Dream-y

(warning: heterosexual males [and lesbians] may not find this post very interesting)






Oh Matt Damon...so down-to-earth, so not corrupted by Hollywood, so guy-next-door, so into football, so adorable.

In other words: *drool*

Another awesome shirt

If you were wondering, yes I did end up buying that shirt, but I doubt I'll be buying this one:





Yeah, no question that the shirt is awesome. So why am I not buying? Well, I figure people will spend 5 minutes reading my chest, and will either end up loving shirt, or will be confused by some of the references. That, or people will be pissed off that I just "ruined" The Usual Suspects for them (because I know that the shirt "ruined" Dumbledore's killer for me).

Any thoughts? Opinions?

Theories as to why that guy is making that face?

Who is our largest enemy in Iraq?

The L.A. Times has an answer:

Although Bush administration officials have frequently lashed out at Syria and Iran, accusing it of helping insurgents and militias here, the largest number of foreign fighters and suicide bombers in Iraq come from a third neighbor, Saudi Arabia, according to a senior U.S. military officer and Iraqi lawmakers.

About 45% of all foreign militants targeting U.S. troops and Iraqi civilians and security forces are from Saudi Arabia; 15% are from Syria and Lebanon; and 10% are from North Africa, according to official U.S. military figures made available to The Times by the senior officer. Nearly half of the 135 foreigners in U.S. detention facilities in Iraq are Saudis, he said.

Fighters from Saudi Arabia are thought to have carried out more suicide bombings than those of any other nationality, said the senior U.S. officer, who spoke on condition of anonymity because of the subject's sensitivity.

Well, seeing that 15 of the 19 September 11th hijackers were from Saudi Arabia, I guess this supports the President's ascertation that "the same folks that are bombing innocent people in Iraq are the ones who attacked us on Sept. 11." Of course, President Bush was talking about Al Qaeda in Iraq, and not Saudis, but even I can admit when the President inadvertently gets it half-right.

Now, I'd be a lax blogger if I didn't make two follow-up points:

1. Who is one of our allies in the War on Terrorism? Saudi Arabia.

2. Which Middle Eastern royal family has good and friendly relationship with the Bush family? Saudi Arabia's royal family.

Don't get me wrong, I don't believe--nor am I saying--that all Saudis are against us. But based on the above paragraph, it seems pretty clear why we haven't heard much about the Saudi Arabia/Iraq insurgency connection...

Finally, someone figured out those damn Pearl Jam lyrics!

what a relief, it's all so clear now!

Leahy lays a smackdown

Hot damn. Or, as Andrew Sullivan notes, "here's what's been wrong with the Bush administration from Day One."

Pick the new SC licence plate

Do you live in South Carolina? Are you originally from South Carolina? Did you go to a school in South Carolina? Do you ever drive through South Carolina? Well then, you'd probably prefer it if South Carolina's next license plate is not boring as hell (Michigan), does not resemble a Saturday morning cartoon (Kentucky), literally be "gay" (Hawaii), look like someone spent about 3 seconds designing it (Missouri), or have an outline of the state so people know they're not in Kansas anymore (Nebraska).

Well, you're in luck, because the Palmetto State wants your help in picking the next license plate. The three choices are below:




















I know what you're thinking: "Wow, I really like that one, but those other two are ugly as sin, and I would hate to see them darken the fair Palmetto State. I better make sure the one I like wins." Good, I like the way you think! And because you have a favorite choice, you should go here, vote, and ensure that for years to come, all South Carolinians will be proud to look at the backside of the car in front of them.

I took the GRE.

Yep, it's done.

Well, I didn't do as well as I would have liked, but strangely, I'm ok with that. I've always been a very optimistic, "look on the bright side" kinda guy, and as such, after I got my verbal and math scores, I simply thought, "ok, guess I'm taking it again." No big meltdown, no waving my fist at God, no disparaging remarks about the test or the test-makes, none of that. Nope, just simple realization that I have more work to do if I want to enter a good graduate school.

