As is the case with any name, there is always the possibility that it is a family name, and I respect that. But when celebs aren't paying homage to Aunt Moxie or Grandpa Rocket, I suspect they are trying to gin up publicity for themselves. The headline PETE AND ASHLEE NAME THEIR CHILD BRONX MOWGLI! will get more people interested in Pete an Ashlee than the headline PETE AND ASHLEE NAME THEIR CHILD DAVE! will.

But celebrities aren't the only people giving their children unique names. Everyday untalented people like us (as opposed to the famous untalented people of Hollywood) are doing the same; the difference is that WE seem to have a thing for naming children after famous people - people like President-elect Barack Obama, Philadelphia Phillies Chase Utley and Cole Hamels, and both Senator John McCain AND Governor Sarah Palin (in one baby!), to name a few recent examples.

Why do parents do this? Is it a lack of confidence? Are parents concerned that their babies will not make names for themselves, so they force notorious names upon the kids, sentencing them to an eternity - or at least 12 solid years - of playground torment? Or is it no different than the celebrities' self-promotion, but in this case less People Magazine and more church bulletin or social grapevine?

I'm not about to suggest that future parents populate the country with only Marys and Johns. But I will suggest that unique names are nothing more than gimmicks if there aren't unique kids attached to them, and parents can inspire and support uniqueness in their kids in many ways. Or, parents can consider how ordinary names can also mean something special. For proof of that, I give you the story of the kid who was named after an archangel: me.

My name is Michael. This is one of the most common names on the books (#2 for boys this decade, according to the Social Security Administration, but as the story goes, I was named after St. Michael the Archangel because I was born on his feast day. This might not matter to some of you, but understand that I am also the product of a 12-year Catholic school education. When you spend the entire formative era of your life surrounded by priests and nuns, being named after the angel charged by God to do battle with Satan gives your cafeteria stride a little swagger. And it didn't take me long to convince the other kids that while I can't hit a curve ball or play the low post, I just might be able to smite the wicked. This helped me in many social circles.

Fortunately, mine is a positive tale; having been named after a major religious figure gave me confidence as a youngster. But I was also lucky in that my name was ordinary, and never subject to ridicule. Neither will be the case for one poor, famously monikered kid out there...a kid named Adolf Hitler Campbell.

Sometimes it just writes itself.

In a story that was picked up from Pennsylvania (local) to Malta (not so local), the Associated Press reported on the plight of just-turned-three-years-old Adolf Hitler Campbell, son of Heath and Deborah Campbell of Hunterdon County, NJ. It wasn't the boy's name that made headlines (otherwise, the world might recently have been introduced to Adolf Hitler Wentz). It was the fact that local grocery store ShopRite refused to immortalize the lad's name in icing on his birthday cake, for whatever reason organizations give for thinking that Nazis and confections don't mix. Who saved the day? WalMart, who gladly obliged the birthday request. (Thank goodness Heath and Deb weren't shopping for a Cheryl Crow CD for the boy's birthday.)

But what would possess someone to name his son after Hitler? From the AP piece: "Heath Campbell said he named his son after Adolf Hitler because he liked the name and because 'no one else in the world would have that name.'"

Clearly, it never occurred to Heath that there are several reasons why no one else has that name. For starters, it doesn't quite roll off the tongue the way, say, "George Clooney Campbell" does. Second, everyone else seems distracted with the debate over whether to spell a boy's name Xavier, Xzavier, or Zavier (according to the SSA, #87, #703, and #898 respectively, for boys this decade). Third, the name tends to summon a quick reminder of an unfortunate death or two...or 6,000,000.

As for the name choices of the entire Campbell brood, it was reported in a longer local story, "'They're just names, you know,' [Heath] said. 'Yeah, they (Nazis) were bad people back then. But my kids are little. They're not going to grow up like that.'" His other kids? One-year-old JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell and her little sister, newborn Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell.

Really.

