Bridegroom

I defy anyone who has ever loved -- or who has ever wanted to love or be loved -- not to be profoundly moved by this young man's story:

This simple heartfelt video upload on Youtube inspired the documentary Bridegroom, which has been shortlisted as one of the best of 2013.  It makes an emotionally powerful case for giving gay couples the right to marry.

Of course, if there is one group that the New Misogynists fear and loathe more than "feminists", it's teh gayz.  (And teh tranz. And anyone else who is not hetero-normative according to Old Testament standards.)

It makes sense, in a way.  Variances in gender identity and orientation really mess with their most cherished core delusions about their rightful position in the world, about the very nature of human nature.  It's not surprising, either, that they have come up with various flimsy theories to explain male homosexuality which lay the blame on modern women (their unseemly bids for dominance, their nasty hypergamous ways).  Roosh, predictably, has posited that American men turn gay because of a lack of attractive, available female partners.  

It seems at first a stunningly weak theory given the scores of historical heart-throbs who had to hide their homosexuality lest they disappoint their legions of female fans (Richard the Lion-Hearted, Rock Hudson, Rudolf Nureyev, and Dirk Bogarde spring immediately to this female mind).  

Dirk Bogarde (sigh!)

However, while I was living in the middle east, I talked to a number of men who cited the strict sexual segregation of those societies to "explain" the undeniable existence of homosexuality.  And certainly people (and other animals) that would otherwise seek heterosexual pair bondings will make certain... accommodations... in captivity.  Still, it's hard to make the case that 21st century western societies, with their slutty, liberated women, are driving men into each other's arms.
  
In a conversation Roosh reports, he asks a gay man whether he "pitches" or "catches."  For a guy with Roosh's cultural baggage heritage, this is a crucial distinction, because in Iran and Turkey, the one who penetrates is perceived as "less gay" than the one who is penetrated, and that is because he is assuming the dominant, "masculine" role.  In other words, it's not the sexual act that defines one's sexuality, but the role one performs in said sexual act.  The "active" player maintains his masculinity, whereas the "passive" one forfeits his, and is thereby degraded ("feminized").  (This dogged insistence on gender-determined roles also helps explain why the Iranian government offers gay males the option of sexual reassignment surgery as an alternative to hanging.)  One of the lessons I learned from spending twenty years in the near and middle east was how culture shapes our very definition of what "homosexuality" means.

Lately, it seems that Roosh has been ramping up his anti-gay rhetoric, lauding the homophobic policies of Putin and the promotion of horrific anti-gay thuggery in the former Soviet Union.  This is just one way that the New Misogynists are oblivious to the way the global winds are blowing in favor of increased tolerance.

It's only been one year since Washington passed marriage equity, yet it's already hard for me to remember when gay colleagues were chary of mentioning their partners at work.  Watching the documentary Bridegroom this afternoon reminded me there's still a road to travel, but all the squawking and flailing of the "manosphere" or other far right reactionary groups will not stop the acceptance of gay civil rights.  And in that small way, at least, the world is becoming a better place.

Happy First Wedding Anniversary!

My boss mentioned this morning that she and her wife are planning a belated honeymoon in Hawaii over Christmas, the lucky dogs!  Some balmy weather and sunshine sounds mighty good to me right now.  We're experiencing a cold snap.  Instead of the usual unflagging drizzle, the temperatures have been plunging into the teens overnight.  

It has been a year today that Washington State has recognized marriage equality.

A year ago, my girlfriend and I helped celebrate by attending a public wedding reception at the Paramount Theater downtown.   I don't think I've ever been in the middle of such a deliriously happy crowd before.  The open (free) bar and trays of delicious donated cupcakes certainly contributed to the festive spirit.

My girlfriend and I haven't talked about getting married yet, but now that she is "legally" a woman, I'm sure we both recognized how passage of this law affects our relationship too.

I am fortunate to live in Washington, the state where I was born and raised and plan someday to retire and die -- despite our gloomy weather, insane traffic congestion, and occasional earthquakes. 

