Hold That Thought

I read two disturbing articles in the New York Times today. The first was really a blurb, not a full article, but it was a story with which I was already familiar because it's happening close to home. The school board in Libertyville, a suburb north of the city, has decided that students participating in extracurricular activities will be required to sign a statement agreeing that postings online describing or documenting inappropriate or illegal behavior are grounds for disciplinary action by the school.

This, folks, is chilling.

As a participant in the blogosphere, I harbor no illusions that the content of this blog, my own personal site, or my U Chicago site are either private or not subject to scrutiny. Any ideas, thoughts or claims I post on any of these sites I am willing to defend. I recognize that each site has a purpose and may be read by different groups of people. That's why I don't disclose everything about myself here or anywhere else in cyberspace. What's more, all three sites are governed by some sort of user agreement and/or terms of service contract (here's the one for Blogger, the service that maintains this site) that stipulates what materials may and may not be included in these sites. And if I'm stupid enough to post pictures of myself participating in illegal activities on the internet for all the world to see, then I shouldn't be surprised if the police track me down and charge me with a crime. It shouldn't make a difference that I put evidence on the web, as opposed to showing a picture to friends or buying a half-page ad in the paper and publishing the picture therein.

The issue in Libertyville, thus, is not that students -- or anyone else for that matter -- should be immune from having their web postings used against them. The problem is that it's not the school's place to impose authority over these kids other than during the time they're on school grounds or participating in school-related activities. If a group of kids in Libertyville has a keg party and posts pics for all the world to see on their MySpace page, then they're a bunch of dumb-asses and they deserve to get caught. But not by the school, only by their parents or (if the cops there are really that bored) by the police. When teachers and administrators complain that they spend too much time disciplining children on the one hand, and school boards purposefully seek out methods that would extend the reach of the school's jurisdiction to discipline students on the other, I wonder what the true motivation of these educational bureaucrats really is.

The second, equally troubling issue is who gets to decide what is inappropriate? The definition of "inappropriate" could be so broadly interpreted as to condemn students for perfectly legal behaviors that the school system, other parents or peers might find objectionable. How does this affect minority and disaffected students in the system? Will GLBT students be disciplined for discussing their sexual orientation online if others find that "inappropriate"? What about students who post political ideas online that might offend others? While in the school building or participating in school activities, the school should restrict what students say so as to promote a healthy, functioning learning environment. However, off school grounds students should be allowed to participate in whatever sort of social and political discourse they wish. Only their parents should be allowed to decide what sort of limits are placed on the media they use to espouse their views.

The other piece that caused me great distress this morning concerns a proposal by the ACLU to restrict the speech of its board members.

Let me say that again so it can sink in. The American Civil Liberties Union, proud defender of every American's first amendment right to free speech, is seeking to institute a policy whereby it restricts the free speech of its board members if they happen to disagree with the leaders or policies of the organization.

To be fair, I believe the policy says that board members shouldn't publicly criticize the policies or administration, but that's pretty well just semantics. Disagreement with policy is, in effect, criticism of that policy. Policy is an extension of the sitting administration. Thus, you disagree with policy, you're criticizing policy and the staff.

What has happened to the ACLU? The representatives from the organization -- of which, in the interest of full disclosure, I am a card-carrying member -- defend the policy by saying that rancor among the board and the leadership, including director Anthony Romero, hurts the organization's fund-raising efforts.

So let me just get this straight. The organization that I feel is the first and best line of defense against the continued erosion of our personal liberties in the name of fueling the corporate machine is sacrificing its own principles at the altar of the Almighty Dollar?

I sincerely hope that the additional thirty pieces of silver that the ACLU raises is indeed worth sacrificing the very freedom that lies at the core of its mission. It's a bit like The Gift of the Magi, only without the nobility of the sacrifice.

Anonymous in the Big City

While living in Nashville, a city of approximately half a million people, I discovered an unpleasant fact. A disconcertingly large number of gay men in Nashville know each other, often because they had at one time dated each other. This pseudo-incestuous existence was made all the more unsettling by the relative paucity of available, decent gay men that I found in Nashville. Thus it seemed that by dating any gay man in Nashville, you were in effect dating every gay man in Nashville.

I attributed this humongous circle-jerk to the fact that Nashville was a fairly conservative city, and many gay men were not comfortable being "out." This meant that many gay men existed in a subculture, meeting other men almost exclusively at bars and online. Many gay men did not -- or could not -- reveal their orientation to their colleagues and families. Finding someone to date in this sea of dysfunction was quite challenging. One rarely had the luxury of quibbling over minor details such as, "Have you dated any of my ex-boyfriends?"