Look, I don't think anyone thinks that a child named Apple will automatically become a titan of the fresh produce or home computer industries. Nor do I think that a child named after Chase Utley is destined to become a three-time all-star second baseman. So it stands to reason that I don't think anyone thinks that a child named after history's most vile mass murderer will grow up to become a vile mass murderer. But if he does, there is hope for us. That hope comes from Kel-el Copolla Cage, son of actor Nicolas Cage and child named after the last son of Krypton. That's right. Nicolas Cage named his son after Superman.

Sleep well, citizens. Just as rock beats scissors, so too does Superman beat Hitler.

Thank you, Nicolas Cage. You are a true American...celebrity.

My Night Before Christmas

My Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas for this crafter of blogs,
And what needed a break were my mind's gears and cogs.

I'd spent the year banging at these keys with delight;
Sometimes laughs I'd elicit; sometimes ire I'd incite.

But I wanted to take some time off for a rest.
I wanted to start the New Year at my best.

Remote in my hand, 'fore my TV I plopped,
With my martini chilled and popcorn freshly popped.

I wanted a movie - I didn't want news.
A break from debate was what I could use.

When what to my wondering ears did I hear?
Not my home theater's speakers, but something quite weird.

It sounded like hooves tearing up my front grass.
In a fluster, I almost tipped over my glass.

Then suddenly helping himself to my couch
Was dear old St. Nick. What the heck's that about?

"Hey, Santy Claus," I said with a smirk,
"I don't mean to pry - why aren't you at work?"

"Hello, little boy," he said to this man.
"I'm here to bestow just one gift, if I can."

"I made you a present; it took but a wink:
The chance to make everyone think like you think."

"Every piece that you write, every column you post,
Will meet with agreement from East to West Coast."

I wasn't sure how my response should begin.
I said, "Are you kidding?" I sniffed at my gin.

"Your drink's not been spiked," Santa went on to say.
"And you haven't had too much...not yet, anyway."

I said, "I thought miracles were what's-His-name's game;
The one whose day of celebration's the same."

Santa said, "Sure. He's got miracle clout.
But every so often I like to stretch out."

"So I'm here to tell you dissent won't exist;
Not one single misspelled retort will be missed."

"Put pencil to paper, boy; soon you will see
That with all of your words the whole world will agree."

The offer was tempting as it laid there unfurled.
I think I'm right - why not the world?

But I just looked at Santa, and all I could ask:
"What good is opinion not taken to task?"

We must all offer comment, we must all criticize.
We must cross uncrossed T's and dot dotless I's.

We should stand and defend that in which we believe;
To do anything less would be simply naive.

"I thank you, but no," I said to Old Claus.
"And destroy that gift now, with great haste and no pause."

"Not one single man should have such verbal might;
And all should be ready for an opining fight."

"Are you sure that you're sure?" Santa asked with a grin.
"You know that this offer will not come again."

But I just said, "Hey, while it's tempting, for sure,
Life without debate would become quite a bore."

Then Santa flew off in his red hat and coat.
So I fired up the PC and ditched the remote.

"I take issue with something..." I started to write.
Merry Key-Banging to all, and to all a good night.

Happy Holi...no. Merry Chri...no. Merpy Holimas! Yes!

I woke up one Saturday morning and realized that I needed to go Christmas shopping. I could have surfed the Internet, but it wouldn't have been the same.

I wanted to risk a hernia by lifting the circular-stuffed newspaper. I wanted to jump in my car and choose a radio station that played Christmas music all day, interrupted only by commercials that promoted nothing more than an overrated cleverness at rewriting the words to "The Twelve Days of Christmas" so that the last word of the jingle rhymes with "cordless."

I wanted to battle traffic, with lead-foots behind me and lead-brains in front. I wanted to spend three hours searching for a parking spot, and then settle for a space farther from the mall than my house is. I wanted to be greeted by the ringing of the Salvation Army's Bell of Holiday Guilt. I wanted to dodge department store perfume commandos. I wanted to apply swift, defensive leg maneuvers on coupon-bearing elves. I wanted to fight my way through the food court's throngs of patrons (who really don't need to court anymore food to begin with). And I wanted to find everything I needed, provided everything I needed was in the wrong size, wrong color, and wrong price-range.

