ARCHIVES: January, 2005
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06 05 04 03 02 01

2005 Archive

12 11 10 09 08 07
06 05 04 03 02 01

2004 Archive

12 11 10 09 08 07
06 05
04 03 02 01


2003 Archive

12 11 10 09 08 07
06 05 04 03 02 01



  The Agenda:

Testing the Premise: Are Gays a Threat to Our Children?

What the "Dutch Study" Really Says About Gay Couples

Federal Hate Crime Statistics: Why The Numbers Don't Add Up

Refuting Christianity Today


Still Life At Sunset

Anderson Cooper and Scooter

Wandering, Wondering

The Aperture of Memory

Easter's Birthday

The First Time I Cussed


  Photo Essays:

The Anasazi Ruins of Chaco Canyon, New Mexico

Monsoons of 2004

Miracle Mile

Now Showing / Reflection on Hayden, Arizona



Not Forty-Four
Friday, January 28, 2005

I am not about to turn 44 next week. I wanted you to know that despite all of the rumors and official documents that state otherwise. Let me reiterate: I am not turning 44.

I will have not seen 44 birthdays. Or Christmases or New Years or Halloweens for that matter. I have not seen 44 winter solstices or summer solstices. And I have certainly not seen 88 equinoxes. I haven't even seen 11 presidential elections. No, not me.

There will not be 44 candles on my birthday cake, and there certainly will not be 44 whacks on my behind. Because frankly, I'm just not into that sort of thing.

Chris and I will be meeting up with our friend David for a long weekend in Las Vegas that continue well into next week, a day or so after my alleged birthday. You can rest assured that I will certainly not be acting like a 44-year-old in Vegas.

But we will get to see Cher, who really is on her 44th Farewell Tour.

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Monday, January 24, 2005

Last Thursday night in Scottsdale, Laurie Anderson told me that the day I realize I will never get to tell my own story is the day I will begin to live.

Last Friday, I held a book in my hands that was printed by Benjamin Franklin, from his very print shop. It was about old-age and he printed it in extra-large type, explaining that if he hoped his book would be of any use to people his age, he may as well try to make it readable.

I also held in my bare hands an English devotional printed in 1687, filled with hand-colored illuminations.

Last Saturday, Christopher bought me two pillows as an early birthday present. We found them in a near-ghost town of Miami Arizona. They are of buxom cowgirls and Roy Rogers because Roy Rogers is from my home town.

© LookingForSam / Chris Gerron

Sunday, I did nothing of consequence. Once you've held an Elizabethan book printed a year before the sinking of the Spanish Armada and you've lain your head on the pillows that your boyfriend bought for you, what else is there to do except to ponder another question that Laurie Anderson asked me? It's a good question, and so I'll ask you so you can think about it as well:

Who was it who taught you what beauty meant?

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Another Post
Tuesday, January 18, 2005

There is a danger to blogging that comes when you don't have anything to say, when you feel you should post something in order to keep your precious few visitors entertained. In other words, to write for the sake of keeping other people reading.

(Not that I'm doing that right now, mind you. I'm writing about what happens when a blogger doesn't have anything to write about. But right now, I do have something to write about, so this is completely different.)

I think most bloggers agree: sometimes all you want to do is write something clever and witty for your blog, but the hard part is coming up with something day after day. Some people go through their entire day evaluating everything that goes on around them, asking themselves, "is this bloggable?"

And on the off-chance that on a given day the answer is always "no" to that question, I'd imagine that many bloggers may come to the conclusion that their life is empty and shallow. That's what I'd imagine, but of course that never happens to me.

I thought about all of this as I waited in line at the smog inspection station for Audi-düdi's 174,000-mile checkup. She passed, but that's not what I wanted to write about. Instead, I though about the poor suffering bloggers of the world who are  struggling to keep their audiences entertained, asking themselves, "when did this blog stop being about me and start being about my adoring fans?" What a desperate trap that must be.

Fortunately, nobody reads this blog so I don't have that pressure. And I hope that day never comes when I have such a large audience that I feel compelled to post some fascinating aspect of my life to keep a voracious fan base tuned in.

Besides, I know that as long as I have an incredibly cute dog, I could always post pictures of him and that would keep everybody satisfied for a while. Interestingly enough, while many gay bloggers post pictures of themselves naked in order to increase the audience, I've found that puppy pictures are just as effective, if not more so.

Chris & Twister Jim & Twister

LookingForSam.com / Photos by Chris Gerron

So if I ever post something just for the sake of posting, just shoot me and get it over with.

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Friday, January 14, 2005

North Beach. The TransAmerica Tower disapears into the clouds

Cafe Trieste - Ginsberg's and the other beat poets' old hangout
Jim Burroway / LookingForSam.com

So anyway, what was I talking about?

Oh yes, yes indeed, San Francisco was very nice over the holidays, although as it happens every time I visit, it rained in torrents. It's as if the sun never shines on the city by the bay.

No, I don't mind it really. For one thing, we get so little rain where we live that it was nice to hear it tapping on the windowpanes and the pavement.

Well, yes, our host's basement flooded again this year. Yes, where his guest room is. Poor David.

No, I think gloomy weather is perfect for this time of year. Really. In many ways it matches my mood; in other ways it complements it and shows it up like a more beautiful sister. Besides, the rain humbles the city and it humbles me too.