Chicago is a beacon of liberalism compared to Nashville. Although I'm sure there are many gay men in this city who must live in the closet, most of the gay men I've met are out and proud, unconcerned with who knows the true nature of their relationships with boyfriends and partners. Plus Chicago is home to nearly 3 million people, nearly six times as big as Nashville. Surely, I figured, the overall larger population of gay men in this city, coupled with the relative openness of the city towards gay people, would mean that I no longer had to worry about everyone I dated knowing or having dated each other.

Oh, how wrong and naïve I was.

I found out last night that Matt, the man I'm dating, knows the last guy I went out with. I've dated all of three men in this city, literally making the odds that any two know each other a million-to-one. Oh, to have this kind of luck with the Illinois Lottery!

Last night's unsettling realization is not too terribly upsetting -- Matt was a little put off that I had dated this person, but greatly reassured by my entirely truthful assertions that Matt is in every regard superior to the other guy. Yet again, this other guy continues to live up to the appelation by which I often refer to him.

That would be "Dodged Bullet."

Tales of Public Transit

An organization called AutoVantage recently released a report listing the cities with the rudest and nicest drivers in the United States. They listed Nashville as having among the nicest drivers in the country, which tells me that this survey is completely inaccurate. Having lived in Nashville for 8 years, I learned that Nashvillians are among the nicest people you can meet on the sidewalks, but among the most ornery people you could run into on the highways and byways.

Since I don't drive much nowadays, instead taking public transit, I don't have to deal with rude drivers as often as I did in Nashville. However, public transit has its share of rudeness, and I've experienced or heard about three particular tales of rudeness just this week.

On Monday I got on board the #55 bus to get from the Garfield train station to the UofC. As the bus was a bit crowded, I made my way to the back and found a seat on the bench along the back wall of the bus. I was reading my paper, trying to ignore all around me as is the norm on the bus and train.

I heard a voice say, "250." I ignored this voice, because, well, I'm on the bus and I don't engage the crazies. Unfortunately, I was jarred by someone kicking my foot. I looked up to see an unkempt middle-aged man looking at me. He said to me, "What are you, about 250?" I assume he was referring to my weight. I looked back at him and said, "That's really none of your goddamned business," and returned to my paper, trying not to look as flustered as I was. Perhaps I should have retorted, "What are you, about 75, 76? Oh, I'm trying to guess your IQ." My friend Joel says I should have said "No, around the world is $50 and a blow job is $25, just like downtown." However, had this man then produced either $25 or $50 I would have been forced to use the closest emergency exit and hurl myself out of the moving bus. I think it was easier just to sit there and ignore him.

My friend Joel was accosted by a Jesus freak in New York. A guy sat across from him on the 7 train and seemed to be checking him out. Intrigued, Joel made brief eye contact and thought he was initiating some harmless flirting. When the train cleared out a bit, this guy sat down next to Joel and said, "By the way you were looking at me, I'm afraid you haven't accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior, and I'm worried about your mortal soul." When J.F. asked Joel if he talked to God everyday, Joel's response was typically priceless: "Yes, I do, and He asked me to tell you to stop calling Him, because he just doesn't think it's going to work out between the two of you. Now I suggest you get up and get the Hell away from me."

Not 20 minutes after hearing this story, I was sitting on a Red Line train heading south to my apartment from Lakeview. Just south of the Washington St. station, a dude was asking passengers if they had three singles for $3.00 in change. Two girls on the train decided first to give the guy the third degree about his motivation for asking for singles. Then they decided to accost him, asking if he had any heroin or crack.

Wow, people. What's the deal? Let's just all try and get along, shall we? You people are giving public transit a bad name. And that's quite a feat.

Announcing . . .

. . . the launch of my new website!

Take a moment to check out A Tenor for Hire!

Tell your friends! Tell your enemies! Tell anyone who's willing to pay money for a singer!!

Inspired

I was perusing one of my favorite websites today and ran across this gem. It's just too funny not to share.

Anatomy of a Long Day of Science

7:05 am: Leave apartment, having awoken at 5:45 am.

7:37 am: Arrive in lab. Check experiment. See didn't work.

8:03 am: Count injected zebrafish embryos. See experiment didn't work. Begin cursing.

8:50 am: Go to gym. Shower. Feel happy once again.

10:05 am: Return to lab. Remake reagent to redo experiment that didn't work (see 7:37 am). Realize that Eric Whitacre CD has arrived from Amazon.com. Rip CD using iTunes. Happiness reigns.

11:43 am: Remember noon seminar. Realize this will delay remaking reagent. Curse some more. Walk to noon seminar for one hour presentation.