I also know that there's no shame in having to take the test twice. My friend Judy had to take the GRE two times, and now she's at a PhD program at Florida. And today, while waiting to take the test, another girl commented on how this was her second time taking the GRE. So I figure if nothing else, taking the test twice just means I get to refine my standardized test-taking skills. That, and I'll actually get to use the GRE Powerprep that ETS (the makers of the GRE) just sent me. Apparently, the Powerprep CD-ROM has two sample tests, its own math review, test tutorials, et cetera and so on. You know, a lot of good stuff that would have come in handy if I hadn't received the CD-ROM a mere five days before my test...

But, back to me "looking on the bright side": I also noticed that I actually can sit at a desk for multiple hours and focus on the subject at hand. With no caffeine in my system I was able to jump from essay writing to perimeters of triangle with grace and ease. Oh, and about the essays: I can crank out some kick-ass stuff on the fly! I guess blogging is good for something afterall.

After the test, part of me actually considered taking one of those GRE prep classes; but the other 99.9% of me decided that those classes cost too much money and I ain't Mr. Moneybags over here. So what are my next steps? Well, I'm taking about two weeks off from studying to recharge my batteries; then I'm jumping back in to the studying fray. Also, I'm going to look at the local part-time grad programs to see how my GRE scores stack up against the programs' requirements. But most of all, my most immediate plan is to use hardly any of my higher brain functions until I go back to work on Wednesday.

But, nevertheless, thanks for well-wishes AK and Nick and everyone else; you can keep 'em coming over the next few months.

I'm taking the GRE...

...in T-minus 48 hours.

Yep, after what seems like years of studying, I'm finally taking this dreaded test on Monday at 1pm. I'm pretty sure my brain will be mush by Monday at 5pm. Luckily, due to my foresight to request the day off of work, my ass (and the rest of me) will be laying on my couch Tuesday, starting whenever the hell I get outta bed. Pretty much I plan to be a study in the art of laziness.

But before I can get to Tuesday, I've gotta get through last-minute studying and actually taking the test.

Wish me luck. Prayers are welcome.

...and that's what loving is all about.

Let me tell you a little story: in 1958 Mildred Jeter, a black woman, had married Richard Perry Loving, a white man. Soon after, the state of Virginia arrested them both for marrying outside their race. Why? Because the "Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, Malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents" which "shows that he did not intend for the races to mix."

However, in 1967, after years of legal battles, the U.S. Supreme Court overturned the Virginia decision (and logic). The highest court in the land decreed that "marriage is one of the 'basic civil rights of man'" and "the freedom to marry, or not marry, a person of another race resides with the individual and cannot be infringed by the State."

Today, 40 years after Loving vs. Virginia, Mrs. Loving released a statement. In it, she relates her love for her late husband, as well as the legal and moral fight that ensued after the Lovings got married. Mrs. Loving also speaks to where we were as a nation in 1967 in regards to who could and could not get married, and where we are today.

If you know me even a little, you've probably figured out where I'm going with this. And if you haven't figured it out, I feel you'll catch on.

Below is Mrs. Loving's statement, in its entirety. Read and reflect:

Loving for All

By Mildred Loving*

Prepared for Delivery on June 12, 2007,
The 40th Anniversary of the Loving vs. Virginia Announcement

When my late husband, Richard, and I got married in Washington, DC in 1958, it wasn’t to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married.

We didn’t get married in Washington because we wanted to marry there. We did it there because the government wouldn’t allow us to marry back home in Virginia where we grew up, where we met, where we fell in love, and where we wanted to be together and build our family. You see, I am a woman of color and Richard was white, and at that time people believed it was okay to keep us from marrying because of their ideas of who should marry whom.

When Richard and I came back to our home in Virginia, happily married, we had no intention of battling over the law. We made a commitment to each other in our love and lives, and now had the legal commitment, called marriage, to match. Isn’t that what marriage is?