The voice of men, the voices of despair

I spent the sunny afternoon at a public pool near my home.  Not surprisingly, given that it was an exceptionally warm day in Seattle, the pool was filled with families.  The density of splashing, shrieking youngsters frustrated my effort to swim laps, but I enjoyed observing the kids nevertheless.  Although I don't have a family and children myself, I sometimes find a kind of vicarious pleasure in watching other families enjoying themselves together.  I was especially moved by several affectionate, attentive fathers interacting with their little ones.  It gives me a kind of hope.  After all, one does not need to be a biological parent in order to feel invested in the youngest generation.

When I got home, I thought about the men of the manosphere, who are so angry and hateful towards women.  Although I frequent manboobz, the site which delights in mocking misogyny, I sometimes feel at odds with the prevailing tone of dominant commenters.  The more I follow the manosphere (Voice for Men, Heartiste, Roosh), the more compassion I feel for the young misogynists.  It's easy to ridicule them, because most of what they say is ridiculous.  It's easy to be outraged by them, because most of what they say is outrageous.  It's easy to be frightened by them, because they are simmering with anger.  And then it's comforting to reassure myself that their ideas are, well, after all, pretty silly.  They pretend they are a movement, but they spend so much of their energy squabbling with one another that it's evident that they couldn't organize themselves out of a paper bag. 

But more and more, what I hear behind their hateful words, their virulent disdain for all women (and most other men), is despair.  Roosh and his ilk (Matt Forney, Paul Elam, "Roissy," et al.) are men who have pretty much given up on the one thing -- other than engaging work -- which makes life meaningful: intimate, committed relationships with others.

A couple of weeks ago, Roosh was positively distraught when Mark Minter abandoned the manosphere ship to marry a gal he'd met online.  His sense of betrayal was palpable.  Even his followers were a bit baffled that he took it so much to heart.

But someone like Roosh has nothing else except his convictions, as delusional and self-destructive as they are.  He has no relationships beyond his tenuous online connection with the men and boys who echo his nihilistic philosophy.  He is so out of sync with the cultural tide that he must seek refuge in ancient texts, to constantly imagine that the way it was is the way it should be now.  

Today he posted, in his typically self-aggrandizing and melodramatic fashion, that "every man dies by his own ideas."  He views himself as a martyr to his own ideals.  But relentless, inchoate rage is not a "cause."  It is a symptom of a personality disorder. 

I reflect on the mothers and fathers I watched frolicking in the pool today.  Whether they are "happy" in their marriages I have no idea.  I have never been convinced that "happiness" should be a person's primary aim.  I'm not sure even what "happiness" means.  I can say that they all looked thoroughly engaged with one another.  I thought, "This is Real Life."  And by merely observing from the sidelines, I felt myself part of it:  the Family of Man.  And I pity the men of the manosphere, who have learned to hate what they have come to believe they cannot have: intimate connection, a sense of purpose, community membership, an investment in the world around them.

The Arrogance of Youth

One of the tropes of the New Misogynists is that attractive "quality" women, with their impossibly high standards, often miss the boat.  They turn thirty (or forty, or whatever), only to find themselves alone on the dock, all weathered and nasty and flea-bitten, while the ship of true happiness (a marriage to one of them, presumably) sails away. 

In Roosh's forum, he reproduced a post from "Date Lab" from a very attractive middle aged blonde named "Carla" who was reporting that she had recently met a nice fellow.  My response to Roosh's snark attack follows.  