Yes, it's always a good thing to be humbled. Especially when not ten minutes after kissing your boyfriend at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve in a crowded bar, while your boyfriend catches up with an old friend he hasn't seen in fifteen years, a model-prefect thirty-something blonde suddenly appears out of nowhere right in front of you and wishes you a Happy New Year with a smile that parts the clouds and demands, yes demands, a New Year's kiss. A real kiss! he insists after a quick peck on the cheek.

No, it is important to accept the humbling situations of rain and gloom whenever the opportunity arises because otherwise, next thing you know you'll go bragging to the whole world and think you're suddenly oh so much better than everyone else.

Yes, I know what you're saying. Your saying to yourself, "but aren't you doing exactly that right now, bragging about getting real-kissed by an amazingly beautiful boy?" And I'm afraid maybe you have a point. But you see, this sort of thing never happens to me! And if it never happens to me, then there is an aspect of unreality about it which means maybe it never really happened.

No, I grew up in the Midwest and my old dead relatives are all telling me: don't get so used to it it will never happen again. It rains a lot in Ohio.

Yes, and it rains a lot in San Francisco and I just stood there in my wet shoes. I gave him another quick peck (on the lips this time), and as he turned and sauntered away, I watched him from my wet shoes in a puddle of rainwater.

No, it's just as well. The dogs chewed up my shaving kit while we were out, the basement flooded some more, and boy did it rain all the way home.

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Chris and David
Jim Burroway / LookingForSam.com






In Which I Use The Word
"Penis" for the First Time
on This Website
Monday, January 10, 2005

The “reverend” Fred Phelps, pastor of Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, infamous for his “God hates fags” protests at Matthew Sheppard's funeral, will be descending into Tucson today along with several of his ilk to protest in front of Rincon High School. The drama department of Rincon High bravely presented the play The Laramie Project about Matthew Sheppard’s murder last December. Phelps will now be in town I guess to present the other side of bigotry. Because you know, there's always two sides to every story.

My first impulse was to go and counter-protest, but they will be protesting during the school day. School authorities, the Southern Poverty Law Center and Wingspan, the local Gay and Lesbian resource center, have all asked that people not counterprotest at the high school while school is in session. Instead, Wingspan encourages everyone to go to their offices instead and sign some sort of card of solidarity or something like that. I don’t know – it sounds kinda weak, but its probably the right thing to do. I understand not wanting to add to the disturbance in front of the high school while school is in session – even if the “reverend” doesn’t have nearly the sense of decency that this faggot has.

On the other hand, we’ve got enough right wingnuts in this state. We don’t need to import any more. I think this calls for some sort of response, but I don’t know what.

These are going to be trying times.


In other news, I’ve been collecting a lot of material for a second website, one that I hope will serve as a resource for Gay and Lesbians in the heartlands and straights who want to know the real scoop instead of the pabulum put out by the wingnuts. Too much of what LGBT organizations do are aimed at political leaders and the East and West coast. Nobody is talking to the middle, and they don't seem to know how to do it without coming off as condescending. I’m hope to correct that sometime this year, but it’s a lot of work collecting tons of information from professional journals and distilling the information for people like me to understand. It ain't easy, but I've learned a lot.

Anyway, in the process of collecting these articles, I’ve discovered that there is a huge field of study on biological differences between gays and straights. And yes, while there have been some small noted differences in brain structure, finger length ratios, average birth order, genetic markers, etc., there hasn’t been anything that conclusively proves a biological basis for homosexuality. But it is good to know that no stone is being left unturned:

          Title: "The relationship between sexual orientation and penile size"
          Authors: Bogaert, Anthony F., Hershberger, S.
          Archives of Sexual Behavior, Jun 1999. Vol 28, No.3, pp. 213-221.

I only have the abstract and I can’t wait to get a copy of the full article next time I go to the UA Medical library. Anyway, here’s the bottom line from the abstract:

“On all five measures, homosexual men reported larger penises than did heterosexual men”.

Now, I don’t know if anybody actually measured the penises or just took their word for it. By the wording “homosexual men reported,” it sounds as though all they did was ask. If that’s the case, then I predict AOL and gay.com will become the newest frontier in sexuality research. Maybe someday one of these brainiac researchers can come up with a formula for converting AOL inches to standard English.

But if these differences in penis sizes turn out to be real, it might begin to explain Fred Phelps.

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◄ December 2004
► February 2005


The Start of a New Year
Wednesday, January 5, 2005

We're finally back home and all is well. The house is still intact and it's back to the day-to-day grind of work and routine. But it was nice to have the week off, with  an excellent Christmas and a few well-chosen gifts including this one, a book by a Famous Author. How exciting! I'm his second-biggest fan, right up there behind Marlene Birrell.

Maybe someday I'll get him to sign it.

Chris and I were at a perfectly lovely dinner party last night. A friend of ours had us over to meet their relatives from out of town. Actually they were from out of country, from the jolly-good mother country of England. It was a marvelous evening with great conversation, witty jokes, even a ribald limerick or two. And it was fascinating to compares views of the world from fresh perspectives, including a lively debate on the relative merits of the words "burgled" and "burglerized".

I love England. It is so wrong that I don't live there. Ironically, they are looking at property here in Tucson. Oh well, I suppose the cactus is always pricklier on this side of the wash.

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