It was August 23rd.

Okay, I exaggerate; but, Christmas WAS in full swing in many stores on November 1st, leaving no time for the good Halloween candy to be devoured, and the bobo candy to just sit there in the bowl, forever unwanted. Given the cyclically-changing song sung by the retail industry at the end of every third quarter (break-even in good times, desperation in lean), it comes as no surprise that each year, the day many reserve to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ has been transformed into the months (yes, plural) that will pull the butts of box stores and boutiques alike out of another year's red ink. No sooner is Frankenstein folded or deflated or peeled off the glass, Santa Claus is there in his place, and every retail outlet is awash in a sea of red and green and silver and gold, piping in holiday standards by the likes of Bing Crosby, The Carpenters, Harry Connick Jr., and John Tesh. Oh, the horror of Tesh.

But all of this, and so much more (MUST Santa arrive at the mall by parachute?), is at the root of what puzzles me about one particular "front" in the so-called "War on Christmas." And I'm not picking one side over another here; both sides puzzle me.

The particular front I'd care to address concerns the utterance of "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" when a store employee offers a greeting or a valediction to a customer. In the corner to my left are those who think that when a store clerk says "Merry Christmas," that clerk is using the occasion to force Christianity down the customer's throat. In the corner to my right are those who think that when a store clerk says "Happy Holidays," that clerk is using political correctness to undermine Christianity.

The puzzling part is that both corners are so busy being offended, neither can see that they are both to blame for the very problem that has introduced military euphemisms into the season of peace, love, and snowflakes. The problem is that a long time ago, someone put their secular chocolate into someone else's spiritual peanut butter, and Christmas became a religious day enrobed in materialism.

You folks in the right corner helped create this dilemma when you shared your day with Macy's, Gimbels, et al., in a move that could be considered a precursor to stadium-naming rights. No, Christmas Day is not called "Sears Christmas Day," but the materialistic mentality of retail is associated with Christmas at a Pavlovian level. In fact, Christmas has become the movie star of holidays, and you must take some of what you think is negative along with all of the good press the day gets. If that means sometimes hearing "Happy Holidays," that's on you.

You folks in the left corner aren't without blame, either. Even though you've lived there for decades and you've earned a certain latitude, you can't rent a house and then complain that the owner doesn't like what you've done with it. Sure, you can argue that thanks to spectacular advertising campaigns and deep discounts, Christmas Day gets more exposure than every other Christian holiday combined (including Easter), but you have to consider what made you pick Christmas in the first place, and at least have respect for the day's origins. If that means sometimes hearing "Merry Christmas," that's on you.

What we (and by we I mean all us, whether our church has an altar or a cash register) are left to contend with is somehow separating the chocolate from the peanut butter on this Reese's Cup (Jesus Cup?). Unfortunately for both sides, that isn't going to happen overnight, if at all. As I see it, there are three options.

The first option is for the folks in the right corner to move the holy day of Christmas to another date and return it to its humble, spiritual beginnings. Part of me thinks that this would serve you right for subletting such an important day, sometimes to patently cheesy ends (Exhibit A: the Fisher Price Nativity Set). However, you had the date first, so you get first dibs. I'll go out on a limb and guess you'd like to keep your date.

The second option is for the folks in the left corner to take Secular Christmas and not only move the date, but rename it as well. I recommend calling it MichaelNaz Day and shifting it to August, where there are no holidays to be found. This, too, is unlikely to happen, as too many good Secular Christmas songs reference the cold, and the last thing I want to think about in 100-degree August heat are chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Plus, the first boy to buy one of The Girls a string bikini for Chri...MichaelNaz Day would create a conflict so great, it would simply crush any and all holiday cheer. I can't have that.