Date Lab: 53 y/o woman wants magical spark
Author	Message

Roosh Innovative Casanova Posts: 8,346 Joined: Aug 2008 Reputation: 91

Roosh snark:  53 year old women still have standards? Carla quote: I told [her new beau] I’m trying to figure out why it took [Date Lab] so long to find someone for me Roosh snark: Not all mysteries of the universe will be solved. Carla quote: Definitely similar sense of humor. [That’s] important to me. A lot of guys don’t get my humor. Roosh snark: If enough people don't get your humor, at what point is it time to accept you don't have it? Carla quote: I didn’t feel a chemical attraction or that spark where sometimes you know right away. Roosh snark: This bitch is almost dead and still waiting for the spark!    (See what I mean about the braying donkey?) --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Unless she's been diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer, a 53 year old woman is hardly "almost dead."  Statistically, she is likely to live another 35 years, and statistically she is likely to outlive her male partner.  She could very well outlive you, Roosh. Wouldn't that be a burn!  But who among us knows when he is going to die?  (Note -- topic for my other blog.) I do see from her picture (which I have deleted to respect her privacy) that, although she's two years older than her new beau, she looks a decade younger.  In fact, she's an attractive woman for any age, and I'll bet he's feeling very lucky to have met her.  Is that what bothers you Roosh?  That a woman old enough to be your mother is sexually viable? But here's the truth:  Love is precious at any stage of life. And as long as we're alive, and our hearts are open, and the desire is there, life is full of endless possibilities for love.  Here's something else I want to say, Roosh, and you may choose not to believe it, but the fact is, A woman can always get laid.  Yup, you heard me right:  If a woman wants sex (and only sex), it hardly matters how old she is.  As distasteful as it is, them's the realities of the sexual marketplace: ladies' choice, men's opportunity.  Sorry about that! Hell, I'm even older than the lady above plus I'm fat, and if all I wanted was a Casual Encounter, it would take me about thirty minutes to arrange one.  Not only can an older woman get laid, she can be loved.  It's rather harder -- at any age -- but I also know this, from personal experience, to be true. I'm not sure why evidence that people over fifty seek -- and often find -- "that spark" vexes you.  I would rather that it encouraged you.  You are approaching middle age yourself.  Aging is tough regardless of gender.  Is that why you're scared? And as for referring to a woman your mother's age as "the bitch..."  May I remind you that you are not an adolescent anymore?  Do you still talk like that to your mother?

Russell Brand: A Man I Love

I've always had a mad crush on Russell Brand.  I've sat through every one of his movies, even though most of them were crap, just to watch him.  His gypsy-boy physicality is dead sexy: the unruly hair, licorice-whip legs, yoga-toned torso, the manic energy his wiry frame can barely contain, those black eyes glinting with mischief...

But as we all know, physical attraction isn't enough to sustain a long term relationship, even one as unilateral and unrequited as the one I have with Russell Brand.  No, it's his brain that really turns me on: the cliche "rapier wit" was invented to describe Russell Brand.. 

When did I first know that it was love, not just lust?  Perhaps it was when he hosted the Westboro Baptist Church on his talk show.  It's hilarious.  He is irrepressible, and yet so sweet in his mockery.  He shreds them, but in the kindest way.  One imagines that it would be impossible to have a real quarrel with Brand: in minutes, he would have you on the floor laughing at yourself in spite of yourself.  He would kill you with kindness.

Then yesterday I read his remarkable essay on the demise of Margaret Thatcher.  It was one of the best things I have read for a long while.  Although I am neither British nor of Brand's generation, he made me understand what it was like growing up under her administration.  (Actually, liberal Americans who have been living with the post-Reagan legacy will relate equally well to what Brand writes about Thatcher).

The entire essay is a masterpiece -- anyone with the slightest interest should read it in entirety -- but this bit really stayed with me:

It always struck me as peculiar, too, when the Spice Girls briefly championed Thatcher as an early example of Girl Power. I don't see that. She is an anomaly, a product of the freak-conomy of her time. Barack Obama interestingly said in his statement that she had "broken the glass ceiling for other women." Only in the sense that all the women beneath her were blinded by falling shards. She is an icon of individualism, not of feminism.

And this!  This is when I knew beyond any doubt that the love I felt for Russell Brand was no passing fancy, but The Real Thing:

Interestingly, one mate of mine, a proper leftie, in his heyday all Red Wedge and right-on punch-ups, was melancholy [upon hearing of Thatcher's death]. "I thought I'd be overjoyed, but really it's just... another one bites the dust..." This demonstrates I suppose that if you opposed Thatcher's ideas it is likely because of their lack of compassion, which is really just a word for love. If love is something you cherish it is hard to glean much joy from death, even in one's enemies.


(SIGH)