Not long after our wedding, we were awakened in the middle of the night in our own bedroom by deputy sheriffs and actually arrested for the “crime” of marrying the wrong kind of person. Our marriage certificate was hanging on the wall above the bed. The state prosecuted Richard and me, and after we were found guilty, the judge declared: “Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix.” He sentenced us to a year in prison, but offered to suspend the sentence if we left our home in Virginia for 25 years exile.

We left, and got a lawyer. Richard and I had to fight, but still were not fighting for a cause. We were fighting for our love.

Though it turned out we had to fight, happily Richard and I didn’t have to fight alone. Thanks to groups like the ACLU and the NAACP Legal Defense & Education Fund, and so many good people around the country willing to speak up, we took our case for the freedom to marry all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. And on June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court ruled unanimously that, “The freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men,” a “basic civil right.”

My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed that what the judge said, that it was God’s plan to keep people apart, and that government should discriminate against people in love. But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation’s fears and prejudices have given way, and today’s young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry.

Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don’t think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the “wrong kind of person” for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people’s religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people’s civil rights.

I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard’s and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That’s what Loving, and loving, are all about.

Remebering how the other-half lives

The above is a map of the U.S., with each state renamed for a country with a similar gross domestic product. Now, I knew California was a rich state, but it has the same GDP as France? My word. And Texas matching Canada ain't nothing to scoff at either. But, in the end, what this map really tells me is that America is insanely rich, and most of its citizens (including me) have no idea of how the rest of the world lives.

Case in point, my friend Graham took this picture of two South African day laborers as they awaited--and hoped--for work in Cape Town:


Sometimes I have to wonder why I am so lucky to be financial comfortable, while others live on the other end of the spectrum, just struggling to survive day to day.

There's a swamp in my home, or: How my washing machine betrayed me.

Is it a dead opossum?
Maybe rotten eggs?
How about a swamp?
Yep, that's it, it smells like a swamp in my apartment.

And you ask, what is causing such a foul odor in my home? Well, my washing machine of course; because it has decided to stop draining water.

(Hmm, "getting rid of the dirty water," kind of a crucial step in the clothes-washing process, wouldn't you say?)

Now, despite my attempts to make the drain hose as straight as possible (never mind that it wasn't kinked in the first place), shaking the machine with all my fury and might, and promising the machine that I will always use "the good stuff" (i.e. Tide, not Purex), my washing machine still refuses to drain the water. I'm still wondering if there's a Catholic patron saint for victims of modern technology; and if so, how a Protestant like myself can get in that saint's good graces.

At this point, you're probably wondering why I said my washing machine smelled like a swamp. Well, (as you may recall from school) "standing water" harbors bacteria, and the bacteria in my washing machine's tub are--in a word--rank. No lie, open up my washer and the pleasant aroma of roadkill on a hot summer day fills your nostrils.

So, with a blitzkrieg being waged against my sense of smell anytime I am near the washer, the machine needs to be fixed post-haste...with the quickness...asap...quick, fast, and in a hurry. And so today, the repairman was to come out and operate on my ailing home appliance--and his estimated time of arrival was the incredibly helpful "sometime between 8am and 6pm."

Now, even though I had to stay indoors all day and wait on the repairman, I was able to use the day productively: I signed on to facebook about 18 times, caught up on the Voltron episodes stored on my DVR, watched The West Wing on DVD, cleaned my bathroom; you know, the uber-important stuff.

Well, as the afternoon turned into nighttime, and the repairman had yet to arrive, I called my appliance company. "Don't worry," they said, "he's at your apartment complex right now."

Thirty minutes later, with the repairman still M.I.A., I got the "we'll have the dispatcher call him and see where he is, and the dispatcher will call you back."

An hour later, with the repairman still a no-show, no call from a dispatcher, and water still in my washer, I called the company again, and got this response: "um, my system shows that the repair job has been completed."

