Being Gay is Disgusting

Amongst renewed calls to close the climb of Uluru, citing, primarily, cultural sensitivies and safety concerns, I think it's worthwhile to just take a look at what we all seem to think are valid beliefs worthy of public respect and debate.

H.L. Mencken once said, "We must respect the other fellow's religion, but only in the sense and to the extent that we respect his theory that his wife is beautiful and his children smart." With this in mind, let's look at the beliefs of the Anangu people, the present "owners" of that big-arse rock.

"Uluru and Kata Tjuta provide physical evidence of feats performed during the creation period. [The indiginous tribe] Anangu are the direct descendants of these [ancestral] beings and are responsible for the protection and appropriate management of these ancestral lands," or so says a government Web site.

This story, while fascinating, has as much chance of being true as the biblical story of six-day Creation (Gen 1) or the quranic story of humans being made from a blood clot (Sura 96).

Today is a sad day.

Granted, it's not as sad as those who have lost a relative or a pet or even a job, but I'm sad, nevertheless. Tonight, after a productive day on the Interwebs, after relaxing drinks with great people, after a fun, social event at a newly opened bar, after a great day all-round, I walked out to the street to discover that my guilt-free-electric, fabulously convenient, hardy, trusty, dependable scooter had been stolen by, I have little doubt, some fucking dick-faced prick.

I'm trying not to dwell on the fact that there were five -- count them -- five "guards" not ten metres from where I parked my scooter, although one does find oneself wondering why, if they do not guard objects of value nearest to them, they are called "guards" at all. Perhaps it's more of an honorary title.

I'm trying not to dwell on the fact that my glasses -- with the new lenses I had fitted literally last week -- and several first-edition hard-cover copies of my book have all been lost with my hardy, trusty best friend.

And I'm also trying not to dwell on the fact that if only I had not placed my faith in the ten hands of said five guards, rather electing to attach the U-bolt lock to my front wheel, the whole saga, including this wordy-but-eloquent lamentation, could have been avoided.

Instead, I've found my thoughts drifting towards certain statements made by Christopher Hitchens, Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins and others, regarding the "transcendent." They say, and I found myself agreeing whenever it was said, that religion is not required to have such experiences as the "transcendent," the "luminous," the "ecstatic." The notion of weeping at a musical recital, or being moved by an oil-on-canvas from a long-dead artist, by the almost uncontrollable love and connection one feels to one's spouse, children, even close friends does not require religion and, I would add, oftentimes is all the more strong for its absence: If a close friend remains close even if he turns away from the deity in which you yourself believe, then the friendship is there for its own sake, and not merely because you're theologically compatible.

On 15 June 2011, Dilbert-writer Scott Adams wrote a blog titled Pegs and Holes that said certain impulses, including rape, are natural. Several sites have interpreted this to mean Scott Adams condones rape.

And more, a petition has sprung up at Change.org with the title, "Tell Scott Adams that raping a woman is not a natural instinct." It explains:

"Scott Adams has written a blog insinuating that the act of a man raping a woman is a natural instinct and that society is to blame for these things, not the man who committed the rape."

The trait that all these articles have in common is that they come nowhere close to representing the content, context or intent of the blog they're referencing. The text, which was simply a commentary on nature and a prediction on how mankind humankind hupersonkind might eventually manage to 'switch off' such inconvenient urges, has been interpreted as apologia for rape. Bit of a stretch, no?

Adams' blog was brought to my attention on my Facebook page, the poster stating that Scott Adams is "detestable," so I decided to address it -- lengthily. Along with his dear-departed brother Douglas, Scott Adams' casual writing style, in-your-face bluntness and penchant for the tangential narrative were my style-guides when writing Being Gay is Disgusting. It would be remiss of me to let this go unaddressed.

I wrote this to a special woman who wanted to know what I believed, given that I didn't subscribe to any of the pre-fabricated religions.  I also provided links to the two videos shown here.  Given recent emails I've received from fans and anti-fans, I felt that it was worth repeating for others to read.

I believe in absolute and unconditional equality amongst all people. We must not make exceptions for women, gays, Asians, left-handed people, no-one.  I believe that any ideology or group that wishes to restrict or remove the rights of anyone should be disbanded, ridiculed and/or lose their tax-exemption status.

I believe that people should have the right to live their lives however they choose, provided that their actions do not cause harm to others or infringe upon others' rights to live how they wish.  This includes one's own children - I believe that children must be protected from harm, including (and especially) harm caused by their parents.

She was so sweet.

I mean, really sweet. Almost sickly sweet, but in a good way, you know? And with a wonderful, genuine laugh. As we got to know each other, initially quite by accident, and later quite on purpose, we'd talk about whatever, and it'd be riveting!

I think things started developing potential when, after a long break from friend-level hanging out due to our schedules, we were at a group gathering, and I plucked up the courage to tell her that I missed her. I don't remember her response; I was too busy thinking fuck, I sound like an idiot. I guess we agreed to meet up later in the week.

Things slowly-but-steadily moved in a direction I liked, and we saw each other regularly. I liked when she sat on my lap, and when she held my hand. I liked when she fell asleep in my arms when she was supposed to be watching a DVD with me. I really liked when I'd drive her around on my bike. She'd put her arms around me, or put her hands in my jacket pockets, and rest her head on my back. Man-oh-man. I melted every time.