1:00 pm: Sit in seminar room waiting for talk to end at 1:00 as scheduled.

1:10 pm: Talk scheduled to end at 1:00 actually ends.

1:18 pm: Return to lab, reinvigorated to do science and talking about weird mouse described in talk that ended at 1:10.

1:22 pm: Purify reagent from first reaction, prepare for second reaction.

1:36 pm: Get interrupted, screw up second reaction. Curse some more.

2:01 pm: Try to recover screwed up reaction. Screw it up again. Cursing ad libitum.

3:04 pm: Finally recover screwed up reaction. Now nearly three hours behind schedule.

4:35 pm: Add final enzyme to reaction. During 1 hour incubation, walk to coffee shop and get coffee to stay awake for next 5 hours.

6:07 pm: Run reaction out on gel as first step in purification.

7:02 pm: Purify reaction from gel. Take spec reading. Reading falls below linear range of assay, indicating shitty recovery. Begin to re-evaluate having chosen a career in science.

7:03 pm: Take another spec reading with increased sample input. Receive acceptable (although shitty) reading.

7:15 pm: Set up new reaction with new reagent. Prepare to relax for an hour.

7:16 pm: Remember that fish must be crossed for experiment tomorrow morning.

7:17 pm: Walk to fish facility. Pull out tank marked to have 8 fish, contains only 3, all females, greatly diminishing probability of successful mating. Begin drinking.

7:26 pm: Drain hip flask. Buzzed, decide to steal 3 males from another tank. Set up crosses. Walk Stagger back to lab.

7:55 pm: Sit and wait another 20 minutes to do next step in experiment.

8:15 pm: Transform reaction into competent DH5α E. coli. Wait 20 minutes, then 10 minutes, then 30 minutes for reaction steps.

9:18 pm: Transfer bacteria to selection medium. Place in incubator. Walk to bus.

9:45 pm: Bus finally arrives, ride to train station.

10:09 pm: Train finally arrives, ride to the Cermak/Chinatown stop.

10:24 pm: Enter apartment. Feed cat. Eat dinner.

11:18 pm: Collapse into bed. Set alarm back to 5:30 am. Pray that Tuesday will be better than Monday. Accept that it won't be. Fall asleep bitter.

My Faith Story, Part III

In the spring of 1994 I finally came to terms with the fact that I was gay. I had suspected as much for a few years, had endured a couple of hopeless relationships with women, and finally accepted that my feelings towards other men were more than just a fascination or a curiosity. The first place I went after coming to this realization was my father's grave. I lay on the ground above my father's interred body and cried, asking for his help and forgiveness. The next place I went for comfort was the church. Unfortunately it was locked -- literally. I went to two different churches near the NC State campus, hoping to find a clergy person to speak with. Instead all I found were empty buildings devoid of anyone willing to listen to my story of confusion and pain.

Over the next year I came out to my close friends and eventually my mother. It would be another ten years before I told anyone else in my family that I was gay. Cowardly though this may be, I figured that being unmarried at 31 and not having brought a girlfriend to a family function since I was 20 might have clued some of my more astute family members in to my "orientation."

In those ten years, I also grappled with what it meant to be gay and a Christian. I spent a lot of time soul-searching, trying to figure out if it could ever be acceptable to engage in sexual acts with other men and still be counted among the righteous. The de jure attitude of mainstream Christian churches was that sex was a gift from God reserved for married people. The de facto situation, however, was that lots of Christians engaged in sex outside of marriage. I figured this meant either that this particular tenet of Christianity wasn't all that important, or that there were a whole wompload of hypocrites running around. Turns out I was probably right on both counts. But that didn't change the fact that, by acknowledging my sexual orientation, I was putting myself in a position to question and perhaps defy one of the central tenets of Christianity with which I had always agreed. I don't mean to say that I always lived up to the expectation of chastity outside of marriage, but I did acknowledge that such behavior was sinful and to be avoided.

Gay men could not marry per se in any mainstream Christian church of which I was aware, at least not 12 years ago when these events in my life were occurring. Even today the list of churches that officially sanction gay marriage is indeed quite small. Could there be a loophole? Could I possibly still find salvation if I reserved myself for a "life partner"? Would God acknowledge such a situation as on par with marriage?

This moral conundrum kept me out of the church for nearly two years after I came out. I was afraid of God, afraid of His judgment, afraid of the judgment of His ministers on this earth. The easiest way to deal with this fear was to avoid it, which I thought meant avoiding church. After all, that's where God lives, right? It turns out God has a way of leaving His house, wandering down the street and catching up to you as you walk down the block minding your own business. Like Noah before me, I would soon learn that fleeing God's calling is about as futile as ice skating uphill.