[dear reader, please insert your favorite expletive here]

Suddenly, righteous indignation and I became fast friends, and I was a wellspring of rage, disparaging remarks, and sarcasm. I also think I may have made ample use of the words "incompetent" and "ridiculous," but I'm not positive.

And why am I not sure of my choice of words at that point? Well, after the customer service rep gave me the cliché and perfunctory, "I understand you're frustrated," my memory of events gets a little fuzzy. However, I do recall a lot of me waving my finger around in the air.


I have to call later today to see how soon they can get a repairman out to actually fix my washer; meanwhile, I've realized that customer service in America continues to get worse.

That, and my washing machine still smells like the elephant cage at the zoo.

This gave me pause

From Andrew Sullivan's blog:

Bush said today that we should expect an escalation of violence in Iraq because the enemy know that September is a key date for political opinion. So, let me get this straight: if there is less violence, it obviously means the surge is working, and if there is more violence it means the enemy is desperate to get us out and the surge is working.

Sigh. Looks like we're "staying the course," no matter what happens.

Or are we?

How to become a winner at Rock-Paper-Scissors!

Ever want to destroy your friends and family in a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors? Ever want to ensure that you get shotgun in a crowded car, get the last beer, or get to flirt with the attractive honey while your competition has to take the ugly friend? Well, once again, the internet has come to the rescue!

Actually, I've looked over the tips, and I think they'd be a little hard to implement in real life--the tips require a lot of forethought and continuous calculation of how someone's last move will affect their next move. Nevertheless, as a public service to all of you who make minor life decisions based on scissors cutting paper, I present to you this holy grail of cheating at Rock-Paper-Scissors.

I am Jerry Falwell's worst nightmare

In regards to September 11th:

"I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way -- all of them who have tried to secularize America -- I point the finger in their face and say, 'You helped this happen.'"

--Jerry Falwell (1933-2007)

My friends, it is a quote like this that does a great disservice to Christianity, for it prevents many non-Christian from even considering coming to the Faith. Why would you join something that already hates you before it knows you? But wait, the Reverend has a response to that:

"I don't hate you. I just think that you're being a pervert. ... God is angry with your kind of moral behavior."

*sigh* I am thankful that I became a Christian before I came out. I am thankful that Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, and their ilk did not prevent me from knowing my Lord and Savior. But mostly, I am thankful (and humbled) that I can be a shining light of Christ's love...

Sorry

I know I've been lax in the blogging posting. I'm sorry.

It's just that I am now officially registered to take the GRE (!), which means I'm putting my studying into overdrive. I've made flashcards for some new vocab words, am sending a "word of the day" email to co-workers to both expand their vocabulary and review mine, and have purchased a new GRE math book in hopes that it will strengthen my already-improving math skills (I even think I finally understand square roots).

If that weren't enough, I also seem to be able to sit and study for at least an hour and a half without caffeine; and considering that the actual test is 4 hours long, that's exciting.

The test is June 25, so wish me luck. But, don't worry, the test won't cause me to ignore my blogging duties.

But, on a current affairs note, can someone pronounce Nicolas Sarkozy's name for me? I haven't seen a TV report on the election; I've only read his name in the paper. Nevertheless, I feel that "Sarkozy" is a name that begs to be pronounced pretentiously: I'm imagining something like "Sar-cooooo-z."

Do you get it?

And if you do, you probably think this is either obscene, or the greatest shirt ever.


I'm leaning towards the latter...

Getting my humanity back

22. That was the death toll around 12 noon yesterday morning, when a co-worker mentioned the tragedy at Virginia Tech. I, in a knee-jerk reaction, went straight to CNN.com to get the news. And how macabre it was; students, going about their Monday morning, were senselessly gunned down.

But what disgusted me more than the event itself was my immediate reaction: acknowledgment of the event, but no acknowledgment of the emotional weight.

In retrospect, I surmise that after seeing the death tolls of September 11th, reading about the ongoing carnage in Iraq; hell, watching a fictional nuclear bomb detonate near Los Angeles in "24", that the deaths of 22 people just didn't have the deep emotional impact on me.