Since you are stuck with each other, you are left with the third option: Get over it. Both of you.
Hey Left, stop being paranoid. Christians are not secretly trying to recruit you into Christianity through mystical verbal hypnosis. Saying "Merry Christmas" is, at the very least, a long tradition that is done with best of intentions. Besides, a statement of "Merry Christmas" by the woman who just sold you three-for-one smelly soaps is about as far from Jesus as you can get. And you spent enough money to get the free tote bag, so be merry.

Hey Right, stop being paranoid. Stores are about making money, not spreading the Good Word. If a store owner thinks the best way to make money is to be as inclusive as possible, and if a store owner thinks that saying "Happy Holidays" is more inclusive, then it's a business decision, not a religious one. Besides, with the shopping season covering three major holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Day), "Happy Holidays" is pleasant, accurate, and a little more digestible on November 1st, some 54 days before Christmas (imagine saying "Happy Halloween" on Labor Day). And you got a free tote bag too, so be happy.

Merpy Holimas, everybody!

A Direct Challenge To Those Who Oppose Same-Sex Marriage, PART II: THE SECULAR ARGUMENT (Thank God)

Previously, on MichaelNazSays...

In the wake of the November 4th passing of California's Proposition 8, I issued a few challenges (see PART I) to those who use the Bible as the basis for their opposition to same-sex marriage and homosexuality. Despite some readers' interpretations of my piece, the challenges were not intended to disprove, or disapprove of, the Bible or God or faith; they were meant to get those people who use the Word of God as the basis for this position to consider how they use - or don't use - that same Word of God in other aspects of their lives.

The responses I received ranged from bigoted missives (from both sides of the issue) to intellectual debate (also from both sides of the issue) to the typed equivalent of yelling the same thing over and over again. But even at its most heated, the rage only covered half of the debate.

(CUE THEME MUSIC)

My children have the benefit of satellite TV, something I didn't have at their age (like, among other things, MP3s and squeeze ketchup). Because of satellite TV, The Girls enjoy 24-hour educational programming. Me? I had to rely on daily doses of Sesame Street and The Electric Company; a weekly lesson in love, crime-solving, and asset management from Hart to Hart; and, on Saturdays, Schoolhouse Rock shorts.

Schoolhouse Rock shorts were like cartoon CLIFFS NOTES for every class in school. I'm Just a Bill showed me how ideas become laws, The Great American Melting Pot celebrated America's diverse cultural heritage, and Electricity, Electricity taught me about...well...electricity. But the mother of them all, the FIRST vignette, was a little ditty known as Three Is A Magic Number. The short's groovy tune extolled the unique virtues of the number three, citing its importance to tripods, tricycles, time (past, present, and future), and even spirituality (faith, hope, and charity). It also sang about the importance of the number to the traditional family unit:

A man and a woman had a little baby / Yes they did / They had three in the family / And that's a magic number.

But just as I'm Just a Bill failed to provide tips on how to handle those awkward airport bathroom situations, and The Great American Melting Pot never hinted how some people would rather the recipe be written in English only, and Electricity, Electricity didn't stop me from sticking a fork in the toaster, Three Is A Magic Number never pointed out that, as is the case with all magic, things are not always what they seem.

That lyric from Three Is A Magic Number neatly summarizes the foundation of the non-religious argument against same-sex marriage:

a) "A man and a woman..." represents love and marriage.

b) "...had a little baby" represents procreation.

c) "They had three in the family" represents what has come to be defined as a traditional family structure.

And it is within the context of these three things that you will find PART II's sole secular challenge. I welcome your dissent and your discourse, but please, I ask that you refrain from invoking God or His Word as it relates to this debate. That bus left last week. Let us proceed.