At that point, the closest I got to "emotional impact" was when I began to think of my friend in Blacksburg, whom I knew was safe since he's a Tech alum (and thus, wouldn't have been in a classroom or dorm). However, I began to think, "what about everyone else? People are dead and I'm happy that my friend--who was never in harm's way in the first place--is ok?"

Why?

My answer (which is not an excuse, mind you, but rather is the closest I've come to an explanation) is that somewhere along the way, I became desensitized to the violence of this world.

And that's when I gave myself a long over-due, but much needed, punch in gut. I had to get my senses back, had to come down to Earth, had to realize that whether it's 33 people in Blacksburg, or three people in a Nor'easter, whether its 7 in Iraq, or ~90,000 in Hiroshima, that each and every human life lost needs to be mourned.




Somewhere along the way, I became desensitized to the violence of this world. Somewhere along the way, deaths just stop meaning as much to me; but this emotional disconnect ends now. I've gotten part of my humanity back.

Sometimes, I just don't understand J.Crew

Yes, those are "classic Polynesian boats" printed on "sturdy cotton canvas."

They are also fugly ugly.

Hey NIT, get your mind outta the gutter

What a great NIT Championship shirt!

Of course the tournament for the runner-ups would misspell "Virginia," but really now, that shirt is just all kinds of wrong. What the hell; was someone thinking about Lindsay Lohan while they were proof-reading?

You can find me in the club

I love to dance; and if you've ever seen me dance, you're unlikely to forget it. But, for those who haven't seen me dance, then let's just say that the lower half of my body moves. A lot.

And because of my love of the dance, I've been frequenting a "club" in Chapel Hill a lot lately. Well, it's actually a martini bar most days of the week, but on Sunday nights, it becomes "Stir": the closest thing to a "gay club" that Chapel Hill has to offer. So yes, on the Lord's day (or the Lord's night, I suppose) I go gallivanting to Stir, hang with my a few of my gayer friends, and have a grand ol' time.


















Now, despite Sunday being "gay night" at the Martini Bar (some call it "Gaytini"), there are relatively few gay patrons. However,when considering there are relatively few gay people in Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill in the first place, Stir probably gets a representative sample of the gay-to-straight ratio in Chapel Hill.

Nevertheless, somehow every Sunday, really really straight people invade the club: we're talking thuggish hoodlums, football-playing no-necks, or some other form of guys who would not be cool with "Gaytini" night. Once this uber-straight element enters the club, any guy-on-guy dancing, flirting, or simple less-than-straight acting activity comes to a screeching halt. That is, until the unwelcomed element perceives that "Martini Bar isn't quite the same tonight," and then beats a hasty retreat.

Don't get me wrong, straight people are certainly welcomed--we don't have some moratorium on heterosexuality at "Gaytini." We just want to enjoy the night without worrying about 50 Cent over there having a less-than-civil reaction to the gay going-ons.

Now, despite what you may think, the music at Stir is not all Madonna and George Michael. You've got that "Ridin Dirty" song, that "Kick it like Tai-bo" song, and other examples of the dismal state of pop music (read: anything by Fergie). But sooner or later, the music pulls itself up from the doldrums of utter crap, and starts playing some Beyoncé, Ludacris, and etc.

But last Sunday, crouched between Ciara talking about her "1,2 Step" and Kelis being "Bossy", was probably the worst club song I've ever heard. It's not a bad song per se--it definitely gets a chuckle from me every time it's played--but it's impossible to dance to.

So, while there's no moratorium on straight people at "Gaytini" night, I decree a moratorium on "Dick in a Box."

That's right, the dj played "Dick in a Box"! Why? I have no idea, but I definitely wasn't dancing to it. But never fear, Montell Jordan's "This Is How We Do It" was played soon after.


So, dear readers, when will you be heading down to Chapel Hill to experience "Gaytini" for yourselves? I'll save you a barstool, I swear.