The other popular argument against same-sex marriage is that it defies nature and the natural progression of humans, their relationships, and the perpetuation of the human species. The argument states that the reason why nature gives men and women their unique plumbing is for the purpose of procreation (to keep humanity going), that love and marriage are natural steps toward that end-goal, and that homosexuals can never reach that end-goal. With thanks to someone with the screen name of "syscore" for taking me back, I'll leverage my childhood memory again and call this the "Rule of the O.P.S." (Old Playground Song), which says, "First comes love, second comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage." Despite the obviousness of the rhyme - we fall in love, we marry, we procreate - humanity is nowhere near that simple, and it is foolish to think that this is the rule of nature as it applies to humans.

With that, I CHALLENGE YOU to refute my following argument:

Love, marriage, sex (as the mechanism for procreation), and procreation itself are all mutually exclusive; each can exist on its own without the other three, or in some combination thereof. Committed couples fall in love, have sex, and have children, but skip marriage. Single women get pregnant through artificial insemination, and bypass love, sex, and marriage. Whole cultures arrange marriages and force couples into relationships where love doesn't exist, but sex and children do. Folks fall in love, marry, and have sex, but use birth control to prevent conception. And then there are the people who have never married, who aren't in love, and who do not want children, but have healthy, active sex lives.

If you are so inclined, refute my argument and declare these people as being unnatural. But if you do, remember this: so prevalent are these scenarios that chances are good someone you know falls into one of them. Maybe it's your boss. Maybe it's one of the guys you tailgate with. Maybe it's your doctor. Maybe it's your child's teacher. Maybe it's your brother. Are they unnatural?

Maybe it's you. Are YOU unnatural?

Oh, and then there are the divorcees. I don't want to dwell on this, other than to ask you if you have ever seen any nature program on the Discovery Channel that talks about a chimpanzee demanding a prenup, or a lioness getting half-plus-alimony.

As for those who think that the traditional family structure of man/woman/child is also the law of nature and the only legitimate family environment, then I'm looking for a volunteer who is willing to lecture the president-elect on how woeful his life was having not had this type of childhood, and how this dearth of structure will lead to his social demise. Whether a single-parent, same-sex-parent, or adoptive-parent home, love is love, and I think most people would rather be in a loving and nurturing environment with a unique parental situation than have opposite-sex parents who exist in a cold, loveless marriage that they are keeping together - on paper, not in practice - "for the kids." The bottom line? You can't measure love with census data.

All of these possibilities are what separate humans from the rest of nature, and what makes the "defies nature" argument so feeble. Our intellect, our logic, and our decision-making abilities are only three examples of what separate us, greatly, from the rest of nature's pack. The "defies nature" argument simply cannot be applied to humans. We are too advanced and too different a species to be compared to the creatures of the wild.

Look, I followed the blueprint of the Old Playground Song - I fell in love with Baby, I married her, and we had The Girls. And if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing. And maybe your path was the same, and others' paths were, too. But while you and I might have what many others have, that doesn't mean that Three (or Four, or more) is magic for everyone, nor does it mean that anyone is any more or less natural than the next person.

A Direct Challenge To Those Who Oppose Same-Sex Marriage, PART I: THE HOLY TRINITY

When it comes to the practice of people pretending to be what they are not, and then being rewarded for it, it's no wonder that Halloween and Election Day are so close together on the calendar. Think about it: A stranger (trick-or-treater / politician) visits you (to your front door / through your TV), wearing a mask (Spider-Man / fake smile), asking you to reward him (candy / vote), and as soon as he has what he wants, the mask comes off (usually that night / usually when it comes time to actually govern). But just as some of the scariest masks on All Hallow's Eve are worn not by the trick-or-treaters but by those who dole out the sweets, some of the scariest masks on Election Day are worn not by the politicians, but by the voters.

I've spent nearly a week trying to articulate my opinion on the passing of California's Proposition 8, which, technically, defines marriage as being valid only between one man and one woman. But really, for all practical intentions, it is a ban on same-sex marriage.

For the record, I believe Proposition 8, and any other new or existing legal measure that prohibits gays from marrying, to be nothing more than bigotry masked as the will of the people; hate scribed on parchment.

However, I've had trouble banging the keys on this issue. I've read tens of thousands of words about this, both online and in print; words ranging from pure polling statistics to Constitutional debates to arguments of rights vs. privileges to venomous and hateful blogs. So much has been written about this issue, I wasn't sure that I could add anything new. Plus, I've railed against this type of hatred before, and while the issue certainly warrants ongoing discussion, I usually try to look for different topics to comment on. Besides, a prescient argument was excellently crafted by Mark Boggs in The Salt Lake Tribune on October 18.

Then I noticed a pattern. Throughout many of the comments I have read, there are common defenses made by those who approve of the ban: homosexuality is a violation of God's word; homosexuality is a threat to marriage/procreation/family; homosexuals are okay, it's homosexuality that is the problem; homosexuality is a choice.

But it wasn't what I read that finally got me going; it was what I DIDN'T read. Sure, those in support of gay marriage have made fine arguments for their cause, but beyond the usual pro-gay language and basic name-calling, not one supporter of gay marriage has really taken one detractor of gay marriage to task for his or her negative opinions. I thought maybe someone should.

I thought maybe I should.

I've always believed that people who discriminate against gay marriage - and homosexuals - are not true proponents of God's Word, nor protectors of marriage and family and children, nor sympathizers of the gay plight. I've always believed that people who discriminate against homosexuals are misguided at best and ill-willed at worst, and use "God's Word" or "protection of marriage/procreation/family" or "love the sinner, hate the sin" as threadbare rhetoric to mask darker feelings that might otherwise invite unwanted social persecution.

But I'm a fair guy. I'm willing to be convinced otherwise. In PART I: THE HOLY TRINITY, I will give those of you who declare that your opposition to gay marriage and homosexuality is not hate-based, but is indeed based on God's Word, a chance to do more than just quote Scripture; I will give you the chance to affirm your conviction. Below is a holy trinity of challenges that, should you accept them and live by (or up to) what they ask, will make you aces in my book. If you cannot execute all of these, you are nothing more than a poser, and possibly a hater. With that, let's begin.

First, I CHALLENGE YOU to live by ALL the Words of God, not just those that suit your particular agenda. And by "all the Words of God," I don't just mean the Ten Commandments and one cherry-picked quote from Leviticus (18:22). I mean all of them, including the obvious, like "Do unto others...", and the easy, like "Let he who is without sin...," as well as the not-so-obvious, like killing adulterers, and the not-so-easy, like completely disassociating yourself from women who are menstruating. Remember, you consider Scripture to be the rulebook, so it is only fair you play by all of the rules in it.

Next, I CHALLENGE YOU to take umbrage with everyone who violates any Word of God. If you are going to boycott gay marriage because you believe homosexuals violate the Word of God, then consider boycotting professional football, whose players violate the Word of God by playing on the Sabbath. While you're at it, boycott all other people who work on the Sabbath, like policemen, firefighters, and ER doctors. Just remember to take a moment to pray that no crisis befalls you on Sundays, because if your house is burning down, 12:01 AM on Monday won't come soon enough.

Finally, I CHALLENGE YOU to contact your local, state, and federal politicians and demand a ban of every other religion that isn't your religion. There was a great line in the TV show HOMICIDE: LIFE ON THE STREET, where, at the end of a religious debate between two men of different faiths, Detective Frank Pembleton (Andre Braugher) says to Detective Tim Bayliss (Kyle Secor), "If my God wins, you're screwed." Is this not the perfect summary to the great, unspoken hypocrisy of modern faith? Publicly, members of one religion respect the beliefs of other religions, even when the basic tenets are vastly different. But behind closed doors, each swears all others are patently wrong. Why bother dancing this dance? If only one religion will win come Judgment Day, why not make sure it's yours, and why not make sure today?

I think that should do it. Let me know how you make out.

NEXT WEEK: PART II